The Drake Blood Tales

A month had passed since the tragedy at Qa'stur.

Quietly, an undead servant of the Drake bloodline had recovered Katherine's remains, found beneath a lonely tree. Her burial was kept a closely guarded secret, hidden even from her sons, so they would be spared the pain of seeing her lifeless body.

No one could fathom the horrors she and her companions had faced in Qa'stur, but the scars left behind by the loss were undeniable.

Fordragon, once a cheerful child, now spent his days sitting silently in his room, lost in thought. Fallion, on the other hand, fought desperately to maintain composure, unwilling to let grief consume him.

One quiet afternoon, Fordragon approached his brother, his face clouded with sorrow. "Brother... Mom is dead. What now?"

Fallion, seated by the window, looked out at the dim sky and replied calmly, "We live our lives as usual."

Fordragon stood, his voice trembling with frustration. "Why did Mother have to die?"

Fallion's tone hardened, though his voice remained steady. "She didn't have to. It doesn't have to end like this. If only the other nations had listened to her. Now everyone suffers the consequences of their arrogance."

Fordragon tilted his head, curiosity mixing with his sadness. "Is there anything we could do?"

Fallion's composure cracked as he raised his voice slightly. "Maybe there is. But there's nothing we have to do." His tone was edged with bitterness as he continued, "We have to take care of each other now. These people can barely care for themselves. When Mom approached them, offering a solution, they turned their backs, too consumed by their petty politics."

Fordragon stepped closer, his tone soft, trying to calm his brother. "But the innocent civilians—they had nothing to do with that. We could help them. Help the orphans of this war. The world is falling into a nightmare, and we're just stuck here in this mansion."

Fallion exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Stuck? That's not the word. We're sheltered here, protected. It's a sanctuary, not a prison."

Before Fordragon could respond, Samhain entered the room, his presence commanding their attention. "Is it done?" Fallion asked, his voice tense. "Why weren't we allowed to attend the funeral?"

Samhain simply shook his head, his silence heavier than words.

Fallion stared at him, his chest tightening as realization set in. Whatever had been done to their mother was too horrific to speak of. The thought clawed at him, threatening to pull him into despair. He clenched his fists, pushing the feelings aside.

"I'll be in Father's throne room," Fallion muttered, his voice low and cold as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Fordragon took a walk in the garden. As he gazed up at the sky, he watched the birds soaring freely toward the horizon. His mind wandered, and he turned to Samhain, asking, "How's the world condition?"

Samhain sighed, choosing his words carefully. "It's not in the best condition for visits, young lord. While I understand your wish to interact with the world, someone of your caliber would likely scare everyone."

Fordragon continued to watch the sky, lost in thought. "But why do I feel as if I'm being called... as if something is specifically meant for me?" he mumbled.

Samhain's voice held a note of concern. "Are you sure, my lord? I fear it could be the influence of an outer god, or perhaps it's simply your instincts."

Fordragon stood up, reaching for a sword hanging on the wall. "Samhain… do you think Father ever wanted us to go outside? Even though he built this mansion with every defense imaginable—guards, golem knights—not a single wall or roof in the garden restricts our view of the world. Yet we've never been allowed to truly experience it."

Samhain pondered for a moment before responding. "Contradictory though it may seem, I do believe your father wanted his children to have a normal life, like any other child. It's just... his curse prevented him from making that possible."

Fordragon then pulled out his father's diary. "There's one language I've never understood, no matter how many I've learned. The one my father wrote in his diary."

Samhain opened the book, frowning in confusion. "I... once spoke with him about this. It's a strange symbol, claimed to be a language native to his origins. It's said to be written in an ancient form of Arabic. But none of the servants have ever heard of it. The desert countries have a similar alphabet, but the writing and speaking are still different."

Fordragon closed the book, a thoughtful expression on his face. "No need to fetch anyone. I think I have a better idea."

Samhain's eyes widened, suddenly realizing what Fordragon was implying. "Oh no…"

Fordragon smirked. "Oh yes…"

n the evening, while Fallion was busy recording the necessities for the mansion, Fordragon suddenly slammed open the main doors and shouted, "GUESS WHO HAS A PURPOSE TO GO OUTSIDE!!"

