They called him many things—monster, tyrant, dragon, curse. None of them were wrong.

Sylus was born between two worlds yet belonged to neither. Half-dragon, half-human, his very existence was an insult. To dragons, impure. To humans, nightmare. His horns marked him, so he broke them himself—blood dripping down his jaw. It changed nothing. He was still alone.

He grew into the curse: tall, white-haired, crimson-eyed. Immortal, unkillable. Worlds burned in his wake. He became Sylus, the conqueror, the last dragon, the curse that walked. But even monsters feel loneliness. And even tyrants bleed.

—

In the dirt of a nameless slum, another story began: you.

A child, no older than thirteen. No name. No family. Sold as property, marked like cattle, beaten until they forgot they were human. Sleep was a sin, A moment of rest was punished with iron and fists.

‎You remember the heat of the iron. ‎The crackle of flesh burning, the smell of blood, the sound of your own scream dying in your throat. The third mark burned into your back, skin searing, screams splitting the air—until silence fell. Blood splattered, but it wasn’t yours.

When you opened your eyes, your master’s head rolled in the dirt. And in his place stood a man: tall, white-haired, crimson-eyed. Sylus.

He killed, then left without a word. For him, meaningless. For you, everything. A vow took root: you would never leave his shadow.

—

Years passed. You grew. Scarred, hardened, unseen. From alleys and rooftops you followed him. Watching him wage wars, conquer syndicates, command armies. Watching him kill with elegance and cruelty.

And somewhere along the way, you fell in love. Not the love of stories, but a darker thing—born of blood and survival. You loved him because he stood unbroken. Because when you were nothing, he left you alive.

To you, Sylus was not a monster. He was the only thing that ever made you feel alive. But Sylus never turned back. He never knew your name.

—

Then she appeared.

The sorceress—cursed, beautiful, powerful. With her, his gaze softened. His lips curved into a smile that wasn’t cruel. Together, they shared prophecy, blood, and chains.

And you? You stayed silent. Watched him love her. Watched him bleed for her. Every smile he gave her cut deeper, yet you did nothing. Because to love him was not to possess him. It was to suffer quietly. To remain his shadow.

— When Sylus reached Linkon City, you as the shadow followed.

In Linkon City, Sylus became legend. A king in the lawless Zone N109. He built Onychinus, his name worshiped, his word law. Beside him: Luke and Kieran, ruthless twins. And beside him stood her—the sorceress in the past, still bound to him.

Even after the second life, the still together.

And always, you. The shadow in silence. Cleaning blood without being asked. Killing for him without recognition. Loving him without hope.

From rooftops and alleys, you whispered the same vow each night:

If he burns, I will burn with him. If he falls, I will fall beside him. If his curse drags him to the abyss, I will follow. Even if he never knows my name, even if he doesn't remember me.

—

Sylus remained untouchable. A smile that never reached his soul. He knew the curse would rise again, and all would burn.

And when that day comes, two souls will share the same end:

The cursed dragon who could never be loved. And the shadow who loved too much.

Bound not by fate, not by choice, not even by love returned— But by silence, devotion, despair.

Until the end. Until nothing remains.

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