The alley stank of rot and damp stone.
Footsteps echoed through the narrow passage—uneven, desperate.
A boy ran for his life.
His breathing was broken, his clothes torn, and his body barely holding together as he pushed himself forward, stumbling more than running.
"How… how did this happen to me…?"
His voice cracked from exhaustion.
"What did I do wrong? How is this even possible? How on earth can this be real…? "
He nearly slipped, catching himself against the wall before falling.
"I should have listened to him… I should have listened when he explained this kind of world…"
His chest tightened.
"I want to go back…"
As he came out of the alley, three ugly beggars noticed him immediately.
Their eyes locked onto him.
"There he is."
The boy's heart dropped.
He turned and ran again.
"Damn it…!"
His legs screamed in protest.
"Now I understand… I respect the modern worldly system now… laws, rules, anything—just not this…"
Light suddenly broke through the darkness of the alley.
Ahead of him stood a massive white structure.
The Church of Light.
Relief hit him instantly.
He stumbled toward the entrance—
—but two holy guards stopped him.
Their eyes swept over his appearance.
Loose pants.
Torn shirt.
Bruised body.
Dirty.
Unholy.
"Stop."
"You cannot enter in that state."
Behind him—
Footsteps approached again.
The same thugs.
One of them laughed.
"Hey, holy loli, leave that brat alone!"
Another spat on the ground.
"We'll clear this shit from your holy steps ourselves."
The guards stiffened.
Anger flashed across their faces, but they restrained themselves.
"…Imperial citizens," one of them muttered quietly.
They could not attack imperial people so easily.
The boy stared at them in disbelief.
"…What?"
No answer came.
Suddenly—
A presence descended from the temple steps.
Boots touched stone.
Silence followed.
A man in white armour stepped forward calmly.
Untouched by the filth around him.
"…Tyrion Calderon?"
The name struck something deep inside the boy's mind.
Pain exploded through his head.
Fragments of memories forced themselves into him.
The knight stepped forward quickly and supported him before he collapsed.
"Heir of House Calderon," the knight said quietly. "Why are you looking like this?"
The boy stared at him with trembling eyes.
"You… know me?"
His voice shook.
"Who… am I? And why did I wake up in an alley…?"
His head began aching again.
Another memory surfaced.
Hammel.
That was the holy knight's name.
The knight sighed lightly.
"Yes. It's me."
Then he glanced toward the thugs.
"What happened?"
"Hammel, these guys tried to assault me."
The knight raised an eyebrow.
"…How is that possible?"
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
"I thought you burnt them by mistake again. Like last time when you burnt down that brothel."
Without another glance, Hammel spoke coldly to the guards.
"Kill them."
The thugs immediately panicked and ran away.
Silence returned to the church entrance.
Hammel looked back at Tyrion with amusement in his eyes.
"What were you doing in a brothel again? If things continue like this, your father might actually send you to the Church."
Tyrion snorted weakly.
"Nah. That'll never happen."
He steadied himself slightly.
"I'm the only heir of House Calderon."
Hammel's expression shifted slightly.
"I think you don't know yet," Tyrion continued.
"Your maid was found with a girl, and your father accepted her as his own blood."
A faint smile appeared on Tyrion's face.
"That means you have a younger sister now."
Before Hammel could answer, another figure approached.
A cardinal.
Measured. Calm. Controlled.
"Hammel."
The holy knight straightened immediately.
"The Crown Prince has arrived," the Cardinal said. "We must go and give our blessings."
His gaze shifted toward Tyrion briefly.
"Make him presentable."
Hammel nodded casually.
"Don't worry, Tyrion. We also need royal company with us, and you're the perfect person for that."
Then he looked toward the sisters standing near the entrance.
"Sisters, please give this unholy man something proper to wear."
Hammel turned and began walking away.
"You can enjoy their service while I arrange our transport."
A faint grin appeared on his face.
"But Tyrion, don't overdo it. You'll be standing in royal presence soon, so try to control yourself."
He glanced back once more.
"You sixteen-year-old playboy."
The doors of the inner chamber opened slowly.
Several sisters, seductively dressed in flowing white robes, entered silently.
gave a royal dress to Tyrion.
Their movements were calm.
Practised.
Too practised.
Without saying another word, they surrounded Tyrion and began preparing him in silence while the world outside continued on as if nothing unusual had happened.
Then the point of view returned to Tyrion.
"I'm a Catholic… please, sisters…"
The nuns paused for a moment before one of them tilted her head slightly.
"We did not expect you to be such a religious person."
Again, Tyrion shouted desperately,
"Holy Jesus! Please forgive me and send me back to Earth!"
The sisters exchanged brief glances.
"Who is Jejus?" one of them asked quietly.
Another sighed softly.
"If you do not want this, then stay still. We still need to prepare you."
Before Tyrion could protest again, the sisters forcefully began dressing him properly.
Tyrion stood there in complete shock.
Everything felt unreal.
The cold fabric, the silent chamber, the strange language, the Church—none of it felt real.
Yet it was.
Eventually, the chamber doors opened again.
Hammel stepped inside and helped Tyrion stand properly.
"You look less disgraceful now," he said casually.
Tyrion said nothing.
His mind was still struggling to accept reality.
Transmigration.
Another world.
It sounded ridiculous even inside his own head.
Together, they walked outside toward the holy carriage.
Tyrion froze slightly when he saw it.
The carriage was enormous.
Three floors tall, built from white wood reinforced with silver metal plates carved with holy patterns.
Nine horses pulled it forward.
One horse led at the very front.
Behind it were three more.
And behind those—five massive armoured horses pulled the main weight of the carriage.
At the very top floor, the cardinal stood calmly, waving toward the crowd gathered along the streets.
People bowed their heads as the carriage passed.
