In the depths of the Tamahild forest, crimson Mirkints were in bloom.
That evening, though the forest was shrouded in darkness, this was undoubtedly the place. The exact spot where Adrian’s wounded leg had bled.
“Why…?”
Mikhail murmured as he looked down at the Mirkint blooming beneath his feet. Whether they sensed his turmoil or not, the birds in the forest chirped brightly and fluttered about peacefully. He bit into his lower lip with sharp canines, gnashing it hard.
Mikhail didn’t deliberate for long.
“Why did a Mirkint bloom from Adrian’s blood?”
One single answer floated through his mind, the key to unraveling every connection. But Mikhail shook his head firmly, as though rejecting the very idea. Slowly, he raised a hand to his face and pressed it down over his closed eyes.
Yet once born, suspicion does not fade so easily. Eventually, it blossomed like a flower, bore fruit, and spilled from Mikhail’s lips.
“…Adrian Heather isn’t human…”
His strained voice escaped from between the fingers covering his face.
Shff. His hand slid slowly down, revealing his face.
“Because he’s a dragon?”
In that moment, his eyes flashed open, glowing with a sharp, vivid crimson.
A dragon. Once, he’d thought them to be nothing more than distant, ancient creatures of legend—but no longer. Now, the word “dragon” brought one very specific figure to mind.
Luce Fennigan.
The one who had summoned him with his scales, who’d shared a carriage and meals together. That dragon had taken up residence in his thoughts completely.
Somehow, vaguely, Mikhail felt as though Luce had already known. That Adrian Heather of Basamiel Academy—this Adrian he was now seeking—was not human. Perhaps the mighty dragon had already realized it.
If that was true, were they covering for each other as kin?
Mikhail furrowed his brow.
It wasn’t as though he sought Adrian out to harm or blame him.
“Still, you planned to deceive me to the end, huh.”
Mikhail sneered coldly as he stared down at the Mirkint. No matter how mighty a dragon Adrian might be, he never would’ve imagined Mikhail would be the one to uncover his secret first.
***
Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Clack! The door burst open.
Luce, who had been lying on the dorm bed reading a book, flicked his gaze toward the door before calmly returning it to his page.
On the spine of the book in his hand were the words A Study on the Flow and Influence of Fate.
If only he could still use magic, he would’ve brought a better book from his lair. The contents weren’t entirely to his liking. Still, it was entertaining enough for something he’d picked up from a bookstore he’d stumbled across in the alley next to the dorm.
He didn’t have any gold on hand, so he’d borrowed money from Mikhail’s escort knight—but that didn’t matter. Once he regained his strength and could retrieve the gems from his lair, he would repay it immediately.
“Looks like the Rustavaran royal family never taught you about knocking.”
The one who entered, unsurprisingly, was Mikhail.
Luce’s muttered complaint echoed softly through the room. Even after hearing that grumble, Mikhail strode boldly inside with an expression that betrayed nothing.
Suddenly, he lunged forward. With a swift movement, Mikhail grabbed Luce by the collar with a large hand, yanking him up. Forced to tear his eyes from the book, Luce raised his brows in disbelief.
“…You’ve finally lost your damn mind, haven’t you?”
He couldn’t stand the way Mikhail acted, despite knowing he was a dragon. No—perhaps Mikhail was acting this way because he believed Luce had lost his dragon powers. The gaze that met his was blazing red, burning like wildfire.
“You…”
The words were spat more than spoken, grinding from Mikhail’s throat. His voice was rough—unlike usual.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Hah. Luce raised the corner of his mouth in a mocking smirk as he looked up at the man who dared to look down on him while gripping his collar. He tried to shove Mikhail’s hand away, but just as before, their strength was evenly matched. The grip on his collar wouldn’t loosen so easily.
“Knew what, exactly? And who the hell do you think you are, taking your anger out on me? Take your hand off me, you idiotic—!”
Smack! A sharp crack rang out.
