Kidora initially wriggled and squirmed, clearly displeased by being moved. But it didn't take long for her to settle into the warmth and security of Rayder's arms. Her three tiny heads drooped, and before long, soft, rhythmic snores signaled that she was sound asleep, exuding a peaceful serenity.
Rayder glanced down at the sleeping creature and felt a deep sense of contentment well up inside him.
Infinite time.
A bloodline that rivaled the gods.
A mount—no, two mounts—that followed his every command.
What else in the world could be impossible now?
"Hey, Yigen! Let's go! Today's goal—twenty Sandworms at least!"
He called out confidently to Red Dragon Egon below, who was still struggling to take off. The old dragon flapped his massive wings, each movement slow and labored, finally managing to get off the ground. Rayder's voice echoed through the ruins, filled with playful arrogance.
Yigen's response was less enthusiastic.
He glanced sideways at Im, who soared effortlessly through the skies like an arrow, then twitched his long dragon tail in visible annoyance. The effort of each wingbeat was obvious—his flames dimmer, his breath heavier. Age had not been kind.
Still, Egon said nothing, choosing instead to obey.
He flapped his wings with determination, rising clumsily but steadily into the air, following behind Rayder and Im as they embarked on this new, deadly journey—a hunt like no other.
---
As the two massive dragons took to the skies, the Valyria Ruins below darkened under their looming shadows. Then came the inferno.
Two dragon flames—one black and one red—descended like divine retribution. Where the flames passed, rock melted into slag, vegetation turned to ash, and any form of life unlucky enough to exist was instantly reduced to cinders.
Valyria was already a dead land, but under Rayder's command, it became hell itself.
Hovering mid-air, he looked like a warlord from legends. His fingers danced over the translucent interface of his floating system panel, guiding the dragons with practiced efficiency. His eyes were cold and sharp, scanning every crevice and shadow for the elusive Sandworms.
Black Dragon Im was the spear—fast, agile, always on the move. He darted low across the ground like a phantom, his occasional Dragon Breath stirring the earth and luring hidden Sandworms out of their nests.
Red Dragon Egon was the hammer—slower, heavier, and far more destructive. Flying at a slightly higher altitude, he acted as an aerial fortress, raining down wide arcs of sustained Dragon Flame. His fire wasn't fast, but it was relentless, cutting off all routes of escape for their prey.
The strategy was simple but devastating.
Im would provoke.
Yigen would suppress.
And under Rayder's orders, the hunt would unfold like a choreographed massacre.
At first, the coordination between the two dragons was rough. Egon's fire nearly singed Im once or twice, and Im's sudden dives caught Egon off guard. Rayder had to shout several times to prevent friendly fire.
But dragons, like wolves, learn fast.
Within a day, the rhythm was established. Im learned the safe approach angles. Egon adjusted his flames to maximize area control without risking his comrade.
Then it became smooth, almost beautiful in its violence.
Im would charge—wings tucked, jaws wide. Sandworms would rear up in surprise. Egon would rain fire from above, blocking escape. Im would strike with a bite powerful enough to crush steel.
One by one, the Sandworms fell.
Their armored hides meant nothing under coordinated dragon assault. Once bitten, they stood no chance. The Dragon Flame that followed was merely a final mercy.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, dyeing the sky in streaks of orange and crimson, Rayder was counting his kills.
Twenty-seven Sandworms.
He grinned, white teeth flashing, and clapped his hands in satisfaction.
"Excellent! Fifty-four Evolution Points in the bag!"
It was far better than he had expected. Months ago, he had believed that gathering ten thousand Evolution Points would take years, and possibly even cost his life. He had doubted whether it could be done.
Now, with two dragons under his command and the right tactics in place, the goal seemed not only achievable—but inevitable.
He reached over and patted the side of Red Dragon Egon's thick neck.
"You did good, kid. See? I made the right call taking you in."
Yigen rolled his massive eyes, then grunted in Dragon Tongue—something along the lines of "My wings are going to fall off, and this brat is bragging again."
But Rayder didn't care. He was too high on success to bother with Yigen's grumbles. The number ten thousand no longer felt like a mountain. It felt like a path. A long one, yes, but one he could walk—and conquer.
---
Half a year passed.
Time slipped by like grains of sand beneath a dragon's claw, melted by Dragon Flame and carried away by the wind.
Rayder and his two dragons had fully adapted to their brutal routine. Every morning at dawn, before the first sunlight reached the charred ruins of Valyria, they would rise.
Three shadows would take to the sky—one human, two dragons. A black comet. A red meteor. A flame-bathed warlord.
By day, they were merciless hunters. They scoured the cracked land and twisted wreckage, hunting anything that moved—Sandworms, giant lizards, mutated crocodiles, wild dogs, even insect swarms.
If it lived, it could be hunted.
If it died, it gave points.
And Rayder needed every single one.
No prey escaped the three-headed storm.
Black Dragon Im, swift and precise, was now lethal with surgical accuracy. His flight was like shadow—silent, sharp, and sudden.
Red Dragon Egon, despite his aging frame, had found new vigor. He no longer flailed to stay airborne; he had adapted. He moved slower, but struck harder, like a moving volcano.
Together, they had become something terrifying.
By nightfall, they returned to their lair—a crude but functional shelter carved into the side of a shattered obsidian cliff. There, Rayder would tend to minor wounds, feed the dragons, and tally the day's spoils.
Each kill was a point.
Each point was a step toward power.
And Rayder had begun to hoard them like gold.
But points weren't all he hunted.
The Valyria Ruins, ancient capital of dragons and sorcery, was more than just a wasteland. Beneath its scorched soil and toppled towers, relics still slept—remnants of an age when magic ruled and dragons soared as kings.
Rayder had become more than a hunter. He was a scavenger, a treasure-seeker, a relic-explorer. He had the dragons dig through buried vaults with their claws, melt stone blocks with fire, and clear collapsed chambers with brute force.
Among the ruins, he found strange things—shattered dragon eggs, rune-engraved stones, bones that glowed faintly under moonlight, and even a broken staff that hummed when Kidora touched it.
Each discovery was documented. Catalogued. Stored in his ever-expanding storage space. He wasn't sure what many of them were, but he knew they were valuable.
The ruins whispered secrets, and Rayder was determined to uncover every one.
---
At the end of that half-year, Rayder stood atop a crumbling tower, looking out over the landscape.
Where once there was shadow and fear, now stood certainty and dominance. The sky was his. The land was his. Time was his ally, not his enemy.
He glanced down at Kidora, now nearly two meters long, her wings beginning to unfurl with purpose. The juvenile stage had strengthened her significantly. One of her heads yawned lazily; the others were already scanning the horizon instinctively.
He smiled. "Not long now, my queen. Not long at all."
From behind him, Im let out a soft growl—ever alert.
Yigen exhaled smoke, grumbling from exhaustion.
Rayder stretched his arms to the sky, wind rippling through his hair.
The hunt was far from over. But now, for the first time, it felt like victory was not just possible—it was inevitable.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)