Demonic Dragon: Harem System

Albert walked a few steps across the hall, the sound of his boots echoing like steel on crystal. His golden eyes flashed with growing irritation.

"If you removed me from Vorah on a political whim, you will regret it, Thalyss," he growled. 'I have already sent ambassadors with sufficient seals. All I want to know is: what was so important that it required my personal presence?'

Thalyss did not move. Only her eyes narrowed slightly, like a creature watching prey that was too impatient.

"Albert," she said slowly, as if the name weighed heavily on her tongue, 'if I had summoned you for political reasons alone, we would have conversed via water reflections, as we always have. But this...' She raised her hand, and the light inside the palace flickered. "This... is not diplomacy. It is survival."

Albert stopped. The tension in his shoulders was visible now. A muscle in his jaw throbbed.

Thalyss rose from her throne.

The temperature in the hall dropped a few degrees. Strands of mist began to form around the pillars. When she spoke again, there was something in her voice—a strange, deep, almost supernatural vibration.

"A god is within my kingdom."

Albert frowned, staring at her for a moment as if trying to decipher a joke in poor taste.

"If that's a metaphor—"

"It's not." Her reply cut like breaking ice.

The silence that followed was thick.

Thalyss took a step forward, and the floor split beneath her feet in a crack of glistening ice. Her eyes, once impassive, now burned with something between fear and fascination.

"Not a spirit. Not an ancient creature. A god." She spoke precisely, as if afraid that the air itself would distort her words. 'I felt his presence seven days ago. First as a subtle pulse. Like the beating of a sleeping heart. But now... he has awakened.'

Albert remained motionless, but his eyes were alert, cold, assessing.

"And why call me?" he said, his voice cautious but firm. 'What do you want from me, Thalyss? Sacrifices? Sorcerers? An army?'

She looked at him as if he were a child.

"I want wisdom. And I want sanity."

Albert laughed—without humor.

"You've come to the wrong place."

Thalyss moved closer. Now they were only a few steps apart. The veil of formality between them dissolved like mist in the sun.

"You are the only one of us who saw the gates of Arven fall. Who faced the return of Kalzaar. Who survived the Battle of Enril. And who... bargained with entities that even archmages dare not name." She lowered her voice. "You know the taste of something beyond this world."

Albert did not respond. His eyes had narrowed.

"Tell me, then," she whispered, "if a force like that—primitive, indifferent, hungry—began to move again... wouldn't you want to be prepared? Or rather... wouldn't you want to know if it was the first to awaken?"

A shiver ran down Albert's spine. Not from fear, but from the familiarity of it.

He had felt it before.

The vibration in the air. The call that came from nowhere. The shuddering of reality at the edges of his vision.

But this time, it was different. Deeper. Older.

"...Show me," he said at last.

Thalyss nodded once, and with a wave of her hand, the palace walls began to dissolve into translucent waves. The ceiling crumbled like an illusion. Around them, slowly revealing itself, was a frozen ocean—a circle of thick ice where nothing should live.

And in the center, a crack. A tear.

From which rose thick black smoke, and sounds... sounds of words that did not belong to the human language.

Thalyss spoke, almost reverently:

"He does not speak as we do. He does not desire as we do. But he is hungry. And if he is awakening... then the flames in Vorah will not be the only ones burning."

...

[Vorah]

Smoke still rose in timid columns above the broken rooftops, and the sky over Vorah, even under the morning sun, seemed gray—as if the air itself were in mourning.

The once vibrant city now looked like a fresh corpse. The wide avenues were covered with rubble, overturned carriages, broken beams, and bodies covered with hastily thrown cloaks. There was a smell in the air—of burnt stone, dried blood... and shattered magic.

Pigeons and crows fought for space on broken eaves, while groups of citizens, armed with shovels, swords, or just their bare hands, frantically dug through the wreckage of their homes. Screams. Cries. The distant sound of new magical explosions—perhaps traps, perhaps creatures on the loose. No one knew what was safe anymore.

At the center of this chaos, the former headquarters of the Relic Hunters' Guild was now just a charred shadow of its former self.

The four-story building had collapsed almost completely, as if struck by a giant claw — the remaining columns were crooked, burned, about to collapse.

But among the rubble, two figures moved with lethal precision.

Samira was a figure of pure speed and rage. Her light armor was covered in dust and cuts, her hood torn off, her white hair plastered to her face with sweat. Her magical broadsword sliced through beams, crackling with arcane sparks with each impact.

She pulled a bundle of wood from atop a cracked beam and shouted, "Is anyone alive down there?!"

A muffled sound—a weak cough—answered from beneath the rocks.

"Rogue, over here!" Rogue appeared on the other side, emerging like a shadow amid the smoke. His tall, slender body was wrapped in a torn cloak, his eyes hidden by a mask. She had to cover her nose because of the strong smell of dust and the residue left by the dragons.

"There are three heartbeats below that," he murmured, his voice low and calculated. "Probably Elan, Kaith, and Miro."

"Kaith...?" Samira paused for a second, surprised. 'I thought she left yesterday with the southern squad.'

"She came back at dawn. They were investigating the Circle of Runes in the woods. It was your idea, remember?"

Rogue clenched his teeth. It was his idea. Another one that had almost cost lives. That order had been given well before they went to the Elven Kingdom. Samira then spoke

"Then let's get them out before this shit collapses again," she said, and dove under a narrow opening without waiting for a response.

Inside, the air was hot and suffocating. The smell of iron and molten stone was almost unbearable. But she pressed on, sliding through cracks and gaps until she found the three—trapped under a fallen beam, with a magical protective field about to collapse.

Elan could barely keep his eyes open. Miro was bleeding from his leg. Kaith, even with his face covered in soot, still held his spear with both hands, protecting the two of them.

"Samira?..." Kaith murmured, surprise and relief in his voice.

"Quiet," said Samira, already cutting the straps of the beam. 'You're going to get out of this alive.'

Outside, Rogue enlarged the area of the spell, controlling the collapse around them as if holding a sleeping beast by the neck.

"Five seconds and all this will come crashing down," she growled, her eyes glowing blue. 'Samira, now.'

She emerged like an arrow, pulling Kaith by the shoulders, followed by Miro, leaning on her arm. Elan came in Rogue's arms, who had lifted him effortlessly with gravity-reversing magic.

Behind them, the guild collapsed completely.

A cloud of dust exploded to the sides. The newly rescued hunters coughed and choked, but they were alive.

Samira fell to her knees, exhausted. But she didn't stop.

"There are more people underground. I saw signs of active energy. Someone activated the safe in the red room—maybe they took refuge there."

Rogue nodded. 'Then we don't have time.' She wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand.