Chapter: Departure
"Have you packed your toothbrush?"
"Yes."
"Extra clothes?"
"Yes."
"Money?"
"Yes."
"Emergency food supplies?"
"Yes."
"Weapons?"
"Yes, Mom."
Vitra continued her rapid-fire questioning as she paced around the courtyard, her sharp eyes scanning her son's travel gear. Nearby, Albion let out a tired groan from within his pendant.
"Sweet havens, how many more questions are you going to ask him?" the dragon muttered. "He's taken everything short of a portable castle."
"Honey," Albion tried to interject gently, "David has packed everything. You don't have to keep grilling him like this."
Vitra stopped mid-step and turned to glare at her husband's soul-bound jewel. "You fart. You brought me a chicken instead of rare gems as an offering at our wedding ceremony because you forgot to bring the gems. You don't get to talk."
Albion wisely shut his mouth and pretended he hadn't spoken.
"And our son," she added, glancing at David, "isn't much better than you."
David coughed awkwardly, choosing to stay silent as well.
"Sweetheart," Vitra said more softly, "are you absolutely sure you've taken everything you need?"
"Yes, Mom," David replied patiently. "I triple-checked. You really don't have to worry."
She exhaled, not completely reassured but willing to let it go. "Where are you heading first?"
"Greek-Roman World."
Vitra groaned and rubbed her temples. "You really know how to pick them, don't you?"
David blinked innocently. "What?"
"You've inherited all of your father's bad habits," she muttered.
"I resent that!" Albion's voice cried from the pendant, but both mother and son ignored him effortlessly.
Turning back to his mother, David asked, "Hey, before I go… I wanted to ask you something."
"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked, instantly attentive.
"If I were to accidentally offend one of the Greek gods… what's the best course of action?"
Vitra's eyes narrowed, and her tone became deadly serious. "There are only two options: kill them—or run away from their world as fast as you can."
David blinked.
"They're one of the most sadistic, arrogant pantheons out there. And they're completely unreasonable," she said with a sigh. "Never try to negotiate if you've crossed them. It won't end well."
David swallowed. That answer painted a pretty grim picture of what he was walking into—but he'd asked for honesty, and his mother always delivered.
"Got it," he nodded. "Then… I guess I'm off."
He stepped forward and gave his mother a tight hug. She held him close, reluctant to let go.
"Be safe, my little hatchling," she whispered, brushing his hair aside.
David stepped back, took a deep breath—and began his transformation.
His human skin began to shimmer, then peel away in flickering waves of magic. His body expanded, limbs stretching and warping. His neck elongated, mouth lengthening into a serpentine snout. Black, mist-like wings sprouted from his back, while his hands morphed into deadly claws capable of shredding through solid steel. A long, flexible tail uncoiled behind him. His scales were obsidian-black, while his underbelly remained stark white. Heavy chains forged from magical alloy wrapped around parts of his body like armor. Around his neck, the pendant that housed Albion gleamed with faint light.
With a final shudder, the transformation was complete.
David—the young dragon prince—beat his wings and soared into the sky, casting a shadow over the vast lands of the Asura Empire.
Within hours, he reached the shimmering rift at the edge of the empire—one of the ancient stations between worlds.
David landed with a heavy thud in front of the interworld station, his wings folding neatly behind him before vanishing in wisps of dark mist. The moment his feet touched the ground, he heard Albion's voice echo from the pendant around his neck.
"You really need to work on your flying speed. I would've reached here in seconds if I were in my prime."
David, shifting back into his human form with a faint shimmer, rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Funny—I don't see you flying around anywhere lately."
"Brat," Albion growled, his tone sharp, "if I wasn't trapped in this pendant, I'd beat you senseless for that remark."
David approached the receptionist at the station entrance, still smirking. "Even if you weren't in the pendant, you'd never be able to beat me up."
"Is that a challenge, boy?" Albion's voice surged with the fury of a true dragon.
"Oh, no," David said casually as he reached the receptionist's desk. "That's not a challenge. That's just a fact."
