The village of Vey slumbered beneath a sky painted in hues of rose gold. Tucked between rolling green hills and cradled by whispering forests, it was a place untouched by the chaos of the world.

  Cobblestone paths wound through the sleepy town, where wooden cottages stood proud with ivy-covered walls and smoke curling from chimney tops. The scent of fresh dew clung to the grass, and somewhere, a distant wind chime danced lazily in the breeze.

  It was a morning like every other.

  And for Vey… that was enough.

  Sammy leaned against the crooked fence of a pasture just beyond the market, one leg propped up, twin blades strapped across his back. He looked like he belonged to the wind—lean and agile, his dark hair tousled by the breeze, his amber eyes half-lidded in the warm glow of morning light. His monkey-like tail swayed lazily behind him, the tuft at the end twitching every now and then in time with his thoughts.

  His clothes were practical—worn leather layered over light fabric, perfect for climbing rooftops or leaping headlong into trouble. And he often did both. He watched with amusement as his best friend danced through the market crowds.

  Lola.

  Sunlight shimmered against her golden-blonde pigtails as she twirled past merchant stalls, flashing a cheerful smile at every vendor. Her long rabbit ears flicked in rhythm with her graceful movements, always listening, always alert.

  She was barefoot, of course. She hated shoes. Claimed she could run faster without them. And she probably could.

  “Morning, Miss Sylverine!” an elderly florist called out.

  Lola pivoted mid-step, offering a curtsy and a wink. “Morning, Mister Harrow! Those lilies better not wilt before I get back!”

  A warm chuckle rose from the vendor as she vanished into the next row of stalls.

  Sammy chuckled to himself. “She’s gonna charm the whole damn town before noon,” he murmured, mostly to the wind. A familiar gust answered him.

  Nimby—a creature too charming to be real. About the size of a loaf of bread, he had soft, burnt-orange fur and a round belly of fluffy white. His enormous ears twitched at the slightest sound. Wide, impossibly blue eyes shimmered with mischief and wonder.

  Tiny, clawed paws fidgeted constantly, as if always on the verge of pouncing—or fleeing. Most striking of all were the delicate, bat-like wings folded neatly against his back—leathery, veined, and faintly translucent like something out of a fairytale.

  He hovered more often than he walked, chirping and chattering in a language only Sammy seemed to understand. Nimby landed lightly on the fence beside him, talons clicking against the wood. With practiced grace he folded his wings, the morning sun catching in the shimmer of his fur as his sharp eyes scanned the market like a silent sentinel.

  “Took the long route, didn’t you?” Sammy said, side-eyeing the little scout.

  Nimby let out a soft chirp and turned his head sharply toward the distant hills, where clouds loomed faintly on the horizon.

  “Storm coming?” Sammy asked, tone casual. Nimby’s silence felt heavier than usual.

  Lola bounded up moments later, barefoot and grinning, carrying a small pouch of sweetbread. “You two look like statues. Market’s alive, smells amazing, and I got these for free.” She flashed the pouch. “Sammy, catch!”

  She tossed a piece, which he caught effortlessly in his mouth.

  “You spoil me,” he said through a mouthful, grinning.

  Lola giggled, then paused as she noticed Nimby’s tense posture. “What’s wrong, Nimby?”

  Nimby flapped his wings once and chirped again—a low, warning note. His eyes were locked on something far beyond the town, something the others couldn’t see.

  Sammy’s smile faded slightly, his gaze following Nimby’s line of sight. “Huh. Weird.”

  Lola tilted her head, her voice softer now. “Feels… still. Too still.”

  The trio stood in silence for a moment, the wind holding its breath. Then Lola shook her head, ears flicking back. “Maybe I’m imagining things.”

  “Yeah,” Sammy said, though his tone was unsure. “Probably just the calm before the—”

  The ground trembled. Just faintly. A single shudder beneath their feet. They all froze.

  Lola’s ears snapped upright.

  Nimby launched into the air with a sharp cry.

  Sammy straightened, eyes narrowing as he reached for the hilts of his blades.

  The quake passed as quickly as it came, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was expectant.

