“Luna? Wake up, dear!” Menorah called out sweetly.

Groaning and rubbing her eyes, Luna stirred, blinking up at the patched ceiling as the events of the previous night slowly

returned to her in fragments.

“Are you alright?” Menorah’s voice snapped her fully awake. Luna sat up abruptly, her gaze darting around the room.

“Where is it?” she whispered, throwing off her sheets in a panic.

“Luna!” her mother called again, now with a hint of impatience.

“Mother, I’m not feeling well. May I stay in today?” Luna asked quickly, buying herself time.

Menorah hurried over, concern etched on her face. “Not well? What happened, love?”

“It’s just a headache, Mother. Nothing serious. I think I’ll be fine if I rest.”

Menorah frowned but nodded. “Very well. I’ve left breakfast for you. I’m heading to work now. Don’t exert yourself, Luna… and please, stay out of trouble?”

“I will,” Luna said with a small smile, watching her mother leave.

As soon as the door shut, she leapt from the hammock and rushed to lock it.

“Dragon? Where are you?” she called out, scanning the room frantically. Was it all a dream? Had she imagined everything?

Krrk.

A soft noise caught her attention. She turned toward the stove, eyes narrowing.

“Dragon?” she whispered, letting out a low whistle.

"Krrk." A small head popped up from behind the stove, where it had burrowed for warmth.

“Oh, you’re real. The stars bless me!” Luna giggled, holding out her arms as the creature jumped into them.

“Were you always gray?” she asked, puzzled. She remembered its scales being iridescent.

Right before her eyes, the dragon’s scales shimmered and suddenly she couldn’t see it anymore, if it wasn’t for the soft purring she wouldn’t know the dragon was there.

“You can change colors to become transparent?” she gasped. “A dragon that camouflages… I’ve never heard of that before.”

The dragons scaled shimmered once more before it appeared as its normal self with iridescent scales.

Her grin widened. “Chameleon. That’s what I’ll name you. Chameleon.”

The dragon blinked up at her with clear affection, its eyes shifting in color just like its scales.

“You are truly the prettiest dragon,” she murmured, gently stroking the back of its head.

She placed her breakfast in front of it. “And growing fast,” she added, noticing it looked slightly larger than the night before.

________________________________________

“The girl is alive… go find her. Bring her to me,” the king commanded, his voice low and firm.

Standing beside him was Zilo, his most trusted confidant. Though not of noble birth, Zilo had served the crown since King Agustus was a boy. Where others flinched in the face of cruelty, Zilo thrived. He was the king’s shadow—silent, ever-watchful, and deadly. His bald head gleamed under the flickering torchlight, and his long black robes—plain but impeccably pressed—swept the marble floor like liquid ink. He carried no weapons, for Zilo was the kind of man whose mind was sharper than any sword.

“Do not worry, Your Highness,” Zilo said with a slight bow, his voice soft and smooth like oiled silk. “I shall handle it. I remember the maid who took the child. She dwells among the unwanted.”

The king narrowed his eyes, puzzled. “And how, pray tell, do you remember that?”

“It is my job to know everything,” Zilo replied, smiling with cold confidence. His lips barely curved, yet the smug satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable.

The king returned the smile, visibly more at ease. With a dismissive wave, he allowed Zilo to take his leave.

Zilo glided through the gleaming corridors of the palace, which were lined with towering stained-glass windows and golden tapestries. The walls were etched with the history of Ravenclave’s royal bloodline—dragons woven into every fabric, carved into every pillar, watching always. Outside, the training grounds stretched wide under the gray sky. Dozens of armored men moved in practiced rhythm, steel clashing against steel as drills commenced.

Among them stood Kai.

He was younger than most in the court, but carried the weight of command with quiet dignity. With shoulder-length dark hair tied back loosely and piercing gray eyes, he resembled a prince from a forgotten tale—handsome, noble, and entirely out of place among the grizzled men-at-arms. His leather armor fit snugly across his broad frame, and the soldiers respected him, not for any title, but for his sense of justice and unwavering courage.

Zilo’s gaze flicked to him like a vulture spotting a lamb.

“Kai,” he called, his voice a blade cloaked in velvet. “Ready the horses. We ride to the Unwanted Grounds.”

Kai gave a silent nod, already turning to obey.

Zilo's thoughts, however, were fixed elsewhere—cold, deliberate, and precise. He would find the child. He would ensure she never rose to threaten the crown. The unwanted districts were sprawling, filthy, and teeming with the forgotten and discarded. But Zilo was a man of immense patience. He had time. He had power. And he had the most dangerous trait of all: purpose.

As Kai adjusted the straps on his gauntlets and began preparing the mounts, curiosity got the better of him.

“What exactly are we searching for, sir?” he asked, pulling a horse by the reins.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Zilo responded.

Then—smack.

The slap came hard and fast, echoing across the courtyard like a crack of thunder. Kai’s head jerked sideways from the force, his cheek reddening. The soldiers froze, eyes wide.

Zilo leaned forward, lips curled into a cruel smile. “You do not have permission to speak to me, peasant,” he hissed. “GET THE CARRIAGE. NOW.”

Kai straightened slowly, fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. His expression was unreadable, his pride wounded but intact. Around him, his men watched in silence, their jaws clenched. Fury simmered just beneath the surface, but none dared speak against Zilo.

It wasn’t the first time the king’s right hand had overstepped his bounds. Though he held no noble title, Zilo dressed and acted as though he were royalty himself—strutting through court like a silk-draped vulture, always watching, always whispering. His cruelty was legend, and his arrogance insufferable.

As the black-robed advisor swept past them and disappeared into the stables, the men looked to Kai.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, lowering his voice. “You alright, brother?”

Kai chuckled dryly and rubbed his stinging jaw. “People with no true power,” he muttered, “are always the ones who shout the loudest.”

He offered a grim smile and went to ready the carriage. The sting on his face was nothing compared to the storm brewing in his gut.

But deep in his heart, he already knew—Zilo was up to something. And it wasn’t good