To the Albion Dragon, it had always existed in a state of absolute strength.
Be it the giants of Norse myth,
The Sphinxes of Egypt,
Or all those so-called divine beasts of the world—
These beings, though not its kin, sometimes treated it with courtesy, other times with ambiguous, half-hearted politeness.
Long before the world fundamentally changed, Albion the Dragon had always been pestered by these weak little creatures. But being the strongest, it never cared.
The arrival of the era of humankind—an era belonging to the weak—was something it had known of long before anyone else. And as the strongest dragon, it accepted this reality quickly. But precisely because it was the strongest, it saw itself as responsible for letting the weaker kin leave first, so they wouldn't be hunted or attacked by other beings.
It had existed since the birth of the planet itself, possessing nearly 4.6 billion years' worth of knowledge. Naturally, it had long known exactly when the age of fantasy would come to an end. And, in its self-proclaimed role as the mightiest, it had planned to linger behind until all its kin had departed—then it would follow.
Because it was the strongest, it would protect the weak.
But that was never something Albion would say aloud. In its view, the weak should obey the strong—completely. Even their opinions.
Yet, when it prepared to depart at the "originally planned" final moment…
It discovered, inexplicably, that the end of the fantasy era had arrived four years early.
It, still bound to the old world, was stranded in this changed reality.
At first, Albion the Dragon thought nothing of it.
"Oh? So that's how it is. But I'm the strongest—this is no problem."
That was about the extent of its feelings.
Except… it could never see its weaker kin again.
That made it… sad.
But there were small joys too.
It encountered other weak beings who, though not its kin, had also been left behind in this world.
But as the mysteries of the world faded, those far weaker beings perished rapidly.
That made it… sad.
Gradually, it began to realize—
It had become a being utterly and completely abandoned.
Anger welled up within it as it roared at its own fate.
It would not—absolutely would not—die alone like this!
Thus, without despair, without giving up, it decided:
If the mysteries of the world couldn't carry it away… then it would move itself, physically.
And so, it used its colossal body to burrow deep underground—into the earth, where traces of the old mysteries still lingered.
Albion the Dragon had no memory of what happened after that.
Only fragmented colors remained in its mind.
Black and red.
Everything around it was like a fractured, incomplete curse. Filthy black and crimson mixed together, swirling chaotically. It smelled the thick stench of blood—but its memories had already blurred.
…It turned out, it was vomiting.
Its throat clogged with bile and filth—it couldn't even breathe properly.
Almost there.
Almost… just a little more effort… I'll break through—
The strongest dragon's mind had become completely muddled.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts… it's agonizing, it hurts, I want to vomit, I want to vomit, it's unbearable, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, I want to vomit—
Time disappeared from its consciousness.
Space collapsed.
All that remained was itself, endlessly moving forward.
Everything compressed into a single pinprick—
Only sharp pain and suffering remained.
The Albion Dragon, its body nearing convulsions, forced itself to hold back the urge to sob—relying on the pride of being the strongest.
How many times had it dug forward like that? It had lost count long ago.
At the time, Albion the Dragon desperately distracted its consciousness, firmly believing that as the strongest, it would succeed eventually.
Suddenly… the weight lightened.
The suffocating pressure upon it vanished—as if, for some unknown reason, it had been lifted away.
It hadn't disappeared entirely, but in an instant, the burden had lessened—reduced to a mere 20 grams.
Albion was so stunned it didn't even realize its head had been severed from its body, continuing to burrow forward through the underground.
It hadn't even noticed its head and body had separated.
That its body… was already dead.
"Ah…"
Albion the Dragon murmured weakly.
Its soul crawled onward—
Crawled into the Reverse Side—
Its spirit detached from its body, drifting beyond the Sea of Death, becoming a shimmering light at the farthest reaches of the world.
On that reverse side, where all remnants of fantasy slumbered,
There was almost nothing recognizable.
An endless cosmic darkness,
A brilliance as bright as the ultimate extremes,
A swirling vortex at the heart of all creation…
But among all the fantastical beings, only Albion remained.
"No way… why… why am I the only one here…"
Put simply, this was a place that wasn't a place—
A world that wasn't a world.
Freed from the concept of time,
There was no day or night,
No sun, no moon,
Only faint auroras illuminating the sky.
This world never changed.
The vast ocean knew not the meaning of waves.
The sky knew not the drifting of clouds.
The strongest dragon, gazing at that sky devoid of moon or stars, felt a profound loneliness.
So the dragon closed its eyes.
But the moment it did, the loneliness overwhelmed it.
Surely, there must be other kin here too…
They were merely hiding,
Afraid to show themselves before the strongest one.
Albion waited.
Waited for some living being to find it.
And prayed—
That it would be a familiar face.
It passed its days like that, in lonely anticipation.
Though… for Albion, whether it was days, decades, or centuries—it made no difference.
The strongest dragon's body was sluggish to the passage of time.
It never hungered.
It never slept.
It merely… idled away the days.
Waiting.
Waiting—this punishment called hope—was a torment of unbearable loneliness.
But then—
"It's fine. You being able to accomplish this much… I should be the one thanking you."
That voice rang out.
It wasn't an auditory hallucination.
It wasn't a fantasy.
It was real, whispering beside its ear.
Though Albion had hoped, long hoped, that someone would come,
It still couldn't believe it.
Its eyes snapped open, and what it saw… brought relief.
Its soul—its consciousness—
When had it returned here?
It was overjoyed… no longer alone.
But at the same time, it was confused—
Since when… could it look a weak human in the eye as an equal?
Scanning its current form,
Albion's rage surged—
Its head, left behind in the world, had been reduced to such a humiliating state!
Worse still, it overheard that frail human mocking the strongest dragon's body—its body.
"Humans… where did you find the nerve? To order someone to modify the strongest… my body… to reduce me to this pitiful state?!"
For the first time in its long life, Albion the Dragon uttered such words.
"And to insult me on top of that… I'm really angry now!"
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