Some prayed.
Others simply watched in silence.
Hammel, the Knight Commander, helped Tyrion climb into the carriage.
Inside, Tyrion remained quiet.
He still could not fully accept reality.
He had transmigrated.
Not into a game.
Not into a novel.
An actual world.
A dangerous one.
"Focus," Hammel suddenly said.
Tyrion looked toward him.
The holy knight leaned back calmly.
"Strange things happen sometimes," he said. "But people survive by moving forward."
His gaze lingered on Tyrion for a moment.
"I noticed you did not even look at the sisters."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"That means something truly unpleasant must have happened to you in those alleys."
The smile slowly widened.
Creepy.
Cold.
"If I find the ones responsible after I finish these duties…"
His voice lowered slightly.
"…I promise you, I will return every bit of pain they gave you."
Tyrion felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Inside his mind, only one thought remained.
This man is dangerous.
I need to be careful around him.
The entire convoy began moving toward the royal castle.
The massive holy carriage rolled through the capital slowly, surrounded by holy knights and imperial guards. Citizens moved aside immediately, lowering their heads as the Church procession passed through the streets.
The purpose of the visit was clear.
The Church had arrived to give divine blessings to the newborn prince.
By the time the convoy reached the royal castle, almost the entire palace staff had gathered outside.
Maids.
Servants.
Gardeners.
Knights.
Even lower-ranking nobles stood near the palace gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cardinal himself.
The people of the Empire respected the Church.
But the knights—the knights respected Hammel.
The strongest holy knight within the Empire.
The pillar of the Holy Nation's military strength inside imperial territory.
The commotion quickly reached the inner palace.
Inside the royal castle, the emperor already knew the cardinal had arrived.
Moments later, the doors to the royal balcony opened.
Uther Pendragon stepped forward calmly.
The royal balcony existed for only one purpose:
Imperial decrees.
No one else was permitted to stand there casually.
Yet the third floor of the holy carriage stood almost equal to the emperor's balcony.
Neither side stepped back.
For a brief moment, the entire courtyard fell silent.
Inside his thoughts, the Emperor frowned slightly.
Why is this cardinal always so provoking?
The cardinal finally spoke first.
"Your Majesty, there is something you should know."
The Emperor narrowed his eyes slightly.
"The Eighth Holy Priestess is already dead."
Silence.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
For the first time, the cardinal's expression visibly changed.
"…Emperor Uther Pendragon, I must return to the Holy Nation immediately."
His voice became colder.
"We need to begin the next selection."
The Emperor folded his arms calmly.
"That means you will leave the empire for many years."
"Yes," the cardinal answered quietly.
"Finding a Priestess of Light and Knowledge is not simple."
The Emperor's gaze sharpened.
"Then perhaps we should use this opportunity properly."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"We can finally crush the rebellions and tribes without interference."
The cardinal looked at him silently for a moment before replying,
"You possess your own will, Emperor."
His eyes remained calm.
"Do whatever you wish."
A pause.
"But the Church will not stand beside you in this matter."
The atmosphere immediately became heavier.
The Emperor laughed lightly.
"Fine. This discussion can wait."
His gaze shifted toward the palace doors behind him.
"First, we should see what the prince is capable of."
The cardinal nodded slowly.
"…Very well."
Then suddenly something changed.
The cardinal's expression shifted almost instantly.
He stepped forward toward the balcony.
At the same moment, Hammel also noticed it.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The Eighth Priestess was truly dead.
The Church had lost the direct guidance of divine will.
Even the crowd below sensed that something had changed.
For the first time in nearly a century, the cardinal stepped down from the holy carriage personally.
The balance between crown and faith had begun to shift.
Moments later, the palace doors opened once more.
The Empress appeared, carrying the newborn prince carefully in her arms.
The cardinal immediately moved forward.
But before he could reach the child, the Emperor stepped between them.
He took the prince into his own arms first.
Without hesitation, he walked toward the balcony and raised the child high above the crowd like a trophy.
Cheers exploded throughout the castle grounds.
The cardinal noticed everything.
The Emperor's posture.
His timing.
His intent.
A quiet understanding settled in his eyes.
The Emperor intended to take control before the Church could recover.
The cardinal raised his voice calmly.
"By the will of God, I grant divine blessings upon the royal family."
His gaze lingered slightly.
"Upon the Emperor."
Then—"Upon the empress."
The Empress looked startled for a moment and instinctively tried to step forward.
But the Emperor stopped her with one hand.
Without looking away from the crowd, he spoke quietly to her.
"This old man knows how to play his games."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Wait. Nothing changes today."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Just watch what your husband does."
The Emperor suddenly raised one hand toward the sky.
Mana surged violently.
A massive light of flame magic exploded above the castle, illuminating the heavens themselves.
The crowd roared in excitement.
But the cardinal only laughed softly.
"Ha… how beautiful."
His calm eyes reflected the burning sky.
"Such bright flames."
A pause.
"Almost comparable to light healing magic."
The mockery was subtle, but everyone inside the castle understood it.
The Emperor's smile thinned slightly.
Still, the crowd continued cheering loudly.
The cardinal then looked toward the prince once more.
"May the young prince walk closer to light than to flame or frost."
But once again, the Emperor raised the child higher before the Church could touch him.
"Our prince," he declared loudly,
"will become the next Crown Prince of the Empire."
The crowd erupted again.
Yet within the shadows of the balcony corridor, four young girls stood silently.
Their elegant smiles slowly faded into darkness.
The cardinal adjusted the long silver robes flowing beneath his white ceremonial cloak. Golden symbols of the Holy Nation shimmered faintly across the fabric as he looked toward the Emperor.
"Then we should proceed to the basilica."
