The King with the Empty Sheath

The two Royal Guards advanced along the road on horseback.

“Damn it, we’re late,” Bernard growled. “Of all days, your stomach chose today?”

Beside him, Evren lowered his head with an embarrassed look. “I got stressed out, I suppose,” he said. “It’s my first mission as a Royal Guard.”

Evren was young, somewhere in his twenties, with tired brown eyes and long hair tied loosely behind his head. His armor fit him well enough, but the man inside it looked as if he still wasn’t sure whether he belonged there.

Bernard was the opposite: older and broader, with a shaved head and a thick mustache beneath his stern nose. His black eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, calm in the way only veteran guards could be.

“Why are we here again?” Evren asked, failing to hide a yawn.

Bernard’s eyebrow twitched. “His Majesty deployed Royal Guards across the villages until he returns.”

“For what reason?”

For a moment, only the horses’ hooves struck the road.

“Prevention.”

Evren frowned. “Prevention? From what?”

Bernard did not answer. The road ahead answered for him: a burned carriage lay in the middle of the village path, or what remained of one.

Its wooden frame had been burned black from end to end. The wheels had collapsed into ash. The metal rims were twisted from the heat, and the horses that should have been pulling it were nowhere in sight.

No voices came from inside.

No crying.

No movement.

Only ash.

Evren’s face went pale. “What the hell happened here, Senior Bernard?”

Bernard’s eyes stayed on the carriage—and on the small, charred shapes within. His jaw tightened. “We need to hurry.”

They pushed their horses forward.

Deeper in the village, ash drifted around Nash like gray snow. Before him lay the remains of everything he had known.

He stood among the ruins, trembling. His jaw clenched, and his small fists tightened until his nails dug into his palms.

A flicker of dark crimson aura crawled over his body.

Athelson’s gaze shifted from Nash’s right eye to the left one hidden beneath his hair. Then Nash’s hair began to rise.

Athelson narrowed his eyes. No half-crimson eye appeared. Only black stared back at him.

I see.

Dark crimson smoke rose from Nash’s body like steam. “You did this!” His nails dug deeper into his palms until they bled. “You killed my mom!” Tears streamed down his face. “You… bastard!”

The scream tore from Nash’s throat.

A tower of dark crimson aura erupted around him, surging into the sky. The pressure pushed ash away from his feet and made the broken stones around him tremble.

The black lens over his left eye cracked beneath the force.

Then it burned away.

His true left eye opened beneath it—half black, half crimson.

Athelson’s eyes widened.

Two gazes reacted to that aura.

One yellow.

One crimson.

“So,” Athelson muttered. “The lens was hiding it.”

His expression darkened. “But that ominous aura…”

A bitter edge entered his voice. “How I hate it.”

Before Nash could move, Athelson vanished.

A blow struck the boy’s stomach.

Nash’s breath burst from his mouth. His eyes rolled. His small body folded forward, then collapsed into the ash.

The dark crimson aura around him vanished.

Athelson looked down at him and sighed. “Damn. What a day.”

Then his ear twitched.

Hooves.

Two horses.

Athelson turned his head.

Royal Guards?

A white flash sliced past his face.

Blood slid down his cheek.

Behind him, a deep crack opened across a nearby tree with a sharp wooden snap.

Bernard clicked his tongue from a distance.

Damn it. I missed.

Athelson touched the cut on his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Bernard and Evren brought their horses to a halt a short distance away. Both dismounted and drew their swords.

One blade was held firm.

The other trembled.

Bernard’s gaze swept over the black wings, the red eyes, the lingering flames, and the unconscious boy lying nearby. “Those eyes. Those wings. That flame…” Bernard’s voice lowered. “You’re Athelson the Dragon.”

“A-a-a…” Evren’s sword shook in his hands. “A dragon? Did you say a dragon?”

“Release that boy immediately,” Bernard ordered.

Athelson smiled faintly. “In case you didn’t know, your king failed to pay in time. According to the terms of the agreement—”

“King Kane was going to pay your damn emperor,” Bernard snapped.

Evren stared at Athelson.

Payment? What payment?

Athelson’s smile widened, as if he already knew the answer. “Then why didn’t he?”

Bernard’s eyes narrowed.

Even with his focus fixed on Athelson, Bernard noticed Evren beside him. The rookie’s legs trembled, his breathing came unevenly, and his sword barely stayed steady in his hands. “Will you stand trembling like a statue again?” Bernard said.

Evren’s grip tightened. He had heard almost the same words before.

A memory flashed through his mind.

In the future, don’t stand like a statue while everyone laughs at you.

Evren swallowed. “But Senior Bernard… a dragon? We’re mere Royal Guards.”

Bernard did not look away from Athelson. “Young one. Mount your horse and retreat.”