The receptionist—a humanoid woman dressed in a crisp station uniform—blinked, clearly used to such bickering from magical beings. She decided not to comment.
"How may I help you, sir?" she asked with a polite smile.
"I'd like passage to the Greek World," David said confidently.
"Certainly. Please provide your identity certificate and visa."
David reached into a pouch attached to his belt and handed over a glowing crystal tablet inscribed with his credentials. The receptionist took it and began to examine the data within.
"For verification," she said after a moment, "please state your full name, your father's name, and your mother's name."
"My name is Da - uh, Arthur."he corrected quickly, clearing his throat. "My father's name is Uther. My mother's name is Meena."
There was a brief pause from Albion in the pendant, who grumbled, " at least you could have used a better name for me."
David ignored him.
"Reason for visiting the Greek World?" the receptionist asked, typing the information into her system.
"Coming-of-age pilgrimage," David replied.
The receptionist nodded. Everything matched the information stored in the magical registry, including his multi-world visa permits.
"Everything checks out, sir," she said with a smile. "To reach your transport, head to the right, then take the first left. You'll see a boarding vessel called Winged Horse. That ship will take you to the Greek World. Please board before departure, and have a safe journey."
"Thanks for the help," David said with a grateful nod. He waved to her casually before walking in the direction she'd indicated.
David boarded the Winged Horse and made his way to the first-class cabin. The interior was luxuriously furnished, with velvet-lined seats, enchanted lanterns hovering above, and a panoramic window beside him that offered a perfect view of the cosmos beyond.
As the ship prepared for launch, a graceful hostess entered the first-class compartment. She wore a formal uniform adorned with glowing sigils that identified her as an official of the Interworld Transit Authority.
"Welcome, esteemed passengers," she began, her voice clear and authoritative. "Please listen carefully to the following safety protocol. For the duration of this journey, all passengers are strictly prohibited from using their powers or transforming into their mythological forms. All must remain in humanoid state while aboard the vessel. Violating these rules will result in immediate removal and penal consequences. Thank you, and enjoy your journey."
With a polite bow, she left the cabin.
Moments later, the ship hummed with energy as ancient runes along its hull activated. A low, thunderous vibration coursed through the vessel as it approached the Universal Gate—an ancient construct built by the combined will of countless pantheons, allowing for instantaneous travel across dimensions.
With a flash of light, the ship passed through the gate.
In a matter of seconds, they had exited David's home universe.
David leaned closer to the crystal-clear windowpane of the Winged Horse, his eyes locked on the breathtaking sight outside. As the ship soared through the cosmic sea, one universe stood out among all the others—his own. And in that moment, for the first time since he left home, David truly saw it.
The Universe of the Hindu Pantheon.
It did not resemble the cold, lifeless galaxies of science fiction tales, nor the spiraling arms of modern starmaps. No—his universe unfolded like a divine lotus, each petal wide enough to cradle countless star systems. It pulsed with warmth, color, and purpose, its shape bound not by physics, but by cosmic truth.
At its heart stood a golden axis—Mount Meru—the pillar that connected every realm of existence. Its peak vanished into the eternal sky of Svarga Loka, home of the gods, while its roots plunged deep into the underworlds of Patala. Around it, seven concentric continents floated like sacred mandalas, each surrounded by oceans of mystic energy. Jambudvipa, Krauncha, Kusha, Plaksha—names David had read in ancient texts, now sprawled before him in terrifying grandeur.
The rivers that coiled through this universe weren't simple water—they were divine flows of consciousness. Ganga, descending from Shiva's matted locks. Yamuna, calm and silver, gliding like a dream through dimensions. Saraswati, hidden to most, shining only to the wise.
In the distance, he saw the radiant chariot of Surya, the Sun God, pulled by seven ethereal horses, blazing a trail of fire and day. Chandra, the Moon Deity, drifted past like a silver crown. Indra's thunderbolts split the skies, not as weather, but as declarations of celestial war. Everything within the universe was alive—conscious—divine.
Above all, time itself flowed not as a fixed force, but as a being. Kāla—the God of Time—stretched his influence across every plane, weaving the dance of life, death, and rebirth into an endless cycle. And watching over all were the Trimurti—Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, Shiva the Destroyer. The three forces that kept reality spinning like a wheel on the verge of transformation.