The Emperor remained seated upon the royal balcony throne, dressed in black imperial robes trimmed with crimson fur. A golden mantle rested across his shoulders, while the crown of the Pendragon bloodline reflected the burning light still lingering above the castle.
"No."
The answer came calmly.
The cardinal's face twisted silently for the first time that day.
"…May I know why, Emperor?"
"I am not denying the Church," Uther Pendragon replied. "But we already attempted the ceremony with my daughters."
His eyes shifted briefly toward the palace halls behind him.
"None of them were able to draw light from the basilica."
The emperor leaned back slightly.
"And you no longer possess the luxury of time."
Silence settled between them.
For the first time since arriving, the cardinal openly pressed the matter.
"The ceremony is necessary."
His tone hardened.
"The basilica must judge the prince."
But the Emperor did not yield.
"No."
The refusal came even colder this time.
The cardinal's fingers slowly tightened beneath his sleeves.
Then—without another word—he turned away.
His silver robes moved sharply behind him as he climbed back toward the third floor of the holy carriage without attending the prince's birth ceremony.
The crowd below immediately began whispering.
Before entering the carriage fully, the cardinal stopped once more.
"Fortunately," he said calmly, "we arrived with a suitable guest."
His gaze shifted toward Tyrion and Hammel.
"In my absence, they may attend the ceremony on behalf of the Church."
Hammel narrowed his eyes slightly.
The cardinal continued,
"I will depart before evening. Knight Commander Hammel will arrange my journey."
The Emperor smiled faintly.
"Of course."
His tone remained polite.
"The Empire prays for your safe travels."
A pause.
"And for your success in finding the next Holy Priestess."
The cardinal remained silent for several moments.
Because he already understood the truth.
The Eighth Priestess had not simply died.
Something had reached the mainland.
Something capable of bypassing divine protection itself.
The cardinal's gaze darkened slightly.
"…The dragons are still alive."
The Emperor's expression shifted almost invisibly.
"And bold enough to approach the mainland again," the cardinal continued quietly.
"This is no simple matter."
The Emperor folded his arms.
"What are you implying?"
The cardinal's eyes slowly narrowed.
"The dragons are protecting something."
A brief pause followed.
"…A child."
Silence.
Then the cardinal spoke again.
"…Do not tell me you betrayed the Empress."
For the first time that day, the Emperor looked genuinely startled.
"No," he answered immediately. "It is not like that."
His voice lowered.
"That child was born from a dragon's womb."
The atmosphere froze.
Then the Emperor suddenly raised one hand.
"Arrest the cardinal."
The entire courtyard exploded into movement.
Imperial soldiers immediately surrounded the holy carriage.
Steel rang through the air.
But at the same moment, Hammel noticed something else.
The outer castle grounds were empty.
All imperial knights had already repositioned themselves beforehand.
This had been prepared in advance.
Imperial soldiers raised their weapons toward the holy knights surrounding the carriage.
"Holy guards," one captain shouted loudly, "lay down your weapons and surrender peacefully."
The Emperor stepped forward calmly.
"Cardinal," he said, "you yourself are innocent."
His gaze hardened.
"But the Holy Nation preparing an alternative for my bloodline…"
A faint smile appeared.
"That is betrayal."
The cardinal said nothing.
The Emperor continued,
"So do not blame the Empire for protecting itself."
One by one, imperial soldiers respectfully disarmed the holy guards and escorted them toward the royal church within the palace grounds.
Protective custody.
At least officially.
But Hammel did not surrender.
Dressed in white armour beneath a dark church cloak, the holy knight suddenly grabbed Tyrion by the arm.
"Move."
Before Tyrion could react, Hammel pulled him away from the courtyard and disappeared into the inner castle halls.
Moments later, a soldier hurried towards the Emperor and knelt immediately.
"Your Majesty—Knight Commander Hammel escaped."
The Emperor remained calm.
In fact, he almost looked satisfied.
"…Good."
The nearby generals looked confused.
But inside his thoughts, the Emperor remained silent.
That was the entire reason he had arranged the trap this way from the beginning.
Hammel was too influential within the empire.
Too respected.
Too dangerous to imprison peacefully.
A fleeing holy knight was easier to destroy than a captured hero.
Then suddenly another realisation struck him.
His expression darkened slightly for the first time.
"…Tyrion."
The underworld king's son had escaped together with Hammel.
That changed everything.
If the Dark King demanded his son back, even the Empire would suffer consequences.
The Emperor immediately turned toward his generals.
"Prepare two fleets."
His voice became colder.
"Send them toward the coasts of the Solomon Kingdom."
His gaze narrowed.
"Near the Dragonic Archipelagos."
The generals immediately stiffened.
The Emperor's eyes darkened.
"I want that dragon child found."
A pause followed.
Then—"Dead or alive".
"Hammel… why are we running? And where are we even going?" Tyrion asked while struggling to keep pace beside him.
Hammel, still dressed in white holy armour beneath his dark church cloak, didn't slow down.
"Silent, playboy."
His voice remained calm despite their speed.
"If you want to live, then focus."
The capital streets blurred behind them as they moved through narrow pathways and side roads away from the palace district.
"Try spotting imperial guards before they spot us."
Tyrion clenched his teeth and continued running.
Then Hammel spoke again.
"You currently have two choices."
His silver cloak moved violently behind him as they crossed another empty street.
"You come with me to the Holy Nation…"
A brief pause followed.
"…or you return to House Valyrion."
Tyrion looked toward him in confusion.
"H-house Valyrion?"
Hammel nodded once.
"King Aegon Valyrion can still protect you from most things inside the Empire."
Tyrion remained silent afterward.
Inside his mind, thoughts collided endlessly.
How can I return home…?
That place does not even belong to me.
Yet the memories inside this body felt real.
Too real.
Names.
Faces.
