Chapter 63: Hunter Begins

The grand hall of the Dragon Kingdom was alive with tension. The moment the news spread, every noble, warrior, and elder in the kingdom whispered among themselves, their voices thick with disbelief.

A meeting between dragons and vampires?

Impossible.

Unthinkable.

And yet, Darius had made it happen.

King Aldric sat on his throne, his fingers tapping against the armrest as his golden eyes swept over the council gathered before him. His mind was in turmoil, but his face remained unreadable. The weight of this decision this forced meeting hung heavily over him.

Dragons and vampires had never known peace. Their history was soaked in blood, and no treaty, no agreement, had ever been strong enough to hold.

“What does Darius think he’s doing?” one of the elders hissed, his sharp claws digging into the stone table. “Bringing those creatures to our land? It’s a mockery!”

A murmur of agreement followed, but Aldric lifted a hand, silencing them.

“We will deal with this meeting when the time comes,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “For now, we have more pressing matters.”

The room fell into silence, the tension shifting. They all knew what he was talking about. The recent attacks. The missing dragons.

And the witches.

Aldric turned his gaze toward his daughter. Lyra stood tall despite the exhaustion still lingering in her limbs. Her golden hair was tied back, her eyes sharp, ready for battle.

“Lyra,” Aldric addressed her, his voice carrying across the room, “you will lead the hunt.”

A flicker of something passed over her face—surprise, determination, and something deeper, something darker.

“The witches,” she murmured, gripping the hilt of her blade.

Aldric nodded. “They have been feeding on our young dragons, stealing from our sacred groves. The fruits that only bloom once a year gone. The hatchlings missing. We cannot allow this to continue.”

The council murmured in agreement, anger burning in their eyes.

“We have already lost too much,” another elder growled. “Those witches are vermin. They must be eliminated.”

Lyra stepped forward, her jaw tight. “Where were they last seen?”

A scout stepped up, bowing before speaking. “Deep in the Shadow Woods, near the ravine. We found remains of scales and blood, but no bodies. Whatever they’re doing... it isn’t just for food.”

A dark silence followed. Everyone knew what witches were capable of.

Blood rituals. Curses. Magic twisted beyond reason.

Aldric exhaled, his face hardening. “Take your best hunters. Burn them out if you must. But bring back whatever you find. No mercy.”

Lyra bowed her head. “Understood.”

As she turned, ready to leave, Aldric’s voice softened slightly. “Be careful, Lyra.”

She met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “I always am.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay as Lyra led her warriors into the Shadow Woods. The trees loomed tall and gnarled, their branches like twisted fingers reaching toward the sky. A heavy mist clung to the ground, making every step feel like wading through a ghost’s breath.

The silence was unnatural.

Too quiet.

No birds. No rustling leaves. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Her warriors were tense, their hands gripping weapons tightly.

“Something’s wrong,” one of them whispered.

Lyra nodded, scanning the area. Her dragon senses prickled danger was close.

Then, a rustle.

She spun, sword drawn, eyes sharp. The mist shifted, curling unnaturally. And then….

A figure emerged.

A woman, tall and gaunt, with hollow eyes and cracked lips. She wore tattered robes, her fingers long and claw-like, stained with something dark.

“Ahhh,” the witch crooned, her voice like a rusted blade scraping against stone. “The dragon princess herself.”

Lyra’s grip on her sword tightened. “Where are the hatchlings?”

The witch grinned, revealing blackened teeth. “Safe, for now.”

Rage burned through Lyra’s veins. “Liar.”

The witch tilted her head, mock innocence in her eyes. “Oh, but they are alive. For now.”

Lyra attacked.

The witch moved like smoke, slipping through Lyra’s strike, her laughter echoing through the woods.

And then, the ground trembled.

A deafening roar split the silence as the mist parted revealing a monstrous figure.

A beast.

But not just any beast.

A dragon.

Or what was left of one.

Its scales were dull, its eyes hollow, its wings torn. Dark magic wrapped around its body like chains, twisting it into something unnatural.

Lyra’s breath caught.

A turned dragon.

A curse.

The witches had done this.

Her warriors reacted instantly, weapons raised, but Lyra knew this was different.

This wasn’t just a battle.

This was a nightmare.

The cursed dragon let out another guttural roar, its corrupted form lunging at them. Lyra barely had time to dodge as its massive claw swiped across the ground, tearing through trees like paper.

“Scatter!” she ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Her warriors moved, some taking to the air, others circling the beast from the ground.

Lyra’s heart pounded as she assessed the situation. They couldn’t kill it not yet. Not until they knew if it could be saved.

But the witches weren’t going to ma6ke it easy.

More figures emerged from the mist, their eyes glowing with dark power.

Traps.

It was an ambush.

Lyra cursed under her breath, gripping her blade tighter.

“Kill the witches first!” she shouted. “Then deal with the beast!”

Flames burst into the air as her warriors unleashed their fire. The witches countered with dark energy, twisting the flames into shadows. The corrupted dragon thrashed, its roars shaking the ground.

Lyra fought like a storm.

She moved swiftly, her sword slicing through magic and flesh alike. Her instincts screamed at her to move, dodge, strike. She barely registered the pain as a blast of dark energy grazed her arm, burning through her armor.

She gritted her teeth, pushing forward.

The witch who had spoken earlier was still watching her, grinning.

Lyra locked eyes with her.

And then she saw it.

A flicker of something behind the witch. A small, trembling figure, barely visible through the mist.

A hatchling.

Alive.

Lyra’s heart pounded.

If there was one, there could be more.

She had to get to them.

With a deep breath, she surged forward, dodging another attack. The witch’s grin faltered as she realized what Lyra was doing.

“No, no, no,” the witch hissed, raising her hands. “You don’t….”

Lyra didn’t let her finish.

Her blade sliced through the air.

A sharp cry.

And then, silence.

The witch’s body crumpled, her magic fading with her last breath.

The moment she fell, the cursed dragon let out a pained roar, its body convulsing. The dark energy around it flickered, unsteady.

Lyra wasted no time.

She rushed past, toward the hatchling.

Small, terrified, its golden eyes wide with fear.

She scooped it up, holding it close. “I’m here, don't worry ,” she whispered.

And then, a sudden stillness.

The cursed dragon, weakened, looked at her.

And for the briefest moment, Lyra thought she saw something familiar in its eyes.

A plea.

A desperate, broken plea.

Before she could react, the dragon let out one final roar….

And collapsed.

Dead.

The battlefield fell silent. The remaining witches fled, their power broken.

But Lyra didn’t feel

like celebrating.

She clutched the hatchling tighter, her chest heaving.

She had won.

But at what cost?