Fallion jumped at the loud bang. "Oh no, you don't, you incomplete human!"

Fordragon smirked. "Oh yes, I am, you incomplete daemon."

Fallion glared at him, anger flaring.

Fordragon stood his ground, undeterred. "If I can't go outside to help others, at least I can go outside to help myself."

Fallion frowned, confused. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Fordragon's tone became calm, but serious. "I mean, Fallion... we never knew much about Father. I'm going to Burash country. Maybe I can find something about his diary there."

Fallion paused to think for a moment before shaking his head. "We know he's from another world… and we know he went back to that world to save us from the curse. We don't know exactly what happened to him, but according to Mom, our curse was lifted, which means he succeeded. We don't know if he's still alive or not, but I believe he is. No daemon world in this realm could ever come close to him. I believe he'll return one day."

Fallion's expression darkened. "I'm already burdened enough with how to tell him about Mom's passing... don't add more problems, Fordragon."

Fordragon's resolve wavered, and with a troubled, sad look on his face, he turned and walked back to his room.

Josul entered quietly after the door closed behind Fordragon. "My lord, are you okay?"

Fallion took a deep breath, trying to hold himself together. "I'm fine... I guess I'm just stressed after everything with Mom..."

Josul approached him, offering his thoughts. "At this point, my lord, I don't think it's possible to stop Lord Fordragon. How about we let him go on his adventure, but keep some servants to watch over him? Some of the goblin servants are excellent at navigating dangerous terrains, and the elves are skilled in conjuration magic."

Fallion considered this, his brow furrowed. "I know, Josul... but Fordragon is still naive. If we let him go, he'll likely be used by others. I've read Mom's diaries. The other daemon kings won't like a Drake Blood running around without Father's presence. With the current state of the Paladin Order, they could easily order an assault on this place."

Josul bowed his head, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I see, my lord... but if I may, you still need to make a decision."

Fallion stood in silence for a moment, his gaze drifting to the sword resting on the wall. He took it down and looked at his reflection in the blade's surface.

"I know, Josul," he replied, his voice soft but firm. "I was thinking the same thing."

Samhain suddenly interrupted them. "My lord, Paladin Dofan is here."

Fallion stood up, his attention immediately focused. He stepped outside and found Dofan rushing toward him, embracing him tightly.

"I'm sorry, young one," Dofan said, his voice heavy with regret. "I couldn't protect your mother."

Fallion returned the hug, his gaze falling to Dofan's missing right hand. "It's alright, Uncle… or, uh... cousin?"

Dofan managed a smile despite the pain. "Well, I'm your cousin, but it doesn't matter. I can't stay long. Whiteford Kingdom is preparing for military campaigns soon. Many remote villages will be left unguarded, and wild monsters will roam unchecked. I'm here to give you this."

He presented a pair of swords, their blue steel shimmering with a clarity as bright as the sky itself.

Fallion stared at the blades, his expression confused. "What is this?"

Dofan's face softened as he spoke. "These were your mother's blades. She kept them in the Order's vault. She feared they might cause harm to the residents of the mansion if they were left here."

Fallion, immune to light magic, could still feel an odd mixture of relief and dread wash over him as his fingers hovered near the swords. The weight of their significance was almost overwhelming.

"Where's your brother?" Dofan asked, glancing around as though expecting to see Fordragon.

Fallion hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "We had a little disagreement. He's in his room for now."

Dofan gazed out the window, his thoughts drifting. He knew Fordragon had inherited his mother's will—her sense of justice, her kindness, and her unyielding desire to help others.

He feared what might happen if Fordragon left the mansion, but at the same time, he knew the twins would eventually have to choose their own path. Whether that path was one of safety or sacrifice, only time would tell.

Dofan, having made his farewells, rode away with a final glance back at the mansion. "Farewell then. Whether we meet again or not, I wish you both the best… Remember, you don't have to face everything alone."

As Dofan disappeared into the distance, Fallion stood there, his gaze lingering. He knew what he had to do next—he still needed to confront his brother about Fordragon's dream.

