Scene 1 : Gust over the embers

The portal churned with rippling bands of light, drawing them deeper into a tunnel of swirling energy. Ruslan’s scream echoed through the magical corridor—high and frantic—bouncing off unseen walls like a trapped cry. He clung tightly to Ostap, his small frame shaking. Avikarh held them both, his expression firm, jaw clenched. The dimensional current was wild—but his grip didn’t waver.

Danger wasn’t far behind.

From within the vortex, a gleaming blue blur surged after them, slipping through space like a liquid arrow.

Varunesh.

With eerie calm and perfect balance, he flew like a serpent through water—relentless, precise, and mindless, as if summoned by pure instinct.

The exit loomed ahead—not a doorway, but a rift opening into open air, high above the earth.

And then—gravity claimed them.

They were ejected mid-air, nearly fifty feet above ground, into a vast, blistering hollow beneath the crust of the earth. Wind screamed around them, dry and scorching, carrying with it the scent of sulfur and magic. The ether burned, and their bodies were cast into a descent, illuminated by the strange radiance of divine flames that floated midair like sacred stars.

Below, the ruins of a city lay scattered in rings and fractures—architecture hauntingly similar to Pskov, but cracked, sunken, and devoured by time. Pale embers danced in the air like fireflies, and hot springs hissed from fissures across the blackened rock.

“Aaaaahhh—we’re falling!” Ruslan yelled, nearly in tears.

The heat lashed across Avikarh’s skin like knives, but his gaze was fixed. He kept them close—willing ice to gather at his feet, shaping a smooth, glowing platform beneath his boots mid-air. The icy surface slowed their descent with a controlled slide, releasing a trail of steam behind it.

Behind them, Varunesh descended, limbs folded in, body gliding through the heavy air. Though the stifling heat dulled his power, he adapted—streaming jets of water hissed from his heels, launching him forward like a torpedo.

“Persistent little—” Avikarh muttered, tightening his arms around Ruslan and Ostap. He summoned spiked shards of ice from thin air, casting them over his shoulder to divert Varunesh’s path. The ice hissed and evaporated almost instantly from the heat, but not before forcing the pursuer to veer off.

“Look! There!” Ruslan shouted, pointing through the burning haze. “A landing spot!”

Below, a flat platform jutted from the edge of a ruined watchtower, surrounded by glowing springs and thick mist. Avikarh adjusted his descent and skidded across it, slamming to a stop with the boys still secure.

Varunesh landed a moment later, crashing down with coiled fury.

The ground here was alive—small ember-like spirits hovered near the hot springs, flickering red and orange, with hollow eyes and twitching motions.

“I think I know what those are,” Ruslan murmured, eyes wide. “Soot Imps. They’re mostly harmless… I think?”

“I don’t care what they are. We’ve got a bigger issue,” Avikarh snapped, stepping forward.

Varunesh, though clearly drained by the heat, showed no hesitation. His breathing was mechanical. He stood tall, expression blank, body responding only to the last command imprinted upon him.

The two circled each other like wolves, the cavern around them hissing and pulsing with unstable heat.

Avikarh’s shoulders tensed—his stance low, controlled, focused. A thin ring of frost encircled his boots despite the scorching ground.

Then, almost simultaneously, they launched.

Their fists collided in mid-air—but just as they moved to clash again, the wind shifted.

A sudden spiral of air erupted between them—a vortex, unnatural and precise.

A figure dropped from above with surgical timing, spinning through the steam before landing squarely between them. The dust and embers scattered around his silhouette, giving him the appearance of a phantom arriving from thin air.

He rose slowly.

A sleek aviator-style jacket hugged his frame, paired with tactical joggers and hybrid sneaker-boots. Around his neck, a scarf patterned with chess pieces fluttered faintly. Smart glasses with translucent glyphs shimmered over his eyes, casting light in the mist.

Avikarh shifted protectively in front of Ruslan and Ostap, his palms crackling with forming ice needles.

“Who is this now?” he muttered.

Varunesh didn’t hesitate. He lunged, foot arcing in a flying kick—but the stranger moved like a shadow in wind.

He caught the kick mid-air, pivoted, and hurled Varunesh over his shoulder.

The boy hit the ground with a burst of wind that stirred the Soot Imps into startled shrieks. Then, with a clean and powerful storm-laced punch, the stranger drove Varunesh back, sending him skidding across the hot stone.

The cap on Varunesh’s head was knocked away. It tumbled to the ground, and for a brief moment, the runic symbol glowed—then flickered—and vanished.

The stranger approached calmly, lifted Varunesh effortlessly over his shoulder, and turned toward Avikarh and the boys.

Avikarh didn’t lower his stance.

