I'm Not Your Husband, You Evil Dragon!

The sun climbed higher, its rays growing stronger, more merciless, with each passing moment.

Sara ran through the forest, her body screaming in protest, her skin beginning to steam as the first rays of dawn touched her pale flesh. She did not care. She could not care. Her mind was filled with a single image, a single desperate plea.

Anaya.

She was so far from the village. Hours of travel compressed into a desperate sprint, her legs burning, her lungs aching, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth.

She knew how cruel humans could be. She had seen their cruelty, had watched them destroy everything they touched, had learned to despise them for their weakness and their violence. But she had never feared them, not until now.

What are they doing to her? she thought. What are they going to do?

The sun rose higher.

Sara’s body began to burn. The steam rose from her skin in thin wisps, curling upward like smoke from a dying fire. The burns began to appear, first on her arms, then her face, then her legs.

She leaped into the forest, using the trees to shield herself from the worst of the sunlight, her body weaving through the shadows as she pushed herself forward.

Her power was nearly gone. The battle with the demons had drained her reserves. The run through the forest had drained her further. She was running on nothing but desperation, on the memory of Anaya’s laughter, on the hope that she was not too late.

She rubbed her locket, drawing what little power she could from its depths. It was not enough. It would never be enough.

But she still kept running.

Hours passed.

The sun climbed higher, its heat growing more intense, its light more punishing.

Sara’s body was exhausted, her mind filled with images of Anaya, the way she played, the way she laughed, the way she called her "big sister" with such joy and trust.

The memories came unbidden, unwanted, as if fate itself was preparing her for the worst.

She reached Greymoor Village.

The sun was fully up now, its rays beating down on the village with relentless intensity. Sara stood at the edge of the forest, her chest heaving, her body trembling, her skin covered in burns and blisters.

She looked at the village entrance, the horse stable, the merchant stalls, the familiar buildings that she had walked through with Anaya.

The village was empty. No merchants. No customers. No horses. The silence was absolute, pressing against her ears like cotton. Something was happening inside the village. Something terrible.

Sara wanted to enter, but she was afraid. The sun was too strong. It was weakening her, draining her strength, making her vulnerable. If she stepped out into the open, she would be exposed, vulnerable, unable to fight if she needed to.

But she could not stay here.

She could not wait.

She took a breath, ready to accelerate, ready to dash through the village at full speed, hoping that speed would protect her from the worst of the sun’s rays.

She burst from the forest, her body burning as the sunlight touched her skin, and ran toward the nearest shop.

The door was closed.

She crashed through it, the wood shattering beneath her weight, sending splinters flying across the floor.

She stumbled inside, gasping for air, her body smoking from the burns.

"I am sorry," she gasped, her voice ragged. "I can pay for it."

The shop was empty. No one was there. No merchant. No customer. No one.

Sara searched frantically, opening cupboards, chests, drawers, searching for anything that could protect her from the sun.

She found a white blanket, thick and heavy, and grabbed it without hesitation.

White reflected UV rays. It would not protect her completely, but it would help.

She wrapped it around herself, covering her head, her shoulders, her body, creating a makeshift hoodie that would shield her from the worst of the sunlight.

She stepped outside.

The village was silent. The streets were empty. The windows were shuttered. The doors were closed. It was as if the entire village had vanished, leaving behind only the buildings and the silence.

Sara walked toward the center of the village, her steps slow, her heart pounding. She did not know what she would find. She did not know if she was too late. She only knew that she had to keep moving, had to keep searching, had to find Anaya before the villagers did whatever they were planning to do.

The center of Greymoor Village was a small square, dominated by an old stone well and a weathered wooden platform that had stood for generations.

The platform had been used for many purposes over the years, public announcements, celebrations, the occasional market day. But its true purpose, the one that had been carved into its surface by years of use, was darker. It was an execution ground.

The platform was raised high above the crowd, its surface stained dark by decades of blood that had been spilled in the name of justice, of righteousness, of the cruel certainty of those who believed they had the right to judge.

A wooden post stood at its center, thick and sturdy, its surface scarred by ropes and chains and the desperate struggles of those who had been bound to it. Below the post, dry grass and kindling had been piled high, waiting for a spark, waiting for a flame.

And on the platform, surrounded by guards and officials, was Anaya.

Sara reached the edge of the crowd, her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps that tore at her throat. The crowd was massive, far larger than she had ever seen in this small village. They had come from the surrounding towns, from the farms and hamlets that dotted the countryside, drawn by the promise of blood, by the spectacle of justice.

There were at least two thousand, six hundred of them, their bodies pressed together like cattle in a pen, their faces hungry and eager.

She pushed through them, her body still covered by the white blanket, her eyes burning from the sunlight that filtered through the gaps in the fabric. Her skin was steaming, the burns from the sun already forming, but she ignored them. She had to reach the front. She had to see. She had to know.

