Gilly stood before Zin. Unlike before, Zin was not pleased about her abandoning the mission. His gaze darkened, ready to scold her. Gilly's face clouded; she pouted, glancing back in the direction she'd come — which wasn't even the path she'd left on.
She explained everything. As she finished, she handed over two name tags. Pom's expression froze. One of them bore the name Ol — his sister's husband. Aura seeped from Pom's body, his anger barely contained.
He looked down at Gilly. The suspicion he had tried to ignore began to fester. Ever since she arrived, strange events kept happening — eight so far, by his count. Nothing like this had happened in fifty years. Zin placed a hand on Pom's shoulder. Pom took a shaky breath, calming himself, then turned to Zin for guidance.
"I don't think it's a problem. They were probably after that," Zin murmured.
His pupils narrowed into slits, like a cat's. Turning back to Pom, he gave a thin smile.
"I found the rat. I'll go. You have more to do here."
He paused, glancing at Gilly. His usual indifferent calm was replaced by something colder. Even Gilly could feel it, heavy in the air. "I'm not welcome here," she admitted to herself, bowing her head, anguish tightening in her chest.
"Take her to see Valmor, the town head. Let him decide," Zin ordered.
Then he vanished.
Gilly stood there, head bowed in awkward silence, until she finally lifted her gaze. Two guards now flanked her, as if they had always been there. The uneasy feeling she had felt on arrival had rooted itself firmly.
She was led through the town. Pom's back was to her, his fist clenched so tightly that blood dripped from between his fingers. His face showed only one thing: pain.
As they walked, she caught the townspeople's expressions. Some were shocked, others wary, and a few remained blankly indifferent.
They reached a small building just west of the great tree. Unlike most buildings raised off the ground, this one had its foundation set into the earth. The guards escorted her upstairs. Once the door closed behind her, Gilly was alone; Valmor wasn't there yet. Left waiting, she turned inward, turning over the events of her life again and again…
Zin swept through the forest, pausing at the place where Gilly had fought. He studied the fallen bodies. The wounds were too clean, too quick — more than Gilly should have been able to do. But could she have hidden her true power? Even fooling his grandmother? It seemed unlikely.
He knelt, examining them closely. None had time to react; they were killed instantly.
"Calamity grade, at least," he muttered. "Maybe her missing companion helped, but I searched for days and found nothing…"
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, familiar voice.
"Big brother."
Zin froze. His expression darkened; painful memories of his mother flooded back. His aura flared, scales creeping along his skin.
"Big brother, why aren't you answering me?"
The more she spoke, the hotter his rage burned. His hand moved to his sword. The young girl blinked — and in an instant, a deafening clash shook the forest, sending a pillar of dust and splintered trees into the sky. Cadets and townspeople turned toward the blast; even Pom saw it from afar. The old man at the inn couldn't see it, but he felt it. In her lab, Ephini's eyes widened, pupils narrowing into a cat's slit.
"Zin…" she whispered. Zenora beside her noticed her unease.
When the dust settled, Amy stood smiling, her hands on the gear of the large book she carried. From her backpack, shadowy silhouettes of hands reached out: one gripped Zin's sword at her neck, others guarded her vital points. Dozens of tiny eyes peered from the darkness.
Zin, half-covered in scale, his draconic eyes burning, spoke with calm authority:
"Amy… what are you doing here?"
She giggled. > "You're funny, brother." Her eyes locked with his. Power swelled in the air; forces across the forest converged on this single point.
"Let me say this again," Zin's voice hardened, "O child of the fallen deity… what have you come to take away this time?"
For a moment, Amy's smile faltered — then returned. > "Don't make me blush. No need to be so formal," she teased. "We're family, after all."
The ground trembled. Amy leapt back. She had thought Zin would forgive her, welcome her, despite everything. Seeing him now, scales and fury breaking through, she realized her mistake.
Zin's mind slipped deeper into rage — a fury known only to those who shared blood with dragons. Amy cranked the gears of her book and vanished, fearing what he might do.
Thousands of kilometers away, three figures sat around a stone table. Two women shared the same face: Seras with golden hair; Katharine with white hair and crimson eyes. Between them sat a man with pointed ears, a thin crown on his brow.
"I think I found that woman's child," Seras said quietly. "She appeared out of nowhere."
The man turned to Katharine. "Is this true?"
She nodded slowly. "It's rare… but it could mean the prophecy her sister gave us has begun."
Seras frowned. "Saramiel's prophecies are good — she is a god's apostle — but don't you think it's too soon?"
Cyx paused, then his gaze sharpened. All three felt it — a distant surge of rage.
"My little boy… he still can't control himself," Cyx muttered. "If he truly loses control… Elador won't have a place for him anymore."
Seras stood, ignoring Katharine's faint smirk. She struck the ground lightly with her staff and vanished.
"I wonder what she looks like," Katharine murmured as her form dissolved into mist.
Zin felt a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, the red fog of rage lifted. He turned to see his grandmother's stern gaze, just before she slapped him. Disappointment, not anger, flashed in her eyes.
Around them, cadets and townspeople had gathered, silent.
"So," she asked, voice low, "who was it this time?"
"Fallen's child," Zin replied, his voice rough. "Amy."
Seras's eyes widened; her aura flared uncontrollably for a moment, then she forced it down.
"I see… seems Katharine was right," she murmured, turning back toward the city.
"Gather your people," she ordered. "Training is over.
The cadets slowly dispersed, whispers trailing behind them like ghosts. Zin remained where he stood, scales still faintly marking his skin, his breath heavy with restrained fury. The ground beneath his feet was scorched, small wisps of smoke curling into the air. For the first time in years, he felt the edges of control slip — and it terrified him more than Amy's sudden return.
As he turned to follow his grandmother, Zin cast one last look at the cratered clearing. "Amy…" he thought, his jaw clenched. Why now? What do you really want?
Above them, unseen among the drifting leaves, dark shapes shifted, silently observing — waiting for what would come next.