Darkness.
It was his first memory.
The first thing he had ever known.
It surrounded him, pressed against him, suffocated him in an endless void.
There was no sky. No ground. No wind, no scent, no sound.
Yet, he was aware.
He had no name for himself, but he knew what he was.
A dragon.
And he was trapped.
His body was small, underdeveloped, his limbs weak. He could barely move, but he could feel the walls pressing in around him, tight, confining, suffocating.
This was wrong.
A dragon was meant to be born into power, not buried in weakness.
A deep, gnawing hunger clawed at him, an emptiness in his core that burned hotter with each passing second.
He needed to get out.
With raw instinct, he pressed against the walls of his prison, pushing, scratching—nothing.
His claws were too weak.
His body was too frail.
Something was missing.
Power.
He needed power.
A tremor ran through his chest—his first attempt at a snarl—but the sound that came out was nothing more than a weak, pitiful vibration.
Unacceptable.
He clenched his jaw.
A dragon does not accept weakness.
He had no memories, no history, no past life to recall—only instinct.
And his instincts screamed at him to fight.
The void around him shifted.
A crack.
Small. Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
Kael'thir's breath hitched, a surge of pure, violent hunger roaring through him.
He struck outward.
Once.
Twice.
A thin fracture split through the darkness.
He felt air—cold, bitter, disgusting—but it was real.
This was it.
This was freedom.
With one final, violent lunge, his claws pierced through the wall of his prison—
And the egg shattered.
The light burned.
Kael'thir let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his newborn lungs convulsing from the sudden flood of air.
It was dry. Weak. Tainted.
He forced his crimson eyes open—and immediately hated what he saw.
A graveyard.
The land stretched out before him, a vast expanse of blackened wastelands, the earth cracked and lifeless. No green. No rivers. No towering mountains.
Only ruins.
The sky was a dull, soulless gray, choked by thin wisps of black clouds.
The land beneath him was dry, dead.
This… was not where a dragon was meant to be born.
His chest burned with fury.
Where was the storm of mana that should have greeted him at birth?
Where was the world that should have welcomed his existence with awe and fear?
This place had nothing to offer him.
His limbs trembled, barely able to hold his own weight. His wings, still small and frail, twitched against his back, utterly useless.
His mana core—his very source of power—was weak.
He growled, a raw, guttural sound, frustration curling in his chest.
This was not how it should have been.
But no matter.
He would rise.
A dragon did not remain weak.
A dragon devoured.
A dragon grew.
His tail lashed once, his claws flexing as he lifted his head.
He needed food.
He needed mana.
And he would take it from anything that had the misfortune of crossing his path.
Something watched him.
Kael'thir froze, his instincts flaring to life, his gaze snapping toward the presence.
It was small.
White fur. Gold streaks along its back.
A fox.
It sat a short distance away, perched on a piece of broken stone, its tail wrapped neatly around its paws.
It was staring at him.
And then—
It grinned.
Kael'thir's pupils narrowed into slits.
This creature…
Why was it not afraid?
His crimson eyes locked onto its amber gaze.
It did not flinch.
It did not move.
It simply watched.
Waiting.
His wings twitched. His talons scraped against the dirt. His tail flicked once.
Still, the fox did not react.
Kael'thir's nostrils flared.
It did not smell like prey.
Its scent was wrong.
Not weak.
Not strong.
Just… different.
His body tensed, instincts screaming at him—What are you?
The fox tilted its head.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
Kael'thir's claws clenched into the earth.
No matter.
He would figure it out later.
Right now—
He was starving.
And something in the distance pulsed with mana.
His instincts sharpened.
Prey.
He ignored the fox, his body shifting low to the ground, his senses expanding.
The mana was faint, but it was real.
He moved.
His body was weak, but he was still a hunter.
His first kill awaited him.
And a dragon's hunger was endless.
Far beyond the wasteland, something stirred.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that had been watching.
And for the first time in centuries—
It was curious.
Kael'thir moved through the ruins like a shadow, his small frame low to the ground, his underdeveloped wings pressing tight against his back.
His body still felt weak, fragile, but his instincts knew what to do.
Hunt. Kill. Devour. Grow.
His claws pressed into the dry, cracked earth with each step, his breath slow and controlled.
Ahead, something pulsed—a faint, weak presence.
Mana.
It was distant, but real.
And Kael'thir was starving.
The hunger clawed at his insides, demanding he move faster, demanding he rip and tear and consume.
He forced himself to stay patient.
Reckless hunger led to death.
A dragon was not a mindless beast. A dragon was a predator, a ruler, a being meant to dominate.
And predators did not rush.
