Vol.3 Epilogue

With his mother, at the very last moment.

Isabelle Owin.

In the desert, she was known as Izamra—the Brilliant Green Jewel. That brilliant, verdant gaze, a shade impossible to find in those barren dust pits, was her defining trait. It was the mark of a breathtaking beauty, born from the bloodline of a parasitic race. They were a people who secured their survival by latching onto conquerors wielding absolute power, unfathomable wealth, or both. Perhaps as punishment for leeching off the elite through such despicable means, their lives were invariably, tragically short and wretched. No matter whose blood they mixed with, there were no exceptions.

So please. Just one more day. One more hour. Grant me a peaceful death.

Considering how swiftly they perished, their desperate greed and selfishness felt entirely justified, regardless of what anyone said.

“Hey.”

The summer sun beat down, its rays stinging like shards of broken glass. A dark-haired boy approached Isabelle without a sound. He was the supposed mate of her precious, fiercely beloved son, Rochshan.

“Want me to save you?” he asked bluntly.

Isabelle chuckled. “My, aren’t you a bit young to be dropping your honorifics?”

“…Would you like me to save you, ma’am,” he amended stiffly.

“Hmm. You’re terrible at being polite,” she mused. “You’re better off just speaking comfortably.”

He offered only silence.

“But to answer your question—no, you don’t need to save me.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“Because I no longer have any desire to live.”

“Why?” The scrawny slave boy, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, was full of questions.

Ah, right. He isn’t a slave. Does that mean he isn’t a child, either? How exactly does one count a dragon’s years? Isabelle brushed the thought aside. Well, whatever.

Waiting in the mansion’s front courtyard with her summer luggage, she merely shrugged. “Our clan is destined to die young, you see,” Isabelle explained. “But it’s rarely a lightning strike or a natural disaster that takes us. Most of the time, we’re murdered.”

Indeed. The bright, smiling woman already knew exactly what warning this little dragon had come to deliver.

“If I survive this ordeal, will it really be the end?” she murmured.

When the boy offered no response, Isabelle let out an exaggerated sigh, continuing her theatrical grumbling. “I swear, I can’t catch a break. Life is so exhausting when you’re this pretty, charming, and sweet.”

“Because we don’t want to die, we strike first,” she went on. “We plot, we banish, we kill, and we kill again…”

For the desert clan, their very first rivals in this bloody shadow war were usually their own parents. A sudden, sharp gust of wind swept through the courtyard, sending Isabelle’s voluminous black hair whipping through the air.

Her jewel-toned eyes—identical to her son’s—narrowed as she gazed toward the nearby shade. There, her husband, Edwin Owin, was flying a model airplane with Rochshan.

“Eventually, you just get sick of it.” Her quiet self-deprecation finished, Isabelle wrinkled her nose playfully at Kyle, who stared back with blank incomprehension.

“Humans have an expression,” she told him. “‘I have no regrets.'”

He furrowed his brow, clearly thinking her words were utter nonsense, which only made Isabelle burst into a clear, ringing laugh.

“For my kind, it means reaching a point where we no longer feel the need to fight tooth and nail to survive. So, you see… I’m not being murdered. I’m allowing myself to be killed.”

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because I found true love,” she answered softly. “That alone makes my life complete.” In the end, even we just struggle to be loved.

She nodded toward her husband. “Why do you think I married him?”

“No idea.”

“Because he promised he would gladly die with me.”

Get lost. I just want a quiet place to die. That was what she had told Edwin when she tried to push him away. And his proposal had been simple: Then I will commit double suicide with you.

“Ah, there will never be another proposal that makes my heart flutter quite like that,” she sighed sweetly.

Izamra playfully spread her skirts and bent down. A crisp, refreshing citrus scent brushed past Kyle’s nose.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m magnanimous enough to forgive my killer.” The beautiful woman reached out, her delicate fingers affectionately ruffling the messy hair of the young slave who would one day become her son-in-law.

“And so, my little guardian, please take good care of my son,” she requested softly. “Even from the afterlife, I’ll be praying that everything works out and you live happily ever after with my Rochshan. Oh, and as for my murderer…”

Cupping her hands around the black dragon’s ear, Isabelle leaned in. “Milk them for all they’re worth. And when the time is right, slaughter them in the most brutal, humiliating way possible. Understood?”

Just then, the rhythmic clatter of hooves signaled the arrival of their lacquered two-horse carriage.

Hearing the horses snort, Rochshan came sprinting over, dragging his father by the hand. As Isabelle moved to board the carriage ahead of them, she paused, turning back to Kyle with one final plea.

“Later… whisper to Rochshan that you love him,” she instructed, her voice thick with emotion. “Love him enough for the both of us. Promise me.” He is so precious to me that I can’t even bear to say the words anymore.

Since her clan’s cruel abilities were a heavily guarded secret, Isabelle said no more. Why? Kyle, the dragon disguised as a slave, tilted his head in lingering confusion just as the radiant young master bounded past him.

“Can’t Kyle come with us?” Rochshan begged, unable to hide his reluctance to part.

Isabelle gently stroked her son’s cheek. “No, sweetheart. This trip is just for us.”

“We’ll be back, then!” Rochshan called out.

Isabelle hugged her son tight against her chest, offering the black boy a final, parting wave. That was their first, and last, conversation.