Demonic Dragon: Harem System
Chapter 518 - 518: Conversation with Fire

The door creaked.

Stella froze.

Her body, still weak and sore, tried to react—her trained instincts forcing her spine to straighten, even though she felt that any sudden movement would make her faint again. Her golden eyes stared at the doorknob turning slowly, as if whoever was on the other side was hesitating... or was absolutely certain that there was nothing to worry about.

The door opened slowly.

And there she was.

Samira.

But not the trembling child of the past, nor the draconic creature from the square. This Samira was... a bridge between the two extremes.

She entered the room with an upright posture, her gaze fixed. Her presence filled the small space with a silent force, as if the wood itself feared making a sound. She wore simple clothes, a black tunic with red details on the cuffs, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing burn marks on her forearms—not ugly or accidental, but rather... symbolic. Like runes formed by time and pain. A necklace with a crimson stone pulsed softly on her neck.

Her eyes were the same, but at the same time, completely different. Still red, but now... there was depth in them. Layers. Echoes of the dragon Stella had seen. The fire was there, alive, but contained. Like a volcano dormant only by choice.

"You're awake," Samira said, her voice low. Emotionless.

Stella stared at her. She felt a chill run down her spine.

"Why... why did you do that?"

Samira stopped near the window. She didn't look directly at her sister, as if the answer was too obvious to warrant a conversation. As if Stella were asking what color the sky was in the middle of the day.

"You came to get me as if I were a forgotten item," she said at last. "As if the Duchy still had some right over me. As if you did."

Stella tried to get up, but a sharp pain in her lower back prevented her. Her face contorted, and Samira just watched, motionless.

"You don't understand," Stella said through clenched teeth. "Your disappearance was..."

"It never mattered," Samira laughed dryly, emptily. "When was the last time you spoke of me, Stella? Ten years, and not a single letter. Not a single question."

Stella hesitated.

"You were a child. And... you disappeared."

"I was psychologically tortured until the day I simply... broke." Samira's voice was low, but sharp as a blade. "Or did you forget that too?"

Stella swallowed hard. "...The Duchy... our father..."

Samira slowly turned her face toward her. Her red eyes flashed—not with explosive anger, but with cold, controlled contempt. Deadly.

"You still call him father?" The question was poisonous, laden with disbelief. "That man threw me to the wolves every single day, hoping I would become a wolf too. But I became a dragon."

The sentence fell between them like a verdict. Stella paled. The air seemed to thin for a moment. Breathing became heavier.

She tried to respond, but nothing came out right away.

"You never defended me, Stella," Samira continued. Her voice didn't change, but it hurt more than any scream. "Not once."

"I was young... I..." The attempt sounded weak, brittle.

"And I was even younger." Samira took a step forward. "And even so, you looked at me the way he looked at me. With shame. With contempt."

Silence fell like a stone.

A bird sang outside. A brief, solitary note—carried away by the wind before it could finish.

Stella closed her eyes. Memories came in flashes. Samira lying in the hot dust of the training field. Her eyes filled with restrained tears. Her small hands trying in vain to light a blade that never responded. The instructor screaming. The pain. The humiliation. The blood on her childish lips.

And she... Stella, standing, distant. Proud. Cold. Perfect. The heiress molded by her father's iron fist. The one who learned early on that "empathy was weakness" and that "siblings are just weapons from the same arsenal."

"He convinced me that you were a hindrance," whispered Stella, her voice breaking. "That your weakness would drag us down. And I... I believed him. I thought I was right. I thought I was doing what I should."

Samira crossed her arms. She didn't smile. She didn't cry. She just nodded once, as if receiving confirmation of something she had known for a long time.

"You believed it. And I burned it."

Stella opened her eyes slowly. "But now... you're different. What I saw... that creature... was that you?"

"It was." Samira approached the chair and sat down calmly, as if the conversation were just beginning. "What the Duchy called weakness was just something that needed space. Time. But they don't know how to cultivate. They only know how to destroy. Burn to clean. Never to welcome."

Stella stared at her for a long time. "You erased me."

Samira raised an eyebrow, unhurriedly. "I could have killed you."

"But you didn't." Stella insisted, more fragile than she intended.

"No." Samira looked away, resting her gaze on the bucket in the corner of the room. The surface of the water trembled subtly with the wind blowing through the half-open window. "Because part of me... still remembers the girl I wanted to defend me. Even though she may never have existed."

The words fell like cold steel into Stella's chest. They didn't come with anger. Nor with hatred. They were worse: they were true.

She felt a weight on her body that didn't come from physical pain. It was deeper, buried where pride couldn't reach. Regret. The shame of omission. The absence of courage in moments that would never return.

"And now?" she whispered. "What are you going to do?"

Samira raised her face. Her eyes did not burn with fury—and that made them even more intense. The gleam they carried now was of something much more dangerous: conviction.

"I'm going to decide what I am. With my own hands. And it won't be the Duchy. Nor the Blazer name. Nor you."

Stella opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For the first time, she didn't know if her voice had the right to interfere.

Samira slowly got up and walked to the door. Her steps were silent but firm, like someone who had left doubt behind long ago.

"Rest," she said, without looking back. "You'll need strength... if you want to survive what's coming."

"What's coming?" The question came out more like a trembling whisper.

Samira paused, her hand already on the doorknob. She turned her face just enough for a strand of red hair to escape the shadow.

"The true fire," she replied. "The one that truly purifies. That burns to the root. And nothing remains... except what is real."

With a soft click, the door closed behind her.