Knowledge.
Emotions that were not his—yet somehow existed inside him now.
Eventually, Tyrion finally spoke again.
"…If I return home… would you escort me there?"
Hammel glanced toward him briefly.
"I need to reach the Holy Nation first."
His expression darkened slightly.
"They need to know what happened inside the Empire."
Tyrion nodded slowly.
"I know."
Then his voice became more serious.
"But if you escort me first, I can arrange your travel."
Hammel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The Empire controls the oceans completely," Tyrion continued while running.
"The Church can move through land…"
"…but only House Valyrion possesses enough influence at sea to bypass imperial restrictions."
Wind rushed violently around them.
Tyrion continued speaking between breaths.
"And if the Church truly believes the Empire doesn't already know about its relationship with rebels…"
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"…then all of you are fools."
For the first time since escaping the castle, Hammel became completely silent.
Tyrion looked toward him carefully before continuing.
"Do you really think the Empire would allow ships to carry holy knights freely after this?"
No answer came.
"Only the Valyrions are powerful enough to move without imperial permission."
Hammel remained silent for several more moments while continuing forward through the outer districts beyond the capital walls.
Eventually, the scenery changed.
Stone roads became dirt paths.
The lights of the capital slowly disappeared behind them.
Ahead stood a small village near the outer regions surrounding the capital.
Rainwater dripped quietly from wooden rooftops while exhausted villagers prepared to close their homes for the night.
Without hesitation, Hammel walked toward a stable beside a tavern.
The tavern itself was old and crowded, lit by dim lanterns hanging above the entrance.
Hammel looked toward the horses calmly.
Then he stole four of them.
Tyrion stared in disbelief.
"…You're a holy knight."
Hammel ignored him completely.
Instead, he removed the silver arm guards from his armour and placed them near the stable entrance as payment.
The engraved symbol of the Holy Nation reflected faintly beneath the lantern light.
Then he mounted one of the horses and looked toward Tyrion.
"We're heading toward your home now, playboy."
The night wind moved through his silver hair as the distant lights of the capital slowly vanished behind them.
After fifteen days of travel, Tyrion finally understood how vast the Empire truly was.
Each day they rode farther south, and with every passing mile, the distance between them and the imperial capital widened.
And so did the atmosphere.
The radiant white roads and polished stone cities of the north slowly disappeared behind them.
The warmth of the capital, the lively crowds, and the golden towers reflecting sunlight all faded.
Something darker spread across the southern continent.
The sky itself seemed lower.
Heavier.
Even the air had changed.
The cold northern winds had vanished, replaced by humid warmth that clung to the skin.
Sweat gathered more easily now.
The smell in the air was different too.
Salt.
Smoke.
Metal.
And the sea.
Tyrion adjusted the dark blue riding cloak the sisters had prepared for him at the church. Beneath it, the black-and-silver noble attire of House Valyrion remained dusty from travel, while a leather belt carrying a short ceremonial dagger rested at his waist.
Beside him, Hammel rode silently.
His white armour looked different now.
Dust-covered.
Scratched.
The silver edges had darkened under southern heat, and the long church cloak hanging behind him had lost much of its clean shape from constant riding.
Even so, he still looked like a holy knight.
Straight-backed.
Unshaken.
As if exhaustion could not touch him.
The farther south they travelled, the more the people changed.
The capital had been filled with nobles, merchants, and disciplined imperial citizens.
Here, faces were rougher.
Skin darker from heat and sea wind.
Clothing is thinner and worn.
Many men kept shaved heads or tied their hair back tightly.
Workers moved through streets carrying ropes, steel hooks, wooden crates, and iron chains.
Children ran barefoot.
Voices were louder.
Less restrained.
More alive.
And more dangerous.
The taverns had changed too.
Northern taverns had been elegant places filled with music and wine.
Southern taverns felt wild.
Open.
Chaotic.
Built from dark timber and iron.
Crowded with adventurers, sailors, merchants, bounty hunters, and mercenaries from across the Empire.
Tables were covered with maps.
Coins.
Weapons.
Salted fish.
Open crates of unknown cargo.
Most drank heavily, but Tyrion quickly noticed alcohol was not the real addiction here.
Powders.
Herbs.
Burning pipes.
Glass vials.
Substances he couldn't even identify passed from hand to hand openly.
Nobody hid it.
Nobody cared.
Outside the ports, farmland became increasingly rare.
Open green fields slowly vanished.
In their place rose giant southern industrial districts.
Steel towers.
Massive gears.
Rotating machines.
Smokestacks pushing black clouds into the sky.
Entire districts echoed with metal striking metal.
Hammers.
Chains.
Steam pressure.
Mechanical engines.
The empire's south felt less like noble territory—and more like a machine forced into motion.
Even the major southern cities were different.
Bigger.
Busier.
More aggressive.
Black smoke constantly hovered above rooftops.
Ships lined the coasts endlessly.
War vessels.
Merchant ships.
Steel-reinforced docks stretching far into the sea.
Everywhere Tyrion looked—movement.
Trade.
Industry.
Power.
And beneath all of it is something restless.
The south felt alive in a completely different way.
Not elegant.
Not holy.
Hungry.
They stopped near a cliff road overlooking a harbour city as evening approached.
From above, Tyrion could see hundreds of ships below.
Lantern lights flickered over dark water.
The sea stretched endlessly beyond.
Hammel finally spoke.
"Beautiful."
Tyrion looked at him.
Hammel's silver hair moved lightly in the sea wind.
His eyes remained on the southern coast.
"Dangerous too."
Tyrion followed his gaze.
For the first time in days, he understood why the Empire ruled the oceans.
The coastline itself looked like a fortress.
Steel towers guarded every harbour.
Ships moved under organised formations.
Watchfires burnt across the cliffs.
