DRAGON BLOOD: THE LOST LORD RETURNS

The stars had barely begun to fade when Artemis opened his eyes.

He sat upright in bed, breath steady, mind racing. The old seer's voice still echoed in his thoughts:

"If you want to know who you are… the forest will show you the truth."

He looked down at the pendant resting on his chest. It pulsed faintly, warm against his skin. As if it too had heard the call.

The house was silent. Mira and the others were still asleep. Carefully, Artemis slipped out from under his blanket, grabbed his cloak, and tiptoed to the door.

One glance back.

Then he vanished into the early dawn.

---

The forest greeted him with mist and silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the type that whispered secrets too old for words.

Tall pines loomed like giants, their trunks damp with dew, their branches heavy with sleeping fog. The early light filtered weakly through the canopy, casting shafts of gold and silver through the mist. Each step Artemis took was muffled by thick layers of fallen leaves, moss, and soft earth, his boots leaving barely a sound.

Birdsong had not yet returned to this part of the woods.

Only the occasional flutter of wings—distant, cautious—disturbed the quiet. Somewhere above, a crow let out a single raspy caw, then went still again, as though warned into silence.

The trees were close here. Older than those near the village. Their bark was dark, gnarled, etched with cracks like veins. Roots rose from the ground in serpentine coils, twisting into shapes that looked like claws or sleeping creatures frozen mid-motion. Brambles reached for him like bony hands, tugging at his cloak and sleeves. Artemis pushed through carefully, glancing from side to side.

The deeper he went, the heavier the air became.

It wasn't just fog. It was something else—an unseen weight pressing against his chest. A quiet thrum beneath the silence. The kind of stillness that came before a storm, or after a great loss. He paused, laying his hand against a tree.

The bark was cold and rough.

But beneath it… he felt something.

A faint vibration.

A heartbeat?

No. That was his.

Or was it?

Goosebumps crawled along his skin. He looked up.

The branches above swayed ever so slightly, though there was no wind. The mist clung to them, draping the forest in a veil of pale silver. Dew hung in beads from the leaves like droplets of glass. Everything shimmered—wet, hushed, sacred.

Artemis continued on, brushing aside hanging vines and ducking beneath archways of low boughs. A small stream whispered nearby, hidden from sight, trickling over stones with a song too quiet for most ears. The scent of damp earth, old bark, and hidden flowers filled his lungs. It was overwhelming—strangely comforting, yet foreign.

He passed a ring of mushrooms near an ancient stump. In the stories Mira told, such rings were fae circles—boundaries between this world and another. He didn't step inside. Just looked. Wondered.

The deeper he walked, the stranger the forest became.

Some trees bore markings—runes, maybe, carved long ago and swallowed by moss. There were stones stacked in deliberate patterns, too precise to be natural. He swore he glimpsed tiny lights flitting in the corner of his vision, vanishing when he turned his head.

"Show me," he whispered. "If there's something I'm meant to see… show me."

His voice barely stirred the mist.

And yet something answered.

Not in words. Not in sound.

But in sensation.

The pendant around his neck began to warm, a gentle pulse that beat in rhythm with something deeper—older.

A breeze, cold and low, swept through the trees, parting the mist just ahead of him.

As if to reveal the path forward.

A wind passed, low and cold. The trees shivered, and the mist thickened like a veil being drawn over the world.

Hours—or maybe just minutes—felt like a blur as he roamed. He didn't know where he was going. The world around him looked the same in every direction, yet the pull in his chest urged him on.

Then—

A crack.

A low growl.

He turned sharply.

Yellow eyes blinked in the dark between the trees.

Then another pair.

And another.

Shadows began to move—low to the ground, circling.

The growling grew louder, harsher. Artemis stumbled back, heart pounding. From the darkness, shapes emerged.

Wolves. But not ordinary ones.

These beasts had pitch-black fur like smoke, and their eyes glowed like fire. Their bodies flickered with every movement, as though made of shadows themselves.

Shadow wolf beasts.

The beasts circled.

Snarling. Waiting.

Artemis gripped the branch tighter, knuckles white. His breath came fast and shallow, clouding in the cold air. His heart slammed against his ribs like a drum. He forced himself to steady his stance—feet apart, knees bent—just like Kael had taught him when they sparred in the fields behind the house.

"Come on, then," he muttered.

A growl—deeper than the others—rumbled to his left.

Then chaos erupted.

One of the shadow beasts lunged at him from the front while another darted from the side, trying to flank him. Artemis twisted, ducking low just in time, and jabbed the end of his branch upward into the attacking beast's ribs. It yelped, staggering back into the mist.

But the other was faster.

Its claws raked across his side, tearing through fabric and flesh.

He cried out, pain flaring hot across his ribs. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, gasping.

Leaves and dirt filled his mouth. He spat and rolled over just as a heavy paw crashed down where his head had been moments before.

He swung blindly.

The branch cracked against the beast's snout, splintering in his hands.

The wolf shrieked and recoiled—but not for long.

It circled again, lips pulled back in a jagged snarl, dark mist curling from its fangs.

Artemis struggled to his feet, stumbling backward. His side throbbed. Warm blood soaked into his shirt. His hands trembled.

There were too many.

Four… no, five still remained.

They moved with unnatural grace, like smoke and shadows made flesh. Their bodies shimmered in and out of visibility, blinking through the mist like ghosts.

One howled.

It was a haunting, hollow sound that sent a chill down his spine.

And then they charged.

Artemis turned and ran.

Branches whipped across his face. Roots snatched at his feet. His boots pounded against the forest floor, slick with moss and wet leaves. He didn't know where he was going—only that if he stopped, he would die.

