Semua Bab Dawlya’s Dragon: Bab 101 - Bab 110

101 Morgan reached his door and, for the first time in days, felt the weight of his body. Not the sentinel instinct, not the Circle’s recoil, not the strain of ripping a Dawlya tether out of a human vessel, his body. Bone-deep exhaustion. Magic-drain that felt like ice in his veins. A faint ache pulsed behind his eyes, the price of restraining his power and then pushing past its limits in rapid cycles. He pressed a hand to the doorframe to steady himself. Just a bed. Just long enough to breathe. Then I’ll head to Marithia… Daxen would worry. He was always worried. And Morgan had promised he wouldn’t let the sentinel effect control him anymore. He pushed the door open. And froze. Daxen was sitting in the chair by the window. The King of Marithia, his charge, his friend, his impossible tether was slouched like he’d been there awhile, cloak tossed aside, boots muddy from travel. He stood the moment Morgan entered. “Morgan.” It was not a greeting. It was a demand, a reprimand, and r

103 Cain lay unconscious in the private medical wing of the Draynor capital, his skin still marked by the violent magic that had nearly stopped his heart. Avi sat beside him, clasping his hand, the Circle pulsing faintly beneath her skin with a protective hum that would not quiet. Morgan stood guard near the door, pale with exhaustion but alert, while Chance monitored the magical residue still lingering in the room dark, oily threads of Dawlya spellwork that refused to fully dissipate. When the double doors slammed open, no one dared to breathe. Queen Brieanika entered first, her red dragon aura flaring so hot the torches guttered against the walls. Trace followed, quieter but twice as dangerous, flames slipping between his fingers as if desperate to ignite something. They stopped beside Cain’s bed. Trace stared down at the injured sentinel, jaw trembling with barely controlled fury. “They came after Mikan’s sentinel,” he whispered. “After the man who protects my daughter.” Bri

105 The great strategy chamber beneath the palace had not been used in over a century. Its circular table is obsidian and carved with the sigils of every royal house flickered with projection lights as maps of the Dawlya territories shimmered above it. Brie and Trace entered first, regal but grim. Mikan followed, tension rolling off him in barely-contained waves; Morgan and Daxen flanked him, both alert, both silently calculating. Captain Garrik stood at attention near the far end, and Commander Thomas waited beside him, posture sharp. The Veilkeepers arrived last. Avi stepped in with them, still pale from Cain’s near-death but steady. The Circle pulsed faintly under her skin, quiet, but awake, listening. Joren bowed, Kael stiffened, Mira and Lees exchanged nervous glances. And then Cain. He limped in with Morgan’s help, refusing a chair at first until Avi’s narrow glare forced him into one. His injured body trembled, but his eyes burned like wildfire. The room fell silent. Tra

107 The war room in Ashbarrie had never felt so quiet. Avi stood in the center of the chamber, the glow of late afternoon sunlight scattering across the polished stone. Her tattoo pulsed softly seven bright lines threading up her cheek, each one a reminder of what the Circle had become. Brie and Trace stood together. Mikan in guarding posture beside them. Cain hovered near Avi, close enough to catch her, far enough not to interfere. Morgan and Chance waited at her sides, forming a stabilizing triangle. Avi exhaled. “I want to send them a message,” she said. “Not an attack. Not a spell. Just… a warning. If they’re going to keep coming after me, after my family, after my people then I want them to hear it from me, not the Circle acting on instinct.” Chance glanced at Mikan. Mikan looked at Brie. Brie nodded once. “You have permission,” the Queen said. “But do not start a war with this alone. You are sending a warning, not a declaration.” Avi swallowed hard. “That’s all I want.”

109 The Hall of Stone was dim, lit only by the red glow of the Dawlya crest etched into the volcanic rock. The seven remaining Keepers stood in a circle, their tattoos flickering with unstable magic. High Mother Velyn paced before them, robes whispering like a blade dragged over sand. “Report.” Keeper Thale swallowed hard. She had been shaking since the ritual surge from the Draynor system. “High Mother… the surge has stopped. The lines have stabilized. The girl Avi is not expanding further. The Circle merging did not create destructive output. It only strengthened her bond.” Another Keeper added, “She absorbed them safely. There were no ripples of collapse or backlash in the magic field.” For a moment, silence hung. Then the High Mother snarled. “No backlash means she is in control. Worse, she is in harmony with the defectors.” A murmur rippled through the council. Thale hesitated. “High Mother… respectfully… nothing about what we felt implies aggression. It was simply…” “PO