Golden arrows pierced the coarse leaves of the Blood Iron trees, striking the dry earth on the slopes of the Dry Bone Mountain. The warmth seeped through Zhūo's ventral scales—his name, if only he knew he could possess a name—was a sensation that penetrated to his fragile, small bones. He was an Eremias argus, a rock lizard, with a pattern of brown and cream that camouflaged him perfectly amongst the gravel and moss. His world was one constructed from vibrations, temperature, scent, and ancient instincts.
From the tip of his snout to the end of his long tail, every part of him was a perfect survival machine. His forked tongue flicked out, capturing molecules of stories in the air: the acidic scent of Steel Moss, the foul odor of fungus on rotting wood, and most importantly, the sweet, greasy smell of a White-Tailed Jingking, a medium-sized insect busily sucking sap from a blade of Thorny Breath grass.
The muscles in Zhūo's hind legs tightened. There was no thought of "prey," only a deep impulse, a program embedded in every fiber of his being. He slid from his sun-warming rock, his movement like a whisper of wind, almost silent on the gravelly ground. One short, sharp leap. His jaws snapped shut. A satisfying "crack" sounded, the chitinous shell shattering between his small yet sharp teeth. A salty, slightly bitter taste flooded his mouth, triggering an automatic series of chewing motions. He swallowed.
Sated, or rather, the impulse subsided for a time, Zhūo returned to his flat rock, stretching out under the sun. The heavenly energy warmed his cold blood, powering his digestive processes. This was his cycle: basking, hunting, evading, basking again. Time was a concept he did not comprehend; there was only light and dark, hot and cold.
Suddenly, without warning, a large shadow swept across the ground. A piercing shriek stabbed into his sensitive ears. A Silver Talon Eagle. Zhūo's instinct screamed louder than anything. Not in words, but in a wave of panic that froze his entire body for a split second before he shot away. He wasn't running from something; he was a living reaction of flight. He tucked himself into a narrow crevice between two large stones, his heart pounding like a tiny war drum within his chest cavity. He remained still, motionless, merging with the shadows, while the eagle circled patiently above, its sharp eyes scouring every inch of ground.
The danger passed. The eagle left in search of less wary prey. Zhūo did not feel "relieved." The tension in his body slowly ebbed, replaced by another impulse: thirst.
The air began to feel heavier, smelling of metal and dampness. The Acid Drizzle would soon arrive. For a creature like him, this rain was dangerous. Its weakly acidic droplets could erode his scales, leaving him vulnerable to infection. He needed to find shelter, and more importantly, he needed to drink without burning himself.
His tongue flicked out again. He caught the trail of cool water vapor, mixed with a strange mineral scent emanating from somewhere further up the slope. The impulse pulled him. He crept, his body flat against the ground, following a path known only to his instinct.
The source was a nearly invisible fissure at the base of a small cliff, hidden behind a curtain of hanging roots from a Blood Iron tree. From the fissure, water droplets fell slowly, dripping into a small, greenish-blue pool. The pool was surrounded by a strange type of moss that emitted a faint glow, Moonlight Moss. Yet, what was more intriguing to Zhūo was the wall behind the dripping water. Embedded within it were small, flake-like crystals, like glass set into the stone, weakly reflecting the moss light. These were Earth Qi Fragments, remnants from an era when the world's energy was richer and wilder, now nearly eroded away.
Zhuo, of course, knew none of this. What he knew was that this place felt... different. The air here felt more "dense" in his primitive lungs, more satisfying to breathe. The taste of the water was different too—fresher, more alive, leaving a strange yet non-painful metallic taste on his tongue.
As he lapped at the dripping water, something else happened. The sky above darkened. Storm clouds rolled. Lightning flashed in the distance, on the mountain peak. A small static electric charge filled the air, making Zhūo's scales stand on end. Then, a larger lightning strike, too far to harm him directly, but close enough to send a shockwave of energy through the mineral-rich mountain rock.
Zaaaaap!
A tiny electrical jolt, almost imperceptible, traveled through the wet stone around the pool, through the water, and through the small body of Zhūo as he drank. It was not a lethal electric shock, but more like a magnified static discharge thousands of times over.
Within his dark, instinct-driven consciousness, a spark ignited.
For an immeasurable fraction of a second, everything stopped. The impulses that usually drove him—hunger, thirst, fear, mating—extinguished. Instead, there was... emptiness. A moment of pure confusion not stemming from any instinct.
Then, the usual wave of sensory information suddenly had... distance. As if something was observing it, rather than being it.
The taste of water on his tongue was no longer merely a "drink" signal. It was... cold, wet. The stone beneath his claws was no longer merely "solid." It was... rough, hard. The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance was no longer merely "danger." It was... loud, vibrating.
The spark faded, almost extinguished. The darkness of instinct began to envelop him again. But its trace remained. An echo.
Within that momentary void, a neural impulse was created, not from survival instinct, but from pure confusion. The impulse echoed through his simple nervous system, a faint and imperfect vibration.
The vibration felt like... a question.
Not in words. But in sensation.
"... Tre... mor...?"
Then, the darkness enveloped him again. Zhūo stood still, frozen, a drop of water still dripping from his snout. His reptilian, button-like eyes stared straight ahead, not truly seeing anything. His instinctual programs began to reboot, restart. The impulse to hide from the impending rain took over.
With a stiff movement, he slipped deeper into the crevice, seeking the warmth and safety of the stone.
But something had changed. However minute. A crack had opened in the purely instinct-led consciousness. A crack that one day, through a journey of thousands of years, would widen enough to allow a mighty dragon's soul to be born.
The Acid Drizzle began to fall, tapping the stones outside with a soft hiss. And in the darkness, a lizard, for the first time, almost felt something akin to fear of the unknown, not merely the instinct to avoid danger.