Chapter 100 (Part 1): The Thorn's Defiance
The Frozen Gamble
Bennett's palm hovered over the sarcophagus. The Dragon Patriarch's glacial gaze burned into his back, but the boy stepped away, crossing his arms with a defiant smirk. "I've changed my mind."
"What?" The Patriarch's voice cracked like splitting stone.
"I'm fourteen," Bennett said, shrugging. "Humans live barely a century. I've got too much left to do—steal, scheme, maybe even fall in love. Dying here? Not on my list."
The Patriarch's clawed hand twitched, frost creeping across the walls. "Aurion's debts demand repayment. You are the heir."
"Not today." Bennett grinned, sharp as a dagger. "Your pact binds you. Kill me now, and your precious honor shatters. Forever. Imagine it—the mighty Dragon Patriarch, oathbreaker. Your clan cursed to guard this tomb until the stars die." He leaned closer, mocking. "Dragons do care about tradition, don't they?"
The Patriarch's roar shook the chamber. Ice surged, encasing Bennett's legs up to his waist. Agony seared through his nerves, but he laughed through gritted teeth. "Freeze me! Chop my legs! I'll still outlive your pride!"
A Symphony of Curses
Bennett's defiance erupted into a torrent of profanity. He hurled insults from a dozen lifetimes—crude, inventive, vicious. He mocked the Patriarch's lineage, its horns, its parenting skills. The dragon's scales flushed crimson as Bennett's voice grew hoarse, his body half-frozen.
"You… insect!" The Patriarch's fist slammed the sarcophagus, fracturing the stone. "I'll let you rot here!"
"Rot? I'll sing your shame to the rats!" Bennett spat blood, his breath fogging. "Your legacy will be a tomb and a broken vow. How's that for eternity?"
The Patriarch's enraged howl shattered the air. Bennett crumpled, ears ringing, vision blacking out as the dragon vanished in a whirlwind of frost.
The Ghost in the Tomb
Bennett awoke shivering atop the sarcophagus, his body thawed but aching. Semele materialized beside him, her crimson robes fluttering. "You… provoked a dragon?"
"Bought us time." Bennett clutched his ribs, coughing. "Tell the old mage—run. Now. Before that overgrown lizard returns."
Semele hesitated. "You planned this. You wanted him to leave."
"Genius, right?" Bennett grinned weakly. "Go! If I die, make sure they toast me with good wine."
As Semele faded, Bennett dragged himself upright. The chamber's cold gnawed at his bones, but a voice—soft, urgent—pierced his thoughts.
Open it. I can help.
Bennett froze. "Nice try, lizard. Not falling for—"
I'm beneath you. The voice dripped with ancient malice. In the tomb.
Bennett recoiled. The Patriarch's pride would never stoop to such tricks. Heart racing, he stared at the sarcophagus.
"Who… what are you?"
The voice hissed, Your only ally.
The Unseen Pact
Outside, the old mage paced as Semele relayed Bennett's warning. Grinch gnawed his claws. "The boy's mad! We can't abandon him!"
"We must." The mage gripped his staff, face grim. "The Patriarch's rage could level this mountain. Bennett bought us a chance—use it."
Joanna drew her blade. "Then we fight."
"Fight a dragon?" The mage snorted. "Only fools and Thornblooms try." Yet his eyes flickered to the trembling earth. Somewhere deep, the Patriarch's wrath simmered.
Meanwhile, Bennett traced the sarcophagus's carvings—a thorned crown, a serpent devouring its tail. The voice whispered again, Aurion lied. To you. To the dragon.
"Prove it," Bennett muttered.
Lift the lid.
Bennett's hands trembled. Trust a stranger in a coffin… or face a dragon's vengeance alone?
He inhaled. Pushed.
The stone groaned.
Chapter 100 (Part 2): The Penguin's Pact
The Unseen Savior
Bennett's blood ran cold.
The sarcophagus—supposedly holding Aurion's legendary treasures—now cradled a living creature. After a millennium entombed, its voice slithered into the air, smooth and unnervingly polite.