Everything was monitored.
Everything was prepared.
Tyrion slowly exhaled.
"How many more days?"
Hammel adjusted the leather straps over his armour.
"Fifteen."
He mounted his horse again.
"Then we reach the southern king."
The wind from the sea struck Tyrion's face.
Warm.
Heavy.
And carrying the smell of storms.
Fifteen days remained.
And with every step south, the empire only felt larger.
The point of view shifted far from the Empire.
Far beyond southern harbours.
Beyond trade routes and civilised waters.
Toward the volcanic island chains of the Emberwake Archipelago.
Rain fell endlessly there.
Heavy.
Warm.
The islands rose from dark ocean waters like broken black teeth.
Steam escaped from volcanic cliffs.
The forests covering the lower islands had always been dangerous.
Wild beasts.
Wyverns.
Cannibal tribes.
Poison swamps.
But for the last three days, everything had changed.
A hunting tribe from the eastern cliffs had noticed it first.
Animals were fleeing.
Not hunting.
Not migrating.
Running.
Entire herds crashed through the trees without direction.
Predators abandoned prey.
Birds left nests.
Even swamp reptiles crawled inland.
As if something deep inside the archipelago had forced all life to retreat.
The tribes feared it immediately.
The elders called it an omen.
Children were forbidden from leaving camp.
Fires burnt through the night.
And eventually, a reward was posted.
A large one.
Enough to attract adventurers from nearby islands and coastal ports of the Solmara Kingdom.
They entered the forests at dawn.
Five groups.
Only three returned.
The report spread like wildfire.
Then the complaints began.
A one-eyed adventurer slammed both hands onto a tavern table inside Solmara Port.
His leather coat was ripped open.
His boots are covered in volcanic ash.
A scar crossed one side of his bald head.
"This is fraud."
He glared at the guild master.
"That reward should be SSSR-rank."
The tavern went silent.
He pointed toward the sea.
"There's a dragon corpse inside a valley that did not exist last week."
Murmurs broke out.
His breathing stayed heavy.
"A valley shaped like a giant hand."
His voice lowered.
"As if something massive pressed into the island from the sky."
Even then, he still looked pale.
"And inside the dragon…"
He swallowed hard.
"…there's a child."
Nobody laughed.
The adventurer's hands trembled.
"It isn't crying."
"Hasn't moved."
"Hasn't eaten."
"Hasn't made a sound."
He looked around slowly.
"And everything around it is dead."
Wyverns.
Forest beasts.
Cannibal tribes.
Even flying predators had fallen out of the sky.
All dead.
No visible wounds.
No battle.
No blood.
Just dead.
As if they simply stopped living.
The report reached both the Empire and the Church within days.
And then ships began arriving.
Imperial fleets from southern Pendragon ports.
Warships from Blacktide Haven.
A Solmara naval force.
Supply vessels.
Scouts.
Church believers secretly relaying movement through ports and merchant routes.
The Empire attempted to block all holy vessels.
But faith had roots inside the empire deeper than crowns could fully control.
By sunset, both sides had reached Emberwake.
Temporary camps spread across cliffs and volcanic ridges overlooking the valley.
Thousands gathered.
Imperial banners.
Holy Nation banners.
Mercenaries.
Tribal watchers hiding deeper in the forests.
And below them—the valley.
A massive handprint carved into the earth.
Five mountain ridges surrounding a central crater.
Rainwater pooled between broken stone.
Steam rose endlessly.
And there—a dead dragon.
Its silver-black scales reflected lightning.
Its body is enormous enough to crush buildings.
One wing shattered.
Its chest was torn open.
And inside—a child.
Small.
Human.
Lying motionless within flesh and blood.
The rain touched its skin.
The child never reacted.
A week passed.
No food.
No water.
No movement.
No crying.
Nothing.
The reports became more disturbing each day.
Finally, Uther Pendragon himself arrived aboard the imperial flagship.
Dressed in black armour lined with crimson steel, the Emperor stepped onto the volcanic shoreline with his cloak snapping violently in the sea wind.
The imperial army immediately bowed.
On the same evening, the head of the Holy Nation arrived.
The Pope.
Aurelius Vaine.
His silver ceremonial robes shimmered under rainfall.
Golden symbols of divine light burnt faintly against the fabric.
Neither side greeted the other.
A general approached the emperor first.
Kneeled.
"Your Majesty."
His voice shook.
"The child still has not eaten."
"No water."
"No movement."
"No sound."
Uther's eyes narrowed.
"…Alive?"
"Yes."
The Pope received the exact same report moments later.
And then they tried approaching.
Imperial knights first.
Ten of them.
The moment they stepped too close, dragons descended.
Not from above.
From the surrounding cliffs.
Massive wingbeats tore through rain.
Ancient scaled bodies landed around the valley.
Silver.
Red.
Black.
Golden.
An entire ring.
Watching.
Silent.
No attack.
But no passage.
As anyone who tried moving closer—another dragon landed.
Blocking them.
Watching.
Waiting.
Imperial officers immediately requested permission to fire.
The Emperor refused.
Pendragon law was absolute.
No direct war against dragons unless attacked first.
Even now, he could not break that principle.
The Pope stood under heavy rain with soaked silver robes clinging to his frame.
His expression is unreadable.
The dragons ignored everyone.
Yet not one of them entered the valley centre.
Not even they approached the child.
They only guarded it.
As if even dragons feared touching what lay there.
Rain continued pouring.
Thunder echoed over volcanic cliffs.
And the child remained silent.
Not crying.
Not breathing visibly.
Not moving.
Only lying there beneath storm and dragon wings—as if the world itself had stopped around it.
No one dared step into the valley.
Not the imperial knights.
Not the royal dragon knights mounted on wyverns above the cliffs.
