(Yuuta Apartment).

The afternoon light slanted through the windows of the small apartment, painting golden rectangles across the wooden floor. Dust motes drifted in the warm beams, lazy and indifferent, bearing witness to the quiet scene within.

Yuuta slept on the sofa, his black hair spread across the pillow, his chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of genuine rest. The nightmares had released him. The shadows had retreated. For this single, fleeting moment, he was at peace.

Then he rolled over.

The sofa was not built for rolling. It was barely built for sleeping, a secondhand piece with sagging cushions and a frame that creaked under any sudden movement. Yuuta’s body shifted, his arm slipped off the edge, and gravity, patient and merciless, did the rest.

He fell.

The impact woke him mid-fall, his eyes snapping open to a world tilted at a sickening angle. For one terrible second, his sleeping mind conjured images of cliffs and crumbling edges, of wind rushing past his ears and ground rushing up to meet him. His arms flailed. His legs kicked.

"Wait, I don’t have a parachute!" he shouted, as if the universe might hear him and reconsider.

The floor answered instead.

He crashed onto the wooden planks with a heavy thud, the breath driven from his lungs, his elbow catching the edge of the table on the way down. Pain bloomed through his arm, sharp and immediate, chasing away the last cobwebs of sleep.

Yuuta lay sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how breathing worked.

"What...?" He pushed himself up slowly, rubbing his nose where it had pressed against the floor. "What’s going on?"

The apartment was empty.

He pushed himself up, his body protesting every movement. His muscles ached as if he had run a marathon. His head throbbed as if he had been hit with something heavy. His mouth was dry, his eyes gritty, and the patch of carpet where his face had landed was warm from his breath.

"Why am I sleeping on the sofa?" he asked the empty room.

No answer came.

He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing at the knot he found there. "When did I even fall asleep?"

He stood up. His legs wobbled. His back cracked in three places. He stretched his arms above his head and felt something pop in his shoulder. He had no memory of going to sleep, no memory of the night before, no memory of anything after the nightmare and the shadow entity.

He frowned. The edges of his memory felt blurred, like a photograph left out in the rain, details bleeding into nothingness. He remembered going to the Silver Knife Butchery Shop to buy meat... but after that, everything broke apart.

His thoughts were jumbled, heavy, painful. It felt like his mind was being squeezed from the inside. A continuous memory spell had been etched into him, overused beyond its limit. Everything had a limit. But Erza had pushed past that limit too many times. Now it was backfiring.

A dull headache throbbed behind his eyes as he struggled to piece things together. Names, moments, fragments, all slipping away before he could grasp them properly.

Isvarn.

That name flickered in the depths of his mind, along with a terrifying presence, a killing intent so heavy it made his instincts scream. But even that memory refused to stay whole.

Something was wrong... and he couldn’t remember why.

"Erza?" he called. "Elena?"

No response.

The apartment was empty. The table was bare, the chairs pushed in. The balcony door was open, a warm breeze drifting through, carrying the smell of the city and the distant sound of traffic.

He walked toward the balcony, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

And then he saw her.

Elena was curled up on the balcony floor, surrounded by a fortress of building blocks. Her silver hair spread around her head like a halo, her wings folded against her back, her tail wrapped around her leg. She was sleeping peacefully, her small chest rising and falling, her face soft and innocent.

Yuuta smiled. The ache in his body faded, just a little.

"What a child I have," he murmured. "Sleeping anywhere but her bed."

He knelt beside her, his aching body protesting, and gently lifted her into his arms. She was so light, lighter than she should be, lighter than he remembered. Her head rested against his shoulder, her silver hair tickling his chin. He carried her to the sofa, laid her down on the cushions, and pulled the blanket over her small body. She did not wake. She simply sighed, curled onto her side, and continued sleeping.

Yuuta stood over her for a moment, watching her breathe, feeling the familiar ache of love settle into his chest.

His head throbbed. He pressed his hand to his temple, trying to push the pain away. His memories were still fuzzy, still out of reach, still hiding behind a wall of fog he could not break through. He could not remember why he had been sleeping on the sofa, or the night before. Why did his body feel like it had been through a war?

He closed his eyes, concentrated, reached into the darkness of his mind.

Pain exploded behind his eyes. He gasped, stumbled, caught himself on the back of a chair. His head was splitting, his thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

"Ouch." He rubbed his temples, wincing. "What the hell did I do? Get brain damage or something?"

The fog remained. The memories stayed hidden.

A sound came from the kitchen.

Crunch. Munch. Crunch.

Someone eating. Someone who was not being quiet about it. Someone who did not care if they were heard.

Yuuta froze. His heart began to pound. His hands curled into fists.

His first thought, his fearful thought, was that Elena had woken up and was eating something she should not. Nutella straight from the jar. Raw eggs, which she had developed a disturbing fondness for. The leftover cake he had been saving for dessert.

