In the light, Boka caught sight of faint scales along the girl’s neck.
A trait unique to Dragonfolk—he’d never mistake it.
“Who sent you?”
He gripped the girl’s wrist tightly.
“What are you doing, Boka!” Cynthia rushed forward, panic in her voice. “How can you be so ru—”
Before she could finish, the blue-haired girl flung a handful of powder at her. Cynthia collapsed. With a soft puff into the air, the powder drifted toward Dorin, inducing the same drowsiness that had claimed her mother.
“What are you doing!” Boka roared.
His grip tightened until her wrist turned ashen.
“Don’t worry. Spore pollen won’t harm them, Boka.”
“You know my name?!”
The Dragonfolk delegation had brought several children to the capital, most familiar to Boka—but this girl was a stranger. Aisha had already raised her hand, muttering rapidly in a language Boka couldn’t decipher. The girl suddenly turned to her.
“You’d use your power in front of him?” Her gaze pinned Aisha, unyielding.
Aisha hesitated, teeth gritted, but lowered her hand.
“Let go first. Be gentle with girls, alright? It hurts.” Her tone remained calm, almost playful.
Something in her voice felt familiar. The way she’d silenced Aisha. The long blue hair spilling over her shoulders.
“Lola…”
“You recognized me.”
“How did you… shrink?”
“We can control our age around ten years. A trait of ours.” She brushed it aside. “Close the shop first. If patrols spot Cynthia and Dorin like this, it’ll cause trouble.”
Boka ushered Lola to the back room, then shut the storefront with practiced calm. During curfew, few shops stayed open on Mel’s Street—closing early wouldn’t raise suspicion. After carrying Cynthia and Dorin upstairs, he returned.
Winter in Albion meant endless snow. Though light, it had piled a few inches deep. Snow still clung to Lola’s shoulders and hair, melting into a faint sheen of moisture.
Inside the cramped back room, Lola and Aisha faced each other.
Lola wore a faint smile. Aisha radiated hostility.
“Return to the forest depths, you lizards. Stay away from him.”
Lola ignored her.
“Why are you here?” Boka asked. “And explain this.”
Normally, he’d scold Aisha for “lizards”—but not today.
“Explain?”
“You know.” Boka’s face darkened. “Mia is dead.”
“Oh.” Lola’s voice was soft. “She was a pitiful child.”
“Don’t dodge this!”
Boka’s anger flared at her detachment.
“And you think we did it?” she countered.
“I—” He faltered.
“That’s why I sought you, Boka.”
Lola closed her eyes, then opened them—a habit.
“Alva is dead too.”
“…What?”
“Killed by the same hand.”
“Who?!”
“Alastor.”
“Lupin…” Boka hesitated. “You mean he killed Mia?”
“Yes.” Lola’s voice hardened. “He beheaded Alva. Black Spines carried off the corpse, tearing it apart midair.”
*Black Spines?* The connection stunned him. Too much, too fast.
“But why—”
“Alva showed me.” Lola cut him off. “Our kind shares a realm of consciousness. He sent his final moments there.”
“But Mia… why her? She harmed no one.”
Boka remembered her sincerity, brief but bright. Why such an end?
Lola shook her head, weary.
“After the Black Spine attacks… what happened next?”
“…Panic?”
“Yes. But worse—fear of *us*. Distrust. They weaponized our ability to influence creatures, however weak it is.”
“But Mia had nothing to do with—”
“Don’t you see?” Lola’s eyes sharpened. “The princess’s death made us eternal scapegoats.”
The pieces clicked. Two deaths. One design.
“Alastor.”
“Him.” Lola’s bitter smile held no warmth. “He could erase us with strength alone. But he wants more—to condemn us morally. To make our existence an abomination. This revenge was years in the making.”
Lupin’s elder sister had died in his arms after Dragonfolk healers refused her. Boka understood that rage. To lose a life to a healer’s refusal—unforgivable. But slaughtering innocents for the dead? That was demonic.
“Why come to me?” Boka finally asked.
“I need you to take me to Alastor.”
“Eh…?”
“I have words for him.”
“You think he won’t—”
“Andrew and the others are safe. Only I remain.” Lola interrupted again. Her meaning was clear: her life meant nothing now.
“Why me?”
“Too many patrols. I drew suspicion on the streets. I know no one else in Albion but you.”
Her Dragonfolk scales betrayed her, even in this child’s form.
“No!” Aisha snapped. “You’ll get him killed!”
Lola’s gaze shifted between them. Then, she dropped to one knee, right hand over her heart—the same solemn bow she’d given in the crowded street. She murmured words Boka couldn’t grasp, head bowed deep. A gesture reserved for royalty. The tension between them thickened.
“This is my lifelong plea,” Lola said. “I began this. Let me end it.”
Boka recalled her words: Dragonfolk had refused Lupin’s sister because they were performing a once-in-centuries ritual. Lola, its key, had become their Sainted Maiden. Had it been any other day…
“Absolutely not!” Aisha shrieked. “This is *your* burden!”
Boka knew Aisha wouldn’t yield easily. But when Lola lifted her head, her eyes held solemn resolve.
“There are things you wish buried forever. Aren’t there?”
Aisha faltered.
“But I know them. So… let him help me. Give me what I need most.”
“You…” Aisha’s teeth ground together. “You’re threatening me.”
“No. I’m begging.” Lola bowed again. “My visions pointed to Boka. Twice. I have no one else.”
Dragonfolk were healers—and seers. This journey to Albion? Perhaps the prophecy, not politics, drove her. She’d danced around the truth until now.
“Damn you… Suit yourself!” Aisha spat. “But he hasn’t agreed yet! Ask *him*!”
Lola turned to Boka, still kneeling.
“Boka. Please.” Her voice was steady. “After this… my life is yours to command.”
“Stand up,” he said.
Memories flooded him: Mia dancing with him on palace grass. Old Alva’s gentle eyes. The child torn apart by Black Spines before his own.
“Alright. I’ll go with you.”