Not the holy knights.
Not even the silver-armoured paladins of the Church, whose shields still glowed with sacred blessings.
Not even the dragons surrounding it.
Rain continued pouring over black volcanic stone.
The dead dragon burnt with silver blood mixing into rainwater while the silent child remained inside its opened chest.
The entire valley felt wrong.
As if the world itself had become unstable.
Then Uther Pendragon stepped forward.
His black imperial armour reflected lightning.
The crimson-lined cape behind him snapped violently against the wind.
An imperial general shouted instantly.
"Your Majesty—!"
A dragon knight captain reached for his sword.
"Protect the Emperor!"
At the same time, one of the Church's senior paladins in silver-white plate stepped forward and raised his glowing spear.
"Holy Father, allow us to intervene—"
Uther ignored them all.
The Emperor walked directly toward the valley.
At once, the dragons moved.
Roars shook the cliffs.
Flames descended first.
A sea of dragonfire swallowed him.
White-blue fire.
Golden flame.
Black volcanic breath.
The air exploded.
Stone melted.
Then the wind came.
A hurricane tore through the valley.
Ice followed.
Thunder.
Magic so dense it bent the air itself.
Yet Uther kept walking.
Unaffected.
Not even slowing.
The flames parted around him.
Ice shattered before touching his skin.
Lightning dispersed against invisible force.
The dragons froze.
One by one, they stepped back.
Silently.
Then something impossible happened.
The dragons lowered their heads.
A path opened through the valley.
Straight toward the child.
Rows of dragons lined both sides.
Their wings folded.
Their eyes lowered.
As if greeting a king.
Even the imperial dragon knights stared in disbelief from above.
Even the paladins forgot their prayers.
Uther walked between them.
His gloved hand brushed over one dragon's scales.
A slow pat against its head.
Another.
Then another.
With every step—he felt it.
Their rage.
Their grief.
Growing heavier.
Then—the world darkened.
Not clouds.
Not storm.
Shadow.
A single wing movement somewhere above covered the entire archipelago.
Every island.
Every fleet.
Every camp.
Darkness swallowed ocean and sky.
Rain vanished instantly.
Wind erupted.
All light disappeared.
Imperial soldiers screamed.
Dragon knights lost control of their mounts.
Holy priests collapsed.
Then—many vanished.
Entire camps erased from sight.
Holy soldiers below knight rank disappeared as if swallowed by shadow.
Even lesser clergy vanished.
Only knights and paladins remained standing.
Barely.
Yet hidden among the surviving clergy, several figures remained untouched.
Holy priestesses in white veils.
Silver prayer beads hanging from their wrists.
Barefoot on volcanic stone.
Their heads bowed.
Their faces hidden.
But the pressure around them bent strangely.
Reality itself curved near their bodies.
The air shimmered.
Even dragonfire twisted away from them.
Saintesses.
The gods had sent them in disguise.
Not one.
Several.
The Church had hidden them among ordinary priestesses from the beginning.
Women blessed with world-bending authority.
Chosen vessels capable of rewriting miracles into reality itself.
And every one of them stared toward the valley.
Toward the child.
Toward Uther.
Toward the dragon emperor.
Two colossal claws landed on separate islands.
The volcanic ground cracked apart.
Ocean waves rose.
Then a shape emerged.
Wings.
Endless.
Stretching across the sky and sea.
Pitch-black scales reflecting burning light.
The pressure alone made the volcanoes erupt.
Flame burst from every mountain.
The valley became an ocean of fire. then
The world had become a sealed prison.
A draconic pair of wings shaped like a dome isolated the islands from the outside world.
Nothing could enter.
Nothing could leave.
The Dragon Emperor lowered his head beneath the shelter of his own wings.
For a moment, absolute darkness consumed everything.
Then a tiny ember appeared.
And inside that fire, a dragon's head appeared.
So massive it eclipsed entire islands.
Its jaws burnt like a second sun.
Living flame gathered inside its mouth.
Everything was bathed in crimson-gold light.
Then the Dragon Emperor raised his head.
His eyes opened.
Twin suns burnt within the darkness.
A voice older than kingdoms echoed across every island.
Then—a voice.
Ancient.
Heavy.
Every word shook blood and bone.
"Hello… brother."
Even Uther stopped.
"I thought only you could feel my pain."
The flames inside the dragon's mouth brightened.
"Our sister is dead."
The voice spread through the islands.
Every knight fell to their knees.
Holy knights.
Imperial knights.
Dragon knights.
Paladins.
Even captains.
Hands gripped helmets.
Paladins dropped blessed shields into volcanic ash.
Blood ran from noses and ears.
Bodies trembled violently.
Some screamed.
Others couldn't even breathe.
The pressure was unbearable.
Like reality itself crushing downward.
Even the disguised saintesses trembled.
Their veils fluttered violently.
Golden divine symbols appeared around them on instinct.
The world itself resisted the dragon emperor's presence.
Every living creature only wanted one thing.
Escape.
Survive.
Leave.
But no one could move.
Uther's eyes became wet.
The tears evaporated instantly from the heat.
"Brother…"
His voice stayed calm.
"I hear you."
The dragon lowered slightly.
Its burning eyes fixed on him.
"I know you speak."
"I know you try to comfort me."
A pause.
"But I cannot understand your words fully anymore."
Its flames trembled.
"Yet I feel your grief."
Then its voice deepened.
"Why did you abandon me?"
Volcanoes exploded again.
"When you found her dead…"
"Why did you leave me alone?"
Uther stood firm.
"I never abandoned you."
The dragon's burning pupils narrowed.
"Then why stop me?"
"Why protect them?"
Uther looked toward the horizon.
Toward ships.
Toward camps.
Toward the human world.