He could feel it—this stranger was strong. Not just in power, but in control. His movements were clean. Tactical. Nothing wasted.

Steam rose between them.

The newcomer said nothing. Just stood there, waiting. Observing.

And Avikarh, though still guarded, didn’t attack.

A silence lingered.

Not of threat—but of questions left hanging in the heated air of this ancient, scorched place.

And above them, high in the cavern’s cracks and shadows, the embers watched in silence, drifting slowly like forgotten stars.

Scene 2 : Dragon Sons

The steam curled softly between them as the stranger set Varunesh gently beside Ostap, brushing the ash from his own scarf. The faint rune on Varunesh’s cap had completely vanished—burnt out like a candle flame.

He turned toward the group, pushing his smart glasses higher up his nose as he spoke, his voice breezy but sincere.

“Hi,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m Vayudhir. You can call me Yudhir. I’m also one of the Dragon Sons… a Chosen of the Dragon Kings… like you and Varun.”

Avikarh didn’t shift his expression, but his posture relaxed slightly. He took a slow breath, the cold air around him shimmering subtly.

“So you know him,” Avikarh said, gesturing toward Varunesh. “And… looking at you, I assume you were following us. But before anything else—can we stabilize him? I don’t know what he’ll do when he wakes.”

Yudhir nodded calmly, walking over to Varunesh once more, placing two fingers on the boy’s temple.

“No worries,” he said. “The spell was in his cap. It’s broken now—he’s free. He shouldn’t lash out anymore. I met him about a month ago, back in Novgorod. He was already being watched.”

Avikarh folded his arms across his chest, still cautious.

“And how long have you been here?” he asked, tone even. “Have you met… any others?”

The pause in the sentence wasn’t missed.

His choice of words—not here, but been here—implied something deeper. Something Ruslan wasn’t supposed to hear. Avikarh glanced at the boy, who was watching them carefully, listening closely.

Yudhir caught the unspoken intent immediately. His voice shifted to a more casual tone as he played along.

“Yeah, um… roughly three months now, I’d say,” he replied smoothly. “And no—I haven’t met anyone else like us. Only Varun. But I did hear something… A rumor about a boy who carved a tunnel through a whole mountain, just to make a path for the wandering tribe of Oboren.”

Ruslan’s ears perked up, but his brows furrowed. Something about this conversation felt distant. Off. He trusted Avikarh deeply by now—but this talk wasn’t just strange… it was incomprehensible.

“Guys…” Ruslan said, blinking. “What language are you even talking in? I couldn’t understand a word. Is that your mother tongue or something?”

Avikarh's eyes widened ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized it. The words with Yudhir flowed so naturally—but they hadn’t been in the local tongue.

It was like… a veil lifted when speaking to someone like him. A native language from somewhere else. Somewhere Ruslan couldn’t reach.

Yudhir noticed the shift too.

He walked back over, slung an arm over Avikarh’s shoulder like a long-lost comrade, and gently turned him away from the group. Ruslan stayed behind, eyeing Varunesh suspiciously—but his ears strained toward the conversation.

Yudhir whispered, his tone quiet and level.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you keep our origin hidden from the kid.” He paused, eyes thoughtful beneath his glasses. “When I first arrived in this world, my Dragon King— Pavanindra, the Sovereign of the Skies—appeared in a vision. He told me to find the boy chosen by the Dragon God… and serve under his leadership.”

He glanced back at Ruslan.

“Varun’s case was similar. He was guided too. And watching you fight… you could’ve crushed him. But you didn’t.”

Avikarh’s expression didn’t change.

“I was trying to save him,” he said plainly. “And we’ll need each other… if we’re going to stop Emperor Drakuvor and escape this world.”

Yudhir smiled faintly. “Then let’s join hands.”

The two clasped forearms silently, a silent pact of two calm minds bound by purpose.

When they returned to the others, the air around them felt subtly different. Not warmer… not colder… but united.

Avikarh gave Ruslan a small nod, then gestured toward their new companions.

“So… welcome to the team, Yudhir and Varun.” His voice was steady, calm as always. “You already know what’s at stake—we’re searching for the Sacred Regalia of Pskov before the Mayor of Novgorod, Alexander, and his military commander, Gabriel, can get their hands on it.”

He glanced around at the ruined sanctuary, its steam swirling like breath in ancient lungs.

“I believe it’s hidden somewhere in this place… but be warned—this realm is guarded by one of the most sacred protectors in legend.”

“Simargl.”

The name echoed softly through the air, as if the cavern itself remembered it.

Ruslan gulped, looking around at the hot springs and ruined towers. “But how do we even move through this place? Everything looks like it wants to kill us.”

Yudhir gave a patient smile.

