Chapter 3: Dragon Lords

The silence in the bedchamber was suffocating, heavy with the phantom stench of sulfur and the ghosts of a ruined world.

Craig sat on the edge of his bed, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the mattress.

His breath came in slow, deliberate measures, but beneath his quiet exterior, his mind churned in a sea of dark contemplation.

The memories were too fresh, too raw.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the crimson rivers running through the streets of the West.

He heard the sickening crunch of metal through bone as his own bloodline ran a blade through his chest.

Now that he had regressed, a terrifying question weighed down on his chest, pressing against his ribs until it was hard to breathe.

How was he going to stop the second coming of the Apocalypse?

The Apocalypse.

The word alone was a curse, a word that had become the ultimate source of absolute, primal fear in the hearts of every living soul across the continents.

Humanity’s nightmare had begun a century ago, during the cataclysm known to history as the Black Winter.

When the first apocalypse descended, it had not given warning.

The sky had shattered, and the world was instantly engulfed in maddening, relentless chaos.

A massive tear in the fabric of reality opened—a colossal rift connecting their realm to another world.

Through that jagged wound in the atmosphere, mana radiation flooded into their atmosphere like an invisible, toxic tide.

It was a force that rewrote nature itself.

The mana radiation brought forth a deep, systemic corruption.

Wild beasts, livestock, and nature itself exposed to the dense energy mutated violently, twisting into mindless, flesh-craving monsters—the abominations.

Alongside them came the Children of the Apocalypse, horrific beings born straight from the abyssal rift.

Together, they laid waste to civilization, driving humanity to the absolute brink of extinction and wiping out nearly seventy percent of the global population in a matter of months.

Yet, the very force that nearly erased humanity became its only salvation.

The existence of mana, which had arrived as a world-ending curse, transformed into humanity’s greatest blessing.

As the dense energy settled into the earth, human bodies adapted.

The era of Rankers was born.

They were superhumans—warriors who not only managed to form and awaken their own mana cores, but also manifested unique, powerful talents.

Guided by these newfound powers, the first generation of Rankers fought back against the nightmare.

They purged the continent of abominations, reclaiming the ruined cities and driving the horde back into the depths of darkness—back toward the desolate, cursed lands where the rifts had first torn open.

The Abyss.

Over the century that followed, powerful Ranker dynasties rose to govern the reclaimed lands.

They were known as the Five Great Families.

Lords of the Western Continent.

United under the banners of the Valhalla Empire.

Among them, none held more authority in the West than the Darkstar Family.

Supreme Rulers of the northern Rynchester Duchy.

They were a supreme Ranker bloodline, a warlord house that reigned over the entire northern region of the Western Continent with absolute martial authority.

Dragon Lords.

That was the title given to the Darkstarians thanks to their infamous technique to suppress and control the mysterious dragon race.

Amongst the countless abominations that roamed the world were the dragon race.

Intelligent creatures born with mystical powers.

Loyal to only the Darkstar Bloodline.

And Craig was currently sitting in the body of his youth—a contender for the throne of the Darkstar Duchy, bearing the proud "Von" direct bloodline.

A bitter, hollow laugh threatened to bubble up from Craig’s throat.

In his past life, he had spent his youth obsessing over the succession.

He had bled for the Darkstar name, fought his siblings for influence, and eventually rose to become the Archduke who led the final defense of the West.

He had believed his family was the shield of humanity.

He knew better now.

His heart felt crushed, heavy with a cold, agonizing betrayal.

A traitor walked among them.

Someone of direct Darkstar blood—someone wearing their silver crest, wielding their crimson aura, and possessing untouched power—had chosen the very moment humanity was being annihilated to drive a blade through his heart. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

The fact that he had no idea who the traitor was made his blood run cold.

Was it one of his ambitious brothers?

An uncle hiding in the shadows?

His own father?

The uncertainty was an invisible poison, making every memory of his family feel like a trap.

Knock. Knock.

The sudden, sharp sound against the heavy oak door shattered the quiet.

Craig flinched, his body instantly tensing into a combat stance before he forced himself to relax his shoulders.

He swallowed the dark thoughts swirling in his mind and cast a sharp glance toward the entryway.

"Come in," Craig called out, his voice smooth, keeping any trace of his inner turmoil buried deep beneath a mask of noble indifference.

The heavy doors groaned softly as they swung inward.

A young maid stepped into the room, dressed in the crisp, sleek uniform of the Darkstar main household. She kept her gaze respectfully lowered, her soft brown hair tied neatly back as she carried a silver tray with a steaming porcelain cup.

She paused, bowing her head deeply before the young master.

"Good morning, Seventh Young Master," she said softly, her tone sweet and submissive. "I have brought your morning herbal tea, prepared just as you like it."

Craig’s golden eyes locked onto her face, and in an instant, his chest went icy cold.

His pulse spiked, a sudden wave of dark memory flooding his vision.

"Arya?" Craig muttered beneath his breath.

A sharp frown carved its way onto his brow.

How could he have forgotten?

Arya Benova.

The sweet, quiet brunette maid who had served his quarters for three years during his youth.

And the very same spy placed in his personal court by his eldest brother.

The woman who, in his original timeline, had spent months lulling him into a false sense of security before slipping a slow-acting mana-corruption poison into his daily tea right before the family’s succession war.

Craig stared at the steaming cup on the silver tray, his golden eyes narrowing as a dangerous, quiet heat began to ignite within his chest.