The Milf's Dragon-Chapter 50. Lost in the mist

"Whoa," Lyra breathed as sharp eyes tracked upward along Owen’s massive form.

Isaac was still on the ground with his mouth wide open and his shield forgotten beside him.

Even Felicity had frozen mid-motion with her hand paused halfway to her quiver.

Owen’s juvenile dragon form dominated the space around them. His presence alone seemed to warp the air, making the oppressive atmosphere of the Shadowgrave entrance feel somehow less suffocating simply because something more powerful now stood among them.

"Alright, that’s enough gawking," Yuki said, her voice cutting through the stunned silence with unexpected authority.

The shift was subtle but unmistakable. Somewhere between leaving the city and arriving at this cursed threshold, the dynamic had changed.

Lyra had been their de facto leader before—the highest-ranked, most experienced, most connected to a major guild. But now, with tensions shifting and standing beside a dragon that could level buildings, Yuki’s words carried a different weight.

"Let’s go," Yuki commanded, already moving toward the entrance where the mist was thickening.

Lyra didn’t protest. Isaac scrambled to his feet, grabbing his shield. Felicity fell into formation. And Owen followed behind them all, his massive form being a mobile fortress at the rear.

Together, they stepped into the mist.

---

The Shadowgrave swallowed them whole.

One moment, Yuki could see her companions, Lyra’s dual blades, Isaac’s shield, Felicity’s bow, Owen’s massive shadow looming protectively behind them.

And The next moment, visibility dropped to almost nothing. The mist wasn’t just thick; it was aggressive, pressing against her eyes like a physical presence trying to force them shut.

"I don’t like this," Owen’s voice echoed in Yuki’s mind

"Me neither," Yuki replied silently, as her hand trailed to the hilt of her katana.

The atmosphere grew heavier with each step. The temperature dropped. Sound became muffled, as if they were walking through water rather than air. Even her own breathing sounded distant and disconnected.

They huddled closer together, instinctively tightening their formation as their pace slowed to a crawl.

Every one of their instincts were in high alert, but there was nothing to fight, nothing to defend against. Just the oppressive presence and sight of the mist.

"I can’t even hear the other parties anymore," Felicity whispered, her voice barely audible despite standing only a few feet away. She had already drawn an arrow from her quiver, with the shaft now resting against her bow-string, ready to draw and let loose at the first sign of threat.

No one responded. Because she was right. The dozens of parties that had entered ahead of them, the heavy footsteps, the clanking armor and the nervous chatter that you would expect to hear were all gone. all of it had vanished completely as if it had never existed.

They were alone in the mist. Or worse, they only thought they were alone.

Then a scream tore Through the silence.

KYAAAAAAA!!!

And then it cut off abruptly in a way that promised nothing good for whoever had made it. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, bouncing through the mist until it was impossible to determine direction or distance.

The party exploded into combat formation.

Isaac’s shield came up, creating a wall of metal between them and whatever lurked ahead. Lyra’s blades appeared in her hands, and Felicity’s bow was now fully drawn, her arrow aimed at shadows. Uru jiggled nervously on Yuki’s head, its gelatinous form tensing.

And Owen’s massive head rose above them all, his jaws slightly parted and throat glowing with the orange light of gathering flames ready to be unleashed.

They waited.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Their Hearts pounded and Muscles tensed as their Breathing became shallow and controlled.

But nothing came.

No follow-up scream. No charging monster. No ambush from the mist. Just the oppressive silence pressing down on them continuously.

"What the hell was that?" Owen asked telepathically, his mental voice tight with frustration and concern.

But no reply came.

"Yuki?" Owen’s voice echoed again but now it sounded distant, muffled. "Yuki, can you hear me?"

She opened her mouth to reply aloud, turned to look up at where his massive form should be looming behind her—

And froze.

Owen wasn’t there.

Neither was anyone else around her.

The mist surrounded her on all sides, thick and impenetrable. No massive dragon shadow. No companions in formation. No sounds of breathing or armor shifting or arrows being nocked. Only Uru Jiggling frighteningly on her head.

"Owen?!" she called aloud, her voice swallowed by the mist almost before it left her mouth. "Lyra?! Isaac?! Felicity?!"

Nothing.

Panic clawed at her throat as her hand tightened on her katana until her knuckles went white.

---

Owen’s head whipped down, hi golden eyes scanning the ground where his party should have been walking.

Empty.

"Yuki?" he called again through their bond, pushing harder, forcing the mental connection to work through whatever interference was blocking it.

But no reply came. Just Silence still.

"Ah, shit," Owen muttered aloud, his draconic voice rumbling through the air.

Then He roared. "YUKI!!!"

The sound should have carried for miles. Should have shattered eardrums and sent animals fleeing in terror. Should have at least gotten some kind of response.

Instead, the mist absorbed it like a sponge.

Owen tried something different. He flapped his wings, not to fly, but to clear the mist, to push it back, to create a space where he could see properly.

The wind from his wings was tremendous. Hurricane-force gusts that should have scattered the fog like smoke in a gale.

But the mist didn’t even ripple.

