The first whispers of winter crept through the towering peaks of the Avalon Range. A cold monsoon from the empire's west coast swept past, carrying a chill more ancient than mere weather. It settled over the land and within the storied walls of Avalon's peak, where the House of Dragonheart stood—a family steeped in dragon legacy.
The early winter winds stirred the people from their autumnal slumber, prompting grumbles about the unexpected chill. It was a stark departure from the temperate climate they had grown accustomed to for decades.
Despite the weather's bite, Ardiel persevered, swinging his wooden sword with relentless determination. The biting wind did little to deter him as he pushed his young body to its limits, sweat streaming down his face.
"HUPP!"
Exhausted, Ardiel swung with his last ounce of strength and finally collapsed onto the training ground, panting as he struggled to catch his breath.
"You did well, Young Master," said Sir Simon, a middle-aged man in rugged training attire. His eyes glinted with pride as he regarded the boy he had mentored for five years.
"Well enough for someone ordinary," Ardiel sighed, his eyes revealing a flicker of discouragement.
"Are we done for today, Sir Simon?" Ardiel asked, looking up at the knight.
"We've exceeded our usual time, so yes."
Ardiel steadied his trembling arms, rising to his feet and brushing the dirt from his pants. Simon watched as the ten-year-old boy made his way back to Azure Hall, where the younger members of the family resided.
"Expectation really has a way of clouding his view of how exceptional he is," Simon murmured, shaking his head thoughtfully.
Azure Hall stood proudly at the western edge of the territory, bearing the brunt of the west monsoon. The mansion, gracefully situated beside a hanging garden, exuded both modesty and grandeur. Gothic spires and weathered marble stones adorned with intricate dragon carvings gave it an air of majesty.
Inside, the grand entry hall featured high, vaulted ceilings with exposed wooden beams, creating a sense of both grandeur and coziness. Rich tapestries depicting dragons and mythical creatures hung on the walls, adding vibrant splashes of color and narrative depth. Plush rugs, woven with intricate patterns, covered the floors.
Within the mansion, Ardiel was met with warm enthusiasm by his brother.
"How was your training, Ardiel?" Reno asked, resting a supportive arm on his younger brother's shoulder.
"Tired. How was your session with Uncle Felix?" Ardiel inquired, masking his sadness. Unlike him, his brothers and sister had successfully formed soul pacts with their dragon pairs, leaving him feeling isolated despite their constant reassurances. Though they adored him, his recent dejection was still visible.
Reno, ever the supportive older brother despite their two-year age difference, was determined to lift Ardiel's spirits.
"Uncle's no fun at all. You're lucky to have Sir Simon as your mentor," Reno said, and Ardiel simply nodded in response.
"Hey," Reno said, stepping in front of Ardiel and placing his hands on his younger brother's shoulders. He looked at him with a serious expression.
"I know what's on your mind, but you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. At least give yourself some credit. You're better than me at many things—swordsmanship, archery, horse riding. The list goes on. I'm not saying this just to make you feel better, but because you're so focused on comparing yourself to others that you're overlooking your own talents." Reno tightened his grip on Ardiel's shoulders, trying to emphasize his words.
Guilt surged through Ardiel as he listened. He struggled to hold back tears but ultimately failed. He stifled a sob and wiped his eyes as Reno pulled him into a comforting embrace.
Their eldest brother, Yuran, observed from a hidden corner, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched his two youngest brothers share their tender moment.
"One is overly competitive and the other is intentionally unambitious. What am I to do with these adorable misfits?" he sighed, shaking his head before walking away.
Ardiel retreated to his room and sat on his bed, a conflicted expression on his face. Reno had promised they would have dinner together, a regular occurrence at least once a week when their schedules aligned.
"I hate this dragon mark," he muttered, channeling his frustration toward the tattoo etched into his back.
"I hate you!" he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.
Distracted by his emotions, he failed to notice the mark on his back glowing faintly with a blue aura. The mark seemed to shift ever so slowly, as though it were alive.
He recalled the pitying glances from some family members, which deepened his resentment. Despite the family's Golden Age—marked by the emergence of four new dragon vessels and Frey's prodigious talent, a rare occurrence once every century—he felt burdened by the mark he deemed worthless.
His great-grandmother had once called it a blessing yet to reveal its worth. Though he knew his parents and siblings cherished him deeply, he felt overshadowed by the family's reputation. As part of a Ducal house situated in the West of the Eldenfren Empire, the weight of their illustrious image bore heavily on him. He longed to be seen as an equal among his siblings.
With war gradually approaching, he resigned himself to the role of a knight rather than a Dragon Vessel with the magic of dragons. This realization made his dragon mark grow more vivid, driven by his desire to become stronger. The mark fed on his motivation, not merely his age.
His emotions reached their peak, reflecting his inner turmoil. His talent was not lacking; in fact, he was just as capable as any of his brothers, if not more so. His mental resilience was firm, positioning him favorably among his peers.
Then it happened.
A sudden, sharp pain erupted from his back, searing through his muscles and bones as if the mark were coming alive. It started as a deep, burning ache that rapidly intensified, spreading like wildfire through his entire body.
The sensation felt like molten iron being poured into his veins, each pulse of agony more excruciating than the last. Ardiel gasped, his breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts as he tried to stifle his cries of torment.
He crouched on his bed, the sheets twisted around him as he clenched his jaw and fists, trying desperately to hold back the screams that threatened to escape. The pain was so overwhelming that his vision swam and dark spots danced at the edges of his sight. He was on the verge of losing consciousness. Every muscle in his body tensed, his teeth grinding together as he fought to stay awake.
The blue aura of the mark began to writhe and pulse, creeping over his skin like a living, malignant force. It crawled across his body, casting an eerie, glowing light that flickered and shifted with an unsettling rhythm. The mark seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, growing brighter and more intense with each surge of pain.
In the depths of his pain, a strange, almost surreal sense of clarity began to emerge. His mind, clouded by agony, focused on the mark's strange behavior. It seemed to be resonating with his emotional turmoil, its light responding to his pain and frustration. The realization that the mark was somehow linked to his suffering and desire for strength only added to his torment.
Ardiel's body shook violently as he fought against the tidal wave of pain. Each wave of agony seemed to pull him deeper into an abyss, and though he struggled to stay conscious, the lines between reality and the overwhelming sensation blurred.
"What an impatient companion," a deep, imperious voice full of authority and majesty echoed in his mind before his consciousness slipped away, leaving him to fall into the abyss.