Morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, painting warm streaks of gold across the wooden floor of the inn.
Unlike the previous days, John woke before everyone else.
For a moment, he remained lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
No visions.
No distant whispers.
No memories from the Dragon King's legacy.
Just silence.
"...This is nice."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Ever since awakening in this world, every morning had begun with the thought of survival. Hunting, training, exploring unknown lands—there was always another obstacle waiting for him.
Greenhollow was different.
The village expected nothing from him.
To its people, he wasn't the inheritor of an ancient legacy or a dragon destined to face unimaginable threats.
He was simply... John.
The realization was strangely comforting.
---
After quietly washing up, John stepped outside.
