The Enchanted Warriors (Dragon Riders AU)

15🤎

Harry pov

It’s not that Louis hasn’t killed before. He has. But there’s a gentleness to him, a restraint that defies his lineage. Sometimes, we do things not because we want to, but because we must. Louis is from the Hayashi family, renowned for their rare and powerful crystal abilities. His father, a warrior of legendary skill, served as my father’s first in command. Louis possesses that same gift—only stronger, sharper, more refined.

He doesn’t see it, though. That’s the thing about Louis. The fool underestimates himself, a trait both endearing and infuriating. But where his father was ruthless, Louis is measured. He walks a different path.

We grew up together, inseparable in those early years.

Now, though, the stakes are higher than ever. The enemies we face are unlike any we’ve encountered before. Their atrocities defy comprehension. They don’t just threaten us—they leave scars deep enough to break even the strongest of wills.

Flashes of our shared past break through my thoughts—images of the Choosing Ceremony, when we both found our destined companions. I remember the radiant glow of Azriel’s wings as I bonded with him, and the roaring defiance of Tyson, Louis’s chosen, the strongest among his kind. That day, we made a pact: to fight together, to protect our realm, and to always have each other’s backs.

When Louis was named my first in command, it felt like the stars aligned. He never wanted the burden of politics, but he took it on for me. Without him, I’d have lost my mind long ago.

“You don’t understand them, Louis,” I say, my voice trembling with frustration and barely suppressed fear. “These people… they’ve done things—horrors you can’t even imagine.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight as he processes my words. I know what he’s thinking. I’ve thought it myself a thousand times.

“Leo will stop at nothing,” I press on. “To find Emma. To find Y/N.”

“No one comes out of their territory,” Louis finally says, his voice low, measured. “And no one goes in. Information is scarce. What we know is… limited.”

“Limited?” I repeat sharply. “What do we have, then?”

Louis hesitates before answering. “The dragon.”

“What about the dragon?” I ask, leaning in.

“It’s no ordinary dragon,” he says, pouring himself a glass of wine. The gesture feels deliberate, like armor against what he’s about to share.

“Did the Dragon Masters find anything?”

“They’re still investigating,” he replies, his voice heavier now. “But it’s… strange. It doesn’t feel anything—no pain, no joy, nothing. Its eyes are completely lifeless. Soulless. No one can get close to it.”

“When did you start drinking during the day?” I ask, unsettled by the weight in his gaze.

“It’s been a long week,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

Dragon eyes are a window to the soul. They burn with emotions—fury, love, grief, hope. To see one without even a flicker of light… It’s unnatural. Unthinkable.

“I want to see it myself,” I say firmly.

_______

The dungeon is the epitome of despair, an underground labyrinth where the air itself feels heavy with suffering. Thick, reinforced stone walls hum faintly with protective enchantments, ensuring no prisoner—human or otherwise—could ever escape. Filthy straw carpets the floor, scattered among bones, skulls, and the remnants of lives long extinguished. Chains line the walls, etched with runes that pulse faintly in the flickering torchlight. The stench of decay, oil, and damp stone lingers in the air like a curse.