Markus shifts under the sleeping bag, a quiet sigh slipping out—almost a whimper. His brow furrows, breath catching, and for a moment it almost sounds like the word dragon escapes his lips.

  Liddle’s ears twitch at once, her heart tightening. She leans closer, brushing his hair back with trembling fingers. “Nightmare?” she whispers, her voice soft enough not to startle him.

  He jerks at her touch, eyes flicking open in panic before settling on her face. “Oh—it’s you. Sorry, I just—”

  “No, no, it’s okay,” Liddle cuts him off quickly, her words tumbling out before he can retreat into apology. She slides closer, pressing herself against his side, wrapping her arms carefully around him as if to hold the nightmare at bay.

  His body stays tense beneath her, breath uneven, but she feels it begin to slow under the steady rhythm of her own. She tucks her head against his shoulder and whispers, “I’ll be right here. Just go back to sleep.”

  Markus stretches, wincing as he tries to sit up. “Actually, I should get up.”

  “Nope,” Liddle says firmly, clinging tighter to him. “You told me this was my time, remember? So no more running off to help the kids or trying to play hero. You need to rest. You’ve clearly got a lot on your mind.”

  He lets out a low chuckle, though his eyes still look tired. “I know, I know. I’m not trying to be a hero. It’s just… I’m starting to get feeling in my legs again. I was hoping maybe we could find a cane.”

  “You know I’m coming with you,” Liddle says without hesitation.

  Markus smiles faintly, brushing his fingers against her horns before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. With her steadying hand, he eases himself out of the tent and into his waiting wheelchair.

  “There you go,” Liddle murmurs, leaning down to kiss his ear. Her voice is warm, almost playful. “It’ll be nice, won’t it? Knowing you’ll be able to walk again soon.”

  With Liddle steadying him, Markus lets the morning light wash over him as they wheel out of the tent and into the yard.

  A soft breeze drifts through the grass while Liddle pushes Markus’s wheelchair forward. He tilts his head back, eyes lingering on the half-finished building rising beyond the fence — their soon-to-be orphanage, scaffolding still clinging to its sides. When he lowers his gaze, the blades of grass bend and shimmer in the wind, carrying the sound of laughter across the yard.

  Sally and Kanna dart between the other children, shrieking with joy as they chase each other in a game of tag. Markus lifts a hand and calls out with a smile, “Hey, Sally!”

  The girls spin at once and sprint toward him. “Your mother and I are going to run some errands,” Markus says warmly. “You two be good while we’re gone.”

  Sally sticks her tongue out at her sister. “How can Kanna be good when she’s it?” She taps Kanna’s arm. “Tag!”

  “No fair!” Kanna squeals, darting back a step.

  Sally giggles, then throws her arms around Markus. He catches her in a warm hug, laughing as he holds her close.

  “Get her now while I’ve got her,” Markus teases, keeping Sally in place.

  “No fair!” Sally squeals again just as Kanna tags her, and then she tears free, bolting after her sister.

  Markus presses a kiss to the top of her head as she pulls away. “I love you,” he whispers.

  Love you too, Dad!” she calls back, her smile beaming as she runs off into the laughter of the other children.

  Markus chuckles, watching the two of them disappear among the crowd. His smile lingers as he turns back toward the path, where Liddle waits, her hands resting gently on the wheelchair handles.

  “Ready?” Markus asks.

  Liddle leans down to kiss him softly before they set off for the Mar-Wall to pick up a cane. As they move along the sidewalk, the bustle of town fades, and a quiet settles between them.

  “You’re thinking about something,” Liddle says, watching his expression.

  “Nothing bad this time,” Markus replies with a small smile. “Just… we’ve built something nice together, haven’t we?”

  “We?” She gives a small laugh. “I’d still be homeless and looking over my shoulder for humans hunting me if it weren’t for you.”

  He shakes his head gently. “No need to be so modest. You’ve kept me healthy, helped me heal. I’m lucky to have someone as supportive as you.”

  Markus smiles at her, the warmth in his eyes clear. “I’m glad I get to share this happy life with you.”

  They fall into a peaceful silence on the way to Mar-Wall, passing rows of newly built storefronts and apartments. Fresh paint and shining glass mask the scars of the dragon attack — the city determined to hide its wounds beneath progress.

  Inside the store, they wander aisle after aisle, weaving past shelves stacked with everything from bread to beer, cleaning supplies to hunting rifles. After what feels like a small adventure of its own, they finally turn a corner and find the section they’re looking for — an aisle lined with canes.

  Markus picks up a simple wooden one and tests his weight on it, taking a few careful steps back and forth. A smile spreads across his face. “I think this one will work. Feels great to be able to walk again.”

  “We still need to buy it first,” Liddle teases, gently guiding him back toward the chair. “So let me enjoy wheeling you around while I can.”

  “Oh, come on,” Markus laughs, settling into the seat. “Think of it this way — once I get stronger, maybe I’ll wheel you around instead. Like the princess you are.”

  Liddle’s cheeks flush, and she huffs, though her hand slips easily into his.

