What Makes The Dragon Prince Burn?

Azrayel was gone.

After the morning announcement, he left without ceremony. He simply walked out through the gates while the rest of the academy stood frozen, unsure whether to whisper or salute.

But one thing is for sure. They were whispering about him leaving her like a whore. 

Metheea doesn't care. In fact, she's relieved.

After they took that man away she went back to her room, numb.

The silence in her chest made everything worse. She didn't feel guilt nor regret. Just... quiet.

"Did the prince tell you anything before he went back to the palace?"

She blinked at Kalistra. "No. We are not that close." She mumbled as she absently opened her book.

"Ughh," she gasped as hot liquid splashed her hand. The book hit the floor, pages soaking fast.

"Oh no," Resme gasped, sweetly innocent. "Clumsy me."

"Oh my heavens, Resme. That is too much. Are you alright?" Kalistra quickly wiped her hands as groups of ladies encircled them, making sure that the teachers doesn't see what is happening.

Metheea stared at the ruined book and her hands. It's a bit red but it didn't hurt much.

"It's alright," she said softly. "Resme, you should get checked. Something's clearly off with your head."

Resme blinked.

"What did you just—"

Kalistra pulled her. "We need to get that treated before it leave any mark."

She smiled at Kalistra and let her pull out the door but before she went out, she looked at Resme. "Next time, be careful where your frustration spills. Not everyone's to blame for being ignored."

Resme almost attacked her but the other ladies pulled her back.

They went to Kalistra's room. It's massive with luxurious objects decorating the room radiating luxury.

"What are those?" She pointed at cylindrical glasses and bottles of different liquids lining her table.

Kalistra looked at her uncomfortably. "My father's business."

She sat as Kalistra opened one bottle and poured it on her skin. "This will help so your skin will heal faster." 

The sting faded almost instantly. "Are those Santherra healing fluids? It doesn't look the same."

"It's not," Kalistra said, a small, prideful smile playing on her lips. "These are why my father became a baron. Why we accumulated wealth. Medicines derived from rare plants and magical cores."

Metheea watched the liquid settle against her skin, awe creeping in.

"This could change lives."

Kalistra smiled wider. "And also start wars. If this formula goes public, if people knew we create medicines, there would be chaos. This isn't just hard to make—it's nearly impossible. That's why only the royal family has access to it. My father calls them Veltherra Elixirs."

She recorked the bottle, almost reverently. "And now you've seen it too."

War. Elixirs will start a war between kingdoms.

Santherra, the richest kingdom have been neutral to all kingdoms as they are the only healers in the land. If this becomes public knowledge, she doesn't know what can it begin.

We have 4 kingdoms in this continent.

Katarthan. Her current prison and a kingdom known for strength, honor, and war. 

Dythrid. Her homeland and known for its concealment magic, illusion spells, and intricate performances.

Balagund. The forge of the continent where their weapons are their shield.

And Santherra. The land of healers. Peaceful, secretive, and utterly dangerous when provoked. Its people didn't need armies cause they control wars.

And now, Kalistra's family had found a way to bottle that legacy.

She looked at the bottle again.

Veltherra Elixirs.

Maybe the most powerful weapon she'd ever seen.

Metheea looked at her, brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me this then, if it's such a big secret?"

Kalistra paused. Then she met her gaze. "I don't know," she admitted. "You're friends with the prince. And... I feel at ease with you."

Metheea blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. No one had ever said that to her. She should have been suspicious but a part of her, buried deep and locked tight, warmed at the words.

"That's stupid," she muttered, but her voice lacked venom. She looked away. "You shouldn't trust people so easily. Especially not me."

Kalistra just smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I'm trusting you anyway."

They smiled at each other.

"I'm surprised the royal family doesn't use this to conquer other kingdoms," she murmured.

Kalistra gave a half-smile. "Like I've said—it's hard to make them. Rare ingredients and complicated alchemy. Even my father can only produce a limited batch each year. Come on. Let's go."

Later that night, in the quiet of her room, Metheea curled into herself beneath the heavy covers. Sleep didn't come quickly. Her mind played the scene again—the cloth, the man's muffled cries, the knife in her hand.

Her fingers curled instinctively against the sheets as if bracing for the weight of guilt that never fully came.

She expected to cry.

Maybe feel hollow or sick. But all she felt was alert. Sharp. Like her mind had finally clicked into the version the world required her to be.

Eventually, when exhaustion overtook her, her sleep was shallow.

A voice echoed faintly in her dreams.

She saw a man with white hair standing in the mist. His face was hidden—only the glow of his silhouette remained, and a strange warmth bloomed in her chest.

She reached for him.

"My child… wake up."

Then she woke up.

There was no warmth. Only the dull ache in her ribs and a tightness in her throat. She touched her chest, confused by the sudden wave of longing.

A knock at the door pulled her fully awake. Lerima entered, expression unreadable, and handed her a sealed letter.

"From the Skarthan Palace," she said. "Marked urgent." Lerima narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

Metheea broke the seal. Her eyes scanned the paper, the message short and cryptic:

"A debt was made. It must be paid. Prepare yourself."

No name. No instructions. Just a letter at the bottom.

A.