“Well now. A dragon, and an Azure one at that,” the blond man said, as evenly as if he’d remarked on the weather.

  Lóng Tiānyán lifted his head. Yellow light burned in his eyes.

  “You know me, wretch?” he growled.

  “No. But I know Lóng Wáng. I fought him.”

  The Azure Dragon’s gaze sharpened.

  “You’ll kneel, you filth…”

  A boot drove into his stomach.

  The hit emptied his lungs in a single brutal instant. The dragon shot backward, crashed into the wall, and hung there for a heartbeat, as if something pinned him from above.

  The blond man did not even breathe harder.

  “A lizard doesn’t get to call me a wretch.”

  Lóng Tiānyán roared and spat fire, a torrent that turned the air dry and bitter.

  The stranger raised his palm.

  The fire vanished.

  It did not splash or shear sideways. It simply ceased, as if someone had switched it off.

  “Ask Lóng Wáng whether he knows Naramsuen,” the blond man said, looking straight into the dragon’s eyes. “That’s the name I used with him.”

  Lóng Tiānyán bared his teeth.

  “You think I will…”

  He cut himself off, dragging power into his hands and forcing it into the shape of two heavy spheres. No glow, no beauty, only dense weight made from will.

  With a snarl, he hurled them.

  The stranger met the strike with a chainblade.

  The metal screamed, then cracked. Another instant and the sword blew apart, unable to hold that much force.

  For the first time, Naramsuen sprang back, but the blast still caught him.

  Both spheres slammed into the barrier and burst. The shockwave punched through the bar. Walls shuddered, the counter split, splinters and glass skittered across the floor.

  Naramsuen rolled, then rose at once.

  Inside that borrowed body, Lothar felt it tearing at the seams. Too much power, too little flesh, and Finsterherz felt every thread giving way.

  Naramsuen straightened and said one clipped word.

  “Sepār.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Again.

  “Sepār.”

  A third time.

  “Sepār.”

  On the third, the Azure Dragon was driven into the wall as if a slab had dropped onto him. He rasped, claws scraping, but his body would not move.

  “Shield words,” Lóng Tiānyán wheezed. “So that’s how you use them.”

  Naramsuen walked closer. His eyes were calm, almost bored.

  “See? You’re something, sure. Just a brave lizard dragged out of the Nest.”

  Lóng Tiānyán roared, and for a heartbeat he stopped being half dragon. Bones inside Finsterherz cracked as the creature tore free into a true shape, huge and heavy and alive.

  The dragon sank his teeth into Naramsuen and breathed fire again.

  “I will turn you to ash!”

  A dark field snapped up like a punch.

  A massive fist of black force hit the dragon in the jaw. Clean, efficient. The Azure Dragon flew sideways, plowed through tables, slammed into the wall, and lost his bearings for a breath.

  He lifted into the air.

  Power spread around him and took the shape of a hammer, enormous and dense. Above, clouds gathered, thick and black, far too fast, as if hauled in on a rope.

  Lightning struck the clouds.

  Then it struck the hammer.

  Not random bolts, but a tight, obedient line to a single point.

  The thunder hammer came down.

  The impact was crushing.

  The floor spiderwebbed with cracks. The walls bowed. The air flashed white for a second. Wilt did not even realize her ears were ringing at first.

  Lothar tasted ozone and dust and could not tell which was his blood.

  Wilt had never seen anything like this.

  Worse, she could not feel Naramsuen drawing energy from the Nest at all.

  It was as if he never opened himself. As if he never took power. Nothing suggested he drew it. He commanded it.

  Finsterherz lay in a pool of blood. No longer a dragon, just a boy again. Skin splitting at the seams, a shoulder twisted wrong, lips gone blue.

  Naramsuen dropped to the floor beside him, glanced down, and spoke with the same calm.

  “Brave young man. To save his friends, he opened his mind to that lizard. What a sacrifice.”

  He raised a finger toward Wilt.

  “But it’s time to die.”

  “No,” Wilt rasped.

  She stepped forward and threw her shield over him. Not delicate, not neat. She poured in everything she had left. The field shook, but held.

  In that moment, people appeared beside Naramsuen. Two, then three, dressed in gray. They did not rush or shout. They simply took positions, like an escort.

  One spoke quickly. “My lord, it’s time. The whole of Chukur will be here soon.”

  Another added, “Yes, my lord. No time. The boy will die anyway.”

  Naramsuen looked at the boy again, then at Wilt.

  “You really think that will stop me?”

  Wilt stared back, her voice nearly gone. “I won’t let you. The boy is mine.”

  Naramsuen stepped closer.

  “Wilt Norcat,” he said, “how do you plan to save him, and why?”

  She swallowed. Fire burned in her chest.

  “I dragged him into this. I wanted Adam dead out of pride. I don’t care about you or Sperare. But I won’t let anyone touch him.”

  Naramsuen lifted an eyebrow.

  “An exchange, then. His life for Adam’s.”

  He came so close Wilt felt cold spill off her field.

  Two fingers touched her throat.

  No squeeze, no strike. Just contact.

  The burning eased.

  Her throat relaxed. Breathing came easy. Her voice returned almost immediately.

  Wilt froze, not understanding what had just happened.

  “Who are you,” she breathed, clear now, “damn you?”

  Naramsuen did not answer.

  He walked past her, crouched beside Lothar, and set a palm on him, quick and practical, like a medic doing the simplest thing on the spot.

  “The boy is dying. I can only stabilize him. After that, it’s on him.”

  Naramsuen rose.

  “I don’t think he’ll survive.”

  Wilt clenched her teeth.

  “Then why…”

  “You’re right,” Naramsuen cut in, still calm. “No reason to kill him now.”

  Then he looked at Finsterherz again, a beat longer.

  “And I can see it. The boy will be useful to me.”

  Wilt stepped in.

  “What do you want from him?”

  Naramsuen’s smile barely existed. Not a joke, a decision.

  “You’ll understand later.”

  With a small motion, he turned to his people.

  “Leave.”

  In the next instant they were gone.

  No flash, no smoke. Only empty air.

  Nothing of the bar remained intact. The air stank of scorch and ozone. Bevin lay motionless. Lothar lay in blood. Wilt Norcat stood over him, and for the first time in a long time she had no plan two steps ahead.