The air had lost its weight. The volcanic smoke no longer choked the sky, and the shadows of flame that had once danced across the broken forest floor now lay silent in ash. A path, neither carved nor marked, stretched ahead into the woods—away from the capital, away from thrones, crowns, and blood-soaked memories.
Ascalon walked first, silent but steady, booted feet pressing into soil still warm from battle. Behind him, invisible to the eyes of men, followed two ancient souls: one royal, one draconic—both watching from within.
The wind rustled through scorched leaves above. Unfamiliar birds cried in the distance.
"So… where does this path even lead?" Ascalon finally broke the quiet, eyes scanning the thickening trees. "Anybody got a map in their soul pocket?"
A low grumble, tinged with heat and gravel, resonated in his mind. "Many humans used to cross my lands from here… illegally. Their stench often reached me before they did." The Crimson Dragon sounded mildly irritated, as if recalling a memory both laughable and beneath him.
"Illegal crossings, huh? Sounds like smuggling. Merchants?" Ascalon asked, eyebrow raised.
There was a beat of silence.
"Yes," the prince finally answered. "But how did you know?"
"Wild guess," Ascalon replied casually, hands behind his head as he sauntered forward. "Merchants follow danger like moths to flame. Especially if there's coin behind it."
A moment passed. The forest thickened.
"Prince," Ascalon's tone shifted, thoughtful now, "You said you were killed in the throne room. And that it was the ministers who orchestrated your death."
"Yes," the prince replied solemnly. "I began receiving whispers that my life was in danger—rumors, letters, coded warnings. But they moved faster than I anticipated. I never got the chance to act. One day… they just did it."
Ascalon nodded, absorbing the weight of the words. "Alright, let's assume the ministers were the only conspirators. But there's one thing that just doesn't add up."
"What?" the prince asked, voice taut.
"If they wanted you dead—and succeeded in killing you in the throne room—why throw your body out in some remote wasteland? Why risk someone asking about the Royal Locket? Or where your corpse was buried? Why not parade your death as a message or at least secure the scene?"
There was silence. The prince didn't answer. He was thinking. Hard.
The dragon's voice echoed next. "Before I saw you, I came across other humans. Shady ones. They were riding a metal buggy. I devoured them."
Ascalon's eyes narrowed.
"They wore a crest," the dragon continued, "Just like the one on your cape before it was burnt. That's why I thought you were with them."
"Do you have any theory, Ascalon?" the prince asked slowly.
Ascalon nodded, but his expression darkened. "Tell me something. Did your armor go to the Royal Library if you were died?"
"Yes," the prince responded, voice tinged with confusion.
"That's the key," Ascalon said. "I think the ministers planned your assassination in the throne room with the intent to pin it on someone else. A scapegoat. Maybe rebels, maybe smugglers. But they didn't know everything. They didn't know about the Origin Flame—the dormant force inside you."
He paused, letting the tension rise like a tide.
"They thought your soul would die. That your armor and equipment would vanish like usual. But your soul didn't vanish. It lingered. Because of the Origin Flame. That power… it prevented the armor from disappearing. And the locket remained too. Maybe it glowed. Maybe it burned. Either way—it terrified them."
The prince swallowed, struck speechless.
"So they panicked," Ascalon continued. "Instead of handling it cleanly, they dumped your body far from the kingdom—in front of you," he glanced upward, "The Crimson Dragon. The most feared creature known to man."
The dragon growled low, but didn't deny it.
"The buggy riders you devoured—they were the ones who brought the body," Ascalon said with finality.
"Which means…" the dragon rumbled, "They're still not sure if the prince is dead."
A sharp inhale echoed in Ascalon's head. "Really?" the prince asked, the weight of realization crashing down.
The dragon chuckled. "It fits. They have no body. No locket. No armor. No proof. They thought the dragon would finish it—but I didn't. And now…" he paused, the amusement gone, replaced by solemn awe, "…he walks again."
A quiet settled between the three of them.
"This all really makes sense…" the prince murmured, voice shaking. "You truly think rationally, Ascalon. You predicted the merchant route. You stitched together the conspiracy. You…"
Ascalon turned his head slightly, a shadow of a grin playing at his lips. "It was a wild guess. Nothing more."
"Wild or not," the dragon said, "It pierced deeper than most blades."
Ahead, the woods parted slightly, revealing the faint shadow of a worn trail winding through unknown lands.
Behind them, kingdoms plotted in shadow.
Before them, a path no prophecy dared write.
The three—man, prince, dragon—walked onward, not knowing where it would lead. But perhaps, for the first time since death touched royalty and flame roared defiance… they walked together.