  Sammy exchanged a glance with Lola, then looked toward the heart of Vey, where villagers were starting to murmur

  and look around in confusion.

  “Okay,” Sammy muttered. “Now it’s not just me.”

  Lola nodded, her eyes wide. “Something’s changed.”

  Nimby circled above them, wings cutting swift lines through the air. A warning. A promise.

  Something was waking. And the days of quiet were over.

  A few hours had passed since the quake shook the heart of Vey.

  The once-bustling market had dimmed. Nervous tension lingered in the air, like the village itself was holding its breath. Stalls were half-packed, vendors casting anxious glances toward the forested horizon. Even the birds were quiet, the wind still.

  Sammy stood at the edge of the main square, tail flicking, blades resting uneasily at his sides.

  Nimby fluttered above in short, tight loops, as if sensing something just out of reach. Lola stood beside him, her long ears twitching constantly.

  “No word from Renward?” Sammy asked, voice low.

  Lola shook her head. “He’s in the vault. I heard he pulled old scrolls out of the sealed archives. If he’s that deep into study… it’s serious.”

  Sammy’s gaze lingered on the trees beyond the village.

  Then came the wind—cold, wrong. The sky dimmed unnaturally, clouds coiling overhead. A low rumble rolled through the earth. Rhythmic. Intentional.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Boom.

  Mist bled in from the forest, thick and alive, curling low over the cobbles. Then—movement. Trees shifted. Bent.

  Nimby shrieked.

  Sammy’s blades were in his hands before the silhouette even formed. “Lola—”

  “I see it.” She responded leaping to her feet.

  A monstrous dragon slipped from the fog like a nightmare. Serpentine and silent. Its luminescent scales shimmered with moisture, and its breath swirled the mist into haunting patterns. It glided just above the rooftops, wings beating slow and heavy, before lowering toward the town square.

  Panic erupted. Doors slammed. Crates overturned. But Sammy and Lola didn’t move.

  “That thing’s hunting,” Sammy muttered.

  Lola nodded, planting her feet into the ground. “We hold it here. No one else gets hurt.”

  The dragon turned toward them.

  It didn’t roar—it exhaled. A freezing blast of mist surged forward, spiralling unnaturally as it charged.

  Sammy launched into the air, blades flashing, carving a shallow slash along its jaw.

  The dragon reeled, then lunged.

  Sammy was a blur—rolling, dodging, slicing in wide arcs meant more to distract than harm. “Lola, back me up!”

  She darted to the side, golden light blooming in her palm. Rings of light spun up from the cobblestones, wrapping around the dragon’s limbs like glowing chains. It snarled, wings flaring to shake off the magic—but it bought seconds.

  Nimby dove from above, his talons raking a gleaming line across one of the creature’s eyes. The dragon hissed and snapped upward, teeth gnashing in fury.

  Sammy leapt in, carving twin slashes along the beast’s shoulder before ducking and rolling out of reach. But they were losing ground.

  The Mist Dragon swept low again, mouth parting in another chilling breath.

  Lola planted her feet, holding up a shimmering golden barrier just in time. The frost collided with the dome, cracking it with force, but it held—barely.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Sammy launched another flurry of strikes, but they were bouncing now—its scales hardening. “It’s adapting!”

  Lola’s breathing was laboured. Her support spells were draining fast, and she wasn’t trained for extended combat.

  The dragon shrieked, barrelling toward her with terrifying speed.

  “Lola, MOVE!” Sammy shouted.

  But it was too fast.

  Then—

  CRACK!

  A thunderous impact rocked the square. A column of blue lightning and raw force slammed down from above.

  The dragon reeled, knocked back mid-charge.

  Sammy stared in disbelief.

  The dust cleared. And from within it, a tall figure emerged; broad-shouldered and unmistakably familiar. Wild silver hair framed his sharp features, and twin wolf ears stood alert atop his head. His tail swayed low behind him; armour scorched from the landing.

  “Pupster…” Lola whispered; eyes wide.

  He rolled one shoulder, spear crackling faintly in his grip. “Been a while.”

  Sammy grinned through bloodied lips. “You picked one hell of a time to come home.”

