Two years of the Outer Region had stripped the boy named Kyle away, leaving only a shadow of flesh and bone.
At twelve years old, his appearance had shifted into something haunting. His hair was as black as the obsidian he mined, falling in jagged strands over eyes that had turned into bottomless pits of dark ink. He was no longer the soft orphan of the Inner Region; he was a creature of the mud.
But even iron has a breaking point.
After six months of the most brutal labor—hauling massive iron plows and breathing the toxic, mana-starved ash of the Wastes—Kyle's body finally buckled. Under the scorching noon sun, with an Overseer's whip cracking in the distance, his heart gave a final, erratic thudder.
He collapsed into the dirt. His lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. As his vision faded to gray, he felt the cold metal of the pendant against his chest go searingly hot.
Kyle blinked. The mud was gone. The heat was gone.
He was standing in an endless, shimmering Blank Space. There was no floor, no ceiling—only a vast, pearlescent emptiness that stretched for eternity.
"Am I... dead?" Kyle whispered. His voice didn't crack; it echoed.
He turned, searching the void, and then he saw it.
His breath hitched. Emerging from the white mist was a creature of terrifying majesty. It was a massive Azure Flying Snake, its body miles long, coiling through the air like a living river. Every inch of it was covered in sapphire scales that shimmered with an ancient light. From its head grew two magnificent, spiraling horns that looked like they were carved from moonlight.
Kyle fell to his knees, trembling. The sheer pressure of the creature's presence was heavier than the "Heavy Air" of the mines.
"There is no need to be afraid, little one," the creature spoke. Its voice wasn't a sound, but a vibration that resonated in Kyle's marrow. "I am the soul of the Dragon King, Asteria."
Kyle looked up, his black eyes wide. "The pendant..."
"Yes. This place is the sanctuary within the pendent you wear," Asteria said, its massive head descending until its golden eye, larger than Kyle's entire body, was inches away. "You were dying, Kyle. Your physical vessel reached its limit, so I brought your consciousness here."
The Dragon King circled him, a trail of blue mist following its scales. "I have watched you since the moment of your birth. Because of a promise I made to that person long ago, I have waited. I have waited for the moment your will proved stronger than your blood."
Asteria's voice grew solemn, echoing like thunder.
"I can grant you a path, Kyle. A path to become strong without a single drop of mana. It is the path of the Sole Warrior among Mages. It is a road of agony, of breaking your bones to forge them into steel, and tempering your spirit in fires that would consume a God."
The Dragon's gaze pierced through Kyle's soul.
"It depends entirely on you. You can walk this path and make your weapon reach the highest of the Mages... or you can lie in that mud and be crushed like the livestock they believe you to be."
Asteria leaned closer, the azure scales humming with power.
"What is your answer, Kyle? Do you want this power, or do you choose the peace of the grave?"
Kyle looked at his hands—calloused, bloodied, and trembling. He thought of the High Inquisitor's sneer. He thought of the Overseer's whip. He thought of the children who turned their backs on him.
He didn't hesitate. He looked the Dragon King in the eye and gripped his fists.
"I want it," Kyle rasped, his voice hardening into a blade. "I want to make them look up at me."