But even they were not the end.
Beyond Mount Meru, farther than any eye could see, floated realms untouched by karma and desire—Vaikuntha, where Vishnu resided in eternal peace; Kailasha, the cold, sacred mountain where Shiva meditated; and above them all, the realm of Parabrahman, where form, gender, and even thought ceased to exist. The Absolute. The source.
From this distance, the Hindu Universe radiated a divine aura that no other realm could match. It was a symphony, an eternal chant, a breathing god. The other universes they passed—some shaped like trees, others like towers or mirrored domes—were beautiful, yes, but they felt younger. Less complete.
His world felt ancient. Sacred. Alive.
Even Albion, for once, remained silent in the pendant.
As the ship turned toward the Greek World and began its descent, David continued staring at the fading form of his home universe—not just as a place he was from, but as a force that shaped who he was.
And in his chest, somewhere deep beneath the excitement and bravado, stirred something older.
Something divine.
As the Winged Horse broke free from the dimensional stream and slowed its descent, David's gaze was immediately drawn to the world unfurling below.
The Greek World.
At first, he couldn't understand what he was seeing.
The sky wasn't open space—it was curved like the inside of a colossal dome. Stars were scattered across it like polished gems, but they shimmered unnaturally, glowing with divine fire rather than distant light. Columns of gold and white marble pierced the clouds like titanic towers, holding up bridges made of light, stretched between mountaintops and temples.
And then he saw him.
A giant.
No, not merely a giant. A Titan.
There, standing at the very edge of the Greek universe, was a figure of incomprehensible size and sorrowful majesty. His muscles were carved like mountain ranges, his skin glowed faintly with divine aura, and his arms—bent, strained, eternal—held aloft the very heavens.
"Atlas…" David whispered.
The stories hadn't lied. He wasn't a metaphor. He was real. A being punished to bear the sky forever, shoulders trembling not from weakness, but from the unending burden of divine command.
"I thought that story was just myth…" David muttered, half to himself.
"Most myths," Albion said quietly from the pendant, "begin with truth. The Greeks just leave in more poetry."
The ship began weaving through the sky, and as it passed the outer edges of the atmosphere, more of the Greek World revealed itself. It was a realm of contrast—harsh cliffs and tranquil valleys, raging oceans and sun-kissed islands. Cities of white stone sprawled across mountainsides, crowned with temples that hummed with divine presence.
Mount Olympus rose from the earth like a stairway into the clouds. It wasn't just a mountain—it was a seat of power, alive with godly energy. Lightning crackled endlessly above its peak, no doubt from Zeus himself. Shadows passed between temples as Apollo rode the chariot of the sun, and Artemis hunted through sacred forests cloaked in mist. The seas churned with Poseidon's moods, and war banners could be seen fluttering far off near what had to be Ares' domain.
And in the underlayers—hidden beneath illusion and pride—David could feel something older. Darker. The faded power of Titans. The whisper of Hades. The edge of Tartarus.
Unlike his home, where power flowed in balance and divine order, the Greek World felt tense—like a kingdom of gods too proud to share their thrones.
"Feels… different," David murmured.
"Because it is," Albion said, voice more serious now. "The Greeks are passionate, proud, and possessive. Gods, heroes, monsters—they're all wrapped in glory and grudges. Be careful with your words here, boy. They remember every slight."
David didn't reply. His eyes were still locked on Atlas, who remained unmoving beneath the crushing sky.
What kind of gods create a punishment like that?
The ship began its final descent, approaching a grand port floating on an island suspended in the clouds. Dozens of other vessels docked here, their passengers filtered through golden checkpoints manned by bronze-clad guards—automata, no doubt, powered by Hephaestus' forge.
David sat back in his seat, fingers brushing the pendant around his neck.
He had crossed into another myth. Another world. And while the Hindu Universe had felt like home—timeless and nurturing—this place felt sharp-edged. Alive with pride. Ready to test him.
And he would not be found wanting.