  Pupster didn’t reply. His eyes locked onto the dragon.

  And then—he charged. The spear struck true, slamming into the dragon’s shoulder with enough force to send a wave of wind blasting across the square.

  Sammy leapt in beside him without needing a word.

  Lola circled, weaving new shields into place, her staff flickering with radiant light.

  No one needed to speak. They’d fought together since they were children. They remembered the rhythm.

  Sammy dove beneath Pupster’s next leap, his blades slicing through the soft tissue near the dragon’s forelimb.

  Nimby screeched overhead, drawing its attention.

  Pupster used the distraction, vaulting onto the beast’s back, spear pinning in precise arcs.

  Lola kept the pressure, calling out defensive wards, casting shields the moment the dragon struck.

  Their synergy wasn’t practiced. It was instinct. Born of shared battles, and something deeper.

  The Mist Dragon roared and coiled, eyes burning with mist-fuelled fury. Its mouth opened, charging a swirling blast of frost-laced breath.

  Lola’s eyes widened. “Incoming!”

  She slammed her staff down again, light radiating from a glyph beneath her feet. Chains of light erupted around the dragon’s head, forcing it upward. The breath fired skyward, exploding into a storm of frozen shards above them.

  Pupster launched off its back with a roar, landing beside his friends.

  “Everyone okay?”

  Sammy wiped blood from his cheek. “Now that you’re here.”

  Lola exhaled, nodding. “Welcome back.”

  The dragon reared up again—but slower this time. It was weakening, but not defeated. Not yet.

  The Mist Dragon snarled, its glowing eyes narrowing as it opened its massive jaws. Another wave of dense vapour poured forth, blanketing the battlefield in freezing fog. The air turned thick and heavy, every breath tasting of metal and storm. Vision vanished in an instant.

  “Stay sharp!” Pupster’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. His ears twitched as he listened for the subtle scrape of claw on stone. “It’s using the mist to mask its movements!”

  Sammy gritted his teeth, blades drawn tight to his sides. “Yeah? Well, I left my blind-fighting manual in my other trousers!” He pivoted just in time to avoid a tail sweep that cracked the stone beside him. The dragon was close—too close.

  Lola’s voice came steady, though her pulse raced. “We need to move. Stay light on your feet. If we lose momentum, we lose control.”

  The dragon’s form remained little more than a shifting shadow within the mist. But even without sight, the presence of it loomed—every rumble of breath and scrape of claw a warning.

  Lola gritted her teeth and raised her staff high.

  “Identify!” she called, her voice carrying through the fog.

  A shimmering pulse of golden energy rippled outward from her position.

  The mist lit up briefly as spectral lines traced the contours of the dragon’s massive body, highlighting its joints, wings, and a pulsing weak point near its heart.

  ---

  [Species]: Mist Dragon

  [Race]: Draconian Aethereal Entity

  [Status]: Aggressive

  [Core Stability]: Faltering – Direct Pressure Required]

  ---

  “There!” she shouted, pointing. “Its heart. Beneath the fourth rib plate. The mist’s distorting its visibility, but we’ve got a shot.”

  A deep growl echoed behind them—and then the dragon struck.

  Its massive tail lashed through the fog like a battering ram. The teams scattered, Sammy somersaulted through the haze, Lola leapt backward with leporid grace, and Pupster vaulted high into the air with a burst of raw Dragoon might.

  “Enough of this hide-and-seek crap!” Pupster roared.

  From the apex of his leap, he twisted his spear mid-air. Energy pulsed along the weapon’s edge, building to a visible crackle.

  He roared, diving with terrifying speed.

  The spear hit like thunder, striking the dragon’s flank with a deafening boom. Cracks split the air as scales shattered beneath the impact, and the dragon let out a howling cry of pain. The mist thinned slightly, enough for Lola to catch a glimpse of its eyes—wide, furious, and momentarily dazed.

  “Nice work!” she called, slamming her staff into the ground. A pulse of golden energy radiated outward, forming a shimmering dome just in time to deflect a retaliatory swipe of the dragon’s claws aimed at Pupster.

  Sammy didn’t wait. He surged forward, his outline blurring into motion.