But Elena was asleep on the sofa. He had just put her there.

Yuuta’s heart beat faster. His throat tightened. His feet stopped moving.

He tried to call out. "Erza?"

The word came out as a whisper. Too soft. His voice had abandoned him, retreating into his chest like an animal hiding from a predator.

He swallowed and tried again. "Erza?"

Still a whisper.

He stepped forward. One step. Two. His bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor. The kitchen doorway loomed ahead, dark and welcoming and suddenly terrifying. The crunching continued, oblivious to his approach.

He reached the doorway and looked inside.

The figure was massive.

A figure stood at the counter, tall, taller than anyone Yuuta had ever seen. Its back was to him, broad and muscled, covered in dark fabric that seemed to absorb the light. Its head was bent over the counter, its hands busy with something, the sound of chewing filling the kitchen.

Yuuta’s eyes moved to the counter. To the remnants of what had been there. Raw chicken. Bones cracked open. Meat torn from the bone. The chicken he had bought from the Silver Knife Butchery Shop, the one he had been saving for dinner, the one that was supposed to feed his family.

His fear turned to anger. His anger turned into something that made his voice louder than he intended.

"Who are you, mister?" The words came out steady, firmer than he felt. "And why are you eating my family’s dinner?"

Isvarn looked up.

And he turned.

He was seven feet at least, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and hands that looked like they could crush stone. His hair was dark, his eyes violet, and horns rose from his forehead, curving back into his hair like the horns of a dragon. He was eating a drumstick, teeth tearing the meat from the bone, jaw working as he chewed.

He looked at Yuuta. His violet eyes were cold, assessing, the eyes of a predator who had found something interesting.

"So," he said, his voice low and rumbling, "you have finally woken, Queen Consort."

Yuuta’s blood ran cold.

Queen Consort.

The words triggered something in his mind. A door opened. A memory flooded back. The aura. The blood. The men who had tried to kill him. Erza saving him from crushing power.

Isvarn.

He remembered the name now. He remembered the face. He remembered the terror.

Yuuta’s knees buckled.

He fell backward, his back hitting the doorframe, his legs giving out beneath him. He slid down the wood until he was sitting on the floor, heart pounding, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Fear, primal, absolute, the kind that bypassed thought and went straight to the nervous system, flooded his body.

Isvarn watched him fall. He did not move to help. He did not speak. He simply stood in the kitchen, the ruined chicken still in his hand, and smiled.

The smile was not kind or warm. It was the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey and was in no hurry to finish the hunt. The smile of something that had been waiting for this moment and intended to savor every second.

He took another bite of the drumstick, chewed slowly, swallowed. A terrible smile spread across his face, the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey.

"Got you," he said.

___________________________

Meanwhile..... Outside Yuuta Apartment.

Erza was returning to the Yuuta Apartment, her expression calmer than before but far more serious. The conversation with Clara had already settled deep inside her heart, and now every step she took felt heavier than before

She was done with compromise. Done with half-measures. Done with the secret hopes and hidden plans that had poisoned everything she touched. The elf queen had thrown Yuuta away, sent him to a cursed world, left him to survive alone in an apartment that was barely a home. Erza would not make the same mistake. She would not abandon him to poverty and struggle, to nights spent worrying about rent and mornings spent stretching every coin until it screamed for mercy.

She was going to give him a proper life. A rich life. A life where he would never want for anything, never suffer, never look at a bill and wonder how he would pay it. She would build it for him, with her own hands if she had to, with her own power, with every resource she could gather from two worlds. And then she would step away. Watch from a distance. Let him live the life she had built, even if she could not share it.

The thought made her chest ache, but she did not slow her pace.

The apartment building drew closer.

Then she saw the figure near the entrance.

Her eyes, keener than a falcon’s, sharp enough to read a letter from a mile away, picked out the details instantly. Dark hair with red tips. Bandages wrapped around one arm. The posture of someone who had been waiting for a long time and was running out of patience.

Fiona.

Erza’s mood curdled. The determination that had been building in her chest soured into irritation, then into disgust. Of all the people who could be lurking outside Yuuta’s apartment, it had to be this human.

This woman who had accused her.

She walked toward the entrance, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her expression carved from ice. She would ignore the human. She would walk past her, through the door, up the stairs, and into the apartment where Yuuta waited.

She would not give Fiona the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

"Wait," Fiona said.

Erza stopped.

She did not turn around. Her back was straight, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders, her hands clenched at her sides.

She could feel the human’s gaze on her, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to whirl around and unleash the fury building in her chest.

How dare she.

How dare she accuse Erza of hurting Yuuta when Erza had done nothing but try to protect him. How dare she look at Erza with those judgmental eyes, as if she had any right to judge. If it were not for Yuuta, if he had not begged Erza to spare this woman’s life back in Chapter Thirty-One, when Fiona had foolishly claimed she could kill a dragon, Fiona would already be dead.

