Chapter 129 Warning from the Past

Chapter 129 Warning from the Past
That morning, Atheria felt different.
It wasn't the weather. The sky was as blue as ever, and the wind still blew coolly between the stone peaks. But there was an emptiness in the air—something that had been gnawing at Kronos’s instincts since the moment he opened his eyes.
He stood at the edge of the valley, watching the young dragons practice flight under Elara’s direction. Everything looked normal. But his eyes kept searching for the one figure who was usually in the midst of them. The figure with the soothing blue-gold light. The figure who always smiled despite her exhaustion.
Their Queen. Lyla.
She wasn't there.
Kronos frowned. Over the past few days, he had noticed small changes that others might have missed. Lyla and Lysander never arrived together anymore. They appeared at different times, sat in separate places, and rarely spoke to one another in public.
Initially, Kronos thought it was just the stress of their duties. But his instincts as an old warrior told him otherwise.
He walked toward the central tent, where Lysander usually spent his mornings reading reports and giving instructions. The Dragon King sat at a wooden table, documents scattered before him, but his eyes were vacant—unfocused on anything.
"Your Majesty," Kronos called out, sitting in the chair across from him without being asked.
Lysander lifted his head, slightly startled. "Kronos. What is it?"
"I need to talk. About the Queen."
Lysander’s expression shifted. Not much, but Kronos, who had known him for thousands of years, could see the tension in his jaw.
"What about Lyla?"
"I don't know where to start. But lately, I’ve seen that something is wrong. The Queen is rarely seen. Even when she comes, she is alone. Not with Your Majesty. And when you both are in the same room..." Kronos paused, searching for the right words, "...it's as if there is an invisible wall between you."
Lysander looked away. His fingers tapped the table nervously.
"We’re just busy. There’s a lot to take care of."
"I’ve lived longer than most dragons here, Your Majesty." Kronos’s voice was low, heavy, and full of meaning. "I’ve seen war, betrayal, and death. And I’ve seen what happens when a soul-bond begins to crack. Do not take me for a fool."
Lysander fell silent. In his eyes, for the first time, Kronos saw doubt. Not the doubt of a king, but the doubt of a husband.
"I don't know what to do," Lysander finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "She’s pulling away. And I don't know how to approach her without making her drift further."
"Has Your Majesty ever asked what she truly feels? Or has Your Majesty been too busy ruling, busy protecting, busy being a king that you forgot the Queen also needs to be heard?"
Lysander didn't answer. But his silence was a confession.
Kronos let out a long sigh. There was something weighing on his mind, something he had suppressed because he didn't want to remember a dark past.
"I’m going to tell you something, Your Majesty. About two thousand years ago."
Lysander lifted his head, intrigued. Kronos rarely spoke of his past.
"Long ago, before Your Majesty was born, there was a Golden Dragon King named Theron. He was strong, wise, and deeply loved by his people. He had a queen—named Elara, not the young Elara we have now, but the first Elara. She was a healer, like Lyla. Her light was so bright, so pure."
Kronos stopped, swallowing hard. His eyes looked glazed with memory.
"One night, the Shadow Dragons kidnapped her. Not to kill her, but to turn her into... a slave. They used her blood, her light, to empower themselves. They forced her to heal their wounds, to resurrect fallen soldiers, and slowly, they drained her entire essence until she could no longer tell friend from foe."
Lysander listened, his breath hitched.
"Theron tried to save her. But when he arrived, Elara was no longer Elara. Her eyes were empty, her hands attacked her own husband without mercy. And the worst part..." Kronos gripped his own hands, trying to steady himself, "...the power the Shadow Dragons drained from Elara made them as strong as the Golden Dragon clan. For the first time in history, the balance of power shifted. They were no longer just shadows. They became a true threat."
Lysander felt a chill run down his spine. "What happened to Elara?"
"Theron managed to save her, but at a devastating price. He lost half his power, and Elara... Elara never fully recovered. Her soul was shattered, her memories fractured, and she spent the rest of her life in silence, recognizing no one, not even her husband."
Kronos looked Lysander straight in the eyes.
"I do not want history to repeat itself, Your Majesty. Mordred won't kidnap Lyla openly. He will poison her mind first, making her feel alone, making her doubt Your Majesty’s love. And when she is at her most fragile, when your relationship is at its most fractured..." he pressed his finger onto the table, "...he will come. Not as an enemy, but as a 'savior.' And Lyla will go willingly."
Lysander stood up so fast his chair crashed backward. His face was pale, his eyes filled with a terror he had never shown anyone.
"Lyla..." he whispered.
He didn't wait any longer. His golden wings unfurled, and in an instant, he shot into the air, leaving Kronos behind.
"I hope you aren't too late," the black dragon murmured, gazing toward Arthoria, which was beginning to blur in the distance.
The flight to Arthoria felt like a lifetime.
Lysander pushed his speed to the absolute limit, his golden fire burning wildly, leaving a trail of light across the evening sky. In his heart, ancient prayers he hadn't uttered since childhood echoed relentlessly.
Don't let me lose her. Don't let me repeat Theron's mistake.
He landed on the penthouse balcony with a heavy thud, nearly shattering the glass door. Without waiting to catch his breath, he rushed inside.
"Lyla! Lyla, I—"
The room was empty.
There was no warm tea on the table. No scent of lavender from the candles Lyla usually lit. No sound of footsteps in the kitchen. Only a thin layer of dust beginning to settle on the surfaces, and the night wind entering through a slightly open window.
Lysander walked to the bedroom. The bed was made, the black silk sheets stretched without a wrinkle. On the pillow lay a small note he didn't recognize.
With trembling hands, he picked it up.
The writing inside was brief. Only one line. But it was enough to make Lysander’s world collapse.
"I need some time alone. Don't look for me. I'll be back when I've found the answer. - L"
Lysander gripped the note so tightly the paper nearly tore. In his golden eyes, for the first time in thousands of years, appeared something he hadn't felt since he was a child.
Fear.
Pure, raw, paralyzing fear.
He fell to his knees by the bedside, pressing the note to his chest. The air around him grew hot—his golden fire was out of control, creeping up the walls, scorching the carpet, blackening the ceiling. But he didn't care.
Lyla was gone and left him. Now, he had no idea where to find her.