A fat man, the butcher from the meat shop, stood in her path. She grabbed his arm, her voice desperate, raw, barely controlled.

"What is going on? Why is everyone gathered here?"

The man looked at her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, his piggish face twisting into a grin. "Oh, you must be new here." He shrugged, his fat shoulders rising and falling. "Well, I think they caught some cursed child or something. I do not know the details. I am just here to watch some blood."

Sara’s blood ran cold. Cursed child.

She pushed past him, forcing her way through the crowd, her voice rising in a desperate scream that cut through the murmuring masses.

"Anaya! Anaya!"

She reached the front of the crowd.

Her world crumbled.

Anaya was tied to the wooden post in the center of the platform. Her wrists were bound behind her back with rough rope, the fibers digging into her skin, leaving angry red welts. Her ankles were hobbled, thick ropes wrapped around them, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. Below her feet, the dry grass and kindling had been piled high, waiting for a spark, waiting for the end.

Her face was swollen. She had been beaten, her eyes blackened, her cheeks bruised, her lip split and bleeding. The bruises were fresh, the blood still wet, the evidence of cruelty that had been inflicted while Sara had been miles away, chasing a trail that had been laid by her enemies. Her hair, the beautiful red hair that had been her curse and her pride, was gone. It had been torn out, ripped from her scalp in clumps, leaving behind raw, bleeding patches of skin that glistened in the morning light.

A black cloth covered her eyes. She could not see. She did not know who was watching, who was waiting, who had come to see her die. Her small body trembled with fear, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Sara’s heart shattered.

She stood frozen, her body trembling, her hands shaking. She had been too late. She had been tricked, manipulated, drawn away while the villagers had done this to her sister. The tears fell freely now, hot and bitter, carving paths through the grime on her cheeks.

The village chief stepped onto the platform, his staff in his hand, his face grave and solemn. He was old, his hair white, his beard long and flowing, his eyes cold and hard. He raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent, their murmurs dying as they turned their attention to him.

"My dear people," he said, his voice carrying across the square, echoing off the stone walls of the buildings that surrounded them. "I know many of you do not know why we are gathered here today."

Sara pushed forward, trying to reach the platform, trying to reach Anaya. But the crowd was too thick, the guards too numerous. She could not break through. She could only watch.

The chief continued, his voice rising as he looked across the thousands gathered before the execution platform.

"We are gathered here today for justice."

Confused murmurs spread throughout the crowd.

"Justice?"

"What justice?"

"What happened?"

The chief slowly raised his hand, silencing everyone before speaking again.

"Yes, justice. As many of you already know, yesterday six children from our village suddenly disappeared."

Sara froze in the middle of the crowd. She had been forcing her way forward only moments ago, but now her body refused to move. Her heart skipped a beat as the chief’s words echoed through the square.

Around her, the villagers gasped in shock.

"Six children?"

"I heard they never came home."

"Oh gods..."

"How could something like this happen?"

The chief lowered his head before continuing.

"This morning, we found them. But we did not simply find their bodies. What we discovered was something no human should ever witness. They had been brutally slaughtered. Their bodies were torn apart so viciously that even the guards who found them could barely recognize who they once were. It was not the work of ordinary beasts, nor was it the work of men. Whatever killed those children was a monster."

A wave of horror swept across the crowd. Mothers covered their children’s ears while several villagers lowered their heads in grief.

"No..."

"That’s horrible."

"What kind of creature could do such a thing?"

"It had to be a demon."

The chief slowly turned toward the execution platform and extended his hand toward Anaya, who stood blindfolded and tied to the wooden post.

"And what makes this tragedy even more suspicious," he declared loudly, "is that before those six children disappeared, they were all seen playing with this cursed child."

The square instantly erupted into whispers.

"I knew it."

"That girl has always brought disaster."

"It really was her."

"She’s a demon."

"I always said that cursed hair wasn’t normal."

The chief allowed the murmurs to spread before speaking once more.

"And only hours after those children were last seen with her... their bodies were found."

The whispers quickly transformed into angry shouting.

"Burn the monster!"

"Kill her!"

"She murdered those children!"

"The demon child deserves to die!"

Sara felt the strength leave her legs.

"No..."

The word escaped her lips almost silently.

"No... that’s not true."

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the broken little girl tied to the stake.

It wasn’t Anaya.

I killed those children.

It was my sword... my power... my mistake.

Her breathing became ragged as guilt crushed her chest.

How can they blame Anaya?

She wasn’t even there.

The sunlight continued to pour over the village. Even beneath the thick white blanket wrapped around her body, Sara could feel her skin burning. Thin wisps of steam rose from beneath the cloth while fresh blisters spread across her arms and neck. Every passing second drained more of her strength, making her vision blur and her breathing heavier.

