CHAPTER 38: WHEN WORLDS END

Apparently, there was.

Because Orien, with all his trembling might, kept trying to list everything he’d lost.

Little people. Different-colored blobs. A useless shack that only had a bed.

He wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop pointing. Wouldn’t stop shoving that rectangular device at him like Kael could resuscitate it through sheer dragon authority.

Because he was the dragon lord.

And if anyone could revive the dead, the child believed it’d be him.

Which was how, at 2 a.m., Dragon Lord Kael Dravaryn found himself standing in front of an even tinier shack, holding said rectangle between two fingers like it was both cursed and beneath him.

The source of the problem? That damn human.

The solution? Also, that damn human.

Apparently, Riley Hale had given Orien an entire world. One filled with fragile things that died too early.

Tsk.

And unfortunately, the boy hadn’t yet undergone the proper nest teachings. He didn’t know about loss. About how all things would fade, break, vanish, and die, while dragons would keep surviving another day.

How one day, he’d learn that attachment is a weakness. And how it is best not to treasure anything that would kill him inside.

Kael could teach him.

He could crush that idealistic spark now, early, cleanly.

But that was the job of the dragons back at the nest.

And he wouldn’t like to deal with a dragon who would be enraged for another two hundred or so years. Or what if Orien, too, ended up enraged for half a millennium because he was of the same blood?

Kael felt he was rather busy. And he wasn’t about to start a centuries-long grudge with a dragonling who might someday punch a hole in the moon over unresolved trauma.

So, the only logical solution?

Revive everything.

At all costs.

Kael clicked his tongue and marched toward the concrete shack, holding the tiny rectangle like it was evidence in a murder case, irritation leaking through his aura as he prepared to confront the culprit who had been sleeping while someone’s world burned.

Meanwhile...

In someone else’s paradise, a cozy hot spring inn with fresh food and what suspiciously resembled a peace buff, Riley Hale had just finished brushing his teeth and flopping onto a freshly made mattress.

He’d survived dragons, curses, impossible contracts, and emotionally constipated employers.

He deserved this.

A night of actual rest.

He yawned. He stretched. He fluffed the pillow twice.

He was going to sleep.

He would sleep.

And then—

SLAM.

The door burst open.

Riley jolted up, eyes wide. Standing in the doorway, like a divine punishment sent to interrupt vacation dreams, was an imposing figure with glowing eyes and a presence that cracked the air itself.

"Wake up."

Riley screamed.

Well, not quite.

More like bolted upright, wheezing, limbs flailing as he tried to process whether this was a nightmare or a cosmic prank.

Only to realize, to his absolute horror, it wasn’t a dream.

He turned.

There it was.

A shadow. A lump of regal horror. Tall. Silent. Judging.

Riley gasped.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

The kind of scream that could rattle windows and wake the dead.

Had Kael not already placed a silencing barrier the moment he stepped outside the offensively unsecured shack, the entire building might have heard the death cry of a sleep-deprived aide.

Riley yelped and, in his surprise, grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at the figure beside him.

The pillow made contact.

Or... didn’t.

It shimmered midair, rippling as it passed straight through.

Riley froze.

"What are you doing?" asked Kael, voice flat as a blade, entirely unimpressed as he watched Riley flail in half-terror, half-confusion. As if screaming and hitting a projection would actually do something.

But in Riley’s defense, who wouldn’t scream when they found that beside their bed? In his apartment?

"What the actual hell," Riley muttered, his brain still a warm bowl of mashed potatoes, now trying to reboot while his body stayed rigid against the headboard.

That mouth. That glare. That pose of authority.

It could only be Kael.

But why—how—was Kael here?!

He couldn’t even form proper syllables, blinking through the shimmering, translucent Kael when the dragon lord’s voice cut through the haze.

"There has been an emergency."

Huh?! What?! That snapped him to attention. Kael didn’t appear for fun. If he were here, it meant something catastrophic had happened.

"Did Orien get kidnapped again?!" Riley scrambled to untangle himself from the covers.

"No. But it’s worse."

"Worse?!"

"Riley. They’re dead."

"What?! Who’s dead?!"

"The little people."

"...What?"

"The little people. Who else? Have you gone senile?"

Riley’s eye twitched. Wasn’t it Kael who’d gone senile?

He glanced at the clock.

2:33 a.m.

An ungodly time.

And the first thing he saw after waking from what he hoped was a dream was the one person who routinely starred in his nightmares. Only now, the man stood beside his bed like some glowing, judgmental spirit.

"No. Sir. Forgive me, but I really need more context because it’s two in the morning and I can’t even figure out how you got into my apartment!"

"I did not get inside. I am still outside. What kind of being enters a person’s dwelling without invitation?"

Kael’s projection gave him a look so offended it might’ve burned a priest.

"It was you who refused to answer the door for thirty minutes. I could not wait any longer. The child threatened to accuse me of negligence and genocide. I was left with no choice but to use the sigil."

"...The sigil?"

"Yes. So open the door and revive them."

"Revive—what now?" Riley blinked rapidly.

The shimmer. The non-solid contact. Right. It was a projection.

But revive?!

"Revive who?! And how?! Sir, I think, more than anyone, you’re aware I’m not capable of reviving anyone!"

"No. Not people. From that rectangular device you gave Orien. They’re all dead. You need to revive them."

There was a long pause.

A stillness of thought.

Then realization clicked.

"...Wait. My lord, are you talking about the handheld device? What do you mean they’re dead?"

"Do I look like I know?" Kael replied, tone cool as snow. "It is the child who claimed that everyone is dead."

"He said there were little people, different-colored blobs, and a useless shack that only had a bed. He said all of them were gone."

Riley’s soul left his body.

Oh no.

That didn’t sound good.

And if Kael was here personally—or at least in high-definition magical spirit—then it was serious.

So Riley jumped out of bed and opened the door.

Sure enough, Kael was standing there. In what could only be described as his version of casual attire: regal robes, but less murderous.

If he’d dressed down for this, then yes, it was absolutely an emergency.

"What took you so long?" Kael asked, gliding inside the apartment the moment Riley stepped aside.

Riley didn’t answer. He needed to breathe. And think. And not collapse.

"Sir," he managed, "may I see the console?"

Kael presented it between two fingers like it might bite him. "Here. One moment, he was staring at it. The next, he was screaming bloody murder."

Riley took the device with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred relic.

Please don’t be smashed. Please don’t be fried. Please don’t have exploded internally.

He inspected it.

Surprisingly, the console was fine. No cracks. No dents. Nothing burnt.

Maybe it just glitched.

He pressed the power button.

"..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...Seriously?"

Because there it was. A red light blinked at him.

And then the tiny battery icon appeared.

With a lightning bolt.

Riley closed his eyes.

"Lord help us all," he muttered.

It was low batt.