Every beastkin lineage could be traced back to a legendary bloodline—mythic progenitors who weren't just ancient but damn near divine. These primordial beasts, born thousands of years ago, were said to have ascended to the astral plane, trading flesh for spirit and leaving behind more than just bones and bedtime stories.

They watched still, from beyond the veil, their eyes sharp as ever. Their legacy wasn't just in blood, but in relics—gifts, remnants of their own bodies, and on very rare occasions, power granted directly to a chosen few. These few were known as their priests. Living conduits of the ancestors' will.

But let's not kid ourselves. These spirits didn't hand out blessings like festival candy. You had to earn that divine gaze. They only noticed you if they deemed you worthy. And their definition of "worthy" came carved in claw marks and old magic.

Scholars could yap all day about proof—carved monoliths, fang-shaped artifacts, the whole menagerie of evidence. Humans might doubt their saints, elves their ethereal guides, but beastkin? Their gods had bled here. Breathed the same air. These weren't distant deities; they were family, crankier and grander.

Fox-kin danced with the sly echoes of nine-tailed tricksters. Serpent-kin carried the cold patience of leviathans who'd seen continents crack. Lion-kin roared with the sun's own arrogance. All magnificent. All deadly.

But above them all stood one species. Not just powerful—dominant. Dragons. Crowned kings among kings. Apex predators of the old world. Their scales were tougher than most enchanted armor. Their claws were capable of reducing stone and steel to shreds. They wielded magic like it was their native tongue, not borrowed language. If creation had favorites, dragons were its overachieving firstborns, smug and unstoppable.

And now, Lysska stood over Kraven's twitching body, staring. Still. Listening.

She felt it through the bond. A ripple. No—a quake. Something primal stirred deep beneath the surface. Not hers, but his. Kraven's fear wasn't rational. It was instinctual. The kind of fear that crawls up your spine when you realize the hunter has become prey—and the thing hunting you isn't just stronger. It's older. Hungrier. Built for this. Kraven's terror was his genetic memory screaming DRAGON in flashing letters.

A dragon. There was no mistaking it.

Sure, she looked smaller than the titanic beasts in the records—but come on, dragons didn't hatch the size of mountains. Maybe this one was young. Still growing. But that didn't make her any less of a problem. Just gave her more time to become a bigger one.

Still… something was off. Different. Since the last time Lysska had seen her. Jade had always been a walking question mark wrapped in a mystery and served with a side of sass, but this? This was an entirely different scale of secret.

She'd suspected Jade had powerful backing. That her evasiveness was tied to some shadowy force pulling strings. That still might be true.

But the truth? The real truth?

Turns out, the secret wasn't just that Jade had divine connections.

The secret was that she was one of them.

Lysska had been trying to chase a ghost, and instead walked face-first into a myth.

No wonder every attempt to pry into Jade's past ended in confusion, headaches, or the creeping sense that something ancient had noticed and was not amused.

Now, Jade stood motionless—until a fool decided to mutter a spell.

Bad move.

Dragons don't do incantations. They do punctuation. One wing flick—quicker than a shadow—and she loomed before him, close enough to kiss. Or eat.

Spoiler: She wasn't kissing.

The aftermath was a statement. Less "attack," more "anatomy lesson." Claws clarified things. Permanently.

But even then, she wasn't moving. She didn't need to. She simply watched—calm as a god, cold as a storm—while purple lightning danced across the battlefield, lancing in from impossible angles as her supposed hunters scrambled to escape with their lives.

They had to stop. Think. Cast shields in a panic just to survive. Only six of them remained; the rest were charred shadows on the wind. The yellow-cored ones hadn't even put up a fight. The lightning evaporated them, skin and flesh seared to vapor in an instant.

And it felt like they were trapped inside something. A bubble? A globe? No, Lysska knew better. It was a domain. One of those absurdly rare powers that popped up at red core and made everyone wish they'd brought extra underwear.

