I'm Not Your Husband, You Evil Dragon!
Chapter 81: Silent Death’

Chapter 81: Silent Death’

(Yuuta’s POV)

"Died...?"

The word slipped from my lips like it didn’t belong to me. I barely recognized my own voice.

"Just like that?"

It came out softer than a whisper. Thin. Fragile. As if saying it aloud might break something I couldn’t fix.

I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t.

How could something so cruel—so devastating—be part of real history?

"This is why I hate the tragic history..." I muttered. "Because sometimes, it’s not just sad. It’s unbearable and injustice."

Grandpa didn’t say anything. He wasn’t looking at me.

He stared into the floor, but I could tell—he wasn’t really seeing it.

It was like he’d stepped into another world. Like he wasn’t telling me a story, but remembering something he’d lived.

"She turned into her dragon form," he said, voice low and distant. "She had no choice. The Hero’s final attack... It would’ve killed her. She was desperate."

He paused for a long moment.

A silence that felt too heavy for words.

"...But she forgot something."

I looked at him. "Forgot... what?"

Grandpa’s jaw tightened. His eyes never left the flames.

"Something important."

My heart was already racing. I didn’t know what he meant, not yet—but I felt the dread settle in my stomach like ice.

"Her child," he said finally. "He slipped through her womb... just as she transformed."

I froze.

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

"...What?"

He exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to say it either.

"Dragons and humans... are different. In every way. Their bodies, their magic, even how they give life. Zareth was in labor—her child was about to be born. But she didn’t have time to wait. The Hero’s spell... that holy light... it was moments away from striking her down."

He paused.

"So she did what any mother would do. She acted."

"She transformed."

I swallowed, but my throat was dry.

"And the baby...?"

Grandpa nodded grimly. "Her body expanded. Wings burst from her back. Her skin turned to scales. She became a creature of the sky again. But the baby—he wasn’t ready. He was human. And he fell."

"Fell..." I echoed, numb. "To the ground?"

"From the air," Grandpa said. "Onto the grass. He was covered in blood. He was... tiny. Fragile."

My mind painted it instantly—too vividly.

A small, helpless body tumbling from the sky. No wings. No warmth. No mother’s arms to catch him.

Just open air...

And the cruel pull of gravity.

My chest ached. I couldn’t look at Grandpa anymore. I stared at the fire, but it suddenly looked colder than before.

"What happened then?" I asked, barely able to breathe.

"She didn’t see it," Grandpa said. "Zareth didn’t even know. The battle had swallowed her. Pain. Magic. Rage. She thought the Hero had caused everything. That he had taken everything from her. So she struck."

I looked up.

"She forgot her own baby?"

"She forgot everything," he whispered. "In her rage... she swung her tail. The Hero flew like a ragdoll—crashed through trees, shattered bones. His body was barely holding together. But he was still alive."

I shivered. "And she...?"

"She would’ve finished it right then and there. Her claws were raised. Her breath burning with fury. One more second..."

He stopped.

"...But something stopped her."

I waited.

Grandpa didn’t look at me. He blinked slowly, as if trying to hold back something he’d carried for far too long.

"A voice," he said softly. "Tiny. Fragile. Not a roar. Not a scream."

He looked up.

"A cry."

I felt the words before he even said them.

"A baby’s... whimper."

He nodded.

And suddenly Grandpa use his magic to show me, I was there—in the story. I could see it.

Zareth, frozen in place. Claws in the air. Fury burning behind her golden eyes.

And then—

That sound. That impossibly small, human sound.

A cry.

A single breath from a newborn child.

She turned.

And there he was.

Her child.

He lay crumpled in the grass, a fragile bundle of flesh and blood, motionless under the grey sky. A smear of crimson marked the earth beneath him, soaking into the soil like spilled ink.

But—he was breathing.

Barely.

A flicker. A flutter of life so faint it could’ve been the wind.

She didn’t hesitate.

Everything else fell away—her pride, her power, even the war raging behind her.

She shifted back into human form, her divine shape unraveling like smoke in the wind. Her knees buckled as she hit the ground, hard and ungraceful. She crawled forward, mud clinging to her skin, rain sliding down her face like tears that the sky shed for her.

And then—she gathered him into her arms.

Her hands shook violently. She didn’t know where to touch, how to hold him without causing pain. She’d faced monsters. Killed kings. Fought gods.

But now, holding her child—she felt helpless.

"My child..." she whispered, her voice shredded by heartbreak. "I’m here. I’m here, My child..."

She pulled him closer, pressing his tiny body to her chest, as if her warmth alone could keep him tethered to life.

He was too quiet.

Blood streaked his face, trailing down from his scalp, seeping into the corners of his lips. His skin was pale. So pale.