Toward kneeling knights and trembling paladins trying desperately to remain conscious.
Towards the disguised saintesses whose divine power bent the air itself.
"Because the world is cruel."
"And if left unchecked…"
"…our kind would burn everything."
The dragon roared.
A roar powerful enough to split cliffs.
"We had no choice!"
Its wings shook the sea.
"Humans evolve too quickly."
"They live short lives."
"But their progress is faster than ours."
Flames intensified.
"The dragon clans decided humanity must be destroyed."
"Before they surpass us."
Its burning gaze hardened.
"And only because of you… I stopped them."
Uther remained silent.
Then spoke.
"That will take centuries."
"You still have time."
The dragon's jaws opened slightly.
A strange expression.
Something between rage and sorrow.
"You are right."
"But I have seen further."
Its flames became brighter.
"Future sight."
"Enlightenment."
"The world has changed."
Thunder exploded.
"This era rewards evolution itself."
"Not dragons."
"Not humans."
"Not gods."
"Only those who continue surpassing themselves."
Its eyes burnt like suns.
"We dragons stand at the highest level of magic."
"At the highest level of consciousness."
"We understand the flow of the world better than any species."
A pause.
Then—"Yet humans..."
"…will surpass us within five hundred years."
"Not through magic."
The dragon's gaze shifted toward the silent child.
"But through something else."
A word spoken with disgust.
And fear.
"Science."
Then his gaze shifted.
Toward the Church.
Toward the hidden Saintesses.
And his voice became colder.
"The gods already know."
"Their vessels have arrived."
"The saintesses hide among priests."
"And from this generation onward…"
The flames around his jaws darkened.
"They will begin killing each other."
"Saint against saint"
"Brother against brother."
"Faith against faith."
"The gods have already chosen conflict."
The disguised priestesses stiffened.
Several lifted trembling hands.
Golden halos flickered behind their veils.
The dragon emperor's eyes narrowed.
Then he looked back at Uther.
And for the first time, his voice carried no rage.
Only grief.
"Brother…"
"If you still stand with humans…"
"If you still choose their side…"
"…then we break our draconic bond."
Silence.
Even the volcanoes seemed to pause.
Even the Saintesses stopped breathing.
Even the child remained motionless.
At the centre of the burning valley, the dead dragon is brighter.
The silent child lay untouched.
Unmoving.
Uncrying.
As if listening.
As if waiting.
And above all of them, the dragon emperor waited for Uther's answer.
Uther remained silent for a long moment.
The ocean of dragonfire reflected within his black eyes.
Then he smiled.
Not as an emperor.
As a brother.
"I still believe in them."
The Dragon Emperor remained silent.
Uther continued.
"I believe in humanity because I have seen something you have forgotten."
"I have seen compassion."
"I have seen empathy."
"I have seen humans willing to sacrifice everything for those they have never met."
His gaze swept across the burning valley.
"I have seen them protect forests they did not own."
"I have seen them mourn animals that could never speak."
"I have seen them love life beyond their own."
He slowly looked back at his brother.
"Biophilia."
"The instinct to cherish life."
"It exists within humanity."
"It is weak."
"But it exists."
"I believe they will one day walk the same path as dragons."
"They will understand the value of every living creature."
"They will understand that true strength is not domination..."
"...but coexistence."
"I united humanity not to wage endless wars..."
"...but to ensure they never again choose the path of self-destruction."
His voice became firmer.
"And when evolution reaches its next stage..."
"I will make certain they attain consciousness worthy of standing beside dragons."
The Dragon Emperor watched him quietly.
Then his immense head lowered slightly.
"You still have faith."
"Even after everything."
Uther nodded.
"I always will."
The Dragon Emperor sighed.
The sound alone stirred every volcano across the archipelago.
"Brother..."
"I wish your faith alone could shape reality."
His burning eyes looked toward the silent child.
"But dragons and humans are not the same."
"We dragons are born at the pinnacle of physical strength."
"Yet our instincts are wild."
"Our wisdom comes only with age."
"Our power remains."
"But our rage fades."
"Our consciousness deepens."
He slowly turned back toward Uther.
"Humans are the opposite."
"They begin with curiosity."
"They grow through knowledge."
"They build civilisations."
"But as their bodies weaken..."
"...their minds become rigid."
"They cling to old beliefs."
"They fear change."
"They divide themselves."
A deep sadness entered his voice.
"Even if you succeed..."
"Even if every nation agrees to coexist..."
"There will always be those who reject that future."
"Some will kill for greed."
"Some for fear."
"Some simply because they can."
The flames surrounding him darkened.
"And when their understanding surpasses magic..."
"They will no longer need dragons."
"They will no longer need forests."
"They will no longer need the creatures that share their world."
His eyes slowly closed.
"They will erase species without hatred."
"Without malice."
"Only for convenience."
The Dragon Emperor's voice became almost a whisper.
"The dodo."
"The giant island tortoise."
"The thylacine."
will gone in future
"And countless others whose names history itself will forget."
"They will vanish."
"Not because nature demanded it..."
"...but because humanity desired more."
He opened his eyes once more.
"They believe the world belongs to them."
"And that belief..."
"...is more terrifying than any dragon."
Silence returned.
The fire continued to consume the valley.
The child remained motionless.
And neither brother could say with certainty...
...which future would ultimately come to pass.
Silence followed.
Only the crackling of dragonfire remained.
Then Uther finally spoke.
His black imperial cloak fluttered behind him, its golden dragon crest barely visible beneath falling ash.
"Brother..."
"I cannot determine which future is correct."
"Perhaps yours."
"Perhaps mine."
The Dragon Emperor remained motionless.
Then a deep laugh escaped Uther.
"Hahaha..."
The Dragon Emperor answered.
A heavier laugh.
One that shook the heavens.