Snarls echoed behind him, closing in.

He glanced back.

Bad mistake.

A wolf lunged from the side, catching him mid-stride. They tumbled through the undergrowth, crashing into a tree.

The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.

Pain exploded in his shoulder.

The beast pinned him.

Its glowing eyes stared into his, primal and unblinking.

He could smell its breath—smoke and rot.

It opened its jaws.

And Artemis screamed.

In a final burst of desperation, he grabbed a jagged rock from the ground and drove it upward into the creature's jaw.

The wolf howled in agony and reared back.

Artemis scrambled away, slipping in the mud. Another wolf snapped at his ankle, tearing into his boot. He kicked wildly, landing a lucky strike to its throat, and it stumbled back coughing.

He rolled onto his knees, breathing hard, covered in blood, dirt, and fear.

I'm going to die here…" he thought clawed at his mind, cold and sharp. "Not even arion, Kael, Mom, dad would know where I am". He tightened his grip. No. Not yet.

A flash of movement to his left.

Another wolf leapt—its body arcing through the air like a spear.

Artemis threw up his arms in a weak defense.

He knew this was it.

He couldn't fight anymore.

Couldn't run.

Then—

A sound like thunder split the mist.

Steel against bone.

The wolf never landed.

A figure, cloaked in black, had appeared between them. He moved too fast for Artemis to follow—his blade a blur, his steps silent.

The wolf dropped in an instant, dissolving into a trail of ash.

The others hesitated, snarling low.

The figure stood still for a moment, sword lowered at his side.

The pendant on Artemis's chest suddenly flared to life, glowing with a sharp pulse.

The wolves turned to the light.

And charged.

The cloaked figure sprang into motion.

He was like a phantom—slipping through the mist, dancing between the beasts. Every strike was exact. Every motion fluid. He didn't waste a single breath.

One wolf lunged—he ducked and drove his blade up into its chest.

Another tried to leap onto his back, but he spun, slicing through its throat mid-air.

Two more circled, attacking in tandem.

He met them head-on.

The clash was brief.

The air sang with the sound of steel.

Then silence.

The clearing was still.

The last wolf collapsed, vanishing into a spiral of black mist.

All that remained was the sound of Artemis's labored breathing and the faint shimmer of the pendant's light.

The figure turned away from the fallen beasts, his face still hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.

Back facing Artemis.

Unmoving.

Unshaken.

The forest had gone quiet again—as if the entire world was holding its breath.

Artemis, now bleeding from his side and arm, tried to stand, but his legs buckled. He fell forward onto one knee, bracing himself with shaking hands.

"Who… who are you?" he croaked, voice hoarse.

The man did not speak.

But he turned.

Just enough.

A glimpse of his jawline.

A flicker of his eye—sharp and golden, like fire behind a stormcloud.

Artemis's breath caught.

That eye…

He knew it. From somewhere. From before.

From his dreams?

From his blood?

The pendant flared again—brighter.

And then—

The world tilted.

His vision blurred.

Darkness rushed up from the edges of his mind like a wave crashing over him.

He collapsed.

His name echoed in the dark, just before he lost consciousness.

"Artemis."

---

Artemis woke with a gasp.

He was in his room.

Morning light filtered through the window. The scent of warm bread filled the air. Birds chirped beyond the walls.

He sat upright, chest heaving.

Had it all been… a dream?

He looked at his hand—clean, unbitten. No wound. No blood. Just the soft linen of his bed and the quiet creak of the floor.

A dream.

But it had felt so real.

The wolves. The fear. The pain.

That voice.

His name.

He rubbed his forehead, confused, heart still racing.

His mind drifted back to the cloaked man's eyes—calm, piercing, ancient somehow. A presence too real to belong in a dream.

That's when the door burst open.

Mira stood there, arms crossed, worry creased deep into her face.

"Where were you?" she asked

Artemis blinked. "What?"

"I checked your room before. You were gone." Her voice trembled slightly. "But when I checked again just now—you were here. Sleeping. The door was locked from the inside."

He stared at her, his heart thudding.

"I thought maybe you snuck out," she continued, "but there were no footprints. Nothing outside. Nothing in the hallway."

He swallowed.

So he had left.

And yet… he was somehow back.

Inside.

Without a door being opened.

Without a trail.

No explanation.

Mira stepped closer, studying him. "Your face… you look pale. What happened is there anything?"

He didn't respond.

His gaze drifted down to the pendant resting on his chest.

It was glowing again—faint, but alive. A soft pulse, like a heartbeat. Like it remembered.

He slowly touched the fabric of his cloak still hanging by the chair.

The edges were damp.

With dew.

Fresh forest dew.

His breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't a dream.

He had been there.

The forest. The wolves. The man in black.

It was all real.

He looked at Mira, trying to find the words—but there were none.

Only questions.

Only fear.

"I… I think someone saved me," he whispered, barely audible.

Mira blinked. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't understand it. But someone was there. And he knew my name."

Mira narrowed her eyes, concern deepening. "Artemis… are you dreaming while being awake now?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came. The question lingered like smoke in the air.

He looked away.

His eyes flicked toward the window, drawn by something he couldn't explain.

And then he froze.

Outside the glass—just beyond the garden fence—stood a figure cloaked in black.

Still.

Watching.

As if waiting for something.

His breath caught. Every part of him screamed to move, to speak—but he couldn't.

A breeze moved through the trees, rustling the leaves.

Artemis blinked.

The figure was gone.

Vanished.

Like a shadow never meant to be seen.

He stared, heart pounding, unable to move.

The pendant pulsed again—once, sharply—then dimmed.

Mira hadn't noticed a thing.

But something had followed him back.

And it was still watching.