"No..." she whimpered, "No no no no—please... please not this...My child say something."

She gently cradled his head, brushing matted hair from his eyes, her fingers trembling with every movement. Tears clouded her vision. She could barely see him—but she didn’t dare look away.

"I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to hurt you... I broke the promise, I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..."

The words poured out of her like a dam cracked open—guilt, grief, desperation, all tangled into one breathless prayer.

Then—

His lips moved.

A soft motion. Weak. Barely there.

And his eyes, half-lidded and glassy, found hers.

And from somewhere beyond voice—from deep inside their bond, from the thread that tied their souls together—his voice echoed in her mind.

"Mama..."

The sound broke her.

Her tears came harder, her hand flying to his cheek.

"Yes, my love... I’m here. I’m right here, your Mama is here."

"It hurts... Mama... it hurts..."

She rocked him, gently, as if the rhythm might ease the pain. As if anything could.

"I know, baby... I know... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...My baby everything will be fine. "

She cried harder, her tears falling onto his face. He blinked at the drops, and one tiny hand reached up—a trembling motion—and touched her cheek.

"Mama’s... crying?"

"Don’t cry... Mama..."

"Mama... it hurts..."

Her sob turned into a broken sound, half-kept in her throat, the kind of cry that leaves scars behind.

And then—

He smiled.

Just barely.

"Mama... I love you..."

And then...

He was gone.

His body went still.

His chest didn’t rise again.

There was no sound.

No light.

Just the soft, final stillness of death.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t move.

She just sat there, unmoving, her arms around him, as the world slowly stopped spinning.

A long silence passed—longer than minutes, deeper than time. It wasn’t just the stillness of grief. It was the moment the universe forgot how to breathe.

Then, without warning—

Her memory betrayed her.

"If you ever return to your dragon form... your child will die as human."

The words of the gods echoed like thunder in her mind.

She had transformed.

She had broken the rule.

And now—

She had killed her son with her own hand.

Her arms clutched him tighter, as if holding him close could somehow undo the impossible.

But there was no undoing it.

There was only—

Silence.

And then—

The sky cracked.

Thunder ripped through the heavens like a scream too large for the world to contain. The clouds burst. The rain came down harder, heavier, colder.

And her sorrow—

It changed.

It became something else.

Not rage.

Not yet.

Something quieter.

Something deeper.

A divine silence, more terrifying than any roar.

Her form began to shift—not into dragon, not into human, but something liminal. A being between life and death, hope and ruin.

She stood—slowly—like a statue carved from despair, glowing with a dark, sacred light.

Her power was no longer magic. It was judgment.

The Hero, standing across the battlefield almost Beaten, stared at her in horror. He took a step back.

Even from where I sat, listening to the story through Grandpa’s voice, I felt the weight of it. I could barely breathe.

She stepped forward.

Each footfall withered the grass beneath her. The world shrank around her.

Behind her, three great shadows emerged—her Royal Guard.

Ancient beings. Beasts of legend.

But none lifted their weapons.

They saw the child.

They saw her face.

And they knew.

They knelt—quietly. Reverently.

Tears ran down their monstrous cheeks. Grief etched itself into their souls, they lost their little Brother, Only prince meant to rule them.

She turned to the Hero.

Her voice—soft, broken, shaking—was almost lost in the rain.

"My son..." she said. "He was in pain."

Her hands clutched the child to her chest.

"You have healers... don’t you? Please..." Her voice cracked. "Please help him...he is still warm."

She stumbled slightly, but did not fall.

"He can’t die like this... He was going to see the cities... I promised him the mountains... the oceans..."

She looked at the sky.

"He was going to laugh. To run. To fly..."

The Hero stood frozen, his sword shaking in his hand. His breath came short, his eyes wide.

And then—

He lowered his weapon.

His voice—when it came—was barely louder than the wind.

"...I’m sorry."

Two words.

That was all.

But they destroyed her.

Her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, clutching her son’s body, and for the first time—

She screamed.

Not with fury.

But with the raw, soul-rending cry of a mother who had lost her entire world.

Her voice echoed through the forest, through the sky, into the bones of the mountains themselves.

And the world answered.

The rain fell harder.

The trees wept.

The very earth seemed to bow in mourning.

Far away, her sister felt it.

She stopped mid-step, her heart gripped by something she didn’t yet understand. She collapsed, knees hitting the stone. Her hands reached toward the sky. And she, too, began to cry.

Back on the field, the Hero’s companions—once proud, once defiant—fell to their knees.

One by one, they dropped their weapons.

And in that moment, they understood the truth.

This was not a monster.

This was not a villain.

This was a mother.

And they—

They were the ones who had destroyed everything.

Grandpa stood up, his movements slow and heavy, like he was carrying the weight of centuries on his shoulders as he was there.