When someone ascended to red, their core didn't just glow a bit brighter. Their core etched a signature spell, one unique to them. For most, it was just that—a spell. Flashy, potent, personal. But sometimes, sometimes... it wasn't a spell at all. Sometimes, it was a domain.

The Flameclaw Matriarch's infamous Hellscape was a domain. The kind of power where the world bends to your will within a defined space. Buffs for the caster. Debuffs for everyone else. Reality rewired, twisted around a single, terrifying concept.

But this? What kind of madness had Jade resonated with to create a domain like this?

Lysska had felt it settle. Like a law being written. A rule etched into the sky. And Jade had spoken it, calmly—flight is forbidden. Ever since, anything airborne was turned into ash every three seconds by bolts of otherworldly lightning. Even Lysska had felt her luck thinning, almost emptying out, the moment the rule took hold. It was as if she'd broken something sacred, but the feeling passed immediately, like the caster had noticed the slip and corrected it.

It didn't even look like Jade was used to it. She moved like someone testing out new limbs—unsure, not clumsy, but… learning. Like she'd just slipped into a fresh skin, and the fit wasn't tight yet.

Which wouldn't be far from the truth, Lysska figured. She'd seen Jade just hours ago. Back then, her scales were silver. Now they were gleaming gold. More regal. More right. Before, Jade had been cautious—afraid to fight a red core head-on. She'd left that elf in the sewers to chase the specter eel instead. Tactical retreat, born from lack of power.

Now? She was holding off—no, wrecking—multiple red-cored Pathwalkers without lifting a talon. Not something one would call just growth, this was a metamorphosis.

And it made Lysska think back to when Jade had struggled against Iron. But this creature—this dragon—was not the same one. Not even close.

So how much power had Jade amassed? And how fast?

As if to drive the point home, Jade grinned. That jaw—too many teeth, too wide, too wrong—split into a nightmare smile, and she vanished in a snap, leaving behind illusions like afterimages soaked in mana. Her wings cracked once, and she surged toward the farthest pair of elves, likely to keep them from fleeing her domain.

Another strange thing.

Domains weren't exactly subtle. They reshaped terrain, cast shadows, created an oppressive presence. You knew when you were in one. But Jade's? It was invisible. No shifting ground. No magical haze. Just clear skies and innocent-looking clouds. If Lysska hadn't felt the rule snap into place—hadn't sensed that creeping feeling of trespass—she wouldn't even know a domain was active.

Which only raised more questions.

How big was it? Bigger than she could see? Bigger than she could feel?

And then, the illusions.

Two identical copies of Jade remained, golden and gleaming, tilting their draconic heads like curious statues studying the world. Lysska stared, trying to guess their purpose.

Then, as if answering her unspoken thoughts, the illusions looked at each other—and smiled. At each other. That same nightmarish grin. One leaned in, whispered something into the other's ear.

Then they clapped.

And vanished.

Lysska blinked.

"…What the fuck?"

What kind of illusions were those?

Lysska had a very bad feeling.

She kept her eyes on the four remaining elves, flying but slowed down because of the barrier charms they were using, desperate. Then—suddenly—the lightning stopped. No more strikes from above. They were out.

That's it then. The edge of the domain. From what Lysska could sense, it spanned maybe thirty to forty meters. The elves rejoiced, whooping as they soared higher, thinking they'd escaped Jade's reach.

Freedom tasted sweet.

Too sweet.

The knot in Lysska's stomach only tightened.

And sure enough, she was right.

From the empty air behind them, two pairs of violet eyes emerged, glowing with malice. No burst of speed, no grand entrance—just a quiet arrival, like a wraith stepping through a curtain. The golden dragon's grin followed, wide and feral. Before the elves even knew what had happened, two were run through from behind—impaled by golden tentacles tipped with gleaming, metallic barbs.

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The shields didn't even slow them down.

