The Seven Kingdoms

The Last Dragon-born

The commotion echoed down the grand hallway as the guards outside burst into the room, swords drawn and eyes wide with alarm. They froze, stunned by the sight before them.

The Queen stood tall on her throne, a sword resting against her throat. Despite the danger, she showed no trace of fear. Light, the mysterious outsider, held the blade. He watched her intently, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

“You said you were here to protect me,” the Queen murmured calmly, her voice steady despite the weapon at her neck. “And yet, you’ve got your sword against my throat.”

Light raised an eyebrow. “And you said you didn’t need my protection…”

For a tense moment, the hall was silent. Then, with a deliberate motion, Light withdrew his sword and stepped back. The Queen’s icy gaze remained fixed on him, analyzing, calculating. **If he’d intended to kill me**, she thought, **he would have done it by now.**

“Very well,” she said slowly. “I’ll hear you out.”

“Your Majesty, this is outrageous!” Raven’s voice rang out across the hall as he rushed forward. His face was a mask of disbelief and fury. “How can you let him go after he held a sword to our—our god?”

Light, already descending the steps of the throne platform, paused and glanced over his shoulder, a small, almost pitying smile playing on his lips. “God? Is that what you think?” He shook his head. “Yet you didn’t even take a step from your place to protect your so-called god.”

Raven blanched, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-what…?”

The Queen’s voice cut through the tension, cold and precise. “Raven, what he’s saying,” she said slowly, her gaze never leaving Light’s retreating figure, “is that you’re nothing but a coward. And don’t you dare call me a god again,” she snapped, her eyes blazing with fury.

Raven’s face reddened, but he stayed silent, his fists clenched in frustration.

Just as Light was about to speak, the doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a crash. A messenger, panting and wide-eyed, stumbled inside. His gaze darted from the fallen guards to the Queen, then back to Light, as if struggling to comprehend the scene before him.

“My Queen,” he managed, his voice shaking, “I have urgent news!”

“What is it?” the Queen demanded, her voice snapping like a whip.

The messenger swallowed hard, still looking around at the scattered, unconscious guards. “The White People… they’ve been attacked by vicious wolves.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Wolves? Near White Mountain? That’s impossible. There haven’t been wolves in that region for decades.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the messenger stammered, his face pale. “It appears they may have migrated from other mountains… their territory has likely been overtaken by a… a greater beast.”

At these words, Light’s expression darkened. **White Fang,** he thought grimly. **What have you done now?** He turned abruptly to the Queen. “Your Majesty, if you permit me, I will handle the wolf problem myself. I’ve spent my entire life dealing with them. Consider it a reparation for… the damage done here.”

The messenger, still standing by the doorway, gaped at him. “What? You can’t be serious! He’s the one responsible for all this chaos!”

The Queen’s gaze flicked between Light and the messenger, then nodded decisively. “Very well,” she said. “You have my permission. Take the messenger with you as a guide.”

The messenger’s jaw dropped. “One man? For a whole pack of wolves?” he whispered incredulously under his breath. “Is she serious?”

Ignoring the look of disbelief on the messenger’s face, Light sheathed his sword and made for the exit. The Queen watched him go, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in her gaze.

“Let’s hope,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to anyone else, “that you’re more than what you seem, Light Snow.”

With that, the Queen turned away, her expression thoughtful, as the doors swung shut behind Light and the reluctant messenger. Baromeer, a skinny young man with blond hair barely reaching five feet in height, walked alongside Light Snow toward the stables. His greenish messenger tunic, specially designed for his role, seemed to hang loosely on his thin frame. As they moved, his mind raced, struggling to wrap itself around everything he had just witnessed in the throne room. The entire scene had felt surreal, and he couldn't help but glance sideways at Light, unsure what to make of him.

After several moments of silence, Light spoke, breaking the tension. "My name’s Light Snow. What’s yours?"

Baromeer blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Baromeer," he said, puffing out his chest slightly, trying to reassert himself. "From the noble family of Meer. We’re responsible for everything that happens in this kingdom. We take people’s words and deliver them to the farthest parts of the world," he added with a smugness that belied his small stature.

Light’s lips curled into a wry smile. "Really? Can you take my words to the Black Wall?"

Baromeer laughed, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. "The Black Wall? Ha! That’s just a myth. There’s no such thing as the Black Wall."

Light stopped walking, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "If that’s a myth, then I must be a ghost," he said, his tone playful but serious. "I grew up on the Black Wall."

Baromeer froze mid-step, the smile fading from his face. He squinted at Light, his eyes narrowing as he looked more closely at him. Something about Light seemed… off. His clothes weren’t the usual fare for someone from this kingdom. They were made from a material Baromeer had never seen, otherworldly almost. It finally dawned on him.

"Wait... you’re not joking," Baromeer stammered, his voice faltering. "You really came from... outside? How is that even possible? Whatttt? How?"

Light shrugged, as though discussing the weather. "I think a big wolf helped me get here."

Baromeer’s mouth hung open, his mind whirring. "How big?" he asked, trying to sound skeptical, but there was an edge of nervousness in his voice now.

Light turned to face him fully, his expression still calm. "Oh, about the size of a hundred wolves put together," he said casually. "It had stripes on its body—bluish, shining—called herself the Guardian."

Baromeer’s face turned as pale as parchment. "The Guardian?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. What Light had described matched the ancient legends perfectly. A wave of dizziness washed over him. The Guardian was real? This man had met her? "What is going on?" he thought, feeling faint. He tried to steady himself, gripping the edge of his tunic as though it would keep him grounded in reality.

As Baromeer struggled to process what he’d just learned, Light continued walking, completely unfazed. "So, before we head anywhere, can we go shopping?" he asked nonchalantly, as if they had just been discussing the weather instead of mythical creatures.

Baromeer, still reeling from the revelations, could only nod, too shocked to form a coherent response. "A-alright," he stammered, following after Light, his mind racing with a thousand questions.