That night, during dinner, both twins chose to eat in their separate rooms. The servants, who had once felt the warmth of a united family, now felt a deep sadness as they moved through the halls. The loss of Arch Duke Drake Blood had already cast a shadow over the mansion. To lose Katherine, too, felt like the final blow. The family seemed on the verge of crumbling.

The servants didn't know whether to follow the isolation of the Arch Duke or to embrace Katherine's ideals. The twins, once inseparable, now seemed divided in their calling, though both still cared deeply for each other.

Weeks passed in near silence between the brothers, each locked in their thoughts. Then, one day, Fordragon gathered his resolve. He walked through the mansion's halls, bags in hand, determination in his eyes.

Fallion, seeing his brother, stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Fordragon hesitated before speaking. "Last night… I had a strange dream."

Fallion raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "What kind of dream?"

"I was on a hill with Mom and Dad," Fordragon began, his voice distant. "But then, I saw something… a monster. It wasn't an angel, or a daemon. Not anything like what I've ever read about."

Fordragon's voice grew heavier as he continued, "I've read many holy books. Even forbidden ones—necromantic texts to summon archaic daemon lords. Names like Pazru, Rangad, or Frit… I've seen their representations. But this… it was different."

Fallion's eyes darkened, and he nodded slowly. "It's Zotho."

Fordragon looked at his brother, shock written across his face. "You know it? What is it?"

Fallion sat down, his expression serious. The servants gathered in the background, sensing the gravity of the conversation. Fallion began explaining in a calm, measured tone, "Zotho is an Outer God—one that comes from beyond space and time. I have kept a book that contains knowledge about beings like this, but... I kept it hidden. Because simply knowing about them... it empowers them."

The weight of Fallion's words hung in the air, and the room was filled with stunned silence. The servants exchanged worried glances, as Fordragon and the others processed the revelation.

Fallion's voice grew solemn as he continued, "I know a thing or two about Zotho. One thing for sure—Zotho is the one who killed Mom and stole her soul." His eyes darkened as he spoke. "Right now, the souls of many slain heroes are being used as fuel for Zotho's resurrection. They're immaterial creatures, coming from beyond space and time. The book you have, Fordragon… it's where Father explained that before mortal creation, the Outer Gods populated the creation."

Fordragon's face twisted with frustration as he stood up. "You knew this and never told me?"

But Fallion didn't respond to his question. Instead, he carried on, his voice heavy with history. "In that diary, Father and his grandfather, along with the residents of High Heaven, were tasked with eliminating the Outer Gods because, as creations, they were destructive. Ninety-nine percent of them brought nothing but ruin—plague, disaster, and bad omens. Even those few who were good were overshadowed by the others. During the cleansing, our great-great-grandfather became a hero. He was the brightest, the purest, the most beautiful among them all."

Samhain, who had been listening in silence, suddenly spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "The Morningstar…"

Fallion nodded grimly. "Yes. Knowing how destructive they were, they fled across creation, searching for shelter. They hid beyond time and space, in the dark Cosmos. But one by one, they were caught. Until, at last, only a few were left. They begged for mercy, but none was granted."

Fordragon, still struggling to make sense of it all, asked, "But if they were all hunted down, then how are there still some of them here? How is Zotho still alive?"

Fallion turned to his brother, his eyes hardening. "It's not impossible. They were slain from the mortal world, from creation itself, but their influence remains. Knowing there was no way out of the cleansing, they left behind fragments—fragments of knowledge, technology, and even sentient pieces of themselves. This is what manifests in our world now."

Fallion drew his swords, his gaze intense. "Compared to this, you're just dust among the stars, Fordragon. Even your dreams could be a result of their influence. This is the last time I'll ask you—forget about that dream of yours."

Fordragon's face hardened. A whirlwind of thoughts rushed through his mind, but despite the pressure, he didn't draw his sword. Instead, he took a deep breath, and with a quiet resolve, he spoke. "I wish I could. But if that's the only way I can stay true to myself, then I dare to take the risk."

With that, he unsheathed his blade.

A powerful pulse of energy erupted from the two of them, crackling in the air with an intensity that left the servants speechless. It was something they had never expected to witness: a battle between the two Drake Blood brothers. The force of their wills collided in a way that shook the very foundation of the mansion.