Actions. Such a flimsy word, tossed around carelessly. Yet every heartbeat of existence is woven from them—every gesture, every refusal to lift a finger, is still a deliberate choice. And every choice casts a stone into the pond. No one walks away dry.

Even if you stubbornly avert your eyes from the wake you carve, maybe—just maybe—you catch a sliver of the wreckage you've wrought. Often far too late to grasp how vast the ruin truly sprawls.

Snežana Flameclaw cast her gaze skyward, eyes dull, almost absent. Ominous clouds churned above, pregnant with storm. Rain was likely. It was fitting. The hour had come. Doom, ever punctual, was at the gates. The blasphemers would taste Ancestral reckoning.

Her focus snapped down to the trembling human sprawled below—young, yet undeniably a defiler. Snežana had nearly bitten on the girl's barbs. Briefly. Was this the squalor Jade had endured? Her attention locked back onto the gasping, pallid figure. For a single, scalding moment, she considered reducing this entire miserable patch of earth to glass—purely for the monumental audacity of their transgression: desecrating the sacred.

Her stare lingered on the squat, dust-choked house. A single storey of neglect. Months of decay etched into its timbers. The corners of her lips flickered, cold contempt in the curl.

Then she spoke, firm, poised, imperious.

"How long," Snežana called, her words aimed like arrows past the girl, towards the main door's stubborn wood, "do you plan to stew in your own cowardice within? Show yourself. State your business. Or do you prefer to fester behind that threshold?"

The temperature plunged. Warmth fled the world like a thief abandoning a vault. Frost clawed greedily across the ground. Her eyes ignited, molten and utterly without quarter.

"I possess methods," she added. "Escape is not numbered among them."

She didn't so much as twitch. Regal in stillness, a living monument.

The true irritation was the gathering crowd—a clutch of locals drawn by noise or terminal curiosity. She felt no kinship for these faithless humans, yet retained just enough sanity to withhold transforming this into a charnel pit.

For now.

Besides, fire was no instrument for blind butchery. It was the element in which she had ascended—Gold Core forged in its crucible. Fire was conquest incarnate. But not the loud, pompous kind. No, fire conquered in silence.

It was not merely flame as seen in the mortal world. It was the devouring hush of infernal fire—the eternal blaze of the Hell Plane, patient and cruel. It was not a shout. It was a whisper that burned.

She closed her eyes. Mana surged through her. Heat flickered along her skin in lazy licks of flame as she floated aloft. The entire region opened to her mind's eye. The girl at her feet looked up, horror plastered across her face.

Snežana had felt the girl's clumsy spiritual probe earlier—untrained, fumbling. A Gold Core cultivator could vanish from such perception like smoke. Let the child watch. Let her comprehend the sheer, terrifying scale of the game she'd blundered into.

Above them, the sky blackened. A massive construct—wreathed in flame—manifested above the town like a crown of damnation.

Snežana raised her hands. The matrix spiraled outward, fire and form entwined.

[Lambs of Sacrifice]

A brutally simple spell. Apocalyptically efficient.

Every soul within the town's quaint confines was marked in a single, breathless instant. The unseen sacrificial brand seared into their essence. One by one, they crumpled. Stamina, mana—siphoned away. Emptied like cracked jugs.

Even the one beside her boots.

All it would've taken now was a follow-up spell—a single cast—and the entire town could've been offered up to the Devil in one sweep. Blink, and the place would be ash. And their deaths would not be merciful. Not fast. And definitely not clean.

But Snežana gritted her teeth and cut the spell short.

Tempting as it was, she knew better. Pulling that trigger would only tangle Fate's threads even worse than they already were. If she actually wanted to make it to the end of this mess alive, she needed fewer variables. Not more.

From the doorway, shadows thickened unnaturally as it turned foggy. The fog whispered and then those whispers became form. The Astral Beast revealed itself at last.

It was massive—skeletal, draped in warped armor black as a dead star. A great spectral blade hovered at its side. It looked like a specter, but the energy rolling off it? No, this wasn't a ghost. This thing was an Astral Beast, no doubt about it.

There had been a time, long ago, when people formed contracts with these beasts—tamed them, even fought alongside them. That art perished in the same cataclysm that scoured its era bare.

Still… this one was tamed. You could tell by the way it moved. Controlled. Disciplined. Someone had left it here, no accident. Its master? Definitely a Gold Core at the very least, given this thing's strength hovered around mid-Red Core.

