(Yuuta-POv)
"Grandfather?" I repeated, almost dumbfounded.
"You mean your grandfather—the one who's been alive for thousands of years? That dragon?"
Erza didn't flinch. Her voice came sharp and cold.
"Yes."
Just yes. No emotion. No hesitation.
I remembered, once—months ago—she told me about him. Said he was the oldest and wisest among the Elders. A legend in their clan. I always imagined him as some ancient sage, calm and understanding, maybe even the kind who'd give cryptic advice and disappear into the wind.
But the port report Fiona showed us told a very different story.
No wisdom. No restraint.
Just destruction.
Twenty-five dead. Several injured. And an entire section of the coast frozen like time itself had stopped.
I couldn't imagine what it would mean if we ever came face to face with him. And from the look in Erza's eyes… she didn't want to either.
Knock knock.
A knock. Not loud, not weak. Just… perfect.
Too perfect. Like a practiced gentleman.
We all froze.
Fiona stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger on her belt. Her voice was low but urgent.
"Don't open it," she warned. "Something's out there. Something strong."
I looked at Erza.
Her expression darkened instantly. Her energy shifted.
"Yuuta," she said sharply, turning to me. "Take Elena. Get behind me. Now."
I clutched Elena close. She whimpered in my arms, scared but silent.
Silence followed.
Not the peaceful kind—but a suffocating, unnatural stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Then—FWUMP.
Fiona screamed.
She was yanked backward, lifted clean off the ground like some invisible hand had grabbed her by the throat.
"What the fuck!?" she shouted, thrashing wildly. "Let me go!"
I didn't even have time to reach for her before she was launched upward then sideway—straight through the balcony, glass and dust trailing behind her like a comet.
And then—
She was gone.
Erza and I ran to the balcony. I shielded Elena, but even through her fear, she peeked over my arm to see.
There was no sign of Fiona. Just wind and silence and the faint shimmer of magic residue in the air.
Erza extended her hand, scanning the fading magical imprint.
Her voice was low. Controlled. But I could hear the anger rising behind it.
"…He's here."
I turned slowly, dreading the answer.
"You mean… him?"
Erza narrowed her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "My grandfather."
Her grandfather? he's More like a ghost from a horror movie.
Knocking on doors with gentlemanly manners one minute, flinging people into the sky the next. And those weird sounds, flickers of presence, shifting temperatures—all of it? Just him, playing around.
Honestly, I wish it was a ghost. That would've been less terrifying than knowing it was one of the legendary dragons. The kind Erza rarely spoke about. The kind whose power wasn't just written in history—but written into it.
Erza was already moving. She stepped in front of me and Elena, eyes sharpened like blades. "Yuuta, take Elena. Stay behind me no matter what.
I nodded, heart racing.
We waited. Silence returned, stretched unnaturally long.
Then—a creak.
The front door opened… slowly.
No wind. No footsteps, nothing.
Just quiet.
I tightened my hold on Erza's hand, unsure of what we were about to face.
But no one was there.
Not outside the door.
No… he was already inside I can't see him bare eye was it magic or strength.
"Yuuta," Erza whispered.
I turned—and there he was.
we saw him.
Sitting on our couch.
No grand entrance. No aura flaring like a wildfire.
He was just… there.
Legs crossed, back relaxed, sipping coffee from a mug I was sure had been broken. And The couch—torn and stained from Fiona Sudden entery—looked freshly cleaned, cushions perfectly plumped. It didn't make sense.
The man looked human enough. Old, well-dressed, composed. His brown coat was tailored, his boots polished. He looked like the kind of man who ran ancient kingdoms in his spare time and didn't bother with explaining how.
He took another sip of coffee, then glanced down at the mug.
"Still bitter," he muttered. "But not bad."
I couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
It was his aura. He wasn't even trying, but every part of my body was screaming to run—to get Elena, grab Erza, and run.
He turned his gaze toward me, and for a second, I felt like I wasn't even standing in a room anymore.
It felt like I was being judged by time itself.
My knees buckled slightly.
"Elena," Erza whispered, tense but not afraid. "Stay with Papa."
But Elena didn't listen.
Her eyes lit up like stars. She wriggled out of my arms and bolted forward.
"Great-grandpa!"
The man's expression softened the instant he saw her. The weight in the air lightened—just a bit.
"There's my little ice spirit," he said, catching her mid-run and spinning her gently in his arms.
She giggled like nothing in the world had changed. "You look funny with that hat!"
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that didn't belong to a man who'd just frozen an entire port and crushed military ships like toys. "You've grown. What is this? Four new teeth?"
"Five!" she corrected proudly, holding up a hand.
"Impressive," he said, booping her nose. "You'll be a full-fledged frost dragon in no time."
Erza's arms were folded, her face unreadable. But I caught a flicker of something behind her eyes.
"That's your grandfather?" I asked, unsure whether I was dreaming or dying.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah… that's him."
Not exactly what I expected. I thought he'd be some ancient beast in a robe, spouting things like "I SHALL ERASE MORTALITY!"
But this man?
He looked human rather than dragon.
Erza… she was quiet, arms folded, but her eyes were soft. Not in fear. Not in defense. Just… thoughtful. Sad, maybe.
"You never told me he was like this," I whispered.
She didn't look at me when she answered.
"Because I forgot," she said softly. "He wasn't always a monster. Before the war… before the betrayal… he was a grandfather. The kind that used to carry me across the clouds when I was Elena's age."
We both watched as Elena hugged him again, this time tighter.
He smiled down at her. "And why didn't you call me, little one?
She poked her fingers together, sheepish.
"Because I was with Papa…"
Her voice was small, innocent. But in that still moment, it echoed louder than anything else in the room.
Her grandfather didn't answer at first. He just stood there, staring at her with a strange look in his eyes—caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. For a brief second, he seemed… human.
Then, everything changed.
The lights above flickered violently, casting broken shadows across the walls. A cold wind, unnatural and dry, whispered through the cracks of the sealed windows. The air pressed in on us like it had weight, like the room itself was bending under some invisible force.
Even the ceiling groaned, like it was holding its breath.
Erza tensed. I could feel it from behind her—the surge of her aura rising like a wall between us and what was coming.
Her grandfather slowly lowered Elena to the ground, brushing a gentle hand across her head.
"Go to your mother now, little one," he said softly. "I need to speak with the… gardener."
Elena hesitated, glancing between the two of us, sensing something wasn't right. But she obeyed, toddling quickly back into my arms. I hugged her tight, her warmth grounding me as the room grew colder by the second.
And then he stood.
One fluid motion. Graceful. Effortless.
But it felt like a mountain had risen from the earth.
He looked at me now—not with casual interest, not with curiosity, but with intent. The kind that didn't need words to explain the danger.
His smile, the one he'd worn like a mask moments ago, was gone. Completely.
His eyes, piercing and pale as frost, locked onto mine.
And I felt it.
The weight of time. Of judgment. Of wrath.
Not anger. Not rage.
Something older. Deeper. Like the cold patience of a glacier, ready to break mountains if it moved.
Erza stepped between us, instinctively protective, her aura surging quietly as she locked eyes with her grandfather.
"Don't," she said under her breath. "Not here. Not now."
But he didn't even glance at her.
He only saw me.
"So," he murmured, voice low but cutting like a blade drawn slowly across stone, "this is the one."
I swallowed hard, but it felt like my throat had turned to stone.
"This… fragile thing is the human," he continued, each word laced with contempt, "who dared to plant a seed in the dragon bloodline."
To be continue...