  After they buy the cane, Markus stretches in the wheelchair, impatience flickering in his smile. “Okay, can I get up now?”

  Liddle tightens her grip on the handles, ears flicking back as she pushes him toward the door. “Nope. Maybe you’ll think about it before cutting cuddle time short.”

  Markus laughs, then pushes himself up with the cane. With his free hand, he grips the Mahoishi and opens a portal to their home.

  Lemres steps out, his cloak rippling with the fading shimmer of magic. His expression is grave. “I’m sorry to bother you, Markus… but you’re needed.”

  “I’d be happy to help,” Markus says, shifting his weight on the cane, “but I’m not sure how much use I’ll be like this.” He taps the cane lightly against the ground.

  “I know this isn’t ideal,” Lemres admits, “but Alexia is still recovering from mana sickness. She burned through more mana than I’ve ever seen, healing all those kids.”

  Markus’s brows lift, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t realize how much she gave of herself… I’ll need to do something for her later. She deserves it.”

  “Yeah… her father’s gone missing.” Lemres’s voice darkens as he rests a hand on the doorframe. His expression is unusually grim.

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  “I was hoping you could come with me. The last place he was seen was a church in Fey Town — the Church of the Rapture.”

  He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly toward Liddle. “She should probably stay behind for this one. Bringing a demon into a church seems like a bad idea.”

  “I’m sorry, Liddle. I’ll be back soon,” Markus murmurs, lifting her into his arms and holding her close.

  “Just… be careful, okay? And come back soon, sweetie. I love you.” Liddle kisses him softly, her hands lingering against his chest.

  Markus smiles, though worry flickers in his eyes. He squeezes her horns gently, making her blush, before pulling her into one last hug.

  The portal ripples before him, humming with otherworldly energy. With a steadying breath, he steps through—

  —and Fey City rises before him, its skyline glowing faintly against the dim air.

  As Markus walks the streets of Fey City, unease coils in his stomach. Every house looks the same — square white walls, two narrow windows, nothing to set one apart from the next. The roads are lined with identical black SMVs, their polished surfaces reflecting the pale light. If not for the different house numbers and license plates, he could swear he’s trapped in a looping circle, the same street repeating endlessly.

  A black SMV hums past — the first real sign that anyone actually lives here. Its tinted windows reveal nothing. At the crossroad ahead, it slows, the blinker clicking sharply in the silence before it turns right.

  Markus hesitates only a moment before following, the steady tap of his cane echoing unnaturally loud through the still air.

  After a few minutes of walking, he finally spots a building that breaks the monotony — a tall structure crowned with a massive iron cross, its shadow stretching long across the empty street.

  So this must be the Church of the Rapture.

  He slows as he approaches, his cane clicking softly against the stone steps. Figures move in and out of the doors, all eerily alike — fair skin, blonde hair, eyes the same shade of unnatural blue. Their gazes slide over him as if measuring, weighing. Markus grips his cane tighter, a hollow feeling gnawing at his chest. He’s never felt more out of place.

  One of the young men in black steps forward and smiles. “Oh, you must be here to see the worship firsthand.”

  “Worship?” Markus echoes.

  “About the Dragon,” the man says, nodding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  Markus stares at him, bewildered.

  Inside, he settles into a seat near the back, the pew creaking softly beneath him. His eyes sweep the room — rows of silent, expectant faces. At the front, the priest raises his arms toward the massive golden sculpture above the altar: a winged beast, the Morgi Dragon, jaws frozen in an eternal roar.

  “Brothers and sisters!” Priest Urban bellows, his voice booming through the vaulted hall.

  “As it is written: Then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven, and all the peoples of Earth shall mourn when they see Him coming on the clouds — with power and great glory!”

  He paces the dais, robes dragging across the stone, his voice rising with every step.

  “The sun shall be darkened. The moon will not give its light. The stars will fall, and the sky shall tremble.

  And then He will come — not on a white horse, but through fire. Wings wide as judgment itself.”

  He gestures toward the stained glass behind him: a red-winged dragon, spewing flame upon a crumbling Earth.

  “You see it, don’t you? The signs. The plagues. The tremors. The beasts.”

  The priest’s eyes burn with fevered light.

  “This world is not ending. It is being tested. The Morgi have returned — angels in disguise. Magic has been given to the unclean. And the Dragon…”

  He pauses, his voice dropping to a hiss.

  “That ancient serpent… Hell’s instrument of wrath.”

  Urban slams his staff against the floor. The crack reverberates like thunder.

  “Scripture tells us: He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent — Satan himself — and bound him for a thousand years.

  But lo — he is loosed once more! His breath burns the righteous and the wicked alike!”

  A hush grips the congregation.

  “There will be fire. There will be dragons. But also deliverance,” Urban thunders.

  “For we, the faithful, are not of Earth. Our citizenship is in Heaven! We await a Savior — Lord of Flame and Sky — who shall transform our broken bodies, just as He commands the winds and the stars!”