But the real question was: why was it here? Did someone else realize this house once hosted a dragon?

Yeah… that made things messy. Very messy.

Only one solvent remained for such a stain.

"I posed a question, Astral Dweller. Answer it."

It responded with a bone-dry clack of its jaws, expelling a relay sphere from between skeletal fingers. Snežana's molten eyes narrowed. A razor-thin thread of mana lashed out—probing for curses, hexes, any parasitic signature clinging to the artifact.

Fire magic had always played nicely with dark arts—it could sniff out hexes the way bloodhounds catch scent.

But no, this one was clean. So, she took it.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The moment her hand touched it, the relay spun up and floated in orbit around her, flaring to life.

[Well, that was efficient. Apologies for the discourtesy, Flameclaw Matriarch. My constructs receive directives, not etiquette lessons. Manners are… inefficient.]

A soft chuckle followed—rich, smooth as poisoned velvet. Annoyingly, infuriatingly familiar.

Snežana felt a distinct, painful throb ignite behind her left eye. Naturally.

"Gweneth Draycotte…"

[Hah! The lady herself, Esteemed Matriarch. How flattering that the legendary Snežana Flameclaw recalls my humble tones. Such delicious fortune, wouldn't you agree?]

That voice. That cloying, self-satisfied cadence. Snežana felt a vein pulse like a live wire at her temple.

Of all the vipers in the garden. It had to be her.

And worse—another confirmed Gold Core. One whose cunning made underestimation a fatal luxury.

Gweneth Draycotte. She was one of the very few people Snežana kept an eye on at all times, and with good reason. Every other Gold Core? Snežana could trace them. She knew their roots, their stories, the ripples they made as they rose. Prodigies—loud, documented, predictable in their ambition.

But Gwen had nothing like that.

No paper trail. No past. Just appeared out of nowhere a decade ago, suddenly parading around as the "daughter" of the Grey Tower Master in the human lands. Snežana had tried—really tried—to backtrace her, peel the layers and find the truth.

Nothing.

The Tower Master had no record of children. Then came his unfortunate, very well-timed death. And the strange magic Gwen wielded—alien even by ancient standards.

It felt like she had blinked into existence one day, fully formed and already a problem.

And now she was the one Snežana ran into here. Yeah. This was fate throwing hands.

"Enough theatrics, Nightmare," Snežana rasped.

The moniker wasn't vanity. It was earned. A warning label. Those who'd questioned her Gold Core status? Their demises became… instructional. Violently conclusive.

Gold Cores wore their strangeness like armor; Snežana knew hers was ornate. But Gwen? Gwen made the primal parts of Snežana's mind itch. An uncanny wrongness humming beneath the surface.

Tolerance, however, didn't mean indulgence.

She briefly considered hexing the relay just to shut her up, but that would only stoke the already simmering tension. Better to keep it direct.

"Why infest this particular patch of filth, Draycotte?"

[Well… can't a concerned auntie check on her dear, abandoned niece?] The relay pulsed, Gweneth's voice dripping saccharine venom. [You did publicly anoint me your 'sister' at the Gala, darling. Pre-Matriarchal primping. Recall? Simpler, pettier times.]

Snežana pinched the bridge of her nose. That 'sister' farce was pure damage control. Preventing Gwen from casually excising several noble bloodlines between courses.

"The only thing keeping you corporeal right now is my monumental restraint," Snežana stated, each word glacial. "CEASE. TOYING. WITH. FORCES. YOU. CANNOT. FATHOM."

[Oh, Snež… always the dramatic wallflower…]

"Location. Now."

[Not even whispered on a dying breath.]

"I will unearth you."

[And I'll be dust on the solar wind before your shadow falls.]

Of course. Fate's opening gambit was already a sucker punch.

"What precisely have you unearthed?"

[A light excavation. A peek behind the curtain. Enough to see your precious clan wasn't just sanctimonious… it was deliciously rotten at the core. The scale of sacrilege against the Scaled Ones? Oh that was exquisite betrayal. Truly, my kind of tragedy.]

Snežana's molten gaze narrowed to slits.

"So. Almost nothing of consequence."

[Touche. Your clan was admirably thorough scrubbing their tracks clean... barring the rather large, dragon-shaped oversight they abandoned in these mortal mudfields. Beyond your elders trembling in corners, muttering about unspeakable 'atrocities' without ever naming the sin... well, flaying them like overripe fruit might have yielded specifics. But alas, excessive screaming tends to attract matriarchs. And having you dogging my heels right now? Inconvenient. I have... delicate operations underway.]