"Who—what are you?" Bennett choked out, backing away.
"Neither human nor ghost," the voice replied, tinged with amusement.
"Then what?!"
"Not a 'what.' A 'who.'"
Bennett's mind raced. Aurion's prophecy had promised a divine beast, a guardian to wield against the Dragon Patriarch. But as the sarcophagus creaked open, faint light illuminated… a rotund, waddling figure with a glossy black coat, a snow-white belly, and a comically stubby wingspan.
It was a penguin.
A talking penguin.
Feathered Farce
The bird hopped onto the sarcophagus's edge, preening its feathers with absurd dignity. "Thank you, young master. It's been ages since I've stretched."
Bennett gaped. "You're… a penguin."
"Ah! You recognize my lineage!" The penguin clapped its wings, delighted. "Most here call me 'that hideous seabird.' Barbarians. I am Percival, the last of Aurion's companions."
"Companion?!" Bennett's voice cracked. "Aurion's 'divine beast' is a flightless bird?!"
Percival tilted his head. "You seem distraught."
"Distraught?!" Bennett exploded. "I just traded my last bargaining chip to free a comedic sidekick! The Patriarch will skin me alive!"
"Tsk. Vulgar imagery." Percival waddled closer. "But fear not. Aurion foresaw this."
"Foresaw what? My death by penguin-induced humiliation?!"
The chamber trembled. A low, thunderous laugh echoed as the Dragon Patriarch materialized, eyes blazing. "So this is Aurion's legacy? A plump morsel for my dinner?"
Percival puffed his chest. "I prefer 'connoisseur of the arts.' And you, sir, lack tact."
A Deal in the Dark
The Patriarch's claws flexed, ice spiraling around Bennett's throat. "Your farce ends here, thief."
"Wait!" Percival chirped, unfazed. "Aurion left a message. For you."
The dragon froze. "Speak."
Percival's voice dropped, sharp as a blade. "'Do you miss your wings, old friend?'"
The Patriarch's breath hitched. For the first time in centuries, its glacial composure shattered.
Bennett stared. "Wings?"
"Centuries ago," Percival said lightly, "the Patriarch traded its draconic form for power. Aurion's spell bound it to this… diminished state. A bitter pact."
The dragon's snarl shook the chamber. "Lies! Aurion stole my true body!"
"No." Percival's gaze hardened. "You sacrificed it. For vengeance. For pride. Aurion merely… preserved the remnants." He nodded to the sarcophagus. "Your wings sleep here. Restore them, and your full power returns. But only if you spare the boy."
Silence fell. The Patriarch's claws trembled—not with rage, but hunger.
The Thorn's Triumph
Bennett's mind reeled. "You're bluffing."
Percival winked. "Am I?"
The dragon lunged, snatching the penguin. "Where. Are. They?"
"Patience!" Percival tutted. "First, swear an oath. By blood and bone."
The Patriarch's growl rattled Bennett's teeth. "If you deceive me, bird, I will devour your soul."
"Charming." Percival turned to Bennett. "Master, the lid. If you please?"
Bennett shoved the sarcophagus open. Inside, beneath trinkets and dust, lay two colossal, iridescent wings—dragon scales shimmering like fractured starlight.
The Patriarch froze, a choked sound escaping its throat. Longing.
Percival smiled. "Aurion's final gift. Take them. But remember: power without purpose is a hollow curse."
The dragon's claws retracted. For a heartbeat, Bennett saw not a tyrant, but a broken king.
"Swear," Percival pressed. "Spare the Thornbloom heir."
The Patriarch closed its eyes. "I… swear."
Epilogue: Wings of Redemption
As the dragon's essence fused with its lost wings, Bennett slumped against the wall. "Why help it? It'll kill us anyway."
Percival hopped onto his shoulder. "Aurion believed even monsters deserve redemption. Besides—" He smirked. "The oath binds it. For now."
Outside, the mountain quaked. The Patriarch's triumphant roar split the sky, its true form blotting out the sun. Yet as it ascended, Bennett glimpsed something unexpected—a single, glistening tear trailing from its eye.
