Chapter 123 The King Who Awakens from Slumber

Chapter 123 The King Who Awakens from Slumber
In the midst of the frantic care for the eggs and the hatchlings beginning to tumble from their shells, no one noticed the foreign presence lurking behind the mountain mists. It wasn't a fast-moving black shadow or glowing red eyes in the dark. It was something older. Calmer. More dangerous.
He stood atop the highest peak in Atheria, watching the hustle and bustle in the valley below with unblinking, pale blue eyes. His human form was flawless—long black hair flowing freely, skin as pale as porcelain, and a simple, inconspicuous black cloak. He looked like a nobleman lost in the mountains. But behind him, the shadow he cast did not mimic his movements. It was larger. Far larger. And it had wings.
His name was Mordred. In the memories of the elder dragons, that name had long been buried alongside bedtime fairy tales. No one believed he actually existed. No one believed that a dragon—if he could even be called that—had once led a shadow army with power that nearly rivaled the first Golden Dragon.
But he was real. And he was awake.
The first roar shared by Lyla and Lysander on the night of their soul-unification at Silverwood—a roar unheard by human ears but one that echoed through every layer of reality—had awakened him. For thousands of years, he had slept in the deepest heart of the mountain, his body petrified, his power scattered among his loyal shadows. But that sound... the sound of two souls becoming one... was an alarm that could not be ignored.
"Finally," he whispered, his lips barely moving. "The Healer is born."
He watched Lyla from the distance—the woman with the blue-gold light busy mending the wounds of the young dragons. In his eyes, there was no hatred. No rage. Only the patience of a hunter who had waited millennia.
All this time, his followers—the shadows regarded as Shadow Dragons—had moved according to his will without his conscious direction. They kidnapped the eggs not because they wanted the infants, but to distract. They attacked not to win, but to keep Lyla busy, exhausted, and constantly draining her energy to heal others.
And the plan was working.
Lyla was now weaker than usual. Her Blazing Tides still flickered, but they weren't nearly as bright as when she first mastered them. Every day she healed, every night she kept watch, every hour she sacrificed a small piece of herself for others.
She was a healer. It was a blessing and a curse. Because to heal, she had to give. And giving continuously without rest would eventually leave her empty.
Mordred wanted Lyla in that empty state. Not to kill her—that would be a waste. He wanted her blood. The blood of the last golden dragon, the blood of a healer that could mend any wound, including those that even time itself could not heal.
"With her blood," Mordred murmured, his pale fingers touching his own chest, right over a heart that hadn't beaten for thousands of years, "I can live again. Not as a shadow, not as a wandering spirit. But as a true king."
He smiled. A smile that was soft, warm, and utterly deceptive.
In the valley below, Lyla suddenly shivered. She turned toward the cliffs but saw nothing. Only mist and stone.
"Lyla? You okay?" asked Elara, who was cradling Aurelius.
Lyla nodded, even though her chest felt strange. "I just... felt like someone was watching."
Elara frowned, her eyes sweeping the surroundings. "There’s no one there."
"Maybe I'm just tired." Lyla gave a thin smile and returned to treating a copper dragon whose leg was still rotting from shadow poison.
Aloft the cliff, Mordred observed her every move. He was in no hurry. Time was his greatest ally. And he knew that soon, Lyla would be alone.
That evening, Lysander and the rescue team returned from a fruitless search. They had found traces of shadows, but could never catch them. It was as if the shadows knew exactly when to vanish.
"It’s like they’re playing with us," Lysander said in frustration, shedding his dew-soaked cloak. "They're always one step ahead."
Lyla approached, taking his hand. "We’ll find them. But for now, rest. You haven’t slept in three days."
Lysander exhaled and kissed Lyla’s forehead. "You too. I can see the dark circles under your eyes."
They shared a brief embrace before Lysander retreated to his tent. Lyla walked to the edge of the valley, staring at the darkening twilight sky. In her hand, the Blazing Tides glowed dimly—almost extinguished.
"You are tired, Princess of Light."
Lyla turned. There was no one there. But the voice... it was crystal clear in her head. Soft, soothing, and hauntingly familiar, even though she was certain she had never heard it before.
"You have given too much. Now it is time for you to receive."
"Who are you?" Lyla whispered, her eyes narrowing.
There was no answer. But in the distance, atop the peak, a shadow flickered. Lyla blinked, and the figure was gone. Was she hallucinating? Or was it a sensory trick born of exhaustion?
She shook her head and returned to her tent. That night, she dreamed. Not a nightmare, but a beautiful dream—of vast meadows, a warm sun, and a man in a black cloak reaching out to her.
"Come with me," the man whispered, his eyes as pale blue as a frozen lake. "I can give you rest. I can give you peace. I can stop all this suffering."
Lyla almost reached out. But just as their fingers were about to touch, she snapped to. This wasn't a dream. This was a summons.
She opened her eyes, drenched in cold sweat. Beside her, Lysander was still fast asleep. Lyla rose and walked out of the tent. The full moon shone brightly, bathing the valley in silver light.
In the middle of the valley stood the man in the black cloak. Exactly as he was in her dream.
"Who are you?" Lyla asked, the Blazing Tides igniting in her hand—not as bright as usual, but enough to defend herself.
The man smiled. A smile both gentle and cold.
"I am the answer to all the questions you never dared to ask, Lyla Avanoir. I am the beginning of the darkness that will shroud this world. And I..." he took a step forward, just one, "...am the only one who can save you from destruction."
Lyla didn't back down. "I don't need saving."
"Everyone needs saving, Princess of Light. Including you." The man extended his hand. "Come with me. Not now. But when you realize that those you protect will never be able to protect you. I will wait."
Lyla went to answer, but suddenly her head throbbed. Dizziness. Her vision blurred. By the time her eyes cleared, the man was gone. Only the moon and her own shadow remained.
In the distance, Mordred smiled. He had planted the seed of doubt. And that seed, sooner or later, would grow.
"You will come to me, Lyla. Not because you want to. But because you have no choice."