Chapter 301: The Redhead Who Was Meant to Burn.
In a completely different place, the heavy morning air was thick with a choking black smoke and the sharp, nauseating smell of something burning.
SLAP!
A brutal, heavy strike shattered the quiet, followed immediately by a woman's shrill, enraged voice.
"What did I tell you, you half-ass, red bastard?! Stay still!"
In front of her, a young girl with vibrant, bright red hair cowered against the floor. Her face was a horrific map of abuse—both of her eyes were heavily bruised and blackened, her cheeks were severely swollen, and a steady stream of dark blood dripped from her nose. She was trembling violently, her voice breaking into a desperate, agonizing sob.
"Please... please, not my hair..." she wept, clutching at her head.
But her pleas fell on deaf ears. The woman, her sharp features twisted into a mask of pure malice, ignored the crying girl completely. The acrid smoke filling the room was coming directly from the girl's head; the woman was deliberately holding a flame to those bright red strands, watching them shrivel and burn away into ash.
Dozens of white-blooded children stood in a tight circle, their pale eyes wide as they watched the cruelty unfold. Across the courtyard, others dropped whatever they were doing and sprinted toward the commotion, shouting excitedly to the rest of the hive.
"Hey! Sharpy is bullying the redhead again!"
Within moments, a swarm had formed around them. Instead of trying to stop the violence, the crowd began to jeer and cheer for the bully.
"Burn her!" someone yelled from the crowd. "Her red hair is wicked! She deserves it!"
"Yeah, burn it all off!" another echoed, the swarm's collective malice feeding into the room's suffocating heat.
Sharpy sneered, her sharp features tightening as she gripped a thick lock of the girl's vibrant red hair. With a sickening yank, she lifted the girl completely off the ground. The redhead choked out a sob, her whole body dangling helplessly in the air, suspended entirely by the roots of her hair. Sharpy held her high, forcing the bruised, swollen face level with her own so they could look directly into each other's eyes.
In her other hand, Sharpy held a wooden stick tipped with a flickering, hungry flame, bringing it dangerously close to the girl's tear-streaked face.
"Your hair is only red because it was meant to burn," Sharpy hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "Just like what's going to happen to you tonight. You're going to fail to claim the dragon's powers, aren't you? Just like you failed to inherit the blood of the god from the very start."
She pushed the flame closer, watching the girl flinch as the heat radiated against her bruised skin.
"This pathetic hair is the ultimate proof," Sharpy mocked, a cruel laugh escaping her lips. "Your mother was a pig. A worthless pig who didn't even deserve to carry my father's blood. And look at you—you're just like her."
The redhead didn't even try to speak or defend herself. She knew exactly what would happen if she fought back; she had learned that lesson the hard way before.
She cast a desperate glance around the courtyard, looking for any shred of mercy, but there was none. Her siblings simply stood by, doing nothing to help. Many of them were actively enjoying the spectacle, their faces twisted into cruel smiles. Realizing she was completely isolated, the only thing she could do was cry and accept her fate—accepting that her hair was going to be burned away.
Sharpy took her time, slowly bringing the burning stick closer to the girl's face to prolong the torment. She smirked, teasing her victim while the surrounding crowd grew louder, their cheers echoing off the walls.
Suspended in the air and paralyzed by fear, the redhead shook violently, her tears falling into the dirt below as the heat of the flame drew closer.
The tips of the redhead's vibrant strands were just beginning to sizzle and curl in the radiating heat when a deep, resonant voice shattered the courtyard's atmosphere.
"What is going on here?"
The tone was heavier than thunder, carrying a terrifying weight that vibrated right through the stone floorboards. Instantly, the cheering from the white-blooded children died out. They scrambled backward, frantic to see who had spoken, though deep down, they already recognized that unmistakable, draconic presence.
Whispers broke out like a rustling wave across the swarm.
"It's him… it's the First."
Without a second thought, the crowd of siblings dropped to the ground, instantly kneeling in absolute, terrified submission.
Through her swollen, tear-filled eyes, the redhead looked up past Sharpy's frozen, stiffening shoulders. Walking into the clearing was a figure that commanded the room just by existing.
It was Draculeus.
The First Dragonprince. Her oldest brother, and the first of the thousands of children to successfully claim and tame the dragon's blood. He was the living pinnacle of their father's legacy, and at his absolute authority, the entire courtyard held its collective breath.
Sharpy's grip tightened on the redhead's scalp for one final, vicious second. She leaned in close, looking her dead in the eyes, and hissed in a frantic whisper,
"You better fake this. Act like we're just playing and go along with it, or I'll finish the job tonight."
With a sudden, careless motion, Sharpy dropped the girl to the stone floor. The redhead collapsed into a heap, gasping for breath and clutching her aching head.
In the blink of an eye, Sharpy shifted her posture, bowing down gracefully before Draculeus. Despite being only fourteen years old, Sharpy was surprisingly tall—nearly matching the height of Draculeus himself, who had fully evolved into a formidable dragonborn.
"Greetings, First Brother," Sharpy said, her voice instantly transitioning into a sweet, innocent melody that completely masked her malice. She looked up with a well practiced, respectful smile.
"Please forgive the commotion. We were simply playing a game of 'Trial by Fire' to help our little sister prepare for tonight's ritual. Since she is about to face the dragon's blood, I was merely testing her resolve against a real flame so she wouldn't flinch or shame our family's name before the altar. It was all in good fun, a routine endurance exercise, isn't that right?"