King Theron Sent His Adopted Daughter, Elara Veyrith, to the Dragon's Maw for a "Sacrifice" — But Awakened Her Ancient Dragon Kin Instead
King Theron’s voice boomed across the Dragon’s Maw altar, slicing through the stunned silence that followed Draven’s transformation and the distant dragon roars. His face, moments ago etched with terror, had hardened into a mask of righteous fury.
“This is sorcery!” he shrieked, his finger pointed directly at me, trembling with manufactured outrage.
“A demonic illusion, orchestrated by this… this *traitorous witch*!”
His gaze swept over the gathered nobles and guards, locking onto each face with an intensity that dared them to doubt him. He claimed my very presence was a blight, a calculated attempt to undermine his rightful rule with dark magic.
“She wields forbidden powers, seeking to usurp the throne!”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mix of fear and confusion. The image of the King, my adoptive father, condemning me with such venom, stung more than any physical blow.
His words twisted everything I knew, everything I had believed about my life. I was supposed to be a loyal daughter, not a tool of chaos.
My fingers instinctively tightened around the carved wooden box Sir Kael had given me, its edges digging into my palm. It felt like a small, stubborn defiance against the storm of lies Theron was unleashing.
“Seize her!” Theron commanded, his voice cracking with a false urgency.
“Bring her to summary judgment! She will face execution for high treason, a clear warning to any who dabble in such dark arts!”
The Royal Guards, momentarily frozen by the appearance of Draven and the dragons, now surged forward, their polished armor glinting in the pale dawn light. Their movements were swift, practiced, converging on me from all sides.
Draven, now fully human, stood protectively in front of me, his eyes blazing with an ancient, untamed fire. He shifted, a low growl rumbling in his chest, a sound that spoke of distant, greater power.
“You lie, Theron!” Draven roared, his voice echoing with an unnatural resonance that momentarily made the ground vibrate beneath our feet.
“You stole her! You murdered our mother!”
A ripple of emerald light pulsed from Draven, not a weapon, but a raw surge of energy. It wasn’t an attack, but a sudden, intense burst of wind, a whirlwind of invisible force that slammed into the approaching guards.
They stumbled, their ranks momentarily broken, their shields clattering against the stone. It was a brief, precious window.
Draven grabbed my arm, his grip firm. “Run, Elara! Find proof! Show them the truth!”
He pushed me forward, away from the altar, towards the edge of the panicked crowd. The air was thick with the dust kicked up by the scrambling guards and the terrified whispers of the onlookers.
I didn’t hesitate, my legs moving on instinct. The guards, regaining their footing, shouted orders, their focus still on Draven, who stood his ground, a defiant figure against the backdrop of the Dragon’s Maw.
I plunged into the throngs of people, weaving through their startled bodies. The square, usually a place of quiet reverence, had erupted into pandemonium.
People shrieked, scrambling to escape the chaos near the altar, their faces a mix of terror and confusion. I became another fleeting shadow in their panicked flight, indistinguishable from the common folk.
One of the Royal Guards, a hulking man named Commander Borin, spotted me for a split second. “The witch! She flees!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the din.
He gestured wildly, trying to redirect his men, but the sheer press of bodies made it impossible for them to move quickly. Theron’s cruel words, his public denouncement, echoed in my mind with every frantic step.
“A manipulative orphan, always seeking attention,” Theron had sneered just moments before, his voice carrying clearly to the front rows of the audience, a deliberate, personal strike.
“She played on my good graces, but her true, dark nature always simmered beneath the surface.”
He had made it sound as though my entire childhood, every moment of affection and care I had believed was real, had been a calculated deception on my part. The insult felt like a burning brand.
My chest ached with a pain that went beyond the exertion of running. He had not only tried to murder me, but now he sought to erase my very character, to poison my memory in the minds of the people.
I ducked behind a merchant’s stall, sending a cascade of dried herbs tumbling to the ground. The stall owner cried out in alarm, but I kept moving, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The narrow alleyways of the capital, usually bustling with morning activity, were now choked with fleeing citizens. Their faces, once familiar, were now a blur of fear and desperation.
I could still hear the shouts of Theron’s guards, closer now, their determination unforgiving. They would not rest until they had me.
Draven’s words, “Find proof,” became a mantra in my head. But what proof? And where would I even begin to look?
The wooden box in my hand was my only tangible connection to the truth, to Sir Kael’s mysterious warning. Its weight felt heavy, a promise and a burden both.
I emerged into a smaller, quieter square, momentarily catching my breath behind a stone fountain. The sounds of pursuit were fainter here, muffled by the winding streets.
But the distant roars of the awakened dragons still reverberated through the very stones of the city, a primal soundtrack to the unfolding nightmare. They were a constant, terrifying reminder of the new, unpredictable power that had been unleashed.
I was alone, branded a sorceress and a traitor by the only father I had ever known, fleeing through a city that now sought my capture. The taste of betrayal was a bitter one, clinging to my tongue like dust.
My gaze fell upon a discarded, mud-stained doll in the gutter, its painted smile chipped and faded. It looked much like the dolls I had played with as a child, before Theron’s dark ambition had revealed itself.
It was a small, innocent thing, now tossed aside, much like my own past. The world had turned upside down, and I had nowhere left to go but forward.
A sudden clang of armor echoed from a nearby street, jerking me back to the present. They were still hunting, relentless.
I pushed myself away from the fountain, my bare feet slapping against the cold cobblestones. The city was a maze, and I was a cornered animal, but I would not be caught easily.
I glanced back one last time towards the Dragon’s Maw, a dark silhouette against the rising sun. My brother was still there, facing down the full might of the Royal Guard, buying me time I desperately needed.
The carved wooden box was still clutched tight in my hand, a small, quiet enigma in the heart of my frantic escape. I had to understand what it meant.
I took a deep breath, forcing my panic down, and melted into the labyrinthine alleys, praying for a hidden path, a moment of respite, anything to escape King Theron’s ruthless purge. The city was no longer home, but a trap.
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