  He zipped between the dragon’s legs like liquid light, blades flashing with each passing strike. He hit tendon, joint, scale—every weakness Lola had marked—and kept moving before the dragon could retaliate. Sparks danced with each clash of steel and hide.

  The dragon shrieked, rearing back. Its entire form began to glow faintly with a swirling, spectral light.

  Sammy’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t look good—!”

  “It’s prepping a big attack!” Lola yelled, her ears twitching violently at the rising pitch in the air. “That’s an area burst! everyone—get clear!”

  The dragon’s wings flared wide, mist surging into a spiral of raw elemental fury.

  Lola planted her staff again, faster this time. Her eyes glowed with power.

  A radiant dome burst from the cobblestones around her, wide enough to encompass her allies. Mist crashed into the barrier like a tidal wave of knives and ice, but the shield held—groaning and flickering but holding.

  “Go!” she cried. “It’s stunned after the discharge!”

  Pupster didn’t need to be told twice.

  He vaulted skyward again, twisting in midair. Energy coiled along his spear, now glowing a fierce amber-red.

  He came down like a thunderbolt, driving the weapon deep into the dragon’s chest—right at the core Lola had marked. The explosion of force knocked the breath from every chest in the square.

  The dragon screeched in agony. Its chest flared with a deep blue-white light. The core was exposed.

  “Sammy!” Pupster called, backflipping away.

  “On it!” Sammy growled. His twin blades gleamed as he charged, his eyes locked on the target.

  He launched forward, both blades arcing outward in a devastating X-formation as he crossed the exposed weak point. Sparks and blood-mist erupted from the wound. The dragon faltered, wings flaring desperately.

  “Now, Lola!” Sammy shouted.

  Lola raised her staff high, channelling every drop of radiant energy left in her veins. Her voice rang like a bell as a burst of rainbow-hued energy shot forward in a focused beam, striking the dragon’s exposed core. The light fractured, scattering in all directions like shattered crystal.

  The dragon’s roar cut short. Its body convulsed once, twice—

  Then it collapsed.

  Not dead. But down. Beaten. Subdued.

  The mist dispersed with a hiss. The light from Lola’s staff faded. Silence rolled in like fog over water.

  Nimby landed softly beside them; feathers ruffled but proud. Sammy leaned forward, bracing on his knees. Pupster planted his spear. Lola exhaled slowly, her glow finally dimming.

  “Is it over?” Sammy asked.

  Pupster nodded, panting. “For now.”

  Lola didn’t speak.

  She stared at the dragon—its great chest slowly rising and falling.

  The battlefield was silent.

  Only the soft crackle of distant torches and the fading howl of wind remained as the Mist Dragon’s massive body dissipated into the fog it once commanded. The once-raging storm of mist and magic unravelled, dissolving into drifting ribbons of light that spiralled lazily into the air.

  Sammy stood at the edge of the clearing, both blades still clenched in trembling fists, his chest rising and falling in slow, exhausted rhythm. His tail flicked behind him, alert despite his weariness.

  Lola knelt beside the fallen cobblestones, staff resting against her shoulder. Her blue eyes shimmered in the aftermath, locked on the strange shimmer pooling at the centre of the battlefield. Nimby perched on her shoulder, his feathers ruffled, eyes alert.

  Pupster stood tall and steady, his spear planted like a banner in the ground. He narrowed his golden eyes as the mist began to condense—not into fog, but into something tangible. Something alive.

  “It’s not over,” he murmured.

  Sammy’s grip tightened. “What now...?”

  The swirling mist twisted into a single point, folding in on itself like a vortex. Energy crackled faintly, iridescent, beautiful, and unsettling all at once.

  The ground trembled as the light pulsed with rising intensity, coalescing into a crystal-like shape that floated inches above the ground.

  Lola stepped toward it instinctively.

  “Lola, wait—” Sammy began, but she raised a hand gently to stop him.

  “I can feel it,” she whispered. “It’s not hostile... it’s calling to me.”

  The moment her fingers brushed the hovering shape, a burst of energy flared outward—not violent, but resonant, like the clear ring of a bell across a still lake.

