Chapter 64: Corridor of Regret

Some stares, Riley decided, could follow a man into his nightmares.

The kind of eyes that burned into your spine, crawled up your neck, and settled there like they planned to rent a room for life.

The dragons, who conveniently decided to visit the main estate today of all days, had that exact look.

They had finally started walking again after the crowd realized that Kael, Dragon Lord and reigning king of cold shoulders, did not particularly care about their unblinking inspection.

That did not mean the gawkers had given up. Oh no.

A few of the bolder ones even started to drift closer, perhaps to “try their luck” after the failed attempt of the claw-presenting dragon earlier. But they stopped when they noticed what Kael was doing.

The Dragon Lord did not speak a word. He did not make a show of it. He simply swept away the small pebbles scattered across the path ahead of Riley. A flick of magic here, a quiet ripple there, stones and grit rolling harmlessly aside.

Kael never looked down. Riley, entirely unaware of the pebble-clearing campaign in his honor, was too busy keeping his head level because lowering it would look like cowering, and that was not happening in this lifetime (today).

Everyone else, however, got the message. Or at least, they thought they did. Though getting the message wasn’t exactly the same as following the proper directive.

If only they knew that Riley himself had no idea what was happening.

Truth be told, Riley wished he could have stayed behind and swapped places with Orien, who had briefly insisted on tagging along.

The dragonling’s reason?

To find the “accursed idiot”—his words, not Riley’s—who apparently had a death wish.

Unfortunately for Orien, both Kael and Riley knew better than to bring him back into the clan while he still reeked of “baby dragon.” The scent alone, to those who knew what it was, was an open invitation to all manner of trouble.

Also… how exactly was Riley supposed to sneak Orien in now? The battle-worn duffel bag that had once contained him could barely zip shut, not after being clawed half to death.

Surprisingly, just as Riley was gearing up for a full tirade about why the idea was terrible, the dragonling had simply hmphed and said, “Fine.”

That was it.

No protests. No bribes. No guilt trips about being left behind.

Odd. But okay?

Although, in hindsight, Riley really should have questioned it. Orien giving up after being told “no” just once was about as believable as Kael agreeing to wear a bright pink scarf in public.

Because while Riley was currently enduring the weight of a hundred dragon stares and a steadily sweating back, somewhere far from the main estate, a certain mischievous dragonling had discovered something very, very interesting.

At first, Orien was extremely resistant to the idea of staying behind in his uncle’s estate while the others went off to experience what was clearly going to be the most exciting part of the trip.

And by “resistant,” that meant stomping, puffing, and declaring that this was a violation of basic dragon rights.

It was not about danger, of course.

It was about the gift.

The very same “gift” that everyone seemed to be making a fuss about.

What if there was food? What if there was treasure? What if there was a food-shaped treasure or a treasure-flavored food? He could not possibly miss that.

So he clamored for permission to come along, leaning heavily on the argument that he was the victim here, and what if he suddenly remembered something important while on site? That would be heroic, and they would be sorry they doubted him.

But then, right in the middle of his dramatic pleading, he froze.

There were footsteps. Little ones.

Without thinking, he dove headfirst into that blasted duffel bag, tucking in his wings and curling his tail so tight he looked like a very round feathery dumpling.

A knock followed, then the sound of a small hand patting the doorframe as a young voice called out to Riley. Something about using the solar charger to charge his console.

Orien’s ears perked.

Then it came. That sound.

That unmistakable click-whirr of a handheld being powered on.

“!!!”

Another chosen one?!

There was no mistaking it. The sacred sound of the rectangular handheld was something he couldn’t forget. And in that moment, his priorities shifted entirely.

Whatever Riley had been ranting about faded into background noise.

“Fine,” Orien declared, in the smug, magnanimous tone of a round baby dragon who had just decided that his loyal subjects would have to make do without his presence.

He slumped back dramatically into the bag, chin resting on his own belly as if to say, I could go if I wanted, but I choose not to.

That was last night.

Today, after Riley and Kael had left him with the very serious warning to stay hidden, Orien had decided to take a slightly different approach.

They had told him to stay hidden, yes.

They had not said anything about staying still.

So, naturally, he was going to… look around.

How hard could it be to stay hidden from humans, anyway?

Apparently, staying hidden was just as hard for Orien as it was for Riley to keep himself from being devoured by stares.

The entire walk to the main hall felt like it had been designed by a sadist.

Why did they need such a long corridor?

Was it so dragons could gallop around freely in their natural forms? Or was it so that someone like him would have just enough time to decide whether to keep walking or turn around and sprint for his life?

Not that picking the second option would help. At least if he turned tail, he would avoid having to stand there while dragons casually incinerated entire pieces of furniture right next to him and then calmly declared that it “didn’t fit the ambiance.”

They were doing it on purpose. He knew it.

It was textbook intimidation.

But if there was one thing Riley had learned from this, it was that it was an entirely different level of composure to be able to stand straight, pretending he wasn’t bothered, knowing—hoping—that he would not actually be burned.

Provided, of course, that Kael had not been lying when he said Riley would survive “most things” weaker than Kael himself.

Provided also that Kael had actually shared that ability with him.

Because right now, as the double doors of the main hall swung open to reveal a carpet made entirely of roaring flames, he was going to need it.

You have got to be kidding me, he thought, stepping forward with the firm belief that absolutely everyone here was out to get him.

Including the fucking carpet.

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