Rayder commanded Kidora to use its smaller claws, while Black Dragon Im gently cooperated by lowering its massive head. Working together with great effort, the two dragons managed to pry open Egon's massive jaws.
Without hesitation, Rayder brought his bleeding palm close, letting the warm blood drip into Egon's throat. The blood slid down steadily, its thick, scarlet hue contrasting sharply with the pale interior of the red dragon's mouth.
He stood by silently, watching Egon's status bar, unwilling to miss even the slightest change. Time seemed to stretch painfully, each second feeling like an hour as he waited. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow.
Then finally—just as his patience began to fray—the word "Cursed" on Egon's status bar flickered briefly, and then vanished. In its place appeared the word:
Status: Weakness
A wave of relief washed over Rayder, releasing the tension that had gripped his body like iron chains. He exhaled deeply, a long, shaky breath tinged with the metallic scent of blood. His legs felt weak, but his spirit lightened considerably.
He wiped the blood from his hands and sat beside Egon, staring at the now-sleeping red dragon. Despite its weakened state, Egon's breathing was steady, and the dangerous glimmer of the curse had been driven away—for now.
They had survived the night.
Barely.
Rayder's emotions were a complex mix of exhaustion, relief, and lingering dread. That night had nearly cost him one of his dragons. Worse, it had shown him that the Valyria Ruins held terrors he still didn't fully understand. The sand worms, the cursed black mist, the monstrous creatures emerging under moonlight—it was all far beyond what he thought he had already conquered.
He stood and walked to the mouth of the dragon's lair, where the cold wind of dawn blew gently against his face. Outside, the dark sky was gradually lightening. Rayder gathered dry firewood from the area around the entrance and lit a small bonfire using flint and steel. The orange-red flames danced brightly, driving away the lingering cold of the night.
Then, gripping a still-lit torch, Rayder walked to the edge of Fire Peak's summit. From here, he gazed down upon the vast, ominous ruins stretching into the distance.
The lands below—once familiar, even welcoming in a strange way—were now wrapped in heavy black mist and crawling with those fleshy, unnatural beings. They moved like twisted puppets, shifting and writhing in the dim shadows. Watching them sent a chill down Rayder's spine.
He hurled the torch down with all his strength. It sailed through the air like a fiery comet, momentarily illuminating a section of the ruins below. The firelight briefly revealed the malformed creatures and swirling mist, but the torch soon extinguished, swallowed by darkness once more.
Only then did Rayder relax slightly, knowing the monsters wouldn't dare climb the volcano. The dragons' lair on the summit remained safe—for now. The cursed mist had boundaries it wouldn't yet cross.
The night wind brushed against his cheeks, carrying the scent of sulfur and ash. It cleared the fog from his thoughts and reminded him of his purpose.
After a final, cautious scan of the land below, Rayder returned to the fire, tossed the now-cooled torch into the flames, and dragged his weary body back into the warmth of the lair.
He found a soft spot beside Kidora, who was curled up like a protective wall. Rayder lay down, his body aching from tension and battle. He pulled a dragon-hide blanket over himself and sank into Kidora's soft, leathery side, using the dragon like a living mattress.
As the firelight flickered on the rocky walls and the sound of breathing dragons lulled the cave into peace, Rayder's heavy eyelids finally closed. Sleep, deep and dreamless, claimed him.
---
The next morning arrived gently.
Golden sunlight spilled through the crevices of the lair, illuminating dust motes that danced lazily in the warm air. Rayder stirred beneath the blanket, the scent of sulfur, ash, and dragons filling his nose.
He blinked open his eyes, still caught in the fog of sleep. Groggily, he tried to sit up—but suddenly, something tugged sharply at his hair.
"Hmm?"
He froze, now fully awake. A light pulling sensation came again—someone, or something, was messing with his hair.
Rayder sat up, eyebrows furrowing, and turned toward the culprit.