Evren’s eyes widened. “But Senior Bernard, you—”

“Now.” Bernard’s voice sharpened. Then, lower, he added, “You’re too young to die here.”

Evren’s fingers tightened around his sword. He wanted to step forward. He truly did. But his legs would not obey him.

Evren wanted to believe he could stand and fight, but his trembling body had already admitted what his pride could not.

He was afraid.

Bitterly, Evren sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. Tears streamed down his face as he turned away.

Senior Bernard… I sincerely apologize for my cowardice.

Bernard kept his silence and his firm gaze upon Athelson. “All right then, you scoundrel,” he said, facing Athelson alone. “It’s just between you and me now.”

He charged.

Athelson lifted one arm.

Black scales spread over his skin just in time to catch Bernard’s blade.

Metal rang against dragon scales.

“What can an old guard like you do against a dragon?” Athelson said.

The yellow slits in his red eyes rounded into human pupils. “Run while you still have the chance.”

Bernard pressed his sword harder against Athelson’s black scales. “Strength isn’t measured by age, you brat.”

Bernard swung again.

Left.

Right.

High.

Low.

Athelson blocked each strike as if Bernard’s sword weighed nothing.

But Bernard was not trying to win. Each swing, each step, each desperate breath had one purpose—to push Athelson farther from Nash.

Bernard’s eyes flicked toward the boy. Nash lay several meters away.

“Where are you looking?” Athelson asked.

His hand shot out and caught Bernard’s sword. Bernard’s attention snapped back. “Can’t you see the enemy is here?”

Athelson crushed the blade.

Steel snapped in his grip.

Before Bernard could pull away, Athelson grabbed him by the face and lifted him from the ground. “You truly should have retired.”

Bernard’s eyes hardened. His fingers twitched, and a small white sphere of mana condensed at his fingertips.

Athelson’s eyes narrowed.

The bullet fired.

It struck Athelson’s stomach at point-blank range.

The dragon-man grunted and dropped Bernard, clutching his bleeding side. Bernard hit the ground hard, rolled, and rose with the broken half of his sword still in hand.

He lunged before Athelson could recover, driving the broken blade toward his chest.

The broken blade struck Athelson’s dragon scales and stopped dead.

Athelson looked down at the blade.

Then at Bernard.

His round yellow pupils thinned into vertical slits as red spread through his eyes.

Bernard drew another symbol in the air.

A white aura whirled around him like a violent wind, then burst outward.

Athelson was thrown back, crashing into a tree hard enough to crack the trunk.

Bernard did not waste the opening.

My chance!

He ran for Nash.

“These annoying mana users!”

Athelson rose and opened his jaws, releasing a stream of flame.

Bernard glanced over his shoulder and saw the fire rushing toward him. Without stopping, he drew another symbol in the air and swept his left arm behind his back.

A white shield formed there.

The flames struck the shield and split apart as Bernard reached Nash. He threw aside the broken half of his sword, lifted the boy into his arms, and ran for his horse.

Athelson stopped breathing fire. His wings spread wide, and he shot after him.

Bernard ran with Nash in his arms, firing white bullets of mana over his shoulder. Athelson dodged each one, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

He’s too fast.

Bernard glanced at the road ahead, then at the trees. Still running, Bernard shifted Nash onto his shoulder and held him tightly with one arm. With his free hand, he drew a different symbol and swept two fingers through the air.

White slashes shot outward. Trees cracked, one after another, falling across Athelson’s path.

Athelson dodged the first.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Bernard reached his horse.

He placed Nash across the saddle and struck the horse’s side. “Go!”

The horse bolted.

For a brief moment, Bernard exhaled.

Nash was moving away.

That was enough.

A claw burst through Bernard’s back.

His eyes widened.

Blood spilled from his mouth.

Athelson stood behind him, his arm driven clean through. “So that was your plan?” Athelson said quietly. “To outrun a dragon with a horse? How foolish, old man.”

Bernard dropped to his knees.

Athelson withdrew his bloodstained hand.

Bernard’s eyes stared ahead, but they no longer saw the ruined village.

They saw another place.

Another time.

A younger voice shouted in his memory.

The title of Elite Guard will be mine!

Another voice answered sharply.

Words, words, and words. Actions matter, not words!

Then came his own voice.

You two brats, get down here! Do you want to destroy this guild again?

Bernard’s lips trembled. “Take care… of the guild… Malvern… and…” His body fell forward. “Save him.”

The roof of the village school collapsed in flames. Chairs and tables where Nash and his classmates had once studied were now almost gone within the hungry blaze.

For a moment, Athelson only stared at the senior Royal Guard’s body as ash drifted through the spreading fire. “You fought well, Royal Guard.”

