Her words were so full of emotion that every syllable ignited in her throat. And by the time she spoke the last one…
Dragonfire burst out of her.
Not a fireball.
Not a spell.
But true, ancient, elemental dragon flame.
The torrent of fire erupted from her like a living flamethrower and incinerated all fourteen goblins charging toward Lili in an instant.
The Goblin Chief froze.
For the first time, fear appeared in his eyes.
If that flame hits me… I'll be roasted in a heartbeat.
That moment of hesitation was enough.
Xaba gathered all his strength into a single strike and cut off the Goblin Chief's head. The massive body crashed to the ground.
Panting, Xaba turned toward the girls.
"In a life‑and‑death fight, if you take your eyes off your opponent and space out like that, you pay with your head. That was the first lesson they hammered into us as knight apprentices. Good thing your brain is made of muscle too, you stupid goblin."
Then he looked at Fireburp and Lili — and his voice grew serious.
"I must admit… for a moment I thought the two of you were done for."
The clearing stood silent.
The air still vibrated with the heat of dragonfire.
And for the first time, Fireburp felt it:
she was strong.
Very strong.
And she could protect the one who mattered to her.
The danger had passed.
The silence of the clearing fell upon them so suddenly it felt as if someone had smothered the noise of the world in an instant.
Xaba dropped to the ground with relief, letting his sword fall beside him. For a moment he simply sat there, panting, then looked at Fireburp — and smiled. His sigh came from deep within, the kind a man releases only after letting go of every last thread of tension.
Fireburp stood there trembling, unsure what surprised her more:
that she had defeated all the goblins,
or that for the first time in her life…
she had truly breathed fire.
Her throat still burned with the memory of the flame. Her chest rose and fell as her body struggled to process what had happened.
Lili cautiously emerged from the roots of the Old Wolf‑Oak. When she saw that the goblins had been reduced to little more than black ash, fear gave way to sudden relief. The next moment she threw herself at Fireburp, knocking both of them to the ground — but she didn't let go. She hugged the little dragon girl tightly, and her tears burst forth again, no longer from fear but from overwhelming relief.
"I was so scared!" she sobbed.
Fireburp hugged her back slowly, uncertainly. Her voice trembled, but pride shimmered in it.
"I told you I'd protect you."
Lili squeezed her even tighter.
"And you kept your promise!
You're the best battle maid ever!"
Fireburp's heart filled with feelings she had never experienced so strongly before:
joy,
pride,
strength,
and the love she felt for her friend.
These emotions blazed inside her like a newly born firestorm. The flames burned not in her throat now, but in her heart — resonating from afar with the ancient rhythm of the dragon's heart.
And in that moment, little Fireburp understood for the first time:
she was not just a dragon.
Not just an apprentice.
But someone who could protect the one who mattered to her.
And that feeling was stronger than any fire she could ever breathe.
In the Volcanic Highlands of the Fire Dragons
South of the Kingdom of Riel, beyond the Forest of Wolves and deep beneath the Monsterwood, stretches the vast, seemingly endless Volcanic Highlands — the ancient domain of the Fire Dragons.
At the peak of the tallest mountain, where the air itself shimmers with heat and the glow of molten lava paints the sky red, stands the greatest nest of all: the nest of the Fire Dragon Queen, the 317‑year‑old Firestorm.
Fire dragons are solitary beings.
They live alone, hunt alone, and even if they dwell on the same mountainside, it is not uncommon for them to go years without exchanging a single word. Solitude is not a punishment for them — it is their nature.
But now, Firestorm lifted her head.
Something stirred within her.
Something she had not felt in centuries.
The dragon‑heart resonated.
Firestorm's Thoughts
"This feeling…
I can sense my little sister.
So the power has finally awakened in you.
Power.
Pride.
Joy.
And this other feeling…"
Firestorm closed her eyes and let the wave wash through her.
"It has been a long time since I felt this.
When was it last?"
The answer came slowly, but clearly.
"Three centuries ago.
When I listened to my mother's stories about the Hero.
Yes.
This feeling they call…
love."
A dragon's heart carries a unique magical force.
Their blood, too, holds magic born from that power.
If a dragon acknowledges a human, they may bind their hearts together.
If the chosen human drinks the dragon's blood, the two hearts begin to resonate — and their emotions become linked.
The dragon gains only one thing from this bond:
no matter where they are in the world, they can feel the other.
But the human…
becomes stronger,
ages more slowly,
and may live for centuries.
Such humans are called Dragon Knights.
The last Dragon Knight lived five hundred years ago.
He did not enjoy a long life — he died young in the final battle against the Demon King.
His name was Arthur Dragonknight.
The Hero.
It is ironic that the two strongest beings in the world — the Hero and the Demon King — died on the same day, by each other's hand.
Firestorm's eyes darkened.
"How do I know all this?
Because the dragon who bound her heart to the Hero…
was my mother.
Meteora."
She lost one of her wings in the battle against the strongest Demon General.
That is why she could not stand at the Hero's side in the final clash.
But it was also the reason she survived.
Firestorm's memories rekindled
Firestorm's memories stirred. Her mother's body had been covered in scars. Dragon scales are the strongest natural armor in the world — and yet the Demon General had been able to carve so many wounds into her. But there was one scar Meteora was especially proud of. The one on her face. That one had not been made by a demon. It had been made by a human. A warrior maiden. Sakura Dry.
Her mother spoke of Sakura more often than of the Hero himself. If she could have bound her heart to someone a second time, it would have been Sakura.
The members of the Hero's party were all legends. As a hatchling, Firestorm loved listening to their stories. After the Demon King was defeated, Meteora returned to her nest and laid two eggs. One of them hatched — Firestorm — after two hundred years of waiting.
The other egg…
did not hatch.
But Meteora told stories every day.
About the Hero.
About his companions.
About their adventures.
About saving the world.
Then one day, Meteora died.
The other dragons said she had weakened because she had shared her blood with a human. But Firestorm knew the truth: she had not died because of the blood. She had died from the internal wounds the Demon General had inflicted on her.
And the other egg remained.
Cold.
Lifeless.
But Firestorm could not bring herself to destroy it. It was her last memory of her mother. So she made a decision: she would leave it to fate. She searched for a place where — by some miracle — it might still hatch.
And the egg…
hatched.
Three centuries late.
And now, as her little sister's heart blazed for the first time…
Firestorm finally felt it:
She was no longer alone.
Firestorm continues her tale
I carried the egg into the deepest part of the mountain's heart, to the place where the lava flows twist like glowing veins in the earth's core.
Where the heat is so dense that even the air trembles.
Where even dragons rarely tread.
At one point, a particularly hard, unyielding rock jutted up from the lava, splitting the molten river in two.
I placed the egg on top of that rock.
And beside it, I laid my mother's body.
Meteora…
The strongest Fire Dragon I ever knew.