Percival sighed. "Dragons. So dramatic."
Bennett snorted. "Says the penguin who out-negotiated a demigod."
"Ah, but I," Percival preened, "am a gentleman."
Chapter 101 (Part 1): The Oath of Thorns
A Dragon's Desperation
The Dragon Patriarch's claw trembled at Bennett's throat, its razor edge grazing his skin. Centuries of rage and humiliation warred with desperate hope in the creature's eyes.
"Speak!" the Patriarch snarled, its human form trembling. "How do I reclaim my true body?"
Bennett swallowed, blood roaring in his ears. "Not. So. Fast." He forced a grin. "You think we'd trust you to spare us after? Show some dragon-sized brains!"
The Patriarch's growl shook the tomb. "Insolent maggot! I'll—"
"You'll what?" Percival the penguin waddled forward, wings clasped behind his back. "Kill the only soul who can restore your wings? How very… shortsighted."
The dragon's claw retracted. Bennett exhaled—until the Patriarch whirled on Percival. "One wrong word, bird, and I'll freeze your flippers off."
"Charming." Percival sniffed. "Now, about that game…"
The Phoenix Gambit
Negotiations unfolded like poisoned chess. The Patriarch demanded immediate answers; Bennett countered with survival clauses.
"A hunt," the dragon finally conceded. "Two days' head start. Reach the Frostwilds before I catch you, and our feud dies."
Bennett scoffed. "Two days? Against wings? Make it three."
"Two." The Patriarch conjured a towering hourglass, sand already trickling. "Or perish now."
Percival intervened. "A counterproposal: no magic during pursuit. Pure speed. A test of… instinct."
The dragon's lips curled. "Agreed. Now—the cure."
Percival's voice dropped. "Aurion's 'Pactwell Spring' locked your form, but the key was always you. Polymorph magic requires belief. For centuries, you've doubted your right to rule—thus, the spell held."
The Patriarch recoiled as if struck. "Lies! My will is—"
"Broken," Percival said softly. "When Aurion bested you, you let the curse take root. Reclaim your pride… and your wings."
Shadows of the Pact
The dragon's oath ceremony was a storm of ancient syllables, the air crackling with primal magic. Bennett watched, awed and terrified, as the Patriarch carved runes into its own palm—a blood vow binding it to the terms.
"Two days," it hissed. "Then the hunt begins."
As the dragon vanished in a whirl of frost, Bennett rounded on Percival. "You knew it doubts itself? Why not say so sooner?!"
"Because," the penguin sighed, "prideful lizards rarely heed truths. Now run, little thief. Even chained, that beast's faster than blizzards."
Flight of Fools
Outside the tomb, Bennett's companions froze at his hurried account.
"A game? With a dragon?" Grinch the goblin wailed. "We're meat on a skewer!"
Old Mage Willem stroked his beard. "The Frostwilds… A three-day sprint through eternal storms. Madness."
"Madness with style." Joanna Thornbloom tightened her sword belt. "Let's give that overgrown gecko a chase it'll sing about."
As the group scrambled to pack, Semele gripped Bennett's arm. "You trust the penguin?"
Bennett glanced at Percival, now lecturing Grinch on "proper escape etiquette." "Trust? No. But he's got style."
The First Move
The hourglass sand dwindled. Bennett's crew plunged into the glacial wastes, winds howling like damned souls. Ice tore at their faces; crevasses yawned beneath thin snow.
By nightfall, exhaustion set in. They huddled in a hollow, sharing meager rations.
"Why'd you do it?" Semele whispered. "Risk everything for a dragon's game?"
Bennett stared into the blizzard. "Same reason I steal impossible things. To prove I can."
Percival, nestled in Grinch's fur, chuckled. "Ah, youth. Always picking fights with eternity."
Far behind them, atop the Sacred Peaks, the Dragon Patriarch gazed at its blood-oath hand. For the first time in a millennium, doubt flickered—not in its power, but in its purpose.
