As he turned the corner, he met up with two large mahogany doors with intricate carved designs of dragons on them. He carelessly chewed on a cinnamon stick, his sharp fangs easily crushing down into it, as he opened the doors. Beyond the doors was a dark room with a single podium illuminated by a single light shining down on it. 

 

His eyes widened with horror, dropping his jaw, the cinnamon stick slipped from his mouth onto the floor.

 

Tack!

 

It rolled slightly after connecting with the floor.

 

“Where is it?” the boy whispered to himself in horror. 

 

He rushed up to the empty podium and gripped both sides of it with wide eyes. He searched all over.

 

“No! The Relic! What happened?! It was here last night—”

 

Crash!

 

The boy gasped from the loud sound coming from another room. He looked over his shoulder with surprise. He held his hand out, and chanted a spell.

 

“Show me where that noise came from!” 

 

A gold light swirled around his hand and warped into the air, revealing his father, the king of Draconia, kneeling, heaving heavily. The boy's eyes widened as he gasped. He closed the visual and rushed out of the Relic's room, rushing toward the palace's throne room.

 

As he rushed through the halls in a hurry, he threw his hand out to summon the throne room's wooden doors open with his magic. He halts immediately at the sight of the Relic Guard that hunted Sabrina earlier and his father winded, trying to pick themselves up off the black marble flooring. 

 

Before him stood a very tall, and slim man clad in black and silver. The first thing he notices isn't his face, but the way the light dies behind this figure. Even at six feet tall, he found himself tilting his head back, and then further back, just to find his shoulders. The man stands like a monument of silk and fur, his nine foot frame casting a long, geometric shadow that swallows the floor beneath the boy's feet.

 

He donned a towering cage-work crown of blackened iron rose from his brow, its spindly vertical bars ending in sharp, diamond-shaped finials that pierced the air like needles with metallic grace, exposing his raven black hair. Beneath the structure, a heavy obsidian veil draped from a silver-studded band, leaving only his sharp jawline exposed, completely obscuring his eyes even as the boy felt his gaze lock onto his from behind the mesh that surrounded his head. 

 

The sheer verticality of him is dizzying. His star-dusted silver pelerine flares out from both ends of his shoulders like frozen wings, the crescent moon at his chest acting as a cold, unblinking eye. 

 

Everything about him was sharp; from the ice white diamonds lining his black clothed thighs to the jagged, dark silver points of his boots. He wore a heavy, dark cloak that was broken by the exposure of his left side. It was the outfit of a man who belonged to the cold spaces between stars, a god made of obsidian and moonlight.

 

He looked over his shoulder, a mountain of monochrome elegance waiting for the boy to find his voice. He lowered his unadorned matte-black staff to the floor, its connection echoing in the room, a conduit of silent power.

 

The boy's heart sank in total fear, the color draining from his flesh. 

 

The Eclipsed Moon God… he thought with despair.

 

The god played a cold smile, fully facing the boy. His metallic boots slowly echoing across the marble as he makes his way toward the teen.

 

Tap.

 

Tap.

 

The boy's heart raced as the god approached him with a chillingly calm gait electrified with what felt like a deathly patience. 

 

“Lionel,” the god purred with a deceptive soft grin.

 

“Brennan, don't! He has nothing to do with this! Your anger is toward the Relic Guard and I!” The dragon king begged as he stood up from his kneel, ready to run and grab his son.

 

​Brennan lowered himself to Lionel's height. Up close, the contrast was blinding; his skin was a startling, deathly ivory that seemed to glow against the void-black silk of his clothes. Without the veil hiding his lower face, his mouth was a pale contrast against the dark blacks of his collar. 

 

Lionel’s fingers dug into the cold stone of the pillar, polished marble biting into his palms. He wanted to look at his father, to find some shred of Kingly reassurance, but his gaze was pinned by the obsidian veil. 

 

Even with Brennan's eyes obscured, Lionel felt like he was being dissected by a surgical, lunar chill.

 

​The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the ragged breathing of the fallen Relic Guard.

 

​“Where is my relic, Lionel?” Brennan asked lightly. He tilted his head with a flicker of false curiosity.

 

​“I…I don’t have it,” Lionel managed to choke out. His voice cracked, and he hated how small he sounded. His dark hair, usually worn with a sense of rebellious apathy, now felt like a target. “The podium was empty. I went to check and it was already gone.”