Predators stalked.
Kael'thir's tail flicked once, stirring up ash as he crept forward, his gaze locked on the distant ruins where the mana pulse had come from.
The fox still watched him.
He could feel her golden eyes on him, studying him, analyzing him.
But she did not follow.
Good.
She was not his concern.
Whatever she was, she was not food.
And right now, food was everything.
The scent hit him first.
Rot. Blood. Decay.
Kael'thir's pupils thinned into slits, his instincts sharpening.
Something was alive nearby.
Something dying.
The ruins stretched before him—broken pillars, crumbling stone, shattered remnants of a world long abandoned. The air was thick with dust, but beneath the filth, he could smell it.
Meat. Mana. Prey.
He slowed.
His body was weak, untested. He had never fought before, never hunted, never tested his claws on something that could fight back.
This would be his first kill.
His wings twitched as he crouched lower, his muscles coiling beneath his black scales. His tail curled behind him, ready to lash out if needed.
His vision sharpened, his instincts roaring—there.
A shadowbeast.
It was hunched over the corpse of another creature, gnawing on the rotting remains of something long-dead. Its body was thin, its fur patchy and mangy, bones pressing against stretched skin.
Weak.
Pathetic.
And yet—
It had mana.
That was all that mattered.
Kael'thir exhaled slowly, silent, controlled.
His instincts told him exactly what to do.
Get close. Get low. Strike fast. Go for the throat.
He moved.
One step.
Then another.
The wind shifted.
The beast's head snapped up.
Dull yellow eyes met his.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then—
It snarled.
Teeth bared.
Lips curled.
And Kael'thir lunged.
The world blurred.
His claws ripped forward, aiming for the creature's throat.
The shadowbeast twisted, its filthy, reeking jaws snapping toward his face.
Too slow.
Kael'thir dropped low at the last moment, his talons slashing across its side instead.
A guttural shriek tore from the beast as black blood sprayed into the dust.
Not deep enough.
Not lethal.
Kael'thir's muscles screamed as he pushed off the ground, circling the injured beast before it could recover.
His body was still small, his legs barely strong enough to handle the speed he demanded from them—
But he was faster.
Faster than it.
The shadowbeast staggered, panting heavily, yellow eyes wild with rage and pain.
It knew it was prey now.
Good.
Kael'thir's wings flared slightly, his tail flicking as he watched.
It would try to run.
Prey always did.
The beast snarled—and lunged instead.
Kael'thir's eyes widened.
Fool.
He let it come.
Let it leap.
Let its rotten, reeking teeth flash toward his throat.
Then, at the last second, he shifted.
One sharp, precise movement—
His jaws clamped down on its neck.
The creature screeched.
It thrashed.
It fought.
Kael'thir's fangs dug deeper.
The hot rush of blood filled his mouth, thick and metallic, rich with mana.
The beast twisted, spasmed—
Then went still.
Silence.
The taste of blood.
The scent of death.
Then—
The flood of power.
It hit him like fire.
Raw mana rushed through his veins, flooding his tiny, starving body with power. His mana core—small, fragile, weak—pulsed violently, straining to hold the sudden surge of energy.
His muscles burned.
His vision swam.
A deep, aching heat spread through his limbs, curling in his chest, twisting down his spine.
It hurt.
But it was good.
It was growth.
His tail twitched. His claws flexed. His wings itched.
A dragon's body was made to absorb mana.
To devour it.
And he needed more.
Kael'thir sank his teeth deeper into the corpse, ripping apart flesh, muscle, bone, swallowing every last scrap of power the beast had left.
Each bite made the burn in his core worse.
Each bite made his limbs stronger.
Each bite made him more.
And for the first time, since the moment he had hatched into this lifeless world—
He felt alive.
Something moved.
Kael'thir lifted his head sharply, blood dripping from his fangs, his breath ragged.
The fox was watching.
She was still seated on her broken stone, her tail curled neatly around her paws, her golden eyes locked onto him with unreadable intensity.
She had watched him hunt.
She had watched him kill.
She had watched him devour.
A part of him expected her to run.
He had just slaughtered prey before her eyes.
A lesser creature would fear him now.
But she did not move.
She did not tremble.
She did not flinch.
She only watched.
And then—
She grinned.
Kael'thir's bloodstained jaws tightened.
Something about that expression bothered him.
This fox…
She was wrong.
But not prey.
Not yet.
For now, she was a mystery.
And Kael'thir had plenty of time to figure her out.
Far beyond the wasteland, in the shadows of the ruined temple, something shifted.
Something watched.
Something that had been waiting.
And for the first time in centuries—
It stirred.