Zeken Marrow

The kingdom lay in ruin, its once-proud spires reduced to skeletal remains silhouetted against a sky choked with rolling ash clouds and smog. Where rolling hills of soft grass and wildflowers had once stretched as far as the eye could see, now only barren, cracked earth remained, the ground split open like a dried-out carcass left to the mercy of time. Thick layers of ash settled like powdered sand over everything, erasing the land's former beauty beneath a blanket of destruction. It was a vision plucked straight from hell itself.

Anguished cries echoed through the ruins, distant wails of corrupted dragons or the guttural roars of demons still prowling through the remnants of the kingdom. Random fires burned on stubbornly, their embers smoldering beneath the ruins, sending blackened wisps of smoke curling into the heavy air. Windstorms carried ash across the valley, an endless tide of gray that made it impossible to see too far ahead, forcing those who still wandered through the ruins to navigate by instinct rather than sight.

Zeken raised a hand, his fingers curling as if grasping something unseen. The storm parted before him, the swirling ash dissipating as if banished by an unseen force. He flicked his fingers, shooing away the remnants of the choking fog like an irritating fly before stepping forward, his boots crunching over debris and soot. His senses tugged him toward a still-smoldering structure, something buried beneath its wreckage demanding his attention.

"Can't fucking breathe here anymore, damn," he muttered to himself, voice muffled beneath the layers of his scarf. His sharp eyes scanned the crumbling remains, assessing the damage. "Asscrack of the fucking valley. This better not be another fucking roach nest." He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck before sighing and dropping to a crouch in the new ashfall, his knees kicking up small clouds as he settled.

His gloved hands sifted through the wreckage, charred wood crumbling under his touch as he searched for something—anything—that might still hold value. If he was lucky, this place had been a fire dragon’s nest, the eggs hidden beneath the ruins, protected from the demons that had ravaged the land. His claws scraped over blackened stone, the sound grating in the silence, until his fingers brushed against something softer.

Zeken froze. His brows furrowed beneath his hood. "What the fuck?" he muttered, gripping the unfamiliar texture and giving it a firm pull. Ash shifted, falling away like sand through fingers, revealing a pale arm partially buried beneath the wreckage. The skin was still warm, the flesh pliant, untouched by the stiffness of death. He exhaled through his teeth. "Well, ain't that somethin'." He adjusted his grip, digging his other hand into the debris to pull more of the body free.

After a few moments of careful effort, he managed to drag the entire person from the wreckage. They were limp but breathing, their chest rising and falling faintly beneath the soot-stained fabric of their clothes. Zeken crouched beside them, leaning in slightly as he listened. Their breath was shallow but steady. "Huh. Still breathin'," he murmured, tilting his head before shrugging. Without further hesitation, he heaved them over his shoulder, their dead weight settling awkwardly against his back. "Alright, let's get you outta this shithole."

His trek back to the castle was filled with the usual hazards—unstable ground, crumbling buildings, the distant howls of creatures that didn’t belong in this world—but Zeken ignored it all, his pace steady, his mind set on his destination. When he reached the castle, he lifted his free hand, fingers tracing a familiar sigil in the air. The massive iron doors groaned before clicking open, the magical seal unraveling at his command.

The moment he stepped inside, he was swarmed.

A pack of small dragons leaped at him, their scaled bodies weaving between his legs, their high-pitched chattering filling the air. They nipped at his boots, clawing their way up his pants, their wings flapping excitedly as they greeted him with the enthusiasm of an overexcited pet.

"Oi! Get down! Fuck off!" Zeken grunted, nearly stumbling as one particularly bold dragon latched onto his coat. "Get back to your nests, ya lil nippers! Fuckers are worse than cats. Skt! Shoo!" He batted them away with his free hand, managing to shake off most of them as he made his way deeper into the castle.

He didn’t stop until he reached the large bathroom, its stone interior cool against the heat still clinging to his clothes. With a huff, he dropped his unconscious find into the oversized tub with a dull thud, rolling his shoulders as he stretched. A flick of his fingers conjured a light orb, the glowing sphere hovering up to join the three others already floating near the ceiling, bathing the space in a soft, golden light.

Turning his attention back to the unconscious figure, he twisted the overhead faucet open, sending a spray of cold water cascading down onto them. The water hit their face first, soaking their hair, streaming down their soot-covered skin, washing away the layer of ash and grime clinging to them.

"Come on, chicken. Wake the fuck up!" Zeken snapped, watching for any sign of movement. "Rise and shine, piccolo," he added, angling the spray directly at their face, waiting for them to stir.