I blinked at my chart board and realized my handwriting had turned into angry little scratches.

  30/50 Wounded

  9/20 Illnesses

  The line outside my room didn’t shrink.

  It grew.

  Scorin pushed the curtain aside and guided the next patient in with the same calm he used when he flew—steady, precise, like chaos was something you could organize if you stared at it hard enough.

  “R-right,” he said. “Next patient.”

  “Next,” I echoed, exhausted.

  My pen hovered.

  Then my brain drifted like a bad signal.

  Scorin’s hand touched my shoulder—firm, grounding.

  “Sophia.”

  I blinked. “Hmm?” Like I’d just woken up.

  He stared at me like he was looking into my soul.

  “How are you?” I asked sweetly, as if I hadn’t been mentally gone for a full minute.

  He didn’t laugh. “Better than you, apparently.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Waaaaa. Who taught you how to give me sass back?”

  He kept staring.

  I swallowed. “Right. Right. Sorry. Sorry.”

  I forced my hands to move faster.

  “Okay,” I said, pushing my chair back. “Let’s take a break. Tonight is concert night.”

  Scorin and I raised our hands like idiots.

  “Concert night,” we cheered at the same time.

  Then a shadow fell over my desk.

  I looked up.

  Lysandra stood there—elegant as ever, like the world bent around her posture.

  She didn’t yell. She didn’t need to.

  “Not until you finish your shift,” she said.

  My joy evaporated.

  Her gaze moved to the line, then to the Ledger numbers.

  “We need to hurry this up,” she added calmly. “You have a meeting with the blacksmith in two suns.”

  Two days.

  My soul slumped.

  Scorin snapped upright—full Noble Mode—like he forgot he’d been acting normal around me.

  Mother’s eyes landed on him.

  “Take care of my daughter,” Lysandra said, polite enough to be terrifying.

  Scorin almost saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I leaned toward him and whispered, “You know she’s giving you a hard time on purpose, right?”

  Scorin sat down like he’d been stabbed by reality. “…Really?”

  His shoulders dropped.

  “Please stop teasing me,” he muttered. “I can’t take it.”

  Nira’s voice drifted from Noxx’s lantern, smug and amused.

  “He’s folding. Already. Pathetic.”

  “SHUSH,” I whispered back.

  The next three illness cases were kids.

  Which was worse than the wounded.

  Because wounded demons usually want to live.

  Kids want to win.

  The first screamed the moment I approached.

  “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

  He swung his arms like a windmill and knocked a tray over.

  CRASH—!

  Scorin lunged to catch it.

  “Relax,” I said in my nurse voice. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The kid pointed at Scorin.

  “That one looks scary!”

  Scorin froze like he didn’t know what to do with that.

  I tried not to laugh.

  The second refused to open his mouth like it was a sacred oath.

  The third kid bit me.

  Not hard.

  But enough to make a statement.

  Scorin’s eyes flashed red for half a second.

  He didn’t move.

  But the air around him got heavier.

  Nira popped out of the lantern like a furious little star.

  “WE HAVE INCOMING,” she hissed.

  “What are you talking about?” I snapped. “This hospital is run by me. Anyone who needs me needs an appointment—”

  Nira’s eyes widened. Her voice dropped.

  “No. Not a patient.”

  I opened my mouth to argue again—

  Then an arrogant voice boomed down the corridor like it owned the building.

  “WHERE IS THE DEMONIC SAINT?!”

  “I am here on personal matters!”

  Scorin’s spine went straight.

  My eye twitched.

  Nira whispered, almost delighted:

  “Oh no.”

  He strode into my ward like it was a palace ballroom.

  Tall, polished, smug.

  A prince who knew everyone would move when he walked.

  His eyes flicked to Scorin and his mouth curled.

  “Oh,” he said. “A lowly lizard living in his brother’s shadow.”

  Scorin didn’t move.

  He just looked at Zephran with a coldness that could cut stone.

  “At least I’m not abusing my family’s name to get what I want,” Scorin said evenly.

  Zephran chuckled like it was cute.

  Then he turned to me and smiled like we were already dating.

  “My fair lady,” he purred, reaching for my hands without permission, “why are you catering to such a lizard? Wouldn’t it be wiser to stick with your kind?”

  Scorin stepped in immediately and pulled me back by the shoulders—firm, protective—before Noxx even had time to growl.

  “Listen,” Scorin said, voice low. “She’s busy. That line needs to be cut down. There are sick people here.”

  Zephran sighed like Scorin was boring.

  Then he pulled out an artifact bag—

  and dumped gold on the floor.

  Coins spilled like a waterfall.

  “I can’t get the Demonic Saint right now,” Zephran announced loudly, “so I’ll pay for everyone’s medical expenses.”

  The coins kept dropping.

  Patients stared.

  Then hands reached down.

  One by one, they started picking up gold and leaving.

  Leaving.

  My hospital emptied.

  My quota didn’t.

