Dragon summoner

"Of course I did," she hissed, eyes gleaming. "All I ever wanted was your father's business. His money. Power. And you? You're just... in the way."

Vishu clenched his fists, but stayed silent.

She stepped even closer, her voice venomous. "Do you think he'll believe you over me now? You've been accused of murder. You're seeing things. Acting strange. All I have to do is cry a little, tell him you snapped again—and boom, I control everything."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, from under the blanket, a faint growl rumbled.

Her eyes narrowed. "What… was that?"

Vishu stood slowly. The dragon was stirring.

"You shouldn't have come here," he said quietly, his voice filled with something new—resolve.

She raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Oh? And what will you do, boy? Cry to your daddy?"

Vishu didn't answer.

Instead, the dragon emerged.

Its black scales shimmered in the light. Blue flames flickered at the edges of its small mouth. It stepped beside Vishu like a guardian, tail lashing, eyes burning into hers.

Her smugness evaporated instantly.

She staggered back. "What… what is that?!"

Vishu looked her dead in the eyes. "Something that's not going to let you hurt anyone again."

Vishu took a step forward, the black dragon beside him crackling with restrained flame. The air in the room grew heavier, the temperature rising subtly from the heat radiating off the creature's scaled body. Its deep growl echoed like distant thunder.

His stepmother stumbled back, her face pale, the cold confidence draining from her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

Vishu's voice cut through the silence—calm, but edged with steel.

"I could destroy you right now," he said, his eyes locked on hers, unflinching. "I have the power. I know it. But I won't—because I'm not like you."

She blinked, confusion and fear flickering behind her frozen expression.

"I don't lie. I don't manipulate. I don't betray the people who love me," he continued, voice rising just enough to make her flinch. "But don't mistake mercy for weakness."

He took one more step forward. The dragon mirrored him, letting a small puff of blue flame curl from its mouth. The curtains behind her fluttered in the heat.

"This is your last chance," Vishu said, his voice now low, steady, and filled with quiet menace. "If you ever try to hurt me again—if you so much as breathe a lie into my father's ear—I promise you… you will face my wrath."

His eyes glinted, something ancient and powerful behind them.

"Do not test me."

She stumbled back toward the door, eyes locked in horror on the dragon, which hissed softly, its wings twitching with restrained fury. The sight of black scales, burning eyes, and the faint glow of fire curling from its snout was enough to shake her to her core.

"Now go," Vishu commanded.

Without a word, she turned and fled, nearly tripping over herself as she fumbled with the doorknob and disappeared down the hallway.

Silence returned.

The dragon exhaled slowly, its fire fading as it curled protectively around Vishu's feet.

He stared at the door she had slammed shut behind her, then whispered:

"That was just a warning."

Vishu sat on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily. The fire in his chest from confronting her was slowly fading, replaced by a cold knot of worry.

He had stood up to her—and it felt good. Powerful. But he knew what kind of woman she truly was.

Cunning. Calculating. Dangerous.

"What if she tells Dad everything?" he muttered to himself, eyes drifting to the dragon now curled peacefully beside the bed. "What if she twists the truth like she always does?"

He couldn't take that chance.

In a flash, he stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and forced a calm expression onto his face. He opened the door, stepping out as if nothing had happened—as if his world hadn't just been turned upside down.

As he made his way to the dining hall, his heart pounded with every step.

He entered.

His father, Vikram, was seated at the head of the table, quietly sipping his tea and reading the newspaper. The soft clatter of cutlery echoed through the room.

Lilly—his stepmother—stood beside him, gracefully serving breakfast. Her face looked calm to an untrained eye, but Vishu saw it: the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly, the way she flinched when she saw him.

Her eyes met his—and widened in panic.

She froze, holding a spoon mid-air.

Vishnu kept his expression blank, unreadable, as if she were just another stranger in the room.

Vikram looked up from his paper, noticing the sudden silence.

"You were saying something, Lilly?" he asked casually, buttering a piece of toast.

She opened her mouth, hesitated.

Her gaze flicked between father and son. Her lips parted again—but no words came. Only fear. Her usual smooth lies were caught in her throat, suffocated by the memory of black scales and flickering blue fire.

"I... nothing," she finally whispered, eyes still locked on Vishu.

Vikram frowned, lowering his paper. "You sure? You seemed ready to talk just a second ago."

Lilly quickly turned away. "It was nothing important," she muttered, her voice barely audible. "Just... the milk delivery was late."

Vishu quietly took his seat at the table, his heart thudding in triumph. She wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet. The fear was still fresh.

He poured himself some tea, his hands steady.

Let her play her game, he thought.

He had his own pieces now.

And this time, he wasn't playing alone.

The clink of cutlery filled the silence between them, but Vishu barely touched his plate. He sat stiffly, forcing himself to look composed. But inside, his thoughts were a storm—raging and relentless.

Across the table, Vikram flipped through the newspaper, taking slow sips of tea as if everything was normal.

It wasn't.

Not for Vishu.

Not since the murder accusation. Not since the distance between them had grown so wide it felt like a wall made of silence and doubt.

Vishu finally couldn't take it anymore.

He set his cup down with more force than necessary.

Vikram looked up, surprised.

"Something wrong?" he asked calmly.

Vishu stared at him for a long moment. His eyes burned, not with tears—but with a pain deeper than any injury. "Do you even see me anymore, Dad?"

Vikram's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Vishu took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tremble in his voice. "Ever since that night... you've been looking at me like I'm someone else. Like you're afraid of me. Like I've already done something wrong."

Vikram's face tensed, his jaw tightening.

"I didn't kill anyone," Vishu said, his voice breaking slightly. "I swear I didn't. But you didn't even ask me. You just... looked at me with suspicion. Like I was a stranger."

"I had to be careful," Vikram said quietly, though his voice lacked conviction.

Vishu stood from the chair, his fists clenched at his sides. "No, you had to be a father. Just once. Just once, I wanted you to stand beside me and say, 'I believe you.' That's all."

Vikram looked down at his tea, the guilt in his silence louder than any apology.

"You believe her," Vishu continued, his voice growing louder. "That woman—Lilly. She smiles sweetly and cries on cue and twists the truth like a thread. And you still trust her more than your own son."