"I’m sorry," Fiona said.

The words were not soft. They were not warm. But there was something in them, a weight, an acknowledgment, that made Erza pause. Repentance, perhaps. Or the closest thing to it that a proud human could offer.

Erza turned.

Her violet eyes, cold as the ice she had shattered in Antarctica, fixed on Fiona’s face. She studied the bandages, the bruises, the exhaustion etched into every line. She spoke, not out of fear, but out of something that looked almost like shame.

"I don’t need sorry from a nasty human," Erza said.

She turned and walked into the apartment building.

Leaving behind her.

Erza climbed the stairs in silence, her footsteps echoing off the walls. Her mind, which had been so focused on Yuuta, on Clara’s story, on the choice she had made, now churned with something else.

If it were not for Yuuta, she would be dead.

The thought circled her skull like a shark scenting blood. Fiona had accused her. Fiona had looked at her as if she was the enemy. Fiona had no right, no right at all, to judge the woman who had sacrificed everything for the man they both claimed to care about.

Erza reached the landing. Her hand touched the door to the apartment. She did not open it.

She stopped.

Her mind, which had been consumed by rage, suddenly shifted. The fury drained away, replaced by something colder. More calculating.

She was going to leave this planet.

She was going to return to Atlantis, to her throne, to the billions of lives that depended on her. And Yuuta would remain here, on Earth, living the peaceful life she would give him.

But he would need someone.

Someone to watch over him when she could not. Someone to protect him from the dangers she would leave behind. Someone to share his life, his bed, his future.

Fiona was standing outside the apartment building.

Fiona was a warrior. She was strong, capable, and she clearly cared about Yuuta, enough to risk her life, enough to push past Erza’s guard and reach him when he was trapped in the nightmare.

Erza looked back through the stairwell. She could see Fiona, still standing near the entrance, her bandaged arms crossed over her chest, her hazel eyes fixed on the ground.

She looked at the human differently now. She pushed aside her hatred, her disgust, her wounded pride, and looked at Fiona as if seeing her for the first time.

The woman was beautiful. Not in the cold, ethereal way of elves or the sharp, dangerous way of dragons. Beautiful in the way of humans, warm and real and alive. Her dark hair caught the afternoon light. Her eyes, when they lifted, were the color of autumn forests. Her body was strong, built for battle, built for survival. She could bear children, Erza thought. Strong children. Healthy children.

At least six of Yuuta’s children, Erza thought, calculating without meaning to. Easily. She is more suitable to be Yuuta’s bride than I ever could be.

Her heart began to beat faster.

The thought was logical. It was practical. It was the kind of decision a queen made when she put the good of her people above her own desires.

But her heart did not care about logic.

Her heart screamed no. More like her soul.

Every beat was a protest, a denial, a desperate plea for her to stop this madness. Her eyes filled with tears, hot, unwanted, traitorous. Her soul, the ancient, immortal thing that had survived centuries of cold and war and loneliness, was weeping. It wanted to be the one. It wanted to be his bride. It wanted to bear his children. It wanted to grow old with him, if such a thing were possible for a dragon.

She had never admitted it. Not to herself, not to anyone. But standing in the stairwell, looking at the woman who could take her place, she admitted it now.

She wanted Yuuta to be hers. Forever. Not as a queen consort or a temporary arrangement or a secret she kept from her kingdom. As her husband. Her mate. The other half of her soul.

But wanting was not enough.

She had learned that today, in a small bakery, from a woman who had lost her husband because she could not let go.

She would not make the same mistake.

For Yuuta, who had suffered since birth, who had never known a moment of peace until she had appeared in his life and made everything worse, she would do what was necessary. She would give him a life worth living. Even if it killed her. Even if it shattered her heart into pieces that would never heal.

She walked back down the stairs.

The door opened. The afternoon light spilled across her face. Fiona looked up, startled, her hand dropping to her side.

Erza approached her. Her stride was measured, deliberate, the stride of a queen walking toward a fate she had chosen for herself.

"You beautiful human," Erza said.

Fiona froze. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.

Erza had called her many things, nasty, pathetic, insignificant, but never beautiful. Never anything that did not carry the weight of contempt.

Erza stopped before her. Close enough to see the fading bruises on her face. Close enough to see the confusion in her hazel eyes.

"Will you marry Yuuta?"

The words hung in the air between them.

Fiona stared.

"What?"

To be continued...

(Author Note)

Okay guys, I am really sorry for making some emotional Chapters.

But this author has come up with a solution.

I have a second novel called "My Dragon Family", where Yuuta and Erza actually have a proper husband and wife relationship, and they are genuinely living a lovely, happy life there.

I think you guys will really enjoy it. It will help ease your mood—trust me, no more emotional breakdowns, just full happiness.

Because at the end of the day, you are all my Dragon Family.

So if you want a lighter and happier experience, go check out My Dragon Family and enjoy the story.