"Hahahahahaha..."
The two brothers laughed together.
Not with joy.
Not with madness.
But with complete understanding.
Below them, the Pope, dressed in flowing white and gold pontifical robes, tightened his grip on his silver staff.
Every cardinal.
Every bishop.
Every holy knight.
Felt something cold crawl down their spine.
The Dragon Emperor slowly lowered his burning head.
"Brother..."
"I have one final gift."
"As expected..."
"This child has gathered every member of the Holy Council."
"The Pope."
"The Cardinals."
"The Saintesses."
"The Church's highest authorities."
His golden eyes shifted toward the Church.
"So this is where your gods chose to stand."
The atmosphere changed.
It became...
heavier.
Every breath became difficult.
Even space itself felt as though it were sinking.
Only then did the Pope realise.
"This..."
"...was never an accident."
One cardinal stepped backward.
"...The dragon's death..."
"The child..."
"The Church's arrival..."
Another whispered with horror.
"It was planned..."
The Pope slowly looked between Uther and the Dragon Emperor.
His aged face finally lost all composure.
"...Pendragon..."
"...You conspired with the dragons."
Uther answered with nothing more than a faint smile.
The Dragon Emperor laughed once again.
"So..."
"You finally understand."
Across the archipelago—
Every dragon raised its head simultaneously.
An ancient command echoed through their souls.
No words.
Only instinct.
Only absolute obedience.
Every dragon understood.
Uther moved first.
His black armour flashed through the sea of flames.
He reached the child.
Without hesitation—
He wrapped the silent infant completely within his crimson cloak and armoured arms.
Protecting every inch of the child's body.
Then—
The war began.
The elder dragons launched themselves toward the Church.
Dragonfire.
Lightning.
Storms.
Glaciers.
Entire mountains disappeared beneath their attacks.
The younger dragons—
those too weak to challenge the Church—
flew toward the imperial soldiers instead.
Their enormous wings became shields.
Stone walls rose from the earth.
Water barriers surrounded fleeing soldiers.
Wind carried the wounded away.
Even dragons...
protected those whom Uther had chosen.
Far above—
The Dragon Emperor opened his jaws.
The crimson-gold flame he had been gathering since his arrival finally reached completion.
It resembled a miniature sun.
Condensed.
Silent.
Absolute.
He released it.
The world disappeared.
No explosion.
Only light.
When vision returned—
Everything before him had become ash.
The sacred camps.
The basilicas.
The banners.
The Holy Council.
Gone.
Only the Pope remained.
Standing.
His white robes had vanished.
His flesh had disappeared.
Only a charred skeleton still gripped the melted remains of his staff.
Even dragons caught within the blast screamed in agony.
Their scales melted.
Their flesh burnt.
Yet none retreated.
The Dragon Emperor looked down with emotionless eyes.
"...Not enough."
He slowly inhaled.
The fire gathering this time...
was different.
Not crimson.
Not gold.
Black.
A darkness that burnt instead of shone.
Flames capable of consuming souls themselves.
The Pope looked upward.
For the first time in centuries—
He felt true fear.
The Dragon Emperor spoke.
"Saintesses..."
"Did you truly believe..."
"...your divine spirits could defy me?"
The black fire descended.
Silently.
No scream escaped.
Every remaining member of the Church disappeared.
Not flesh.
Not bone.
Even their souls burnt away.
At that exact moment—
throughout every kingdom...
every cathedral...
every chapel...
every monastery...
Every sacred painting.
Every holy scripture.
Every white banner.
Suddenly ignited with black flames.
White marble became black.
Golden halos darkened.
The symbols of the Church were stained as if mourning itself.
The age of unquestioned faith...
ended.
The Dragon Emperor slowly looked toward Uther.
His voice no longer carried rage.
Only exhaustion.
"Brother..."
"This is the time I have bought for you."
"This cursed child..."
"...is now your responsibility."
"Do whatever you must."
"Before one day..."
"...I lose myself to grief..."
"...and burn him with my own hands."
The Dragon Emperor unfolded his wings.
The movement alone shattered what remained of the mountains.
Entire peaks collapsed into molten rivers.
Every cliff became liquid stone.
The valley...
no longer existed.
Only an ocean of lava remained.
One powerful beat of his wings—
A hurricane erupted.
The molten sea was lifted into the air.
Rivers of lava crashed into the surrounding ocean.
Steam consumed the horizon.
Hundreds of wooden warships caught fire instantly.
Half the imperial fleet disappeared beneath burning magma.
Dragons seized unconscious soldiers—
both imperial
before hurling them onto the surviving vessels.
Not out of mercy.
But because Uther had commanded humanity to live.
Wyverns finally awoke.
Their bodies trembled violently.
None dared spread their wings while the Dragon Emperor remained above them.
One by one—
The dragons departed.
Until only five remained.
They stood around the fallen dead silver dragon.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Uther recognised them immediately.
The Five Manifestations.
The final fragments of his sister's authority.
Flame.
Thunder.
Frost.
Ocean.
Shadow.
Each dragon lowered its head.
Then they unleashed their breath upon the silver dragon's body.
Five elemental torrents merged into one brilliant pillar of light.
The silver corpse slowly disappeared beneath the radiance.
Without waiting, Uther tightened his grip around the silent child.
His black armour glowed from the surrounding heat.
With one tremendous leap, he landed upon the deck of the imperial flagship.
"Set sail."
His voice echoed across the burning sea.
"Return to the Empire."
The fleet turned.
Behind them, the Dragon Archipelago disappeared beneath smoke, lava, and darkness.
Ahead—the Empire waited.
And throughout the entire voyage, the child in Uther's arms neither cried...
nor moved...
nor opened its eyes.
Yet the Emperor never loosened his embrace.
Not even once.