Demonic Dragon: Harem System

The morning in Eldoria was gray, with low clouds covering the sky like a veil of mourning. The fog was not just atmospheric—it was a reflection of the grief that hung over the entire city. And nowhere was that grief denser than in the ancient Arcane Tower, home to the wizards of Eldoria.

Strax, Cristine, and Yennifer climbed the steps of the spiral staircase that led to the tower's runic stone gates. The place used to glow with floating runes, a constant dance of magical light. Now the lights were out. The upper windows were broken. There were dark stains on the walls — remnants of explosive spells and dried blood.

Yennifer clenched her fist against her chest. "The magic here... is silenced. As if the tower itself were in mourning."

Strax nodded, his expression grave. "It is. Magic is a reflection of the heart, and now... well, this place is just a pit of grief and death after the attack."

When they reached the main landing, the gates opened with a mechanical groan, revealing the interior of the tower. The hall was dark, with only a few crystals of light still burning, casting elongated shadows on the marble floor. There were clear signs of struggle: cracks in the ceiling, scattered books, statues broken in half. The air smelled of ash and burnt candles.

"It seems that 'Temporalis' was not completely effective... as it is very far from the starting point where I conjured it, it may not have been 100% effective at the edges of the magic circle..." Strax thought.

And then they saw her.

In front of the internal staircase, arms crossed and a fierce expression on her delicate face, stood a small elf—she couldn't have been more than 4 feet 9 inches tall. Her platinum hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she wore a dark blue apprentice's robe, stained with dried blood and soot.

She took a step forward as soon as she saw the group.

"Stop right there!"

Her voice was surprisingly firm, despite her height and slight build. Her blue eyes were red from recent crying, but they also shone with a kind of proud anger.

Strax stopped. The difference in height between the two was absurd—the 7-foot-tall colossus of muscle and shadow standing before a young elf who looked like a breath of wind before a wall.

The elf swallowed hard but did not back down.

Cristine raised her hands, trying to appear conciliatory. "We come in peace. We need to speak with the tower's leader. It's urgent."

The elf frowned even more. "There is no leader. Not anymore." Her voice faltered for a second. "Master Kalem is dead. Everyone... almost everyone is dead. And even if they were alive, this is no time for interrogations!"

Strax took a step forward.

The elf immediately took half a step back, instinct speaking louder than will—her eyes wide, her body tense. But she did not flee.

"You are... you are Albert Vorah's son, aren't you?" she asked, her voice already less firm.

"I am, Strax Vorah," he replied, his deep voice echoing off the tower walls like muffled thunder.

She swallowed hard. "I... I saw you in the city. I saw your transformation. And now... you come here, when we've been burying bodies since sunrise? When the tower hasn't even closed the eyes of the dead?"

Strax looked around, as if finally feeling the weight of the place—the marks on the stone, the smell of death, the total absence of chanting. His eyes, which usually carried the coldness of a blade, seemed to soften, if only for a second.

"I understand the pain," he said. "And I did not come here to disrespect it. But we need answers. The attack on the mages was too precise, too brutal. And no one else will know as much as you do."

The elf narrowed her eyes. "We are not an oracle to answer the questions of arrogant warriors. Do you think that because you are tall and powerful, you can force your questions upon us in the midst of our grief?" She trembled with rage. "How many did you see die in here, Strax? How many?"

Strax hesitated. And for the first time, he did not respond with words. Instead, he took the cloak he carried on his shoulders and held it out before her. On the thick gray fabric were hand-sewn magical symbols... and dark stains. When she looked closely, she realized: they were names.

He murmured, "I saved what I could. The names that were alive when we left the temple. The ones who were taken for treatment. I haven't forgotten them."

The elf's eyes widened. For a moment, all her anger evaporated. She touched the cloth with trembling fingers and whispered one of the names inscribed there.

"…Ellamir?"

Cristine nodded gently. "Someone important?"

The elf didn't answer. She just took a step back, clutching the fabric against her chest as if it were an anchor. She took a deep breath, her voice now emotional.

"…I'm sorry. It's just that… all of this is still so… recent."

Yennifer touched the young woman's shoulder lightly. "We understand. But we need help understanding what really caused this attack. We need to know if there are any clues... if the mages knew anything before it all happened."

The elf hesitated for a few long seconds, then finally nodded, still holding onto Strax's cloak.

"...Follow me. The Mages' Hall is still intact. The chief archivist survived. He might... be able to talk to you."

Strax, Christine, and Yennifer exchanged quick glances and followed her in silence.

The group walked through dark corridors, passing apprentices sitting on the floor, some bandaged, others crying silently. There were candles in the corners, murmured spells of healing and cleansing. It was a makeshift hospital, an enchanted mausoleum.

The elf guided them with steady steps despite her sadness. When they reached an ebony door marked with the tower's seal—a silver eye surrounded by inverted flames—she stopped and turned to them.

"My name is Thali," she said at last. "And... thank you for not ignoring our pain. Even so, I don't expect you to find many answers here."

Strax replied, his voice almost gentle: "Sometimes even silence says enough."

Thali opened the door with a wave of her hand. The hall was spacious, lined with floating crystals that vibrated slightly with the remnants of the power that had once existed there. And in the center, surrounded by broken books and burned scrolls, an old wizard in a purple robe awaited them.

He raised his tired eyes to Strax. "I saw the magic you used in the city, truly amazing, Mr. Dragon."