White.
That was the first thing Ron saw.
No sky. No ground. No sound. Just an endless white void stretching in every direction. He stood alone, barefoot, his breath shallow, his chest tight as if the air itself resisted him.
"Hello?" Ron tried to speak.
No voice came out.
The white began to darken.
Clouds gathered above him, heavy and slow, folding into one another as the world shifted. The air thickened, pressing down on his shoulders. Then—
A presence.
Ron's body froze.
From the clouds emerged a colossal silhouette. Scales darker than night, eyes like burning embers, and behind it—eleven tails, each one moving as if alive, each ending in a distorted shape that resembled a face frozen in silent rage.
A dragon.
Not summoned.
Not called.
Simply there.
Ron's knees trembled. He tried to move, but his body refused to obey.
The dragon lowered its massive head, eyes locking onto him.
"So," a voice echoed—not through sound, but straight into his mind, "you are the one who used that technique."
Ron wanted to answer. His mouth opened—
Nothing.
"I have no need for the weak," the dragon continued, its gaze merciless. "If you wish to stand before me…"
The clouds split apart.
"…then prove yourself."
The ground vanished.
Ron fell.
Wind tore past him as the white swallowed everything again. From above, the dragon's tails descended, stretching unnaturally, wrapping around the empty space like hunting serpents. One of them lunged toward him, its shadow swallowing his body whole—
"Ron!"
His eyes snapped open.
He gasped, sitting upright, his entire body drenched in sweat. His chest burned, heart pounding violently against his ribs.
"Ron—Ron! Look at me."
Maria's voice shook as she pressed her palm against his forehead. "He's burning up."
Fark stood beside the bed, his jaw tight. "I'll get a doctor. Now."
Ron tried to speak, but his throat was dry. The world felt strange—too sharp. He could hear the creaking of wood outside, the distant footsteps of someone passing the house, even the faint rustling of leaves beyond the window.
Everything felt… close.
The doctor arrived quickly. After a brief examination, he straightened and sighed.
"It's just a fever," he said. "High, but nothing dangerous. Let him rest."
Maria exhaled in relief. "Thank you."
After the doctor left, she sat beside Ron, brushing damp hair away from his forehead.
"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked softly.
Ron hesitated.
The dragon's eyes burned behind his thoughts.
"…No, Mom," he said.
She smiled gently. "Good. You scared me."
Ron swallowed. His body felt light—too light. His senses hadn't dulled at all.
That night, Maria teased him, pulling the blanket closer. "Want to sleep with your mom?"
Ron turned away, embarrassed. "M-Mom! I'm grown up now!"
Her laughter followed him as he settled back into bed.
But sleep didn't come easily.
The next morning, Ron sat at the dining table, staring at his food.
The dream replayed again and again.
Prove yourself.
"Hey," Fark said, snapping his fingers in front of Ron's face. "Eat."
Ron blinked. "Ah—sorry."
"You're staying home today," Fark added. "No training."
"I'm fine," Ron said quickly. "Really."
Fark studied him for a long moment before sighing. "After lunch. Light training only."
Ron nodded eagerly.
Later, alone in the backyard, Ron moved through familiar drills. But something was different.
His steps were faster.
His balance sharper.
When he swung the wooden spear, it felt lighter—as if it responded before he fully decided to move. His eyes caught things he would've missed before. A shifting shadow. A fluttering bird far beyond the fence.
Then—
A sound.
Faint. Distant.
Ron froze.
It wasn't normal. Not wind. Not footsteps.
A low, uneven growl.
Curiosity pulled at him before caution could stop him. He followed the sound, moving past the yard, past the familiar path—
Into the forest.
The air changed immediately. Thicker. Heavier.
Then he heard it.
"Help!"
Ron's heart skipped.
He rushed forward and saw them—two children backed against a fallen tree, their faces pale with terror.
Between them and escape stood a creature with matted fur, foam dripping from its mouth, eyes wild and unfocused.
A mutamal dog.
Ron's breath caught.
The beast growled, circling, its movements erratic and unnatural.
"What the hell…" Ron whispered.
The children trembled, unable to move.
Ron grabbed a metal rod lying nearby—rusted, but solid—and stepped forward.
"Hey!" he shouted. "I'm here! Come at me!"
The dog's head snapped toward him.
"Run!" Ron yelled over his shoulder. "Both of you—now!"
They hesitated.
"RUN!"
The beast lunged.
Ron barely dodged, the force of its movement ripping past him. His heart pounded. I need to tell Dad—
The dog circled faster now, its growls rising in pitch. The sound pierced Ron's ears, stabbing pain through his head.
"Go!" Ron shouted again.
The children finally moved, stumbling away.
The dog turned.
Straight at Ron.
It charged.
Ron tried to move—
Too slow.
Pain exploded in his head. His vision blurred. Every sound became unbearable, drilling into his skull. He dropped to one knee, clutching his head.
No… not now…
A surge ripped through his body.
Heat.
Pressure.
Something ancient stirred deep within him.
Ron's breathing slowed.
His eyes lifted.
The world sharpened.
The dog froze mid-step.
Ron stood.
His hair fluttered despite the still air. A strange pattern flickered within his pupils—cold, distant, emotionless. For a moment, behind his gaze, something else looked out.
Something vast.
Something watching.
Ron raised the metal rod.
His voice came out calm. Too calm.
"First Biggining…"
Far above, unseen, a shadow of dragon eyes opened.
And the forest trembled.
CHAPTER END