Mozrael’s eyes snapped open, but the world around her was an unfamiliar blur. Where was she? The soft creaking of wooden beams above her only deepened her confusion. She tried to move, but the coldness of the room made her shiver. The silence was suffocating, pressing in from all sides.
Instinctively, she reached for her wings, only to feel empty air where they should have been. Panic clawed at her chest, rising fast.
Then, images crashed into her mind—jagged, fragnted pieces that refused to fit together. Aramith’s face contorted in pain, his eyes wide with terror. His body falling, spiraling toward the ground. Her wings. The crackling of electricity. The sheer, terrifying helplessness as she chased him through the night sky.
But...where was he? The pieces didn’t fit. Sothing vital was missing. Her hand flew to her head, fingers tracing her temple as she tried to recall what had happened, but it was like grasping at the remnants of a fading dream.
"Coming in!" a voice called from outside the room.
A woman stepped into the room like a ripple in still water—disruptive yet captivating. Her presence was imdiate, unignorable. Glossy black hair spilled past her shoulders in wild, tousled waves, catching the light with every movent. A few strands frad her face, drawing attention to the sharp lines of her cheekbones and the teasing curve of her lips.
Her eyes were a rich, dark brown—almost black—deep and sultry like warm soil after rain. They held a spark, a playful wickedness, as if she were constantly in on a joke no one else understood. One glance from her and it felt like she’d already undressed your thoughts.
She was tall and confidently built, her curvaceous figure accentuated by the snug leather jacket cinched at the waist and the matching trousers that clung to her hips and thighs like a second skin. The outfit was built for movent, but it did nothing to hide the sheer allure of her form—broad hips, generous bust, and long legs that carried her with feline grace.
Even her posture oozed effortless power. One hand often rested on her hip, thumb lazily hooked through her belt, while the other toyed with a dagger or flicked her hair back without care. Every move was deliberate and fluid, laced with the kind of confidence that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to flirt or fight.
Her skin had a sun-ward hue, smooth and flawless, with the faintest freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose. And when she smiled—smirked, more accurately—it was crooked and lazy, yet it carried a weight that turned the air sharp, like sothing was about to happen.
There was no mistaking it. Lynnor wasn’t just attractive—she was dangerously beautiful, the kind that made people want to look twice and regret it the third ti.
Mozrael’s imdiate thought was that it was designed for practicality—freedom of movent. But the woman’s deanor suggested otherwise.
[How innocent.]
The woman stepped into the room, and Mozrael instinctively leapt off the bed, retreating to the opposite corner.
"Who are you?" she hissed, her voice sharp with suspicion.
"I’m Lynnor. Nice to et you." The woman grinned, completely unbothered by Mozrael’s hostility. She strolled to the window, pushing it open to let in the freezing air. Mozrael shivered, her skin prickling from the chill.
Mozrael tensed, still struggling to understand what was going on. Her eyes darted to the door. She needed to get out. "Where am I? What happened to ?"
Lynnor’s laughter rang out. "Maybe you wouldn’t feel so cold if you wore so clothes?"
"What?!" Mozrael turned beet red, hastily wrapping the bedsheets around herself. "Where are my clothes?"
"Hahaha! Thought you wanted to bite . Here." Lynnor tossed a bundle of similar clothes at her, still laughing. "I’ll be downstairs. Co find after you’ve changed. I burned your torn clothes if you’re wondering." With that, she left the room, her laughter echoing down the hallway.
Mozrael glared after her, but her confusion overshadowed her anger. Who was this woman?
She remained standing for a while, arms folded, letting her gaze drift across the unfamiliar room. The walls were warm-toned, softly lit by filtered sunlight slipping through sheer curtains. A strange quietude filled the air—almost like silence had weight here. Her first instinct was to worry. About Aramith. About where she was. About how she’d ended up unconscious in a stranger’s ho.
But... that panic didn’t co.
She frowned. Sothing about that felt off, unnatural even. She should have felt her pulse quicken, her muscles tense. But instead, her thoughts moved slowly, like they were wading through warm water.
Maybe... Lynnor had found her nearby and brought her in? Mozrael bit her lip, weighing that thought. The woman hadn’t exactly felt dangerous—abrasive, yes, but not threatening. Still, there was always a risk in trusting soone too easily.