Still, she forced herself forward through the sea of people. Every step felt heavier than the last, but her crimson eyes never left Anaya. They lingered on the bruises covering the child’s face, on the dried blood around her lips, and on the patches of raw flesh where her beautiful red hair had been violently torn away.

Her heart shattered.

She had chased the demon.

She had fallen into his trap.

And while she had been gone...

Anaya had suffered alone.

Sara clenched her fists so tightly that blood trickled from her palms. The pain from the sunlight no longer mattered. The exhaustion no longer mattered. The only thing that mattered was reaching the little girl before the villagers carried out their twisted idea of justice.

She had to save Anaya.

Before they burned her alive.

The chief slowly looked across the crowd, his expression heavy with false sorrow. He let the silence linger, allowing the anger and grief to settle deep within the hearts of the villagers before speaking once more.

"My people," he said solemnly,

"I do not wish to stain my hands with the blood of a child. That burden is too great for one man alone. That is why I have brought this cursed monster before all of you." He spread his arms toward Anaya, who stood bound to the wooden post.

"Today, I leave her fate in your hands. Tell me... what should we do with her?"

The square fell silent.

The villagers exchanged uncertain glances. Some looked at Anaya with fear. Others lowered their heads, unable to answer. No one wanted to become the first person to condemn a child to death, even if they believed she was cursed.

Then, from the front of the crowd, a woman stepped forward.

It was the mother of one of the six dead children.

Her face was soaked with tears, her hands trembling as she pointed toward Anaya with pure hatred burning in her eyes.

"Kill her!" she screamed. "Burn that monster alive!"

Beside her, her husband stepped forward, his grief having long since become rage.

"Burn her!" he shouted. "Burn the demon!"

The words spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"Burn her!"

"Burn the monster!"

"Burn her!"

"Burn her!"

Thousands of voices merged into one deafening chant.

"Burn her! Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!"

The ground itself seemed to shake beneath the overwhelming cries.

Anaya trembled violently.

The blindfold covering her eyes had stolen her sight, leaving only the voices surrounding her.

She did not understand.

Her tiny body shook uncontrollably.

"...Burn?" she whispered. "What... what do you mean... burn?"

She turned her blindfolded face toward the executioner standing beside her.

"Uncle..." she asked in a trembling voice. "What do they mean by burn?"

The executioner lowered his head.

His hands tightened around the burning torch.

For several seconds he remained silent before letting out a weary sigh.

"I’m sorry, little one," he whispered. "I think... you’re going to die today."

Anaya froze.

"...Die?"

Her voice cracked.

"Why... Uncle?" she asked as tears slipped beneath the black cloth covering her eyes. "Why are they trying to kill me?"

The executioner’s expression filled with guilt.

"I don’t know," he admitted quietly. "Perhaps... being different was enough to decide your fate."

Anaya lowered her head.

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Deep inside...

She was not surprised.

A small, heartbreaking smile almost appeared on her face.

She had always known.

Ever since she was chased from the village...

Ever since people began throwing stones at her...

Ever since everyone started calling her cursed...

She had believed this day would eventually come.

The chief silently looked toward the executioner.

The old man slowly nodded.

The executioner understood.

Without another word, he lowered the torch toward the pile of dry wood beside the platform. The flames caught instantly, crackling softly as orange light danced across the execution ground.

"I’m sorry, little one," the executioner whispered, his voice filled with regret. "Please forgive me..."

He swallowed hard.

"And... if there is another life... never be born into this world again."

The dry wood crackled.

The sound echoed in Anaya’s ears.

Her body stiffened.

"...Fire?" she whispered.

Fresh tears poured from beneath the blindfold.

"Uncle..."

Her voice trembled so badly she could barely speak.

"Is... is that fire?"

The executioner’s grip tightened around the torch.

"...Yes."

Anaya began shaking uncontrollably.

"Uncle..." she sobbed. "I’m... I’m scared of fire."

The words broke apart between desperate cries.

"It burned my parents..."

"It burned my home..."

"Please..."

"I’m scared..."

But the executioner was not her savior.

With trembling hands, he stepped closer.

The heat reached Anaya before the flames did.

She could already feel it against her legs.

Her breathing became frantic.

She struggled against the ropes until they tore into her wrists.

"Big Sister!"

Her desperate scream echoed across the silent square.

"Big Sister!"

Tears streamed endlessly beneath the cloth.

"I’m scared of fire!"

"Please save me!"

At that very moment.

"ANAYA!"

Sara’s desperate scream thundered across the execution ground.

She burst through the crowd, finally reaching the base of the platform, her body covered in burns, steam rising from beneath the white blanket wrapped around her.

But...

She was too late.

The executioner closed his eyes.

"...Forgive me."

He threw the burning torch.

It landed among the dry grass wrapped around Anaya’s feet.

The kindling ignited instantly.

Orange flames erupted upward.

Sara could do nothing...

...except watch the most horrifying moment of her life unfold before her eyes.

To be continued...

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!