A motive. Gweneth always had a motive. And the rot festering in Lithrindel... if left unchecked, it wouldn't stop until the continent itself was necrotic pulp.

"We need to talk. Properly."

[Oh, now the mighty Flameclaw seeks conversation! How the tides turn!]

"Don't make me reconsider my restraint," Snežana warned, the air crackling.

A low, chilling laugh vibrated through the relay. [Relax. Our reunion is imminent. Judging by the... fragments... I glean from your precious 'daughter', your immediate attention is rather demanded elsewhere. Varkaigrad, perhaps?]

True. Damnably true. Elven shadows lengthened, weaving pacts with the Vor'akh. Treason slithered within the Iron Pact's own leadership. Their last smokescreen? Masterful. Too masterful. She'd been expertly diverted. If not for Jade... from the fractured echoes she'd gathered... Jade had sealed the rift. Jade had summoned that terrifying, world-stopping presence during the assault.

She was a full dragon now. The realization struck Snežana like a physical blow, leaving her vision momentarily bleached. Ancestors...

"She vanished. After preventing the middle district's annihilation."

[Oh, she breathes still, if that's your fretful query.]

"Do you still have contact?" Snežana demanded, urgency cutting through.

[I maintain... channels.]

A fragile, treacherous hope surged within Snežana's chest.

[But informing her of your desire for a cozy reunion? Out of the question. Can't have the fledgling caged, you understand.]

"It's the safest place for her! You know the threats!"

[I offered similar... sanctuaries. She declined. Proving remarkably resourceful. A dragon, dear Snežana, is not meant for bars. Grasp this. Soon. Aid her subtly if you must. But never seize her reins. Her path is hers to forge. Or break.]

Snežana's teeth ground, the taste of copper sharp on her tongue.

[Besides...] Gweneth's voice dropped to a conspiratorial purr, [...your focus must be your own den of vipers. Monitor those trembling elders. Alerting you was inevitable. But who else might stir when they learn the truth that shattered your world? The dragon they crippled in the egg... is whole. And free. Do you imagine they'll simply wring their hands and pray?]

"Which is precisely why I need her location!" Snežana hissed, frustration boiling over. "To shield her! To prevent further sacrilege!"

[Shielding her yourself? That would ring every alarm bell from here to the frozen wastes. Unless you plan to spirit her away to some lightless oubliette. Which. Won't. Happen.]

"Ancestors weep..."

[I confess, a pang of regret stabs me – missing the glorious bedlam unfolding in Varkaigrad! Stuck here in festering Lithrindel... for now. But fret not, sister. The Spirit Hunt festival nears. Varkaigrad's slumbering heart will awaken. Pulses of ancient power... resonating. Tell me, Flameclaw Matriarch... how will that awakened heart beat when it senses her presence?]

Snežana stared into the churning sky. "I have no idea." The admission felt like ash in her mouth.

[Well, I'll be front row for the spectacle. Not merely to observe, Matriarch. But to shield her from you. Though honestly? I suspect she'll dance through the fire regardless. It's… uncanny. Her chaos flows like a directed river. Too precise for mere chance. As if something guides the storm.]

"Dragons," Snežana murmured. "Every scroll, every crumbling tablet warns: you never truly know."

[Only the blind fail to see the design. While I'd adore dissecting your existential woes further, prolonged communication… risks exposure. Certain borders grow watchful.]

Lithrindel. The confirmation clicked. But the what remained.

"What are you doing there, Gweneth?"

[Staving off continental annihilation. Simple, really. Though… pieces are moving on your board too. Varkaigrad stirs. And I'm… temporarily understaffed. Consider it your problem now. Keep the city intact until I arrive. We'll settle accounts then. Ta.]

The relay sphere's light died mid-pulse. The silence that followed was absolute, colder than the frost still clawing at the earth.

Snežana didn't move. Didn't breathe. Then, like a marionette with strings severed, she collapsed onto her knees before the derelict house. The packed dirt felt like stone beneath her. She stayed there, the only sound the frantic hammering of her own heart against her ribs.

Actions.

The word echoed in the hollowed-out space behind her eyes.

Every choice. Every refusal. Every arrogant decree spat by her clan's elders in the echoing halls of their sanctums. They'd sown the wind with blades.

Now the whirlwind answered. And the divine fury they'd sought to chain, cripple, and control… was coming home.

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