She glanced at the clothes left on the bed. Should she even change?
Minutes passed. She stood there, unmoving, trying to push her thoughts toward urgency. But the strange haze wouldn’t lift. It wasn’t sleepiness. It wasn’t peace either. Just... quiet.
Eventually, she dressed, movents chanical, her mind still tangled in cautious thoughts. Just before reaching for the doorknob, she paused again, ear tilted toward the door. Were there others in the house?
She waited. Listened.
Nothing. Just the subtle creak of floorboards below. No voices. No extra footsteps.
Then Lynnor’s voice rang out, muffled but distinct.
"Don’t keep waiting, girl!"
Mozrael flinched slightly, pulse breaking through the haze—just a little. She sighed and opened the door, descending the stairs to find Lynnor standing by a table laden with food.
"Hehehe, fits you like a second skin," Lynnnor covered her mouth and chuckled.
Mozrael didn’t mind the comnt
"Help yourself," Lynnor said, pointing to the food.
"Not hungry," Mozrael muttered.
"Suit yourself. We’re moving out," Lynnor replied nonchalantly, already heading for the door. Mozrael’s frown deepened. She didn’t like this woman’s behavior. There was sothing unsettling about her playful deanor. She had to remain cautious.
"Were you raised well?" Lynnor suddenly asked, spinning to face her.
"What does that an?" Mozrael frowned.
"It’s not every day you see a dragon girl wandering the forest, far from civilization," Lynnor said, grinning.
Mozrael stiffened. Dragon girl?
"And I don’t know you. Why should I trust you?"
How does she know I’m connected to a dragon?
Lynnor laughed. "You’re so rigid. Lighten up a little." She paused, her tone growing mischievous. "Maybe you can find that Aramith you’re looking for"
Mozrael froze. Her hand shot out, grabbing the dagger at Lynnor’s side and pointing it at her. "How do you know about Aramith?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
"Oh, so he’s a boy? Your lover? No, you’re too young for that," Lynnor teased, her grin widening.
"Answer the question!"
"You children have no manners, tut tut tut," She shook her head in disappointnt.
"How do you know Aramith?" Mozrael asked again, sensing a dangerous aura from the woman.
"Maybe if you put that aside, we could talk?" She still had a smile on her face as she looked at Mozrael, bemused.
"I don’t even know you."
"Are you an idiot? I said I’m Lynnor, you didn’t even tell your na, and now you’re...playing with my dagger. Look, if you feel like cooking, then go to the kitchen behind you. There are knives there."
Is this woman with a brain?
"You kids have no manners," Lynnor sighed. She raised her hand, and Mozrael’s grip on the dagger went rigid. The blade flew back into Lynnor’s grasp as an invisible force pressed down on Mozrael, leaving her helpless. She couldn’t breathe.
Help
"Okay, okay," Lynnor said lightly, allowing her to regain control of her body. "I don’t know him. You were muttering his na in your sleep. That’s all." She waved a hand dismissively.
"Anyway, let’s go hunting. A new beast appeared last night."
Mozrael hesitated but reluctantly followed. Lynnor’s power was undeniable, and in her current state, Mozrael couldn’t afford to face her head-on.
She didn’t even ask where they were or what Lynnor was doing. She was disappointed for letting her impulsiveness take over her but even with that thought, she didn’t know what to do if the woman would tell her the truth or not. She was eccentric, but she didn’t show sings of hostility.
Elsewhere, wrapped in a nightmare of his own making...
Aramith woke to a searing pain. It rippled through his ribs, sharp and real, but strangely distant—like a mory his body hadn’t yet let go of.
He focused, steadying his breath, letting it slow as he channeled his energy inward. Healing was one of the few things he could still control. Shadows coiled gently around him, guided by his will, sinking into bruised skin. Slowly, the pain dulled. The aches softened.
When he sat up, a surreal hush greeted him. The trees around him were gnarled and twisted, their bark pulsing faintly with a black shimr. There was no birdsong, no wind—only silence thick enough to press against his ears.
A corrupted forest. The realization was instant. He didn’t need to rember; he felt it. The darkness here was his. A manifestation of what he had beco... or what he had unleashed.
And yet, despite everything—
He didn’t feel afraid.