His claws slowly returned to human fingers. The yellow slits in his eyes rounded into human pupils.

Then the pain in his stomach reminded him of the wound Bernard had inflicted. Athelson clenched his fist. Heat spread through his hand, and the blood began to evaporate. He pressed the same heated hand against the wound in his stomach and cauterized it, his jaw clenching as the pain flared.

Then the horse screamed.

Athelson looked up.

The horse carrying Nash reared on its hind legs, terrified. Nash slipped from the saddle and fell to the ground.

Athelson’s instincts shivered. He looked toward the sky.

The clouds were turning black. Yellow flashes pulsed inside them.

Lightning struck.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

Yellow bolts crashed into the earth as a man walked through the storm. Lightning crawled over his body, and long golden hair flowed around his face, partly hiding the rage in his eyes. His right hand dragged a swollen leather sack of coins, its tied mouth pulled tight while the weight inside scraped heavily against the ground. His left sleeve hung empty at his side.

The air changed. It grew thick, and Athelson’s breathing became difficult.

His draconic eyes locked onto the approaching figure.

Athelson’s body froze. “This man…” He took a step back. “He’s not supposed to be here!”

Kane walked through the flaming debris of the village, every step making the ground tremble beneath him.

“I told Magnus,” Kane said, his voice low, “that this was between him and me.”

Yellow lightning cracked across the earth.

“I told him to leave the people out of it.”

Kane’s empty sheath began to shine. Yellow lightning poured from it and rose upward like a living spirit.

Athelson’s body went cold.

“But to exploit my absence…” Kane continued.

Kane’s hand clenched around the tied mouth of the coin sack. “And cause this…” He looked around at the ashes of the village, then at Bernard’s body. “…is truly despicable.”

From the dark clouds above him, the head of a serpentine dragon emerged, shaped entirely from lightning.

Its jaws opened, and the roar struck Athelson like judgment.

For the first time that day, Athelson looked like the one staring at a dragon.

Every cell in Kane’s body screamed for blood.

For a few seconds, he did not move. The lightning around him sharpened. The empty sheath trembled. His yellow eyes stayed fixed on Athelson’s throat.

He could end it here, but behind Athelson stood Magnus, and behind Magnus waited a war that would shatter the fragile peace Kane had fought so hard to preserve.

Kane’s jaw tightened, and he cast the leather sack of coins at Athelson’s feet. “I know you are only his pawn,” Kane said. “So take your blood money and vanish from my sight.”

Athelson looked at the leather sack, then at Nash, then back at Kane.

His body could not bear another second beneath that suffocating presence. Without another word, he grabbed the sack, spread his wings, and flew away.

Kane watched him fly away, rage still boiling within him. Athelson did not dare look back.

Only then did the lightning around Kane’s sheath slowly fade.

Silence returned to the ruins.

Kane took a few slow steps toward Bernard’s body, then knelt beside him. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he carefully turned the fallen guard over.

Bernard’s face was still.

Rain started to pour from the heavens as if they came to attend the burial of the brave Royal guard. Kane lowered his head and closed his eyes. Water ran down his face, and no one could tell whether it was rain or tears. “I told you not to engage,” he said bitterly.

His words faded beneath the falling rain as the flames slowly died around them.

Then three fierce bolts of lightning fell from the heavens.

They struck the earth one after another, carving a sacred resting place into the scorched ground. With his only arm, Kane lifted Bernard carefully onto his shoulder and laid him within the grave carved by lightning.

Thunder roared above the silent village.

Kane stood beside the grave, his face lifted toward the rain-heavy sky.

A memory returned to him.

What does it mean for you to exist, Bernard?

Exist...?

The memory faded as Kane lowered his gaze to Bernard’s grave.

After covering Bernard’s body with wet earth, Kane pulled a slab of blackened stone from the surrounding wreckage and planted it upright at the head of the grave.

A thin current of yellow lightning crawled from his fingertips.

It burned a single name deep into the stone.

BERNARD

Kane rested his hand against the scorched letters. “You’ll never be forgotten, old friend.”

Only the rain answered him, falling over the leaves, the blackened houses, and the scorched ground.

Kane turned toward the unconscious boy lying nearby. He knelt beside Nash and pressed two fingers to the boy’s neck.

A heartbeat.

Weak, but there.

That aura I felt…

His gaze remained fixed on Nash. It came from him.

Kane opened Nash’s right eye, then his left. The moment he saw it, his breath stopped. “This…” He stood slowly. “This boy must be…”

A day passed.

Nash slowly regained consciousness in a soft bed. For a moment, he did not understand where he was.

The ceiling was unfamiliar, the sheets were too clean, and the air did not smell like home. He heard a familiar humming nearby, then everything returned at once.

The fire.

