The shock of his new reality hit Draven with the force of a market crash he couldn't liquidate. He was a dragon hatchling. A baby dragon. Him. Zhou Lan, the crypto veteran who knew the value of every satoshi, now reduced to a scaled, squawking infant. His last thought about leverage and market crashes seemed hilariously, tragically ironic now. This was the ultimate dump, the ultimate liquidation. His entire human existence, gone.
He tried to push himself up, but his tiny, clumsy claws scrabbled uselessly on the smooth, cool surface beneath him. A soft, earthy scent, mingled with something metallic and ancient, filled his nostrils. His vision, though still a little blurry, started to resolve. He was indeed in a large, hollowed-out space, likely some kind of nest, lined with smooth, dark stone and shimmering moss. The "cracked shell" he'd emerged from lay in pieces around him, gleaming like obsidian shards.
His "mother," the stunning woman with the horns, had moved closer. Her golden eyes, filled with an unreadable depth, studied him. A long, slender finger, tipped with a claw as elegant as a sculpted jewel, gently touched his forehead. A warmth spread through his tiny body, soothing an ache he hadn't realized he had. He wanted to flinch, to protest this intimate gesture from a mythical creature, but his new body simply... leaned into it. This was profoundly unsettling.
"He is Draven Malcairn," her voice, a low rumble, seemed to echo through the very stone of the chamber. "My third, my last."
Third? Last? Draven's gaze flickered to the two older "siblings" who stood nearby. The young man, with his sharp, emerald scales, bore a striking resemblance to his mother, exuding raw, untamed power. The young woman, with her fiery red hair and sapphire scales, seemed more refined, her eyes holding a mix of curiosity and something akin to… disappointment? Did he not meet their standards for a newborn dragon? He suddenly felt the familiar prickle of inadequacy, reminiscent of failing to meet profit targets.
The emerald-scaled male, who Draven mentally dubbed 'Big Bro Dragon,' stepped forward. "Mother, his scales are so dark. And his aura… it's weak. Are you certain he is truly a Malcairn of our lineage?"
Draven bristled internally. Weak? He'd survived crypto! He was a survivor! What did a little aura even mean? He tried to glare, but probably just looked like a grumpy, squishy salamander.
The mother's gaze hardened slightly towards her son. "Aerion, do not question the blood. He is my son. The Malcairn line is ancient and strong, and it shall continue through him." Her voice held an authority that would make any CEO tremble.
'Sis Dragon' (Draven's internal nickname for her) then spoke, her tone a little gentler, but still analytical. "Perhaps his potential is simply… late in developing. It happens sometimes, though rarely to such an extent."
Late in developing? Draven thought bitterly. Just like my portfolio in 2022. I swear, if this 'cultivation' thing is anything like holding bags, I'm out.
Just as he wrestled with this new, humiliating reality, a faint, metallic ping echoed not in his ears, but directly in his mind. It was subtle, easily missed amidst his existential crisis, but distinct.
[Ding! Host has successfully reincarnated!]
[System Initializing… 1%… 10%… 50%… 99%… Complete!]
[Welcome, Draven Malcairn, to the Penny Stock System!]
Draven froze. A system? He'd read about these in novels! OP skills, legendary rewards, instant power-ups! Finally, something familiar and useful in this absurd situation! His non-existent dragon heart pounded with a nascent hope.
[First Quest Available: Survive Your First Hour as a Hatchling.]
[Reward: One (1) Common Scale Polish.]
[Quest Description: Don't get eaten by a sibling, don't accidentally incinerate yourself, and try not to embarrass your proud dragon lineage too much. Simple, right?]
Draven's nascent hope deflated faster than a pump-and-dump scheme. Common Scale Polish? What was that? A polishing kit for his tiny, still-sticky scales? This was his 'system'? Not a legendary sword, not a cultivation manual, but scale polish?!
He internally facepalmed, if his tiny dragon face had hands. This was truly a penny stock system. Low rewards, vague promises of future potential. It was like getting an airdrop of a meme coin with zero utility.
"What is he doing?" Aerion, the elder brother, observed, his brow furrowed. "He's just… lying there, twitching."
Draven was, in fact, twitching. His mind was racing, trying to process the concept of a system that offered such pathetic rewards. He tried to access it, to open some kind of menu, but there was nothing beyond the floating text.
Suddenly, a new voice, a deep, rumbling growl, broke through his internal monologue. "Ah, the newest little one has hatched!"
A truly colossal dragon, larger than any building Zhou Lan had ever seen on Earth, lumbered into the chamber. Its scales were like ancient iron, scarred and worn, and its eyes, the size of boulders, held the wisdom of millennia. This had to be the 'Tetua Agung Naga' he'd heard about in his dying thoughts. He looked… less like Jerome Powell and more like a walking mountain. Still, his presence commanded an instinctive, primal fear.
"Grandfather," the mother bowed her head respectfully. Aerion and the sister followed suit.
The ancient dragon, 'Grandpa Dragon' (Draven's mental note, slightly less terrifying than Jerome Powell), peered down at Draven. His gaze was disconcertingly intense, like a powerful AI analyzing a complex algorithm. "A curious one. I feel a faint… instability in his core. But also… a strange, unyielding stubbornness."
Stubbornness? Draven thought. That's what you get when you've stared down enough red charts to make you question the meaning of existence.
[Quest Update: Grandfather's Observation!]
[New Objective: Maintain composure. Do not gurgle, burp, or accidentally let out a puff of smoke. Reward: 1 (one) Tiny Flame Breath (Stage 0.01).]
Draven nearly choked. A puff of smoke? He didn't even know he could do that! And Stage 0.01? That wasn't even a full stage! It was like getting a fraction of a fraction of a Bitcoin as a reward. This system was testing his patience, his already battered mental fortitude.
He clamped down on any involuntary twitch, any instinctive movement. He focused on maintaining the same unblinking stare he used when analyzing a crashing market – detached, analytical, and utterly emotionless. He would complete this 'quest,' no matter how ridiculous the reward. He had to. This was his new life, his new game. And in this game, even a penny stock could, eventually, go to the moon. He just needed to figure out how to evolve this ridiculously pathetic system.
The ancient dragon chuckled, a sound like grinding rocks. "Yes… unyielding. A curious little Malcairn indeed." He turned to the mother. "He will need careful guidance, Myra. And a lot of training. His path will not be easy."
Myra, Draven's new dragon mother, nodded. "As you command, Grandfather."
As the behemoth dragon lumbered away, Draven let out a shaky, internal breath. The first hour was almost over. He had survived his hatching. He hadn't been eaten, he hadn't incinerated anything, and he (mostly) hadn't embarrassed his new family. He could almost feel the 'Common Scale Polish' materializing.
His new life as Draven Malcairn had begun. And if it was anything like his old life, it was going to be a long, painful, and probably hilarious climb from the bottom. But he'd done it before. He could do it again. Just with more scales this time.