 

​Brennan’s smile didn’t falter, but the air grew perceptibly colder. A faint frost began to crystallize on the black marble where his staff touched the ground. He reached out a gloved hand, his long fingers hovering inches from Lionel’s chin.

 

​“Already gone,” Brennan repeated. His voice was a melodic purr that made Lionel’s skin crawl. “A tragedy. To lose something so integral to the balance of your little kingdom.”

 

​“He’s telling the truth!” the King roared. He took a step forward, wincing as he clutched his side. “The Relic was stolen by an outsider. We were tracking the signature when you arrived!”

 

​The Moon God didn’t turn around. He didn’t have to. The shadow he cast lengthened of its own accord, stretching toward the King like a silent warning. Brennan’s focus remained entirely on Lionel.

 

​“An outsider,” Brennan mused. He tilted his head the other way with the grace of a bird of prey. “I am aware of that. I am just curious why your abilities didn’t activate to stop it. It is a concerning lack of development, dear.”

 

​“If you already know, then why ask me?” Lionel’s voice shook.

 

​Brennan chuckled as if the question were trivial. 

 

“Because I can only trust you to be honest with me,” he replied. He glanced back at the King with a heavy, insulting tone. “Abaddon here has a tendency to think he can outsmart me. He never really learns.”

 

​“Why did you attack my father? Why are you here?” Lionel asked.

 

​“Attack? You mean this?” Brennan raised his right hand and snapped his gloved fingers. 

 

An intense gravity slammed both the King and the Relic Guard to their knees. Both men grunted under the crushing pressure.

 

​Lionel gasped, his eyes widening.

 

​Brennan snapped again, instantly relieving the weight. He rose to his full height, staring Lionel down. 

 

“I am here merely to confirm my suspicions and get rid of some clutter. Then, I will follow the energy of my relic.”

 

​“Clutter?” Lionel whispered.

 

​Brennan slowly raised his left hand, turning slightly toward the King and the guard. Abaddon’s eyes widened with pure terror. 

 

“Brennan, please,” he begged.

​

Brennan only smiled. With a flick of his wrist, a haunting light surrounded the Relic Guard with an ominous loud hum. The man looked down at himself, bewildered of the sharp and intricate magic circle slowly circling at his feet.

 

“No, please, Master! Allow me to explain!” the Relic Guard pleaded. “A boy in a red jacket! A child of the Mage, Gradivus, prevented me from—” just before he could finish, large, heavenly spears of light rained down from the ceiling at the merciless snap of Brennan's fingers.

 

The floor shook as the structure groaned under the assault, knocking out their lights in the chandeliers, and shattering its glass. The light from the magic was blinding, like staring directly into the sun.

 

​“My lord! Why?!” the guard screamed, his voice vanishing as he was erased from existence.

 

​Lionel and Abaddon shielded their eyes, steadying themselves against the trembling earth. When Brennan finally lowered his hand, the room felt empty.

 

​“I create a Relic Guard to guard a relic, and he fails to do so, then points blame unto others. It was pointless to keep him around,” Brennan said coldly as he turned to face the other two dragons. 

 

“Forgive my poor manifestation for wasting your time.”

 

​Abaddon staggered back, panting with exertion. Lionel’s face was bloodless. His heart skipped a beat when Brennan turned back to him.

 

​“Let’s exercise those abilities of yours, sweet child. Show me the relic’s energy, will you?” Brennan’s head tilted with a strange, mocking affection.

 

​Lionel’s hands shook as he raised them. He summoned a golden light, warping the space between his palms to reveal a vision: two masked men in red robes traveling a dirt road through a barren forest.

 

​Brennan hummed, intrigued. “Thank you, Lionel. You were a great help,” he said, his dark tone ending in a dry chuckle. 

 

His footsteps echoed through the throne room, his staff tapping rhythmically against the marble as he walked toward the exit.

 

​“Tell your little brother, Ángel, not to give Abad too hard of a time,” he called back patronizingly with a chuckle. 

 

​Then, he was gone.

 

​The throne room fell into a deafening silence. Lionel and Abaddon exchanged a look before turning to the scorched, violently cracked floor. The spot where the guard had stood was now nothing but blackened stone and purple embers, smoldering in the dark.