"What the hell—where did you send me?!"
Damian Thorne looked up. The sky above was like a black cloth soaked in smoke, heavy and suffocating. The ground beneath his feet was scorched and cracked, littered with black ashes that drifted in the air like burned paper offerings, carrying a pungent mix of sulfur and salt.
He turned around. Not far behind him lay the coast. A shattered ship, snapped clean in half, was wedged into the tidal flat—its splintered hull jutting out like the ribs of a colossal beast.
"Is that… a surface-to-air missile?" Damian raised an internationally recognized gesture toward the sunless dome above.
Just seconds ago, he had been in a hotel suite on the thirtieth floor, freshly changed into silk pajamas, when a garbled voice suddenly echoed in his mind:
"Young man, it's time to hit the road."
The next instant, a hot pink dump truck had smashed through the floor-to-ceiling window.
And now, he was here.
---
[Mission Issued · Valyrian Second Empire: Reunite the continent of Essos under one name.]
Cold blue text appeared directly in his vision.
[Name: Damian Thorne]
[Physique: 5]
[Spirit: 5]
[Normal Adult Attributes: 5]
[Talents: Practice Makes Perfect, Emotional Contagion]
[Skills: Combat (Mastery), Sleep (Mastery), Wilderness Survival (Beginner)...]
Beginner, Proficient, Mastery, Grandmaster, Paragon.
[Current World: A Song of Ice and Fire]
---
Damian stared at the mission prompt, then glanced down at his stats.
The system, he decided, had definitely been hit in the head.
"How generous… sending an ordinary man like me to build a damn empire in this wasteland?" he muttered. It didn't sound like a joke. It sounded like a death sentence.
[First Mission Reward Granted: "He is Dragon." Dragon Abilities, World Language Mastery. Do you accept?]
"Accept," Damian said instantly. He looked at the glowing prompt like a drowning man clutching driftwood. "Come on, system. Let's see what you've got."
At once, a surge of searing energy exploded from his chest.
A scorching current rushed through his veins to every corner of his body. Crimson patterns like molten lava spread beneath his skin. The pain was so sharp it made his vision blur, his teeth clench, and a guttural growl escaped his throat. At the same time, fragmented, ancient memories flooded his mind—an inheritance belonging to a race of dragons from another world.
[Reception complete.]
Damian clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked like snapping wood. His once-expensive silk pajamas had already turned to ash under the heat radiating from his body.
His status refreshed before his eyes:
[Name: Damian Thorne]
[Physique: 8]
[Spirit: 10]
[Talents: Practice Makes Perfect, Emotional Contagion, Dragon Incarnate, Storm Control]
[Skills: Flight (Grandmaster), Airflow Control (Mastery), Flame Control (Mastery), Fishing (Mastery), Combat (Mastery), Sleep (Mastery), Wilderness Survival (Beginner)...]
---
He tried activating the strange power swirling within his heart.
The crimson patterns flared again, expanding wildly. His bones popped and creaked as his body twisted and reshaped itself. Muscles swelled. Scales sprouted. The ground trembled.
A colossal creature rose from the earth—its shadow blanketing the scorched land.
A dragon. A massive, bipedal dragon nearly thirty meters long, its wings spanning more than seventy.
Through Damian's new eyes, the world had changed. The air was no longer invisible—it shimmered with currents and threads that he could sense and command. The moment he thought of flying, the air obeyed, gathering beneath his wings to lift him.
He followed instinct, pressing his enormous wings downward.
Whoosh—
In a single motion, he launched himself skyward, leaving the cracked earth behind.
The black dragon soared in an elegant arc across the wasteland. His first few movements were clumsy, but the inherited instincts of the Dragon Race swiftly took over. Banking, diving, gliding, and looping—each motion grew smoother, every adjustment more precise.
Then he saw it.
Far in the distance, surrounded by jagged volcanic peaks, lay a ruined city—its once-magnificent towers buried beneath black ash. Through the thick smoke, faint red light pulsed from the molten peaks.
The Fourteen Flames.
Valyria.
Damian immediately recognized the legendary ruins. Adjusting his course, he channeled the air currents for thrust, shooting forward like a black arrow across the sky.
---
As he passed over a steaming bay, nearing the desolate city-state, an instinctive chill ran down his spine. His blood screamed a warning.
He snapped his wings open, shooting upward just as a fiery-red molten ball screamed past, tearing through the air and crashing into the bay below. Boiling water erupted skyward in a tower of steam.
Damian's eyes narrowed.