  I watched the last injured guy limp away with a handful of coins and say, smiling:

  “I’m going to the bar.”

  I stared after him.

  That man was absolutely going to injure himself again on purpose.

  My hands curled into fists.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Nira’s voice went sharp.

  “He just bribed your workload into the slums.”

  Zephran turned back to me like he’d done something romantic.

  He reached for my hand again.

  I slapped him so hard the sound echoed through the ward.

  SMACK—!

  The room went silent.

  Even Scorin blinked.

  Zephran licked blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled like I’d finally entertained him.

  “That’s fine,” he said, adjusting his suit. “We’ll get to know each other very, very soon.”

  Nira floated up beside my face and whispered:

  “I think you just flipped his switch.”

  Zephran leaned in and touched my chin—gentle, possessive, disgusting.

  “I’ll see you back at your castle,” he murmured. “Go speak to your father.”

  Then he walked out like he owned the air.

  Scorin stood there shaking with humiliation.

  My ward was empty.

  And the Ledger was still screaming at me.

  Nira hissed under her breath.

  “Just when we were almost done…”

  A black crow landed on my shoulder.

  I didn’t even wait.

  “FATHER!” I snapped.

  The crow’s eyes lit up.

  Recording started.

  “We’re going to have to talk,” I hissed. “If you know what I’m talking about—your little prince just bribed my patients out of my hospital.”

  My chest rose and fell.

  “I can’t complete the Ledger like this,” I growled.

  I ended the message.

  The crow took off immediately.

  Scorin’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it would crack.

  Noxx stared at the doorway like he wanted permission.

  Nira floated back toward the lantern, muttering like a tired manager.

  “We’re going to the slums,” she said.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “You heard me,” Nira said. “If your quota doesn’t come to you… you go to the quota.”

  We didn’t even go back to the ward rooms.

  We went straight to where overflow patients lived—half tents, broken buildings, people packed together because war doesn’t care what species you are.

  Humans. Demons. Mixed.

  All I cared about was the Ledger.

  Noxx increased his size until he became a mobile unit—lantern blazing, body huge enough to carry supplies and patients.

  Scorin helped like he’d been doing this his whole life.

  Triage. Carry. Calm voice. Gentle hands.

  Nira kept barking orders from the lantern like she owned my schedule.

  “Left. Two tents. Fever. Move.”

  “Stop staring, Sophia. Hands up. Heal.”

  “JUST DO IT ALREADY.”

  By the time the moon sat higher, my arms felt like jelly.

  My soul felt like overtime.

  But the numbers finally obeyed.

  50/50 Wounded

  20/20 Illnesses

  Scorin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

  “Finally,” he muttered.

  I nodded, too tired to celebrate.

  “Concert,” I whispered. “We’re still going.”

  Nira groaned.

  “Somehow. Yes.”

  Back at the hospital, the world moved fast again.

  Riku appeared like a ghost in clean clothes, calm and smooth.

  “It’s almost sundown,” he said. “Show is starting soon. We must hurry.”

  “Gimme a sec,” I said. “Quick shower.”

  I ran.

  Hot water hit my shoulders like a miracle.

  For a moment, fatigue melted.

  I drank a shot of Aetherplum—sweet, warm, unreal.

  “Gah,” I whispered. “So good.”

  Outside the bathroom door, I didn’t hear it.

  But Riku and Scorin were talking.

  Riku’s voice was low, teasing.

  “So,” he said, “since you’ve been helping at the hospital… you gotten any closer?”

  Scorin sounded like someone confessing to a crime.

  “…Ever since you explained the difference,” Scorin said, “between liking someone… and protecting something precious…”

  He swallowed.

  “I started to see the difference.”

  Riku laughed softly.

  “Tonight is a good night to say what you feel,” he said. “I’ll set it up nicely for you.”

  Scorin’s voice tightened.

  “I don’t know, man. It feels like my heart is going to burst out of my chest.”

  Riku snorted.

  “A dragon,” he said, amused. “Not understanding feelings is… honestly, it makes sense.”

  Then Riku’s tone shifted—serious. Brother-serious.

  “Listen closely,” he said. “I won’t be here forever.”

  A pause.

  “And your father is already scheming against you.”

  Scorin went still.

  Riku stepped in closer.

  “I don’t want that prince near Sophia,” Riku said. “But my father told me not to interfere.”

  He tapped Scorin’s chest with two knuckles like a command.

  “This has to be your job.”

  “Go get ’em, Dragon Boy.”

  Scorin whispered, like he hated how true it felt:

  “…I don’t know if I’m ready.”

  When I walked out, I didn’t feel like a mid-30s NYC trauma nurse anymore.

  I felt like a little girl.

  Hair done. Dress perfect. Makeup soft.

  Like a princess from another world.

  Nira floated out of the lantern and whistled.

  “…Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. “Okay. You actually look lovely.”

  I blinked. “Was that a compliment?”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Nira said immediately.

  Scorin turned to me.

  And for a second, his brain completely shut down.

