It was the next day.
While waiting for his dungeon pass, Caspian decided to explore the city—something he had planned to do since yesterday.
His mother had been quick to act.
Measurements were taken that very night, and by morning, an entirely new wardrobe awaited him.
Dressed in fresh black attire, a long trench coat draped over his shoulders, Caspian walked through the streets of Strix-Okar.
His appearance—and his unmistakable status as a noble dragon—drew curious gazes. Some were admiring. Others were fearful.
Given how commoners were treated by certain nobles within the empire, the reaction was understandable. Many nobles viewed commoners as inferior—weaker, economically dependent, and expendable.
The streets were paved with smooth slate, buildings straight from fantasy rising in neat, orderly rows. The city was meticulously planned and immaculately maintained, every structure quietly displaying the dragon race's wealth and power.
As the capital, Strix-Okar served as a symbol of the empire.
Yet it wasn't uniquely privileged—this level of development extended throughout dragon territory.
The city was surprisingly modern in its own way. Sewage systems ran beneath the streets. Homes were equipped with baths, toilets, and running water.
Carriages rolled past, drawn by domesticated beasts. Music from bards drifted from inns lining the roads toward the commercial district.
Caspian wandered without purpose.
No destination. No obligation.
For the first time since awakening, he allowed himself to simply exist in this new world—to slow down, knowing he might not have another chance like this for a long while.
As he entered the commercial district, a quaint bookshop caught his eye.
Back on Earth, he had been an avid reader.
On a whim, he approached.
Then he heard raised voices.
A commotion.
A meeting—one that would change his life—was already unfolding.
My mother and father owned this bookshop.
I grew up here. The living space was upstairs—small, but warm and comfortable.
As a little girl, I used to sneak down and pull books from the shelves, losing myself in their stories until my father noticed one missing during inventory.
I still remember the way he looked at me—caught between scolding and surrender.
He would ruffle my hair and whisper,"Don't tell your mother I let you off so easily."
We'd laugh quietly, imagining her reaction. She was strict but fair, a stickler for rules—everything my father wasn't.
How they married without constant arguments, I'll never know.
As I grew older, I learned how cruel the world truly was.
It started when my parents began teaching me the business. Whenever a noble entered the shop, they changed.
Smiles became forced. Voices softened. Pride vanished.
Even if the noble bought nothing, my parents acted almost sycophantic—a survival instinct commoners learned when facing those with power.
Nobles owned the land. They controlled protection, wealth, and access to spellbooks and resources. Their children inherited powerful bloodlines.
We inherited fear.
Then tragedy struck.
When I was old enough to take on more responsibility in the shop, a group of young noble dragons arrived.
They treated the place like it belonged to them.
They spoke harshly. They touched without permission.
They tried to assault my mother—and me.
My father snapped.
He attacked one of them.
It cost him his life.
They killed him like an animal, laughing as they did it.
I screamed. I begged.
They didn't care.
They killed my mother next—her only crime was touching them while trying to save him.
They left their bodies in a pool of blood.
"Good entertainment," they said as they walked out."We'll be back for you when we're bored."
And they were.
They returned again and again—extortion, destruction, harassment.
They shattered books. They shattered peace.
They shattered me.
I buried myself in stories—knights, heroes, tales of justice and compassion. I wanted to believe in goodness.
My parents never wanted me to become bitter.
But standing before those same nobles now…
I find it hard not to despise them.