The mountains stretched endlessly, jagged peaks clawing at the sky. Each step I took left scars in the cold stone, my claws testing surfaces for stability. My dragon instincts screamed constantly—every scent, every vibration in the air a warning.
The mage from before was gone, but her presence lingered. Like a shadow etched into the mountains themselves, I could feel her observation even when she was miles away. I would not underestimate humans again.
Ahead lay a forest of towering rock spires. The air shimmered with latent mana—the kind only ancient dragons left behind. This was territory. Dragon territory. Older, bigger, stronger than anything I had encountered. And I wasn't ready to fight a true apex yet.
But I could learn.
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I crouched low, sliding between jagged stones, studying the energy around me. Mana flows. Predatory signs. Subtle scratches. Broken branches. All hints of life—or death.
And then I smelled it.
Blood. Fresh, pungent. Not human. Dragon.
A young dragon, smaller than most legends described, but still larger than me. Its roar, when it came, vibrated through the mountains, echoing off every cliff. It was asserting dominance, claiming the territory.
I froze. Instinct whispered: retreat.
But curiosity pushed harder.
I moved closer, keeping to shadows, watching. The young dragon was injured—gashes along its flank, scales chipped, breathing uneven. Someone had attacked it. Or it had fought and lost.
I could help. Or I could learn.
Hunger and survival instincts wrestled with reason. I decided observation first. Every twitch of its tail, every flare of its nostrils, taught me about the mechanics of dragon combat.
Then it noticed me. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, scanning, calculating. Not yet aggression. Caution. Respect. Recognition.
I held my position. We stared. Minutes stretched. Then it turned, moving deeper into its territory. I followed, careful not to provoke.
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The forest of stone led to a plateau. Here, the air was thick with residual mana, old enchantments etched into cliffs like scars from ancient wars. I stepped into one circle of runes, feeling the magic brush against me, testing me.
The dragon core pulsed. Weakly at first, then stronger as I adapted. The environment itself was alive. Each step was a lesson: which air currents concealed presence, how mana flows could guide movement, and how territory shapes predator behavior.
I paused. Behind me, a shadow moved. Human? Another mage? My heart beat faster.
No. A predator. Larger. Older. My instincts screamed apex.
I crouched low as it passed. Its wings brushed the wind, too large to measure, too powerful. I recognized immediately: the mountain had its king. Not mine, not yet.
The smaller dragon I had observed earlier emerged again, trailing blood. I realized: it was hunting territory, but not dominance. It avoided the apex. Clever.
I learned.
Every step here, every encounter, every risk expanded my awareness. My dragon core pulsed again, signaling Minor Evolution Upgrade: Enhanced Awareness.
I could feel it—my body reacting, reading the world faster, sensing mana flows, calculating paths of attack and escape instinctively.
The wind changed. A familiar aura. Humans. Strong, deliberate. Not hunters from before—elite, prepared, trained to counter dragons. My tail lashed instinctively. They were far, yet I could feel their intent.
The mage from the ridge? Or another of her kind? Either way, they were closing in.
I clenched my claws. Territory, survival, growth—they were all tests. And every test shaped me closer to something dangerous. Something apex.
The sun began to set behind the mountains, casting long shadows. My silhouette stretched across the plateau. The mountain, the mana, the other dragons, the humans—all of it was a puzzle. And I, the weak dragon who survived hunters and evolved once, was beginning to understand the rules.
Step by step. Breath by breath. Claw by claw.
I was learning the mountain.
I was learning the world.
And I would be ready when the humans came.
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