Mikhail had struck the back of Luce’s hand hard, knocking it away. Luce winced, the stinging pain shooting through his hand. If he hadn’t been stuck in a human form, that sort of insolence would’ve already cost Mikhail his life.
“Adrian Heather isn’t human. You knew, didn’t you!”
“…What?”
Mikhail’s outburst made Luce’s eyes go wide. He was so startled, he even forgot he’d been growling in irritation just moments before. That’s how certain Mikhail’s voice had sounded.
“His…”
Mikhail paused, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again with a clear, resolute gaze. He continued.
“A Mirkint was blooming at the very spot where Adrian’s blood had spilled. I just came from the Tamahild forest—I saw it with my own eyes. A Mirkint that wouldn’t grow from the blood of even most royal families… was in full bloom. Just like you said.”
“Ahh…”
Luce, still caught by the collar and slouched against the bed, let out a dry sigh. Damn it. I forgot about that.
That was a misstep on his part. Mikhail shouldn’t have known anything about the Mirkint, not even the name of the plant. He had all but handed over proof that he himself was Adrian Heather.
“So… that’s how it is.”
It had been a flawless plan. Luce clicked his tongue inwardly, over and over, full of regret. Hearing that, Mikhail gripped the collar even tighter, digging his fist in harder.
Hmph. Luce scowled at Mikhail’s brutish strength.
“Call him. Right now!”
“Call him?”
Luce muttered in disbelief. At least there was one bit of good news—Mikhail didn’t know the most crucial piece: that Adrian Heather and Luce Fennigan were one and the same.
“…What, do you think dragons send each other holiday greetings every year or something? That ancient one we saw together—that was the first dragon I’d ever met.”
“There must be a way. Some kind of method dragons use to communicate among themselves.”
“There’s no such thing.”
Dragons weren’t exactly the warm, sentimental type who bothered to invent ways of staying in touch. Luce scoffed at Mikhail’s naive assumption and slowly pressed his fingers against the back of Mikhail’s hand—the one gripping his collar. His cold skin made Mikhail flinch and shudder involuntarily, and he finally let go.
“Then… then how on earth am I supposed to talk to him?”
“Dunno? I’m still planning to find Adrian’s corpse like you asked. Are you saying you want to change your wish now?”
“…”
Luce calmly scanned Mikhail’s frozen expression with his ordinary brown eyes. He didn’t look conflicted.
“…No. I’m not changing my wish.”
“Good. Not that it matters now—you couldn’t change it even if you wanted to. A mere human body can’t make a dragon’s pact with mana.”
“So you didn’t know Adrian was a dragon either, did you?”
Mikhail, noticeably calmer than when he’d first stormed into the room, slowly straightened his posture. Luce brushed down his rumpled sleeve where Mikhail had manhandled him. So much for royal nobility, he thought.
For all his pride, even Luce found it hard to boldly say “I didn’t know” to Mikhail’s desperate face. Instead, he changed the subject.
“…Besides the Mirkint.”
“Sorry?”
“Is there any other proof that he was a dragon besides the Mirkint?”
Mikhail shook his head slowly.
“No. Nothing else.”
“See? Jumping to the conclusion that the one you’re after is a dragon based on just that is a bit rash, don’t you think? We’ll find out the truth once we find his body.”
The truth.
Luce’s own words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Letting Mikhail find out the truth was the last thing he wanted. Still, Mikhail seemed somewhat reassured by what the dragon had said. His brows were still furrowed, but he nodded as if he’d been convinced—at least for now.
“…Yeah.”
“Looks like you’ve calmed down a bit?”
“More or less.”
Even as he murmured, Mikhail kept his sharp gaze locked on Luce’s face, as if trying to catch the slightest shift in expression. Like he was searching for something.
“Then get out. I’d like to get back to my book.”
A blunt dismissal.
“…Pardon the intrusion.”
Mikhail replied quietly and stepped out of the room.
Left alone, Luce lowered his gaze back to the book he’d been reading. The edge of the page had been crumpled from Mikhail’s commotion. He tried to smooth the crease out with his index finger, but it wouldn’t return to its original shape.
