Chapter 50 :A Predator’s Memory

The chamber was silent, save for the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth. Count Vareon Faulmont sat at his massive desk, fingers drumming absently on the polished wood. The only illumination came from the red glow of enchanted lanterns, casting long, shifting shadows across the stone walls.


A knock at the door.


He didn’t answer. The door creaked open anyway, and a nervous mercenary stepped inside, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes darting everywhere but at the Count’s face.


“Well?” Vareon’s voice was a low growl.


The mercenary swallowed. “We… we’ve searched the southern valleys, the old mines, even the river caves. There’s no sign of the dragon. Or the masked boy.”


Vareon’s hand stilled. The silence that followed was suffocating.


He rose from his chair in a single, fluid motion. The mercenary flinched, but Vareon ignored him, pacing to the window and staring out into the night. For a moment, he seemed almost calm.


Then the storm broke.


A roar tore from his throat, raw and animal. He swept his arm across the desk, sending maps, scrolls, and glass vials crashing to the floor. The lanterns flickered wildly, their magical flames shuddering in response to the surge of his aura. The mercenary stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet.


Vareon spun, eyes wild, face twisted with fury. “Useless! All of you! Do you know what you’ve lost me? Do you have any idea what that dragon was worth?”


His voice rose with every word, echoing off the stone. He seized the nearest chair and hurled it against the wall, where it splintered into kindling. The mercenary backed into the doorway, white-faced.


“Get out!” Vareon snarled.


The man bolted, slamming the door behind him.


For a long moment, Vareon stood in the center of the ruined chamber, chest heaving, hands shaking. His aura crackled around him, a storm barely held in check. He looked more beast than man—eyes burning, lips pulled back in a snarl.


He wanted to destroy something. To tear the world apart until he found her.


But slowly, inexorably, the rage ebbed. He forced himself to breathe, to unclench his fists. He ran a hand through his hair, slick with sweat, and stalked back to his desk, surveying the chaos he’d made.


No. Mindless anger wouldn’t help him now.


He needed to think.


He needed to be smarter than the beast inside him.


He righted his chair, lowering himself into it with deliberate slowness. He closed his eyes, forcing his mind to work through the problem—methodically, ruthlessly, as he always had.


Where could she be?


He replayed every report, every rumor. The dragon was gravely wounded, carrying the masked boy. She couldn’t have gone far. The portal—he didn’t understand the spellwork, but he knew enough about teleportation magic to know its limits.


Teleportation was a tricky art. Even the most powerful mages could only bend space so far. The principle was always the same: magic reversed the body’s place in the world, folding distance for an instant. But the cost grew with every mile. The risk of splintering, of losing pieces of yourself in the void, was real.


And for a dragon, battered and bleeding, carrying another body? No. She couldn’t have crossed an empire. Not even with her bloodline.


He muttered to himself, voice low and venomous. “She’s still in Thalosridge. She has to be.”


His mind conjured a map of the region. Thalosridge was a land of jagged peaks and deep valleys, riddled with caves and old ruins. The perfect place to hide, if you knew where to look.


He began listing places aloud, ticking them off on his fingers.


“Frostglen Caverns. The Old Iron Mines. The Blackroot Hollows. The Mirror Lake tunnels. The abandoned watchtower at Stone’s End. The Ravenspire ruins.”


He shook his head. “No, no… we already searched those. Nothing. Not even a trace of blood.”


He leaned back, eyes closed, letting the memories come.


The first time he’d found her, she’d been little more than a shadow in the dark. He’d been hunting a rogue mage through the northern valleys, following rumors of a wounded beast. The locals had whispered of a monster in the caves—one that had slaughtered a whole bandit camp in a single night.


He remembered the cold, the stench of blood, the silence that followed.


He’d found her in a cave high above the valley floor, curled around herself, scales dulled and cracked. She’d been half-mad with pain, her wounds still fresh from some distant war. Even then, she’d been magnificent—terrifying, but magnificent.


He’d watched her for hours before making his move. He remembered the way she’d roused, eyes burning with defiance even as her body trembled. She’d tried to fight, but she was too weak. He’d called in his mages, bound her in chains of iron and rune, and dragged her back to his lab


He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.


She’d been recovering then. Hiding from the world, from whatever had nearly killed her. He’d stolen her from that fragile peace.


And now, she’d vanished again. Into the caves, the shadows, the places he’d once found her.


He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.


Where would she go? Where could she hide, wounded and hunted, with a human boy in tow?


