Above the world of mortals, where clouds lost their meaning and the sky itself folded into layers of endless light, stretched the domain no human tongue could truly name.
A land beyond seasons, beyond the rhythm of sun and moon.
A place not bound by temples, for here the gods themselves were at leisure.
Golden lotuses floated lazily upon rivers made of liquid starlight.
Vast palaces carved from single crystals hung suspended in the air, bending space itself so that their reflection always shimmered in the gaze of anyone who dared look.
Winds here were scented not with flowers, but with hymns—sound and fragrance braided as one.
And amidst this eternal majesty lay a woman most mortals would never picture this way: Lady Luck.
She reclined as if the whole realm were her personal hammock, half-lying on a divine chaise woven from threads of destiny itself.
Her hair scattered like rivers of night, a single golden ornament tilting as if it too had drunk too much.
In one hand she held a jade goblet sloshing with celestial liquor, the kind whose one drop is enough to make even sober sages dance naked under moonlight.
In the other hand, carelessly, was her divine mirror—a relic that could reflect the present, twist the future, and sometimes, if it felt cheeky enough, even replay embarrassing pasts.
The mirror shimmered with a faint glow, projecting not the infinite heavens, but the dimly lit grandeur of a mortal royal court.
Lady Luck took a sip, smirked, and muttered to herself.
"Ah… my little disaster boy is at it again."
From behind, footsteps echoed, light yet carrying thunder.
A man in regal armor walked forward, his crown wreathed not in metal but in storm clouds.
His every step seemed to ripple lightning beneath the glass floor of heaven.
It was Indra, King of the Gods—conqueror of demons, beloved of hymns, and yet, at times, the pettiest neighbor one could imagine.
He leaned casually against the archway, watching Lady Luck without his usual swagger.
"So," he said, voice deliberately flat, "here you are. Sprawled like a gambler who just won and doesn't care anymore. Shouldn't you be, oh, I don't know… slightly worried? Your precious creation—your Max Luck Stat Boy--He is still stuck in that Cave of Desires isn't he."
Lady Luck didn't even glance at him.
She tipped her goblet, caught a drop of liquor on her tongue, and replied with a drawl.
"Worried? Oh Indra, my dear stormy Friend, you always take the fun out of things. Look—" She tilted the mirror toward him, "—the boy has grown. He doesn't need me holding dice for him anymore. Besides, Mahadev himself decided to play with my toy. So, who am I to interfere?"
Indra arched a brow. "Mahadev?"
Lady Luck's smirk widened. "Yes. That inner shadow of his it is Mahademon Rakshak opposite to his nature. A gift. Or maybe a curse. Who can tell with that one?"
Indra, looking shocked, asked, "What? Really? Rakshak who was born from the manifestation of Maa Kali the one I defeated with so much struggle. And now he's back again, and that too, inside the body of that troublesome boy!"
Lady Luck chuckled and replied, "Don't you worry, boy. Just come and watch how this unfolds."
Indra looked at Lady Luck with a mixture of amusement and respect.
When she casually called him "boy," a faint smile touched his lips.
He accepted it with a nod, knowing that sometimes her playful words made him forget her true age.
Because of her divine beauty, her charming and alluring appearance, it was easy to see her as just a beautiful lady—timeless, radiant, and enchanting.
But he knew better than any other.
Lady Luck was as old as time itself, a force as ancient as the cosmos.
Her laughter, her wisdom, and the subtle power she wielded went far beyond her charming exterior.
He thought to himself, 'Sometimes, her appearance makes me forget that she's not just a beautiful lady—she is the eternal essence of fortune and fate, older than the stars, wiser than the ages.' Still, he appreciated her playful spirit, knowing that beneath her divine beauty lay the weight of countless eons.
For once, Indra didn't scoff.
He sighed, stepping closer, lowering himself onto the chaise beside her.
Gone was his infamous arrogance—here, in the private quiet of heaven, he could afford to be just a companion.
He peered into the mirror, arms resting on his knees.
And there it was: the royal court of Vaikunth Dham.