On the ground, a monstrous worm-like creature was emerging from the scorched soil. Its grotesque head resembled that of a dragon—seven-tenths of the shape, but twisted, deformed. Its maw glowed from within as it charged another molten sphere. Crimson eyes locked on him with killing intent.
Firewyrm.
A twisted magical creation of Valyria.
Before he could act, another molten ball hurtled toward him. Damian twisted his massive body and dived sharply, narrowly dodging the blast. His enormous frame carved a jagged, lightning-fast path through the air.
He opened his mouth wide, energy surging up his throat. A thick column of white fire erupted forth, slamming into the Firewyrm below.
The explosion pinned the creature to the ground. The soil around it melted into glass. But the Firewyrm writhed, its magma-like skin glowing red-hot yet refusing to yield. Its body, bred to survive dragonfire, resisted the flames.
Damian halted his attack, hovering mid-air. His pupils contracted sharply.
Fine. If fire wouldn't do it—
He called upon another power.
Airflow control.
The air around him thickened and twisted, folding under his will. Invisible blades of compressed air formed, cutting through the sky. He wove them into the next burst of dragonfire, merging heat and pressure into a single devastating strike.
The result was immediate.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
A string of chain explosions thundered across the wasteland, shaking the cracked ground.
When the smoke cleared, the Firewyrm lay split in half, its charred body leaking molten blood.
Damian descended, his claws sinking deep into the blackened earth. He nudged the corpse. The creature's insides still pulsed with heat, a grotesque mix of flesh and magma. Apart from the maw full of jagged teeth, its head looked frighteningly close to a dragon's.
Then the ground trembled again—deep, rhythmic, and approaching fast.
Something massive was moving below.
Damian's instincts screamed. He beat his wings hard, rising vertically.
A second later, the ground where he had stood caved in. Seven enormous Firewyrms burst out from below, their glowing maws tilting toward him in unison.
"Seven? Seriously?"
Before he could maneuver, dozens of molten projectiles launched skyward, tracing fiery arcs toward him.
A web of death.
"How rude—spitting without invitation."
At that same moment, a strange humming reached him from afar. The air itself seemed to vibrate. Countless wingbeats—creatures approaching fast.
Damian gritted his teeth. "Yeah, this place is worse than a nightmare."
He rolled his massive body midair, slipping through the fiery barrage, then unleashed the full power of airflow propulsion. With a thunderous flap, he shot away like a missile, retreating in the direction he had come.
For five long minutes, he flew at full speed, until the winds around him no longer carried warnings of danger. Only then did he slow, gliding through the smoky sky.
"Valyria Island…" he murmured. "First, I need people. Figure out the time period. Then—plan."
Determining his direction, he turned away from the volcanic chain, wings slicing through the air. He shot off toward the distant horizon—toward Slaver's Bay.
---
Far below, a battle had just ended.
Leonor's merchant ship floated among debris and corpses. He stood at the bow with his hands on his hips, watching as his men chained the surviving pirates. The sea breeze carried the metallic tang of blood and salt.
"Bastards! You damned pirates!" one of the captives spat, struggling against his bonds. "You black-hearted—ah!"
Leonor's grizzled first mate, known as Old Blind Man, withdrew his dagger from the prisoner's mouth, wiping the blade on the man's shirt without emotion. Adjusting his crooked eyepatch, he flashed a yellow-toothed grin.
"Captain, this batch is better than the last. We'll get a fine price."
Up on the mast, the lookout swept the horizon with his telescope.
"All clear… wait—what's that? A glowing bird?"
Far in the distance, a small black dot glimmered against the gray clouds. It grew rapidly larger, glowing faintly with a crimson hue.
---
Damian spotted the two ships below, clearly fresh from battle. His heart lifted.
"Finally, living people," he muttered. "Airflow acceleration—three thousand RPM!"
He folded his wings slightly, diving like a black streak of light toward the sea.
The lookout squinted, then froze. His telescope clattered to the deck as he screamed:
"Captain! A dragon! It's a dragon—it's flying straight for us!"
Leonor frowned. "Don't talk nonsense! No one drinks on lookout duty, you know the rule—"
Before he could finish, a violent gust slammed into the ship. The sails whipped violently, and the vessel lurched sideways.
Leonor instinctively looked up.
A colossal black shadow tore through the clouds, diving straight toward them. The pressure from its wings rippled across the sea, carving twin troughs into the waves.
Every man on deck—pirates, sailors, and slaves alike—froze in place. Heads tilted upward. Eyes widened in disbelief.
Above them, blotting out the dim sun, a black dragon descended from the sky.
---