The tentacles phased through the defensive spells as though they weren't even there. Shields flickered, then broke entirely, as blood bubbled up their throats. In seconds, their bodies were torn apart, chunks of meat tossed into a gaping maw with terrifying hunger. Jade—if that even was Jade—chewed and swallowed like a beast starved for centuries.

Their mounts were crushed and devoured the same way.

The second pair of elves didn't fare better—but their deaths were far, far worse.

The second clone caught them mid-flight, dragging them down by the legs and hanging them upside-down. It didn't kill them outright. No, it tore their limbs off one by one, drinking their blood as they screamed in agony. It savored their suffering before gulping them down like wine and meat at a feast.

Lysska's blood ran cold.

These weren't illusions.

She had been so wrong.

These were clones. Real, solid, terrifyingly cruel clones of Jade. And worse? They were far more sadistic than anything she'd ever seen from the dragon herself.

Because Jade—the real Jade—was finishing off her own targets. Cleanly. Quickly. Every strike was decisive, aimed at vital points. No excessive pain, no theatrics—just death, swift and merciful. As if, despite everything, she still held onto something… human.

Within a minute, all the elves were dead. All but one.

Doltharion. He hung limp, coiled in a glowing tentacle like a fish caught in a net. He didn't scream. Didn't beg. Just stared in abject terror, too scared to even twitch.

Then Jade turned around.

Lysska saw it.

Even she—cold, calculating Lysska—was startled by the look in Jade's eyes. Not pride. Not satisfaction.

Shock.

There was a flicker of horror on that draconic face as she watched what her clones had done. Lysska could read people better than most, and even in this monstrous form, Jade's expression was clear.

She hadn't expected this.

She wasn't in control. Not fully.

That only confirmed what Lysska suspected—Jade wasn't used to her powers yet. Not this version of them. Not this form.

But that didn't make them any less terrifying.

How did dragons work? How did they grow? Lysska didn't know. She didn't want to know. But just to be sure, she activated her Spirit Sight—her one way of peering into a person's core, of gauging their power.

The result made her stomach turn.

Jade's core wasn't bright or blazing. It was… dim. A faint red glow. Low red core, technically speaking.

But the monster before her had just single-handedly butchered half a dozen red cores in seconds.

That wasn't a low red core.

No way in hell.

Even with Lysska's talents—luck manipulation, tricks, every dirty tool she had—she wouldn't last a second.

The oppressive weight of the domain faded soon after. Which was fast, honestly, for a domain. They usually lasted longer. But considering how absurdly effective it had been, Lysska couldn't even complain.

Then the clones—if they could even be called that—turned toward each other.

And… swayed their butts.

Towards each other.

And towards Jade.

Before they slowly dissipated into glowing motes of ether.

It was deeply unsettling.

Also weirdly stupid.

But Lysska wasn't focused on that right now.

No. Now it was time. Time to confront Jade.

The golden dragon soared toward her—fast, massive, undeniable. Doltharion hung limp in her tentacles, like a discarded doll. Lysska stood her ground as Jade slowed and stopped in front of her, wings stirring the air like distant thunder.

Lysska shut her eyes.

She felt like she had just witnessed something forbidden. Something mortals weren't meant to see. But even with Jade so close—her power radiating like a furnace—last bits of Lysska's luck energy remained still. Stable.

That was… unexpected.

This needed to be tread carefully.

But before she could speak, Jade beat her to it.

"Well, there's only one reason I can guess you're up here, Lysska." Her voice was gravelly, distorted through her draconic form, yet still unmistakably hers. "I'm gonna take a leap of faith here and say you came here... for me?"

Kraven's fear bled through the bond, the massive crow letting out a nervous caw.

Lysska glanced at her companion, then back up. "Came to save you, actually." Her smirk was all edges. "Turns out heroics are cheaper than pride."

Jade's expression twisted—conflicted. She clearly had a dozen questions, but one concern came first.

"Can I trust you?"