Hundreds of armored soldiers strained as chains clanged, dragging an enormous bulk into the hall.
The ground quivered under its weight, dust falling from the carved stone pillars.
Gasps filled the court.
Ministers pressed back.
Nobles covered their mouths.
Even King Rudrayan's hand tightened on his throne.
The dragon, Taarask.
Scales the color of moonlit iron, wings folded like mountain ranges crushed together, eyes closed as though in eternal slumber.
For decades he had been known to ignore mortals, to lie unmoving even when provoked, as if the world itself was beneath his notice.
Yet today, shackled and dragged, he still radiated lethargy, tail sliding behind him with the indifference of a bored god.
The hall was filled with soldiers, but none dared meet his presence too long.
As soon as other guards, brought, grandpa Ganpat into the Royal court Aryan leans over grandpa, to whisper
Aryan, small but burning with his unstable aura, stood near his grandfather. His voice cut through the murmurs. "Grandpa, we need to leave. Now."
Lady Luck chuckled, spilling a drop of liquor onto her mirror. "See that? My boy doesn't even notice the dragon. He talks like he's about to walk out of the market after buying lentils."
Indra's eyes narrowed. "Watch closely. The dragon… he heard."
Indeed, something subtle shifted. The court, so far convinced the beast would remain comatose, suddenly held its breath. Taarask's ear ridges twitched. His vast chest expanded with a deeper breath. A tremor rippled across his eyelids.
Inside his mind, buried deep under centuries of slumber, a memory stirred.
The smell of burning stone. The crash of vault doors. A child's reckless intrusion. His sanctuary shattered by flame—because of that boy.
Now, again, that same voice.
That same presence.
Slowly, inexorably, one massive eye opened. Golden, slit-pupiled, blazing with ancient memory and faint irritation.
And its gaze locked directly on Aryan.
The royal court froze.
That golden slit eye, vast as a shield, pierced the hall with an ancient weight. Soldiers staggered back despite themselves, chains clattering as their grip faltered. The ministers, pale and trembling, exchanged frantic whispers.
The dragon moved… the dragon looked…!
King Rudrayan's knuckles turned white on the armrest of his throne.
Bishop Veerabhadra leaned forward, face tightening, lips opening and closing soundlessly.
Never in living memory had the dragon acknowledged a mortal of such a stupid level.
Yet here it was, eye locked not on a king, not on a bishop, but on a boy no taller than its claw.
And in that instant, the world blurred for Taarask.
Inside his memory, the court melted away, replaced by the smell of molten metal and the roar of fire.
He saw again the great vault where he had once slept, coils resting in sacred quiet.
He had made that cavern his haven, shielded from mortals' noise and disturbance.
For centuries, nothing disturbed him—until one foolish intrusion.
A child and his companion. Small, reckless, prying where he shouldn't. His aura raw, unstable.
His every step screamed disaster.
And because of that boy, the vault had burned. His place of rest turned to ash. His rest stolen.
Even this king was only able to capture him because his ancestor was much stronger than him, and today this pest, I will not leave him alive.
Now, fate mocked him. That same voice echoed again, in a mortal court of all places, tugging at his slumber.
Taarask's other eye snapped open, gold and furious. His jaws flexed, smoke curling from between his fangs.
The ministers cried out. "The dragon wakes!"
Aryan tugged at his grandfather's sleeve. "Grandpa, we need to move. Now."
Ganpat blinked. "Boy, can you even smell that smoking smell it seems like someone is doing barbeque in front of us?"
The System screeched inside Aryan's mind.
System:
"ARE YOU STUPID?! THAT IS A DRAGON. A LEGIT, LIFE-ENDING DRAGON. RUN—no wait, DON'T RUN, THEY'LL THINK YOU'RE SCARED—NO WAIT, ACTUALLY RUN!"
But Aryan's body had already shifted.
His chakra, unstable as a cracked dam, flared under his skin.
Without hesitation, he darted forward, dragging Ganpat with him.
The court gasped. Nobles clutched each other.
To them, it wasn't flight.