No tension crawled under his skin, no panic urged him to move. His thoughts were calm, his heart steady.
Too steady.
The mory of unleashing his power returned, uncoiling like a serpent in his mind, and still—no dread. No sha. Just the sense that...
Everything would be fine.
A lie, whispered so gently it felt like truth.
He looked down at his hands, half-expecting them to tremble. They didn’t.
But then-
Thunk.
An arrow embedded itself in the tree beside his head. He whipped around, scanning the forest, but the shooter was nowhere to be seen.
Thunk. Another arrow zipped past, this one narrowly missing him. Aramith crouched low, his senses heightened. A faint shimr caught his eye, and he saw the figure darting between the trees. Her green hair wiuld have blended with the foliage, had it not been corrupted, and her movents were also clumsy, amateurish.
Never underestimate your enemy, his ntor’s voice echoed in his mind.
Another arrow ca, but its trajectory was off. Aramith didn’t move, watching as the figure approached. He waited, calculating her movents. When she lunged, dagger raised, he caught her wrist effortlessly. She struggled, her green eyes glaring at him with fiery determination.
"What are you trying to do?" he asked, his voice calm despite the situation.
"Leave alone!" she snapped.
Aramith disard her, tossing the dagger aside. But she smirked, and before he could react, glowing strings shot out, binding him tightly. His arms and legs were immobilized, his joints locked in place. But he still held on to her.
"Beast," she hissed. "You shouldn’t be here."
Aramith sighed. "I’m not a beast. If you untie , I’ll explain." He was surprised at his own calmness.
"Stupid creature. These strings will drain your strength," she retorted.
Aramith waited, thinking he’d feel sothing, but he felt nothing of the sort. Her traps were ineffective, but her defiance amused him.
Then, she did sothing unexpected. With one swift motion, she unbuttoned the highest button on her tunic,. Aramith blinked, confused. A flash of blinding light burst from her chest, forcing him to release her. By the ti his vision cleared, she had climbed a tree, bow in hand.
Arrows rained down on him, but none hit their mark. Her aim was atrocious. Aramith couldn’t suppress a small smile. Despite her fierce attitude, she was utterly hopeless as an archer.
"If this is all a misunderstanding, let’s talk," he called out.
Thunk.
"Untie , and we’ll sort this out."
Thunk. Thunk.
How terrible is she? Missing on purpose?
Aramith sighed, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. He could break free from the strings with ease, but he hesitated. There was a strange humor in watching his attacker flail about with such determined incompetence. It was almost admirable—if not downright ridiculous.
Then his instincts scread a warning.
Oh crap!
A surge of power ripped through him as he quickly moved, shattering the strings just as a dagger whizzed by, embedding itself in the ground with a deafening boom. He twisted sharply, eyes scanning the trees for the attacker but seeing none.
"Who are these people?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes. Another dagger followed, cutting through the air with terrifying speed. Weakened and knowing his limits, he turned and bolted, the dagger striking the ground behind him like a thunderclap.
---
Mozrael pumped her legs harder, but Lynnor was already several strides ahead, darting through the forest with an ease that bordered on infuriating. It was strange, but even on As they continued, the forest shifted, changing into a new uncomfortable place they were entering. The trees were twisted and blackened. She hesitated in her mind, but her body didn’t stop.
"Keep up, dragon girl!" Lynnor called back, her voice laced with teasing laughter.
[Mozrael slow? That woman...she was a monster!]
Mozrael ground her teeth. Yet, no matter how hard she pushed, the gap between them only widened, reminding her of her place.
"Target acquired!" Lynnor yelled gleefully from the branch of a tall tree. She hurled a dagger with precision, the blade slicing through the air toward a distant target. Mozrael squinted, trying to sense what Lynnor had seen.
The dagger sailed through the air...and buried itself in the dirt several ters away, nowhere near anything alive.
Mozrael shook her head, incredulous. "Was that...impressive or pointless?"
Lynnor only laughed louder, her movents becoming a blur as she leaped from branch to branch, the air rippling subtly with each step. Mozrael surged forward, her muscles straining as she tried to catch up.
Despite her frustration, there was sothing undeniably exhilarating about the chase. And sothing undeniably maddening about Lynnor.
Yet she followed, unworried.
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