The ash.

His mother’s smile.

Nash’s eyes snapped open. “Mom!”

He pushed himself up, breath ragged, searching the unfamiliar room.

A young maid sat beside his bed, startled by his sudden cry. A pair of knitting needles rested in her hands, and a small ball of yarn sat in her lap. She had brown eyes and brown hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck, and wore an elegant black-and-white servant’s dress.

She quickly set the needles and yarn on the small dresser beside the bed, then leaned closer. “Please, calm down,” she said gently, reaching for his hand. “You’re safe now.”

Nash stared at her, still shaking. “Where… where am I? And… who are you?”

“My name is Julia,” the maid answered gently. “You’re in the Royal Palace. King Kane saved you and brought you here.”

“King Kane… saved me?”

Nash raised his free hand to his throbbing head. “So… it wasn’t a dream?”

Tears gathered in his eyes. “My mom… my village…”

The maid’s face softened. “Everything will be okay.”

“No.”

Nash pulled his hand away. His elbow struck a nearby flower vase, tipping it over and shattering it across the floor. Glass scattered around the bed.

One shard reflected Nash’s face.

His left eye.

The half-crimson eye.

Nash’s breathing changed. “Nothing will be okay,” he whispered, “until it’s gone.”

He reached for the shard.

The maid’s eyes widened. “No! Stop!”

Nash ignored her and stretched his hand toward the broken glass.

Before his fingers could reach it, another hand caught his wrist.

Nash looked up.

A man with long golden hair stood beside the bed, his calm face shadowed by grief.

A presence so heavy the room itself seemed to hold its breath.

King Kane.

“It saddens me,” Kane said softly, “to see a boy your age driven to such desperation.”

Kane slowly released the boy’s wrist. Nash raised his gaze.

This was the king he had only heard about in school, in rumors, and in the ordinary talk of adults. To a twelve-year-old boy, a king was supposed to be the strongest person in the kingdom. The one who protected everyone. The one who never allowed his people to be slaughtered.

“I am truly sorry for what you endured,” Kane said. “From this moment on, no harm will come to you under my protection.”

Nash’s fist clenched against the sheet. “You…” His voice shook. “Are you truly… King Kane?”

“Yes.”

Nash’s fist tightened further.

“King… Kane…”

Julia gathered the broken glass from the floor. “Your Majesty, I’ll throw this away.”

Kane gave a small nod, and Julia quietly left the room.

“I have one question for you,” Nash said.

Kane’s eyes met Nash’s furious gaze.

“You’re supposed to be the strongest person in the Kingdom of Valenharth. Its peacekeeper.” His voice cracked. “So why… why didn’t you save us, you coward?”

Kane’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes darkened. “Something unexpected occurred.”

Nash stared at him. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“For now, rest and gather your strength,” Kane said. “We can talk later.”

He turned toward the door.

Nash threw the blanket aside. “There is no later!” He charged at Kane, fist raised. “You coward!”

His fist struck Kane’s back.

But it passed through.

Kane’s body dissolved into yellow electricity and faded from the room.

Nash stumbled forward, eyes wide.

The door closed.

Kane’s voice came from beyond it.

“We will talk once you cool down.”

Nash clenched his teeth. “Come back here! You coward! You’re no king to me! You’re just a coward hiding behind royal clothes! Do you hear me?”

No answer came.

Far from Nash’s room, Kane sat alone at his desk, one elbow resting on the wood while his hand covered part of his face.

A map of the three continents decorated the wall behind him. Two continents occupied the upper half, separated by a narrow vertical sea, while the third lay far beneath them, divided from both by a much wider stretch of water. A wooden bookshelf stood beside a tall window, and stacks of papers covered his desk. His crown rested on the desk as well.

For once, he did not look like a king, but like a man carrying too much.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and an elderly servant stepped inside, his hair brushed neatly back and a distinguished mustache resting above his calm mouth. His black-and-white servant’s attire was immaculate. “Your Majesty…”

Kane lowered his hand. “What is it, Alfred?”

Before Alfred could answer, the sound of shattering glass rang through the palace. Kane’s eyes shifted toward the window.

Nash’s escape ended before it truly began.

Glass glittered across the palace garden behind him. A chair lay among the shards, half-broken from the fall. Moonlight had not yet claimed the sky, but the sun was already sinking low, staining the garden gold.

Standing before him was a boy his age with golden hair, sharp azure eyes, and finely tailored clothes without a single wrinkle. Everything about him looked clean.

Nash looked down at his own clothes. They were worn and dirty, still carrying the smell of smoke and the memory of a village that no longer existed.

The boy’s glare sharpened as he looked from Nash to the broken window above. “How dare you…” His voice shook with outrage. “How dare you break the window of our palace?”