A stupid question, in any other context. No one ever answered that truthfully unless it suited them. But this time... something shifted. Lysska felt it—like a divine weight pressing on her shoulders. A dragon's demand brooked no lies. Her luck stirred at last, not in warning, but… acknowledgment. Truth or ruin.

Slowly, deliberately, she pressed both palms over her sternum. Mana surged, coiling inward like a serpent constricting its prey. The Vor'akh vow wasn't just a promise, it was a knot, binding core to consequence. "Yes," she hissed, voice fraying as the seal took root. "Break this trust, and let my core shatter for it."

Agony lanced through her ribs—white-hot, precise—as the pact seared into her essence. She staggered, but didn't fall. Pain was an old friend; this was just a sharper hug.

Jade recoiled, frills flaring along her neck. For a heartbeat, her pupils shrank to needlepoints. Recognition. It was something she learned during her time with Vor'akh-- Dragons understood oaths deeper than blood. And here was one served raw, no barter, no loopholes—just a blade pressed to the wielder's own throat.

Jade still looked uncertain. But behind that massive, beastly mask, Lysska saw it—relief. A flicker, subtle and fleeting, but there.

Dragons were hoarders of secrets. Of power. Of oaths. And Lysska had just offered one freely.

It was a small gesture—but in the language of those old things, it was everything.

Jade exhaled. "I have questions."

Lysska straightened, wiping blood from her split lip. "And I've got answers. But—" Her pupils dilated, fracturing as Kraven's distant sightings flooded her vision: figures converging, swift. "—we're out of time. That little lightshow?" She jabbed a thumb at the sky. "Drew eyes. Hungry ones."

Jade stiffened.

"Fuck… already?!"

"Let's not pretend I'm innocent here," Lysska drawled, brushing nonexistent dust from her robe—a nervous habit masquerading as nonchalance. "I kicked the hornet's nest early. Spent the last hour playing tag with spellfire, buying time for your… metamorphic beauty sleep. Had I known you'd emerge as a walking apocalypse, I'd have brought popcorn instead of heroics."

Her smirk faded as she nodded downwards, where clouds coagulated like clotting blood. "You need to vanish. Now."

Jade tilted her head, one glowing eye narrowing.

"I've seen what you can do. That vanishing trick? It's wraith-like. I'm guessing full phasing into the Shadow Dimension. I don't know the mechanism, and I don't care. But if you can go, then go."

Her voice dropped low.

"Because the Flameclaw Matriarch and Sablethorn Patriarch are closing in. Fast."

That actually spooked Jade. The golden dragon flinched—visibly. Her eyes went wide for a beat before she recovered and gave Lysska a sharp salute.

Then her gaze flicked to Doltharion.

"What about him? I can't just—"

She paused. Blinked. Realization hit.

"Oh wait. Never mind. My maw's big enough now. One glitter prince should fit just fine."

'Glitter prince?' Lysska opened her mouth to protest but was too slow.

"See you at your office, Detective Lysska!"

With a flick of her tentacle, Jade smacked Doltharion upside the head, knocking him out cold mid-squirm. Then, with zero ceremony, she tossed him into the air and—rather horrifyingly—caught him in her jagged maw.

She didn't swallow him.

But she did clamp her serrated teeth around him with the kind of care reserved for eggshells.

Poor bastard.

Then, she flashed a sharp, unmistakably smug grin—and vanished on the spot.

Gone.

Silence fell for a moment.

Lysska's heart thundered in her chest. She was still processing the chaos when the clouds split. They parted like torn silk.

And there she was.

The Flameclaw Matriarch. Rage incarnate. Mounted on a colossal flaming sword, smoke curling behind her like a cloak of war.

And just behind her—Lord Veyan. His eyes locked on Lysska. And widened.

She exhaled. Slowly. Carefully.

And felt the last tiny thread of her luck unravel.

Out of fire, into the frying pan.

Just her fucking luck.

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