  The light faded, leaving a glowing sigil etched into the air. The image of the Mist Dragon hovered—elegant and coiled in serenity rather than fury. Holographic runes shimmered around it, pulsing in time with her heartbeat before dissolving into Lola’s chest.

  Her lips parted. “It’s... alive.”

  Sammy stepped closer; eyes wide. “What… the hell was that?”

  Pupster’s expression darkened with quiet reverence. “A Zerodian. I never thought I’d see one in my lifetime.”

  “What’s a Zerodian?” Sammy asked.

  “Short version?” Pupster said. “They’re summoned entities—guardians from a time before recorded history. Their power was sealed long ago. And only those they choose can wield it.”

  Lola clutched her hands to her chest. She didn’t know why, but she understood in her soul—it had chosen her.

  A gust of wind rolled in from the treeline. The battlefield was still again.

  They returned to the centre of Vey just before sunset, weary and quiet. The sky was painted in hues of orange and violet, but the mood was heavy.

  The villagers emerged from their homes with cautious relief, rushing to meet them in the square. Dozens of voices rose in concern, awe, and disbelief.

  “What happened out there?”

  “Was it a beast? A spirit?”

  “Is it gone?”

  “Enough,” came a voice of firm command. Elder Renward, the village’s lore keeper, stepped forward. His silver hair caught the firelight as he leaned on his ornate staff, eyes sharp despite his age.

  “You’ve brought something back with you, haven’t you?” he said, gaze fixed on Lola.

  “It was a real Zerodian” she said, nodding gently.

  The elder inhaled sharply, his brow furrowing. “A Zerodian... it’s true, then. The old stories weren’t stories at all.”

  A hush fell over the square.

  “Come,” Renward said gravely. “We need to talk. All of us.”

  They gathered in the old stone hall at the heart of Vey—a circular chamber with firelight dancing across walls etched in ancient script. Sammy, Lola, and Pupster sat before the central hearth, while Nimby took off towards a beam across the ceiling and villagers lingered at the edges, whispering.

  Renward stood before the flames. His voice was soft at first, like a story told to children—but beneath it was iron.

  “There was a time before kingdoms and calendars,” he began. “Before the world was shaped by mortal hands. In that age, the Zerodians walked freely.”

  As he spoke, the fire shifted. Smoke curled upward, taking on the shapes of magnificent beasts—dragons, wolves, elementals, creatures of storm and shadow.

  They were not mere creatures. They were balance made manifest—living echoes of nature’s will. Some called them gods. Others, monsters. But all respected their power.”

  The flames darkened. Smoke coiled into the shapes of warring armies, cities in ruin, oceans boiling.

  “But mortals... feared what they could not control. They tried to command the Zerodians. To bind them. War followed. Cataclysm.”

  He waved a hand. The fire snapped, reshaping into four towering silhouettes.

  “To stop the destruction, the four Guardian Demigods did not destroy the Zerodians. They offered them a choice: sleep or be silenced. Most chose sleep. Their essence—bound in sigils, buried deep within the world, waiting for those worthy enough to awaken them again.”

  The image changed—figures reaching out to symbols in the air, radiant beasts flaring into being above their hearts.

  “They no longer reside in talismans or relics. They are sealed into the fabric of the world itself. And when they stir—when one answers your call—it marks you.”

  He turned to Lola, his gaze unwavering.

  “The Mist Dragon has chosen you, Lola Sylverine. You are now a Summoner. Not because you possess its power… but because you carry its trust.”

  She said nothing. But hugged her body.

  “But hear this,” Renward continued. “For every bond born in balance… there will be those who seek domination. Zerodians do not obey. They align. And those who force them… awaken something far worse.”

  He extended his hand to the fire once more. This time, the smoke twisted into a darker shape—shifting, hungry, undefined.

  “The world is not waiting for the return of the Zerodians. It is already reacting. Something is moving. And others will come, seeking what you now hold.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. Ancient.

  Sammy looked to Lola. “So what now?”

  Renward’s gaze turned toward the distant mountains, eyes unreadable.

  “That... is your journey to decide. But know this—when the Zerodians fully rise again, the world will not stay quiet.”