Chapter 101 (Part 2): The Metamorphosis Gambit
The Illusion of Power
Polymancy—the ancient art of shapeshifting—had long been dismissed as a parlor trick by modern mages. To transform into a lesser creature, even temporarily, seemed a laughable pursuit. Yet Bennett now understood its hidden depths.
Gurgash the Rat Vizier, once a human sorcerer, had mastered intermediate-level Polymancy, allowing him to mimic low-tier magical beasts. But his power paled against the Dragon Patriarch's prowess. This ancient wyrm, trapped in human form for centuries, had honed Polymancy to its zenith. If it chose, it could briefly reclaim its draconic glory—claws that sundered mountains, scales that defied siege engines, and breath that froze continents.
"But time," the Patriarch snarled, its human throat straining to contain a dragon's rage. "Even restored, I'd revert to this… flesh prison within hours!"
Percival—now dubbed "QQ" by an irreverent Bennett—waddled forward. "Ah, but you've forgotten the Spring of Eternal Form."
The Alchemy of Identity
The penguin's explanation unfolded like a forbidden scroll. The cursed spring didn't merely lock a creature's shape—it rewrote their essence. Gurgash, drinking the waters while in rat form, had his rodent body cemented as his true self. The Patriarch, though, retained a sliver of hope.
"You've mastered Polymancy's pinnacle," QQ said. "Become a dragon anew, then drink the spring's waters in that form. Your draconic flesh will become your permanent vessel."
The chamber fell silent. Bennett watched the Patriarch's face cycle through shock, fury, and reluctant awe. For centuries, the dragon had sought to break the curse, never considering reforging it.
"The spring's location!" the Patriarch demanded.
Bennett stepped forward, a vial glinting in his palm. "Right here."
A Thief's Calculus
As the dragon greedily eyed the vial, Bennett's mind raced. What if I gave it the Time's Decay instead? One sip of that temporal poison, and the Patriarch would wither to dust. But the risks…
A dying dragon's vengeance. A genocide unleashed by enraged wyrms.
Reluctantly, Bennett handed over the true spring water. "Drink this after transforming. No tricks."
The Patriarch snatched the vial. "Begone, insects. Our game begins at dawn."
Escape from the Mountain of Claws
Bennett's crew fled through labyrinthine tunnels, QQ squawking indignantly from his perch on Bennett's shoulder. "Unhand me, you uncouth—urk!"
"Save the drama!" Bennett skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with Willem and Joanna at the mountain's exit.
"You're alive?!" Willem gaped at the penguin. "And… is that a talking bird?"
"Not a bird!" QQ preened. "A gentleman of the Antarctic Circle."
"His name's QQ," Bennett said, shoving past. "Now fly, unless you fancy being dragon chow!"
The group plummeted from the sacred peaks in a comical chain—Willem's wind magic straining under their weight, Joanna clinging to Grinch's tail, Semele's snakes hissing in protest.
The Clockwork Storm
Two days.
Sixty grains of sand left in the Patriarch's hourglass.
The party raced south across glacial plains, frostbite gnawing at exposed flesh. QQ proved unexpectedly useful, his flippers adept at detecting thin ice.
"Why help us?" Bennett asked during a rare pause.
The penguin studied the aurora-streaked sky. "Aurion's ghost owes me three barrels of pickled herring. Can't collect if you're digested."
The Patriarch's Rebirth
Back in the mountain, the Dragon Patriarch stared at its human hands. With a roar that shook glaciers, it invoked Polymancy's deepest sigils.
Bones cracked. Skin erupted into azure scales. Wings burst from its back in a spray of crimson mist—a temporary metamorphosis fueled by agony and pride.
As the last drop of spring water touched its draconic tongue, reality itself seemed to pause.
The curse shattered.
Huntress Moon
Dawn of the third day.
Bennett's group staggered into the Frostwilds' edge as the first sunbeam pierced the clouds.
Too late.
A shadow darker than midnight blotted out the sun.
"RUN!" QQ screamed.
But the Frostwilds' eternal blizzard swallowed their cries. Somewhere in that white hell, a dragon's hunt began—and with it, the final gamble of thieves and kings.