  His hand sweeps toward the glowing Mahoishi stone embedded in the altar, its light flickering like a heartbeat.

  “And to those who still doubt…”

  He stops. Slowly, his arm extends — pointing not at the stone, but toward the back of the church.

  At Markus.

  “Why do the beasts rage? Why do the creatures strike at us?” Urban’s voice cracks, trembling with both fury and triumph.

  “Because we know the truth.”

  The congregation stirs, heads turning in unison.

  Urban’s roar shakes the chamber. “The Dragon walks among us. And soon… he will burn the unworthy away!”

  A chill ripples through Markus. Just hearing the word dragon makes his stomach knot, his body trembling before he can stop it. He tries to cling to Alexia’s voice in his memory, to Liddle’s touch, to the children’s laughter back at the orphanage — but the roar of fire and the shadow of wings drown them out. His head swims, his vision slipping sideways.

  “Are you alright?”

  The thunder of the sermon is gone. The voice is quiet now — calm, almost kind. Markus blinks and finds Priest Urban standing over him, a folded towel in one hand.

  He looks around — and freezes. The pews are empty. The congregation is gone.

  How long was I out? Was I… hallucinating?

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Markus forces the words through dry lips, reaching for his cane. “Sorry for making you worry.”

  “It’s quite alright,” Urban says, studying him closely. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before… yet you seem familiar.” He taps a finger thoughtfully against the corner of his mouth.

  There’s no way I can tell him I’m the Dragon Slayer. Markus forces a polite smile instead. “You might’ve seen me on TV. I’m from Ohio — Delaware, actually. I’m here on a missing person’s case. Marlion Freeman. He’s the father of a friend, and she’s… worried about him.”

  “Come. He was here often,” Urban says smoothly, placing a hand on Markus’s shoulder. “I spoke with him before he disappeared. I can tell you what he was seeking.”

  He leads Markus into a side room — quiet, dim, and lined with shelves of old books and candles flickering weakly in their holders. A faint scent of incense lingers in the air. Urban sets a cup of water in front of him.

  “He spoke often of a house that appeared in the Superior National Forest,” the priest continues.

  Markus lifts the cup, the cool water easing his dry throat. “I’ve seen that… almost like an outpost of some kind,” he says, setting the empty glass back down.

  “Yes,” Urban replies, his voice softening into something almost like pity. “He went there to confront a creature. A horrible thing. It’s hard to believe Marlion could have fallen to it.” He folds his hands, eyes glinting faintly in the candlelight. “But if he did… I’m sure he’s in Heaven now.”

  Markus nods slowly. “Thank you for the information. I’ll make sure to check the house and—”

  The words die in his throat.

  With a sudden slam, Urban shoves the door closed. The lock clicks into place. When Markus looks up, the priest is already drawing a long, thin dagger — its blade gleaming cold and sharp in the dim light.

  Markus reacts on instinct. His hand flashes to the Life-Giving Blade, the sword flaring into being with a hiss of light. Steel meets magic — the dagger skitters from Urban’s grasp as Markus twists his wrist, disarming him in a single motion.

  Urban staggers back, eyes wide, the mask of kindness burning away to reveal something far darker.

  “So…” Urban hisses, his voice dripping venom. “…you are the Dragon Slayer.” He cracks his neck, the sound sharp and deliberate in the silence.

  Markus tosses his cane aside, straightening with the Life-Giving Blade in hand. “It’s foolish to think you could take me on.

  A slow smile curls across the priest’s face. “It would have been…” His voice lowers to a whisper. “…but the poison should be hitting you about now.”

  Markus freezes, his gaze snapping to the empty cup on the table. His vision lurches sideways, his stomach twisting as a metallic taste floods his mouth.

  He staggers, coughing violently — blood splattering across the floorboards. The Life-Giving Blade trembles in his grip as the room tilts around him.

  Urban steps closer, his shadow crawling across the stone like a spreading stain. “Now,” he intones, voice thick with triumph, “you are defeated — by God, and by your own weapons.”

  With a swift motion, the priest slips his hand into Markus’s pocket, plucking the Mahoishi free. Its faint glow flickers in Urban’s palm, reflected in his fever-bright eyes.

  He reaches greedily for the Life-Giving Blade — but the moment his fingers brush the hilt, the weapon flares with blinding light and rejects him. Urban recoils as if burned.

  “Sorry,” Markus rasps through blood and pain, forcing a weak smirk. “Looks like you won’t be killing me today. Divine intervention.”

  Urban studies the Mahoishi in his palm, its glow dancing across his face. “So… only you can use this. Your magic is locked to you.” His lips curl into a cruel smile. “Which means I have to keep you alive.”

  Markus grits his teeth, his body trembling as he forces out the words. “What the hell are you planning to do?”

  “Simple,” Urban says, his voice low and fevered. “Summon a dragon.”

  He turns without another glance, slipping through the doorway. The lock clicks shut behind him, leaving Markus alone — coughing blood, the world blurring at the edges as the sound of his own heartbeat drowns out everything else.