Frustrated and increasingly worried, Owen crouched and launched himself upward into the sky. If he could get above the mist, get a aerial view, he could—

But an invisible force slammed into him mid-flight.

It felt like hitting a wall in the air. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and sent him spinning and crashing back to the earth.

Owen groaned, shaking his head to clear the disorientation. "What the hell?"

Then the system notifications appeared, translucent text hovering in his vision.

Ding—!

[You’re in a Restriction Field]

[You’ve been hit with a restriction: Dragon Down (90% restriction on all abilities)]

[Sovereignty of the Dragon King is resisting...]

[The restriction has been partially lifted: Dragon Down (50% restriction on all abilities)]

Owen stared at the notifications as he processed their implications.

Ninety percent reduction in his abilities. Even with his Sovereignty partially resisting, he was still operating at half strength. His flames would be weaker. His physical power diminished. His defenses compromised.

"This must be what the Greater Dragons were talking about," he muttered, pushing himself upright on all four limbs. "The corrupted mana. The death of Outer-Divinities leaving toxins that specifically target dragons."

He had thought he’d be somewhat protected by his bloodline. Apparently, "somewhat" meant "barely enough to not die immediately."

Golden light enveloped him as he transformed, his massive juvenile form compressing and reshaping until his humanoid body stood in its place.

"Alright," Owen said to the empty air, trying to organize his thoughts past the rising panic. "I’m worried about Yuki. But I’m more worried about the others."

He started walking, choosing a direction at random since the mist made navigation impossible anyway.

"If they die... if Lyra or Isaac or Felicity dies because I wasn’t there to protect them..." He clenched his fists. "Yuki wouldn’t survive that. Not mentally. Not after Oak and Lucien."

The thought drove him forward. Wherever his party was, whatever had separated them, he needed to find them. Fast.

---

Deep beneath the Shadowgrave, hidden within a labyrinth of cave tunnels that twisted through the earth like the burrows of some massive worm, seven figures sat in council.

The chamber was ancient and flaming torches perched in iron sconces along the walls, their light casting shadows that made the hooded figures look like specters rather than men.

Seven chairs surrounded a circular table. Seven robed cultists occupied those chairs, their faces hidden beneath deep cowls.

The First Seat spoke, Long black hair fell past his shoulders, streaked with gray that spoke of decades spent in service to forces that aged men faster than time alone ever could.

"The rats have entered the Shadowgrave."

His tone was flat, stating fact rather than expressing concern.

The Third Seat leaned forward, visible only as a pair of hands and a flash of crimson hair. His voice carried a cruel amusement about it. "Perfect. More lives for the Great One to claim. More souls to feed the vessel."

The Seventh Seat, newly appointed, still uncertain of his place in this hierarchy—shifted nervously in his chair. He was bald and short, with braided beards , his hands clasped together like a worried merchant rather than a devoted cultist.

"They seem stronger than the earlier groups, though," he ventured cautiously. "Shouldn’t we be concerned?"

"NONSENSE!"

The Fourth Seat’s roar echoed through the chamber, bouncing off stone walls. Unlike the others, this one was inhuman—a werewolf, massive even while seated, his bestial features visible despite the hood.

"None can measure up to the power the Great One bestowed upon us! We are His chosen! His instruments! Let them come. Let them all come. Their strength only makes their sacrifice more pleasing!"

Murmurs of agreement circled the table as Heads nodded beneath hoods.

The First Seat rose slowly, his chair scraping against stone. He spread his arms wide, a gesture of benediction or command.

"Soon, the Great One will descend. Soon, He will occupy the vessel that is the Dragon King’s egg. And when that happens, this world will be remade in His image. The old order will burn. The gods will fall. And we..." He paused, letting the moment stretch. "...we will be His pioneers. His first servants in the new age."

"Praise be," the others intoned in unison as their voices created an eerie harmony.

But the Second Seat, who had remained silent until now, cleared their throat. The sound cut through the reverent atmosphere.

"There is one thing worth noting, First Seat."

The tone was careful, measured. This cultist was neither frightened like the Seventh nor fanatical like the Fourth. Just... analytical.

"Speak," the First Seat commanded.

"A dragon has entered the Shadowgrave as well."

The Fourth Seat laughed,"So what?! Those damn lizards are sitting ducks in these lands! The corruption eats them alive! They can barely use their powers!"

"This one is different." The Second Seat’s voice remained level. "It bears a mana signature remarkably similar to the Dragon King himself. Could it be that—"

"Impossible!" The First Seat’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing the speculation immediately. "I trapped the Dragon King myself. Sealed him in a pocket dimension where he’ll starve and suffocate and eventually cease to exist. This must be some trick from the Greater Dragons. A desperate ploy."

He sat back down, his hands flat on the table, fingers splayed in a gesture of absolute authority.

"Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Seats. Go. Deal with the intruders. Kill who you must. Capture who you can. Use them to feed the ritual if they’re strong enough." His voice dropped, taking on an edge that made even the werewolf straighten attentively.

"And bring me that dragon. Alive if possible. I want to see for myself what tricks Drak’thar is attempting."