Kidora lay beneath him, the three-headed dragon as mischievous as ever.
The center head lifted lazily, eyes half-lidded and looking off into the distance as if it hadn't seen anything. Its expression clearly said, "This has nothing to do with me."
To the right, the middle-sized head looked startled, a few of Rayder's hairs still hanging from its mouth. Realizing it had been caught, it hurriedly spat out the strands and retreated under its wing in shame, peeking out with wide, guilty eyes.
It was obvious this head still remembered being bonked on the snout by Rayder last time.
As for the smallest head, Sanlang, it was happily gnawing on something shiny—a metal sword hilt, already chewed and full of bite marks. Oblivious to everything, it just kept munching, eyes gleaming with childlike innocence.
Rayder sighed. He rubbed his tired eyes with one hand while the other, acting on instinct, reached for the right head—Erlang. He grabbed it firmly by the neck and pulled it out from under the wing, forcing it to face him.
"Erlang," Rayder said in a slow, threatening tone. "If you ever try to wake me up by pulling my hair again, I swear I'll grind down every horn on your little head."
Erlang froze. The threat struck like lightning. It visibly trembled, eyes going wide with panic. Its mind raced: But Da Lang told me to wake him up! I'm always the one sent to do the dirty work! Now my horns are in danger?
The head frantically calculated its future strategy: Next time Da Lang makes me do it, maybe I should pretend to sleep? Maybe I should let Sanlang go instead!
Seeing the head's frightened expression, Rayder let out a half-smile and released it. Erlang instantly darted back under the wing, disappearing from view except for two blinking eyes peeking out.
That's when Sanlang, having lost interest in the sword hilt, wandered over. It nudged Rayder gently with its snout, drool-covered and warm, clearly trying to charm him.
Rayder looked down to see his missing sword hilt in Sanlang's mouth.
He patted his waist—it was empty.
With a groan, he realized what had happened.
"You again," he muttered, not sure whether to laugh or scold.
Sanlang rubbed against him more insistently, trying to appear even more adorable, while hiding the evidence in its mouth.
Rayder sighed deeply, placing a hand on the dragon's head. "One day, I really am going to have to properly train all three of you."
The truth was, he had long since learned to distinguish between the three heads. They may have shared a body, but their personalities were completely distinct.
Da Lang (center head) was the oldest and pretended to be dignified, but often shirked responsibility.
Erlang (right head) tried to be obedient but was easily manipulated and bore the brunt of blame.
Sanlang (left head) was childish, innocent, and had an unfortunate obsession with chewing anything shiny.
Together, they were a handful. But they were his handful.
---
Rayder stretched his arms and stood up, surveying the lair. The dragons were all sleeping or resting—Egon curled tightly in the corner, Im breathing heavily, Kidora sprawled out contentedly.
He checked their status one by one using the system panel.
Egon: "Status: Weakness" – no signs of the curse returning.
Im: "Status: Weak" – recovering, but stable.
Kidora: "Status: Good" – full of energy, obviously.
He then checked his own stats:
---
Name: Rayder
Gender: Male
Age: 12 (12 ~ Infinite)
Evolution Points: 7051
Storage Space: 100 cubic meters
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragon King, Dragon Rider, Titan King
Abilities: King's Might, Gravity Ray, Storm Control, Current Manipulation, Super Regeneration
Status: Good
---
Rayder exhaled with relief. The system confirmed it—he was alive, healthy, and recovering.
But he knew the challenges weren't over. The black mist, the monsters, the curse—this land was changing, and fast. The Valyria Ruins were no longer the same domain he had explored for half a year.
They had become something far darker.
Tonight had merely been a warning.
And Rayder knew better than to ignore it.
He looked at his dragons—his family. They had risked everything for him, and he would do the same for them.
He turned back to the bonfire, added more wood, and let it burn brighter.
He had work to do.
Tomorrow, they would begin preparing for war.
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