"That’s enough story for today," he said quietly.

"But wait—!" I leaned forward, my voice catching. "What happened next, Grandpa? What did she do after that?"

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes weren’t with me anymore—they were lost, somewhere far away, staring into a past only he could see. The fire crackled between us, and for a moment, the warmth felt distant. Thin.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, haunted.

"She spilled her own blood," he said. "Drew it with her bare hands... and made an oath. Not to a god. Not to a king. To her son. A vow carved into fate itself."

My chest tightened.

"Both Hero and monster," he went on, "fell to her wrath. She didn’t care what side you stood on. Her grief... her fury... it made no distinctions."

He paused, breathing deep, as if the memory itself stung.

"She held her child—his tiny, broken body—and from that moment on, she was no longer a queen... no longer a savior. They gave her a name the world still fears."

He looked at me then.

"Silent Death."

I swallowed, but my throat was dry.

"She raised an army," he continued, his voice hollow, almost reverent. "An army that answered to no crown, no law. Just her. Hero or dragon—it didn’t matter. If you stood in her way... you died."

I could see it—her silhouette standing at the head of a storm, eyes burning with sorrow, blood soaking the battlefield.

"Those who resisted her were reduced to ash," Grandpa said. "Those who joined her were spared... but not forgiven. She never smiled again."

My heart beat faster.

"She opened the Demon Gate."

I flinched. "The Demon Gate...?"

He nodded grimly.

"Even high-ranking demons—Demon Lords—bowed to her. She was no longer just a queen, or a mother... she became something else entirely. Something divine. Something cursed."

"They called her Mistress. A name of fear. Of reverence."

"But she..." He hesitated. "She didn’t speak. She didn’t rule. She didn’t even look at them."

"She only held her child," he whispered. "Even though he was gone."

A lump rose in my throat. I couldn’t breathe right.

She hadn’t let go. All that power... all that destruction... and still, all she wanted was him.

I sat frozen.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to ask. But the question pressed itself into my chest until I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"But... what happened then?"

Grandpa didn’t look at me.

"God intervened," he said softly. "The same God who had once blessed her kingdom... sealed her away."

"Where?"

"In the very land He once gifted her."

His eyes darkened. "She was locked in eternal sleep. A prison carved into the bones of the world."

"And that place," he said, "came to be known as... the Silent Lair."

A shiver ran down my spine.

I lowered my gaze. My voice came out quieter than I expected.

"...What happened to her child?"

Grandpa closed his eyes.

"Her sister," he said, "Seraphina. The White Dragon. She was our ancestor... and a Guardian of old law. She found him—what was left of him."

His breath caught, like the next words cost something to say.

"By divine law... a soul like his—part human, part celestial—was never meant to remain. It should’ve vanished. But Seraphina... she couldn’t let go."

"She froze his body," he murmured. "Preserved what little remained. Locked him away... untouched by time."

I stared at the fire, feeling like the warmth had left my bones.

"That’s the story we never had the courage to tell Elena," he added, softer now. "She’s just a child. Some stories... steal the innocence from your heart."

I looked down at my hands.

"...I shouldn’t have listened," I said, my chest aching. "It hurts. I feel... like I lost something."

"But... he’s still frozen, right?" I asked, eyes rising again. "I mean... he’s still there? When I go to Nova World someday... I want to see that baby."

(Grandpa’s POV)

I turned away, stepping out onto the balcony.

The wind was cold.

It whispered of things long past, of names buried in legend, of grief that never died.

"You can’t see him..." I thought, the wind stealing the words from my lips.

"Because he was gone... long ago, he disappeared just as God said he disapper from history leaving pile of dust behind in coffin."

To Be Continued...

(End Credit Scene)

Erza: "Ugh, why is the author suddenly obsessed with history lessons? I’m so sick of this boring stuff..."

Elena: "But Mama, I like history! It makes everything feel... bigger!"

Yuuta: "Well, Erza... maybe today it feels like a forced info dump, but trust me—200 or 300 Chapters from now, you’ll remember this moment. It’ll all connect, eventually."

Erza: "Hmph. Let’s see what kind of rubbish this turns into.

But—" (she narrows her eyes) "—one thing always confused me. Why weren’t you adopted back then... at the orphanage?"

Yuuta: (pauses, then smiles faintly) "Well... I’m sure some readers have their own theories about that. Let’s see which one hits the mark. If you make it to Chapter 80... I think you’ll start to figure it out."

(Elena blinks, sensing the weight of that answer, then happily hugs Yuuta’s leg.)

Yuuta (looking at the camera): "Thank you for 351 bookmarks and power Ranking 👏🏼 it’s all thanks to You readers and your gift. Love you all—see you in the next Chapter."

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