  His mouth opened.

  “I lo—”

  Riku slapped a hand over his mouth so fast it looked like a combat technique.

  “You look lovely, my dear sister,” Riku said smoothly, eyes glittering. “Right, Scorin?”

  Scorin nodded while being gagged.

  Nira drifted right up to Scorin’s face and whispered, dead serious:

  “You really suck at being a guy, huh?”

  I stared at them, confused.

  “Why are you two acting weird?”

  “Nothing,” Riku said instantly.

  Scorin made a sound like a dying animal.

  “Boys will be boys,” I muttered, and grabbed Noxx.

  Noxx wheezed because I was squeezing him too tight.

  We climbed into the chariot.

  The city lights glittered.

  The night felt… almost normal.

  Then, far away, a wolf howled again—long and proud—rolling over the rooftops like a warning that didn’t care who heard it.

  I tilted my head.

  “…Probably someone’s dog,” I muttered.

  Noxx’s lantern blinked once like it knew something I didn’t.

  Nira didn’t comment.

  Which was suspicious.

  Elsewhere, deep in the Neutral Zone, a training yard rang with impacts.

  CRACK—!

  Zephran’s staff struck wood, then stone, then air—perfect form, ugly intent.

  He wasn’t practicing.

  He was bleeding anger into the world.

  “Vaelrick’s little shadow-lizard,” Zephran muttered, jaw clenched. “He thinks a sacred blade makes him a man.”

  A servant approached with water.

  Zephran didn’t look.

  “Leave,” he said.

  The servant froze—then fled.

  Zephran inhaled slowly.

  Controlled.

  Too controlled.

  Then he slammed his staff down again, hard enough to shake dust loose from the pillars.

  “This isn’t over,” he whispered.

  Not a promise.

  A decision.

  A quiet step entered the yard.

  Not a guard.

  Not a servant.

  The air itself shifted, like it made room.

  A voice slid out of the shadows—smooth, amused, familiar in the worst way.

  “Sounds like we have the same enemies.”

  Zephran turned, staff still in hand.

  “…Ragalia,” he spat. “Didn’t Scorin and Riku send you packing?”

  Ragalia stepped into torchlight like exile was an inconvenience, not a defeat.

  “Well, yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Sort of.”

  His smile sharpened.

  “But that was back then.”

  “And this is now.”

  Zephran’s eyes narrowed. “Speak.”

  Ragalia’s gaze glittered.

  “I found something,” he said, “that might interest you.”

  WHUMP.

  A massive wingbeat cut the air.

  Dust and torch smoke blasted outward like the ground exhaled.

  Zephran’s head snapped up.

  Something descended—shadow with weight.

  Claws touched stone.

  The training yard shook.

  A dragon landed—huge, scarred, ember-eyed, old chain marks around its neck like it had once been bound by something ancient.

  It stared at Zephran without blinking.

  Then it inhaled—

  “ROOOOOOOOAR—!”

  Torches flickered.

  Ragalia smiled wider.

  “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Speaking of the dog…”

  The dragon reacted to the word like it was poison.

  Its claws scraped stone.

  It snarled again—angrier, like it could taste something it hated on the air.

  Ragalia spoke like a storyteller.

  “I found him in the Neutral Mountains. Rampaging. Like he’d been abandoned.”

  “I could’ve killed him,” Ragalia admitted.

  “But I sensed a tether. Not a normal chain.”

  “Something older.”

  The dragon growled low, like it understood.

  “So I offered a pact,” Ragalia said softly.

  “I didn’t give him chains.”

  “I gave him direction.”

  Zephran stared at the beast, awe slipping through his fury.

  “You’re handing it over to me?”

  Ragalia shrugged. “You look like you’re going to do something crazy. So here’s something that evens the odds.”

  Zephran’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Ragalia’s smile widened.

  “Because if you’re going to burn bridges,” he said, “I’d rather be on the side with fire.”

  Zephran exhaled, then lowered his staff—just slightly.

  “…Deal,” he said.

  He hesitated, suspicion returning.

  “What’s your name again?”

  Ragalia blinked like names were optional.

  “…My name?”

  He smiled—wicked, bright, wrong.

  “Ragalia,” he said simply.

  Zephran tasted it.

  “…Ragalia.”

  Then he nodded.

  “Alright, Ragalia.”

  He extended his hand.

  “Let’s shake on it.”

  Ragalia took it.

  Firm. Businesslike.

  And the dragon behind them exhaled like it approved.

  On that night, Zephran walked away thinking he’d gained leverage.

  Thinking he’d been handed a weapon.

  He didn’t realize he had just accepted a calamity-level threat into his hands—

  without being warned what it would cost,

  without knowing what the dragon would demand when it finally got what it wanted.

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a like/follow (and a comment if you have thoughts—feedback helps a lot). As mentioned above, AI is used as a writing assistant, but the creative work and decisions are my own, and I keep draft snapshots for transparency. See you next chapter!