It wasn't cowardice.
They saw the boy move boldly under the dragon's eye, as though untouchable.
"Look!" a minister stammered.
"He dares move even in front of Taarask!"
Another whispered in terror, "The dragon hasn't crushed him. He must be blessed by gods…"
But Aryan wasn't listening.
His legs carried him straight to the edge of the dais, then without warning—he leapt.
System:
"ARE YOU IN—?!"
The System's voice cracked mid-scream.
[Warning: Fall damage imminent. THIS IS NOT A GAME. Do you even—?!]
Aryan's leap carved through the air.
Ganpat yelped, flailing as both of them hurtled downward.
Below, the dragon's gaze followed.
Its wings twitched, and with a low growl that shook the stone pillars, it lunged.
The ground quivered as Taarask launched forward, wings half-unfolding, body surging like a storm tide.
His jaws opened—every noble shrieked, every soldier raised a shield in futility—
And then… miscalculation.
Aryan and Ganpat's trajectory arced just barely above his lunge.
For a breathless instant, it seemed they would crash into the ground.
But no—their bodies slammed onto the dragon's scaled back with a thud.
Aryan blocked all the fall damage with his body, knowing he could recover with the help of his Skill—another chance.
As he hit the back of the dragon, he activated it instantly.
His bones, which had shattered on impact, began healing as if by magic.
The ribs that had torn out on impact started to go back inside at a visible pace.
Taarask's eyes widened fractionally.
His wings beat once, instinctively catching air.
With a screech like thunder splitting sky, he surged upward, tearing through the court's open ceiling.
Stone shattered, dust rained, and the world exploded into chaos.
Soldiers scattered.
Nobles fainted. Ministers wailed.
Rumors burst like wildfire, each more ridiculous than the last.
"The boy rides the dragon!", "He commands it!", "No mortal could survive that leap—he must be divine!", "Even Taarask bows to him!"
On the throne, King Rudrayan stood frozen, lips parted.
Never had he looked so unsure.
His hand hovered in the air, as if deciding whether to call pursuit or kneel in reverence.
Beside him, Bishop Veerabhadra was pale as chalk, eyes bulging, words stuck in his throat.
At last he croaked, "Impossible… this is… impossible…"
Above, the dragon tore through clouds, wings spread in their full terrifying span.
Aryan clung desperately, Ganpat half-hanging off one side.
"Grandpa!" Aryan shouted over the roaring wind.
"I told you we should've stayed home!" Ganpat yelled back, eyes watering.
The System sobbed inside Aryan's head.
[SYSTEM:
Congratulations! You have unlocked the Hidden Skill: 'Accidental Dragon Rider.'
Requirement: minimum level of knowledge for the riding of dragons + maximum chaos.]
Aryan grinned despite the chaos, hair whipping. "See, Grandpa? Not so bad!"
"NOT SO BAD?!" Ganpat's voice cracked. "We're one sneeze away from becoming chutney!"
Far above, beyond mortal sight, Lady Luck was now doubled over, clutching her stomach, liquor splashing as she howled with laughter.
"Did you see their faces?" she gasped between hiccups. "They think he tamed the dragon!"
Indra had collapsed back on the chaise, eyes streaming. "Mortals! HA! Stupidity is the real divine gift.
Look at them—they're already spreading rumors!" He wiped his tears. "This… this is better than a thousand sacrifices. Lady, your boy is chaos incarnate."
Lady Luck raised her goblet in mock toast, giggling. "To chaos, then."
The mirror shifted, showing Aryan crouched awkwardly on Taarask's back as the dragon glided toward the outskirts of Vaikunth Dham, wings cutting through the horizon.
Indra's laughter died into a grin. He leaned forward, voice lower. "But tell me, Lady Luck… does the dragon accept him? Or will it roast him alive once they land?"
Lady Luck smirked, eyes gleaming. "That, my dear Indra… is the fun part."
And far below, Taarask's golden eyes narrowed, his deep growl vibrating through Aryan's bones. The boy might have landed on his back, but the dragon's will had yet to decide.