The forest at night was a realm for hunters. Beneath the silver glow of the moon, every shadow seemed alive, and every rustle in the undergrowth whispered of unseen predators. The air carried a damp, earthy scent — the smell of rotting leaves and old blood — a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked within.
High in the branches of a tall, vibrant tree, a hollow hid two smooth white eggs deep within its heart. The tree's thick canopy shielded them from the harsh winds and the hammering rain, while its sturdy trunk deterred many predators from climbing. Here, far above the forest floor, life had been waiting patiently to begin.
Crack.
A sharp sound split the stillness. One egg trembled, its surface webbed with fine lines. Then another joined it, the shell fracturing as something within pushed, twisted, and clawed its way toward the light.
The shells broke apart. Two tiny white snakes emerged, their scales gleaming faintly in the moonlight like strands of polished jade. Their bodies were so slender that most would have mistaken them for worms, if not for the cold, crystalline sheen of their scales.
One of them blinked — and in its gaze was something rare: thought.
I'm finally born.
From the moment his mind had stirred inside the shell, he had known he was different. He had thought, remembered, and understood before taking his first breath. Now, as his eyes found his sibling, he knew at once that the other was not the same. That gaze was empty, guided only by primal instinct.
In his mind, inherited memories uncoiled like a serpent awakening from sleep. He was no mere snake. He was a demonic beast — a child of the Ourobouros race. His kind rivaled dragons and phoenixes in immortality, their names carved into the annals of the heavens. Dragons were born powerful, their cultivation tied to the purity of their bloodline, while phoenixes possessed an immortal flame from the moment they hatched. The Ourobouros, however, began weak, their bodies as fragile as common hatchlings… but they possessed something far greater — the potential to grow without limit.
A hunger gnawed at him, fierce and insistent. His body knew what it needed. He slithered toward the broken shell and bit down.
Warmth spread through him instantly. The shell's essence — dense with the life force that had once nourished him — surged through his body. Each swallow sent a tingling heat racing along his spine, strengthening muscle and bone.
Ten centimeters. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty.
By the time the last fragment vanished down his throat, he had reached twenty-five centimeters in length.
So this is growth… but it's too slow.
Among his kind, eating was the surest path to power in the early stages. The more he consumed, the sooner he could begin true cultivation. His gaze shifted to his sibling. The other snake lay there, unguarded, still sluggish from its hatching.
A thought stirred within him — cold and certain.
He opened his mouth wide, revealing tiny but needle-sharp fangs, and struck. His teeth sank into soft flesh, and he wrapped his coils around his brother's body. The other snake jerked and writhed, instinct driving it to fight back, but its movements were clumsy.
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth — warm, fresh, and intoxicating. The sensation lit a fire in his belly. He tightened his coils. The struggle grew weaker… until there was none at all.
Piece by piece, he swallowed his brother whole, his throat expanding to accommodate the meal. Each gulp drew in more of that life force, flooding his body with strength.
When nothing remained, he curled into himself, his belly swollen and warm. His breathing slowed as he digested, his mind wandering to the memories of his race.
The newborn stage was the most dangerous. Without strength or cultivation, even an ant could threaten his life. He could not roam recklessly. Not yet.
Still, the forest beyond called to him. He could smell it even from here — the musk of damp earth, the sharp tang of plant sap, the faint, alluring scents of prey.
Eventually, he uncoiled and slipped from the hollow, his body sliding smoothly along the bark.
The world opened before him.
The forest floor was a living sea of shadows, leaves, and moonlight. Each step brought him a flood of scents: the sweet aroma of blooming nightflowers, the dry musk of insects, the faint iron tang of old blood. But one scent stood out above all — wet, rich, and alive. Frogs.
Instinct sharpened his focus. Snakes had their own natural talents, but for a legendary species like him, those senses were heightened beyond normal limits.
He slithered silently toward the source, weaving through roots and fallen branches. Before long, he reached a pond, its surface glinting under the moonlight. The air buzzed with life. Insects hovered lazily over the water. Fat frogs squatted among the reeds, their throats pulsing rhythmically.
Perfect.
His body lowered instinctively, every muscle ready to strike. This place would feed him. This place would make him grow.
Yet a faint vibration in the ground made him pause. Something else was here. Something heavier.
From across the pond, in the shadows of a twisted tree, two golden eyes glimmered. They watched.
The Ourobouros's tongue flickered, tasting the air. The scent was sharp — predator.
His instincts screamed at him to retreat, but another thought burned brighter: I need to grow stronger… fast.
The night was long, and the forest had room for more than one hunter.