He thought of the places he hadn’t searched. The forgotten tunnels beneath the old monastery. The collapsed mineshafts near Deadman’s Pass. The ice caves above the Cloudspire cliffs. The haunted woods of Wraith Hollow.


He shook his head again. “No… too exposed. Too dangerous.”


He tapped his fingers on the desk, mind racing.


“She needs somewhere deep. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere she can heal.”


He imagined her, curled in the dark, licking her wounds, watching the entrance for any sign of pursuit.


He remembered the way she’d looked at him, the hatred in her eyes.


He remembered the way she’d fought, even when she had nothing left.


He remembered the way she’d survived.


He stood, pacing the length of the room, muttering to himself.


“She’s not stupid. She won’t go anywhere obvious. She’ll pick somewhere. Somewhere I won’t think to look.”


He paused, staring at the map pinned to the wall.


There were a many caves in Thalosridge. Several hiding places.


But only a handful that would be safe for a wounded dragon and a human boy.


He traced the ridges with his finger, searching for patterns.


The southern slopes were riddled with sinkholes and underground rivers. The eastern cliffs were too exposed, the western woods too close to the villages. The northern peaks… maybe.


He made a note to send scouts to the high valleys, the places where the snow never melted.


But even as he planned, doubt gnawed at him.


What if she’d used magic he didn’t understand? What if the portal had taken her farther than he thought possible?


No. He refused to believe it.


He thought.


Teleportation operated on principles mortals scarcely understood—a mechanism far more intricate than any human magic. What was certain, however, was its range depended entirely on the user’s mana reserves: the greater the power, the farther one could travel. Dragons, blessed with immense stores of mana, could leap vast distances, but even they were bound by limits. No dragon, no matter how mighty, could teleport from one kingdom to another in a single jump. And this particular dragon—wounded and weakened—would be unable to leave Thalosridge at all. She simply didn’t have the strength. If she had teleported, she must still be somewhere within these borders.


He slammed his fist on the desk, sending a fresh wave of pain through his hand.


“She’s here. Somewhere in Thalosridge. She has to be.”


He listed more names, voice growing hoarse.


“The Hollow Spine. The Whispering Deeps. The Old King’s Tomb. The Shattered Veins.”


He shook his head, frustration mounting.


“We’ve searched them all. Nothing.”


He slumped into his chair, closing his eyes.


He let his mind drift back to that first hunt, the cold wind biting his face, the thrill of discovery.


He remembered the cave—narrow, hidden behind a curtain of icicles. He’d almost missed it. If not for the blood on the snow, he would have passed it by.


He remembered the dragon’s eyes, burning gold in the darkness.


He remembered the way she’d fought, even as her body failed her.


He remembered the satisfaction of victory, the taste of power.


He opened his eyes, gaze hard and cold.


He would find her again.


He would tear apart every cave, every tunnel, every shadow in Thalosridge until he dragged her back in chains.


He would not be denied.


Not by a dragon.


Not by a boy.


Not by anyone.


He sat in silence, plotting his next move, the beast inside him coiled and waiting.


Vareon sat in the ruined silence, the embers in the hearth now little more than a dull orange glow. His mind churned through every possibility, every scrap of knowledge he possessed about dragons, magic, and the woman he hunted. Then, a memory surfaced—one so obvious he cursed himself for not recalling it sooner.


Teleportation. There was another rule, one so fundamental even the most reckless mages obeyed it:
You could not jump to a place you had never seen. The destination had to be known—visited, remembered, anchored in the mind and spirit. Otherwise, the spell would fail, or worse, scatter you into the void between places.


He pressed his palms to his temples, willing himself to remember. When he’d first found the dragon, the rumors had been fresh—no more than a week old. She hadn’t been lurking in Thalosridge for years, building a network of hidden lairs. She’d arrived, found a cave, and settled in, desperate for shelter. She’d been a stranger to these mountains.


That meant she only knew two places in all of Thalosridge:
The cave where he’d first captured her, and the cold, sterile confines of his own laboratory.


His eyes snapped open, a slow, predatory smile curling his lips.
Of course. She couldn’t have fled to some forgotten tunnel or ancient ruin—she didn’t know them. Even a dragon’s magic couldn’t take her somewhere she’d never been.


He stood, the last of his doubt burning away.
“She’s at the cave,” he whispered, voice trembling with anticipation. “She has to be.”


All the wasted searches, all the fruitless hunts—he’d been looking everywhere but the most obvious place. The place she’d once called sanctuary.


He strode to the door, his steps quickening, the beast within him surging forward.
This time, he would not hesitate.
This time, he would not fail.


The hunt was no longer blind.
He knew exactly where to look.


To be continued