The air is thick with heat and dust as Lucien, Serenith, and Veyra make their way deeper into the mine.
The only light comes from the glowing embers embedded in the rock and the occasional flicker of divine magic swirling around Serenith’s body.
Veyra, newly liberated from her armor and far more vocal than usual, chatters as she walks. Her oversized helmet now slung casually under one arm.
"So, I was thinking," she says, voice muffled only slightly by her respirator, "if we reinforced the central shaft with that obsidian-glass blend from the Black Ridge, we could expand the ore line without risking another cave-in."
Lucien gives a nod of polite interest but is clearly distracted. His eyes keep flicking sideways toward Serenith, who walks slightly ahead of them, her wings folded tightly to her back and her expression as unreadable as ever.
She’s trying her best to ignore him, much to Lucien’s delight.
"You’ve been staring at me for twenty minutes," Serenith snaps without turning.
Lucien blinks innocently. "Oh, have I?"
"Yes," she says dryly, "and I’m not flattered."
"Oh please," he says, grinning. "You love it."
She rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle her halo doesn’t fall off. "I tolerate you, demon."
"Admit it." He slinks up beside her. "You like me."
"I don’t hate you."
"You like me," he repeats, his tone sing-song and smug. "You don’t just tolerate me. You like me like me."
Serenith rolls her eyes and resumes walking. "Grow up. You sound like a schoolboy with a crush."
"I am a schoolboy with a crush," he says cheerfully, trailing after her. "A devilishly handsome schoolboy with an empire, impeccable style and outstanding stamina."
"I’ll give you two out of three," she mutters.
"Oh come on," he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "I’m really trying here, Serenith."
The angel sighs hard,"I might like you better if you kept your pants on in public for one full day."
Lucien gasps. "Impossible. Would you ask the sun not to shine?"
She smirks despite herself, floating a little faster to get ahead, but he slides up closer, matching her stride.
"Look, I know I joke, but I’m serious about this. Yes, I want to get you in bed. No point lying about that."
"Seriously?!" She groans.
"But," he interrupts, "you mean more to me than that. You, Veyra, the whole team. You’re not just assets. You’re my partners. My equals. My weird, terrifying family."
Serenith glances back at Veyra, who grins sheepishly and waves at her.
"See?" Lucien smiles as he grabs Veyra into a spontaneous side hug, catching her off guard. "She gets it."
"Oh. Um. Thank you?" Veyra blinks through her goggles, her tiny frame stiffening at first, then relaxing into the contact. "It’s an honour."
"I trust you both," Lucien says softly. "And trust doesn’t come easy for me."
Serenith sighs, her gaze softening. "You’ve got a funny way of showing it."
"My best way of expressing trust is still in bed, but I’m open to alternatives." He replies, shooting her a naughty grin.
"You better be." She snorts. "I don’t think the dragon’s going to want to discuss diplomacy under the sheets."
"I have to agree with Lady Serenith," Veyra mutters as they reach a narrowing tunnel. "This next part is where the screaming usually starts."
The three of them step up to a jagged crack in the mine wall, a strange unnatural gap lined with crystallized soot and seared stone. From within, the sound of deep, rhythmic breathing echoes out. A sound that vibrates through their bones and stirs some primal fear in their hearts.
Lucien takes a steadying breath and adjusts his jacket. "Let’s make a good first impression, shall we?"
They step into the darkness, shadowed rock enveloping them as the tunnel twists and drops, spiraling downward in uneven steps.
With each pace, the air grows warmer, then hot, until sweat clings to their skin, their lungs feel heavy and air around them fluctuates from the heat.
As they round the final bend, they find themselves in a massive underground chamber, glittering like a palace made of fire and gold where a deep pit stretches across the ground, filled to the brim with a horde of treasure of gold coins, enchanted armor, arcane tomes, obsidian sculptures, and jeweled goblets.
And on top of it all, curled lazily in the center, lies a dragon.
It’s a behemoth of shadow and scale, dozens of feet long, with jagged horns, smoldering wings, and a body that shimmers like smoke turned solid. Its black scales pulse with veins of crimson light, and every breath it takes causes ripples in the treasure mound.
Lucien opens his mouth to start the introductions.
Veyra screams before he can.
"That’s... That’s an Elder Shadow Dragon!"
Lucien raises a brow. "You sure?"
Veyra trembles. "Absolutely. Look at the markings, the horns, the gold. He’s probably thousands of years old. They say these things don’t just hoard treasure. They hoard souls. Ancient, manipulative, immortal... oh gods, we’re all gonna die."
"You still want to try diplomacy?" Serenith asks, her smirk far too pleased with itself as she floats in beside Lucien.
Lucien cracks his neck, steels himself, and strides forward toward the hoard.
"You have a plan, right?" Serenith whispers while hovering a safe distance away.
"Absolutely." Lucien says confidently.
"Which is?"
"Overwhelming charisma."
"Right..." Serenith blinks, "So no plan then."
Lucien cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, voice echoing.
"OH GREAT AND MIGHTY DRAGON! I AM LUCIDIUS, DARK LORD OF THESE ASHEN LANDS! I COME NOT TO STEAL, BUT TO BARGAIN!"
The dragon doesn’t move.
Lucien straightens his collar, adjusts his shirt and adds, louder.
"I COME TO OFFER A PROPOSAL OF MUTUAL—"
But his words are cut short when the dragon’s eyes suddenly snap open. Pupils like glowing pits of ember zero in on him.
Lucien freezes and a deep growl rumbles from deep within the beast, until...
FWOOM~
Without even lifting its head, it snorts a sharp blast of flame that shoots from its nose that jets across the chamber, engulfing Lucien completely and incinerating every last stitch of his clothing in an instant.
His boots melt. His belt disintegrates and his cape is now ashes in the wind.
Lucien, stark naked, stands smoking at the edge of the hoard.
"Oh, good," Serenith says dryly. "And his pants are off again."
"Right." Lucien coughs, a puff of smoke curling from his mouth, "First round goes to the dragon."
He turns and walks, very gingerly, back toward the others.
"We’re going to die." Veyra exclaims, shaking visibly under her armour. "We’re going to actually die. This is it. I knew it. I should’ve stayed in bed this morning. I should of—"
"Relax." Lucien assures her, "I just need to change my approach."
"To what? Lube and compliments?!" Serenith chuckles.
Lucien strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Not a bad idea, actually..."
"You’re insane!" Serenith snorts, then doubles over laughing. "But, gods, that was the worst introduction I’ve ever seen!"
Lucien grins. "I like to make a strong impression."
"You made a crispy impression," she replies, covering her mouth.
He cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and summons a fresh set of clothes from swirling ash magic. A new cloak snaps across his shoulders, the fabric adorned with burning sigils of his house crest. His signature black-leather vest shimmers into place, tighter than ever. And his gloves hiss with magic.
Lucien looks back at the pit where the dragon has not moved. Still watching. But now, fully awake.
One giant crimson iris focused on the Demon Lord.
"Right," Lucien says, summoning his patented smirk. "Time for round two."