POV: Dareth
“Did you truly have to hand something of that value to him, Master?”
Dareth flew toward his nest, vast wings cutting through the wind. At his flank struggled a gray-scaled dragon, smaller, younger—barely maintaining formation.
He laughed softly.
“Value?” Dareth continued. “Its worth is exactly why it must be given to him.”
“Such a treasure could have strengthened you, Master. You could have refined it for yourself.”
Dareth finally glanced at his servant, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
“And why would I stain myself with something stolen from the Queen’s treasury?”
The servant stiffened.
“S-Stolen…?”
“Yes.”
“Then why—?”
“To amuse myself.”
Dareth’s smile widened, sharp and delighted.
“I recently gazed into a distant possible future,” he said, his tone laced with a trace of madness. “That defect survives—crawling into the next epoch untouched. No scars. No losses. No price.”
His claws flexed through the air.
“The thought of me struggling… while something beneath me drifting comfortably through fate—untouched by consequence—disgusts me.”
The servant blinked. “So… you plan to kill him?”
Dareth laughed again—this time louder.
“Kill him?” He shook his head. “Why would I kill him?”
The servant frowned. “What do you mean, Master?”
Dareth gestured lazily.
“When I looked into the future, I discovered why he survives that long. Do you know why?”
“Because… he grows powerful?”
“Oh no.” Dareth’s grin sharpened. “How could a defect ascend so quickly? Strength was never the reason.”
The servant stared blankly.
“Never mind, what did I expect from someone like you. You see he never had any fate tied to the Queen.” Dareth said as he looked at the confused look on his servant.
“…?”
“In every strand I observed, anything bound by fate to the Queen either died outright or faced misfortunes,” Dareth said, the playfulness draining from his face. “That fate is already sealed. No matter what I do, my own fate was bound long ago.”
He continued coldly, “But that defect’s strained relation with the dragon race spared him from forming any meaningful fate—with the Queen or with us.”
The servant swallowed.
“But that crystal…” he said quietly, “will change that. Fate demands balance. Give something of equal weight, and even a sealed thread can be shifted.”
You mean—”
“Yes.” His voice turned calm, certain. “Now I have the leverage I need to interfere with his fate.”
The servant hesitated.
“But… won’t he suspect you? Given how rare your gift is?”
“Yes—he certainly will. In fact, I’m sure he already does,” Dareth replied. “Someone like him doesn't survive this long without living in constant suspicion.”
He gave a low, amused hum.
“But suspicion changes nothing. A starving beast still bites the bait—even when it sees the hook.”
That was why Dareth had torn off one of the defect’s limbs. Not out of anger.
Demonstration.
Weakness must be felt to be believed.
Only then would he accept the crystal—fully aware that it reeked of manipulation. Fully aware it would drag him into something far greater.
Resurrecting the Queen?
Dareth’s expression darkened for a fraction of a second.
Yes, she had protected the non-defective males.
But protection was not affection.
To her, they were reserves. Elixirs. Potential sacrifices to be consumed and refined into superior attributes.
It had been fortunate when she died.
…If she had truly died.
“Master?” the servant ventured.
“Hm?”
“What misfortune did you see?”
Dareth was silent long enough for the wind between them to grow heavy.
“Fate begins to spiral the moment it is revealed before it is meant to unfold,” he said softly. “And I have no intention of being the one who tugs at that thread.”
“But Master… is this not cruel? Toward Lord Muzafir?”
Dareth slowed—not sharply, but with intention.
A thin smile returned.
“Cruel?” he repeated.
He turned his head.
The weight of his gaze pressed against the servant like descending night—ancient, indifferent, absolute.
“Am I cruel?”
“N-No, Master.”
“Precisely.”
He surged forward, wings snapping wide, wind exploding behind him.
“The crystal is merely a gift,” he added lightly.
A pause.
“A gift,” Dareth finished, voice smooth as polished obsidian, “that will drag him onto the chaotic gameboard… whether he wishes to play or not.”
POV: Muzafir
I stared at the purple crystal resting between my claws.
Its value was beyond measure—far surpassing anything I could hope to obtain through strength, influence, or patience alone.
One path promised peace.
The other led directly into whatever web Dareth had already spun.
To acquire a new magical attribute, one requires a catalyst aligned with that element. Typically, these are harvested from monster cores—or drawn from rare natural phenomena born of extreme conditions.
Without overwhelming power or authority, even securing a common elemental catalyst is near impossible.
Gravity?
That bordered on myth.
And then there were the runes.
Ordinary attribute crystals lack inscribed runes unless they originate from mystical cores. This one had been deliberately etched. The runic matrix was clean, intentional—crafted by hand.
Someone had shaped this.
And it was being offered to me.
By the same dragon who once refused to share a polymorph spell he had already mastered—let alone one he had never used.
I inspected the crystal repeatedly.
The catalyst was genuine.
The runes were authentic.
I searched for hidden threads—foreign mana, embedded aura, dormant prana signatures.
Nothing.
I'm certain he stole it directly from the Queen’s treasury. His claim that it was merely a copy was an insult—one he did not even bother disguising.
Dareth was petty.
Worse—he was methodical.
Whatever motive drove him, generosity was not among them.
The crystal—perfect, rare, intoxicating—was bait.
And he knew I would bite.
Because he understood something fundamental:
This opportunity would never present itself again.
No matter how long I lived.
He was right.
I would take it.
Without hesitation, I crushed the crystal.
Light detonated between my claws, shattering outward in a violent bloom before collapsing inward, followed by a torrent of runes surging into my mind
I exhaled slowly.
<Inspect>
Name: Muzafir Varkun
Species: Dragon
Attributes: Water, Gravity
Age: 331
Mana: 220.12
Aura: 196.99
Prana: 102.00
I studied the new addition in silence.
Since this attribute is not innate to me, I would have to decipher every rune, trace every interaction, and reshape the foreign framework into something I could truly command.
And for that—
I would need time.
Time, fortunately, is the one resource I possess in abundance.
And patience has always been my sharpest weapon.
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