“That’s the spirit.”

The realm of flame hissed beneath their feet, soaked in dense, shimmering heat. Everywhere the eye wandered, geysers of steam surged upward like warning beacons. The ground cracked with warmth, riddled by veins of magma-light pulsing underneath the stone.

All around them, Soot Imps scurried in and out of fissures—small, ember-like beings giggling mischievously, leaving smoky trails wherever they zipped. Above, the cavern’s ceiling arched like the belly of a slumbering beast, its surface layered with red bioluminescent moss that pulsed faintly, as if breathing.

A long, distant howl—too deep to belong to any natural wolf—echoed through the volcanic grottos. It sent a tremor through the hot springs, distorting the reflections of the party in the boiling water.

Avikarh, carrying Ostap like a silent sentinel, peered ahead at a flickering glow—icy blue, dancing at the far end of the chamber.
“That blue light may be our clue,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the steaming haze. “Let’s go.”

Ruslan, despite his better judgment, glanced toward the light and hesitated.
“Are you sure? What if the guardian is there? We don’t even know what kind of challenges are waiting for us…”

He trembled, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him harder than the oppressive heat. His voice was quiet. Honest.

Yudhir stepped forward, resting a firm hand atop the boy’s head, tousling his sweat-soaked hair with a gentle grin.

“We have to head into the unknown, Ruslan,” he said with unwavering patience. “Don’t focus on the risks—focus on the reason. No risk is too great when the job must be done.”

Something in his words clicked. Ruslan took a breath, nodded, and puffed his chest. His pace grew more certain, more confident, as he took the lead.
Avikarh, trailing beside him, let out a small laugh—low and rare.

“By the way,” he said with a half-smile, “you all can just call me Avi. And I really hope we find the Regalia soon. This place… is giving me the creeps.”

The heat was beginning to gnaw at their stamina. Beads of sweat dripped from every pore. Their cloaks stuck to their backs, boots dragging through mineral-stained ground. Even Yudhir’s normally composed face was lined with exhaustion.

“I’m drenched,” he muttered, adjusting his scarf. “This is taking a toll on Ruslan’s body. We should rest somewhere soon.”

“Hey,” Avi pointed toward a nook carved into the stony perimeter of the cave, shadowed but dry. “That spot near the wall looks good. Let’s make camp there. I doubt any monsters will wander this close to the sulfur fumes... I hope.”

Ruslan groaned. “Thank the stars. I feel like I’ll pass out any second now… Haa… Haa…”

But just as they began moving toward the spot, a thunderous howl sliced through the air—

“FWOooOOOSH-WHOOooo!”

The springs trembled. The steam quaked. Ripples danced violently across the bubbling water.

Avi’s eyes darted ahead. Two massive, fiery wolves emerged from the far side of the hot spring, their manes flickering like wildfire, bodies nearly twice the size of a horse. Their eyes burned gold, and their breath scorched the stones beneath them.

Before anyone could react, a third flaming wolf lunged from behind with a flash of orange light—its jaws wide, a comet of fury crashing toward Yudhir and the unconscious Varun.

The beast struck.

Yudhir was thrown several meters through the air, spinning wildly. He twisted mid-flight, and with a blast of wind from his palms, arrested his fall just before smashing into the moss-covered wall. Stones cracked, but he landed, crouched, wind swirling at his feet.

But Varun…
His limp body was flung into a nearby hot spring—a surge of water erupted like an explosion, and he vanished beneath the boiling surface.

“VARUN!” Yudhir yelled, taking a step forward—but the fiery wolf blocked his path, baring its teeth, molten drool sizzling against the rocks.

Avi didn’t waste a second.

Still gripping Ruslan tightly, he spun around and skated across the ground on a trail of frost, narrowly dodging a lunging wolf. He dropped Ruslan safely behind a jagged stone column and faced the remaining two monsters.

“Stay there!” he said, his tone sharp but composed. “I’ll buy time.”

Slamming his foot into the scorched floor, Avi summoned a massive dome of translucent ice—a shimmering sphere that enveloped him and the attacking beasts. Fire licked its surface, steam billowing around it violently, but the ice held strong. For now.

Inside the dome, the firewolves snarled and battered the walls, relentless. Avi’s breath came steadily, his fingers dancing with frost as he tried to keep the structure intact.

Outside, Ruslan peeked from behind the rock, teeth clenched.
“I-is he going to be okay?”

Yudhir’s jaw was tight. “Avi can hold them... but Varun…”
He turned toward the spring, steam still billowing. The water rippled with no sign of movement.

“Hang on, brother,” Yudhir muttered, eyes flashing as he gathered the wind beneath his feet.
“I’m coming.”