"I do not see why the Revered Wanderer Merchant would meddle in a dispute between 2 local kingdoms." Sevrak held his ground, chin lifted, the refusal to retreat plain in his eyes.

"My master needs no reason, and neither of us holds the authority to question him." Caprion’s tone stayed level, posture composed. "Return to your lands. Rest. Clear your head. Treat this as a warning given in his name."

"No." The word came flat and heavy. Sevrak would not stand by while others stepped on his pride or pretended his presence meant nothing. "I came to take what is mine. I am not leaving with empty hands."

His patience had run dry. First, a nobody from nowhere had killed his grandson and cut down a clutch of the most promising youths of his race. Then he lost his position in the Legacy Domain, the greatest event this region has seen in centuries. Now, when he finally thought he could empty the pressure that had been boiling inside him, he was told to withdraw. It was the last drop in a brimming cup.

"My respect for the Wanderer Merchant is without limit," Sevrak said, breath tight over the words, "but this is a matter of honor and pride. I will not turn back. Not before I take her." His gaze, hot with anger, settled on Vesha, where she lay in the dirt, tears bright in her ice-blue eyes.

Vesha herself meant nothing to him. In his own kingdom, there were countless beauties who would come at a word.

The point was the act. Taking Vesha would cut Liora and Adyr. Even a small cut, even a small disgrace that touched them, would cool the boil of his rage by a degree.

In his long life, he had never let insult or injury pass unanswered; this time would be no different. If he could not break the Velari today, he would begin with one captive and her suffering and wait for the day he could erase the Velari altogether.

"I see." Caprion’s yellow goat eyes measured the stubbornness in front of him; his voice gained weight without rising. "When arrogance blinds the eyes and anger clouds judgment, you stop seeing the mountain. You forget how heavy it is."

The words left his lips, and with them a presence beyond grasp uncoiled from him and spread.

At first, the air itself trembled under a pressure that had no shape. The clouds above twisted against themselves with an unnatural motion; the ground shivered with a low, creeping dread.

Then the Black Dragon’s head, already lowered, pressed flat to the soil. The beast folded its wings hard against its sides, pinned its muzzle and neck to the earth, and tried to make its giant body as small and unnoticeable as it could, submitting and hiding at once.

"This..." Sevrak stared at Caprion. A pulse hammered behind his eyes, a burn stung his dark gaze, and an ache worked deep into his joints.

This was the aura of a Rank 5 Spark. Sevrak recognized it immediately. In a single breath, he felt like a man at his deathbed, realizing how easily this power could end him. His mistake was plain: he had stood firm and talked back to Caprion while forgetting he could be killed without effort.

Fear cleared the fog of anger and left only the instinct to survive.

"I was lost." His legs gave way, and he sank to his knees. He bowed, forehead to the ground, before a power he could only imagine reaching in some distant future. "I let anger and grief overrun my judgment. Please accept my apology."

The pride of his race, the image he had built over long years, the pocketed arrogance he carried day to day, all of it dropped away at once. What remained was the plain will to live and a clean fear, as his forehead touched the ground before Rank 5 power, and he begged for mercy.

The Velari had, only moments earlier, watched a tyrant treat their lives as if they were worthless. Now that same man was on his knees, begging for forgiveness before them all. Shock and relief rose together, collided, and settled heavy in their chests—an emotion they could not name.

Every gaze slid to the goatman standing so simply at the center.

Who is he?

The question moved through the crowd as quietly as breath. No Rank 5 pressure leaked and reached them; not a thread of killing intent touched them; to their senses, he was as plain and still as stone.

Isolde and Dr. Veyla stood with the crowd, throats dry, voices locked. The scene pinned them in place, as if they were witnessing a dispute spoken between gods, yet nothing in their field protocols could account for it. Power had shifted at the mention of a single name, and their training offered no category for that. For the first time since arriving, their tidy researcher certainty slipped, and neither could guess what else this world might set before them.

"Then, Dragon Rider Sevrak." Caprion gathered his presence back into stillness. He inclined his head and set his right hand to his chest with the practiced grace of a butler; the black-and-white, tuxedo-like attire sharpened that impression. "I wish you a good day." He stepped off the Black Dragon’s skull, landed lightly, and let the moment breathe once again.

Sevrak, who had felt his life hanging inches from an end and then spared, straightened by degrees. "Thank you, Sir Caprion. Please convey my respects to the Revered Wanderer Merchant." He urged the Black Dragon past its primal fear; wings beat, muscles bunched, and the pair climbed hard into the sky until they dwindled and were gone.

Caprion remained a while with hands linked at the small of his back, eyes on the horizon where the great beast faded. His lips moved in a murmur. "Ah, Dragon Rider... if only you knew the catastrophe you escaped, or the one set upon the path you chose."

The tone carried from a distance, almost one of pity.

"L-Lord... thank you for saving us, my people." Vale Von Velaris shook off the last of his shock, hurried forward, and knelt; gratitude and respect were plain in the set of his shoulders.

Caprion’s gaze shifted to the kneeling king, his manner unchanged; mortal or immortal made no difference. "King of the Velari, there is no need for humility. What saved you today was neither me nor my master, but Fate itself. Before Fate and destiny, such gratitude carries no weight; only purpose endures."

The words puzzled Vale, yet his head stayed bowed. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you," he repeated, sincerity steadying his voice.

Caprion’s attention shifted once more: first to Vesha, who still watched him through tears, innocence and gratitude clear in her ice-blue eyes; then to the 2 researchers, wide-eyed and speechless, the weight of what they had witnessed still written across their faces.

The purpose here runs deep and remains untainted. My master’s wisdom deserves praise.

With that, he thinned from sight the way he had arrived, the air closing over the space he had occupied, leaving only emptiness where every mortal gaze had fixed.