CHAPTER 1
Two thousand years ago, the world gripped by the duality of magic bore witness to a conflict that would shape its destiny. Humanity was divided into two distinct bloodlines: the high-bloods, masters of magic who claimed superiority, and the low-bloods, possessing no magical abilities, often relegated to a lower status. Amid this societal divide, a war unfolded between the Supreme Angel Azura and the demon Lavedi.
Caught in the crossfire, humans were forced to take up arms against Lavedi's undead army, a twisted legion resurrected by the demon. The Supreme Angel requested the humans for aid, leading to an alliance of low bloods who stood ready to confront the demonic onslaught. However, the high-bloods, reluctant to engage in the conflict, pledged support but secretly conspired to avoid active participation. In this tumultuous time, two brothers among the high bloods defied their kin, choosing to ally with the Supreme Angel and assist in the battle against the demon Lavedi.
These two brothers, driven by a sense of duty and justice, assumed command of the human forces. With unwavering bravery, they faced the demonic horde, exhibiting tactical brilliance that led to the defeat of most of Lavedi's minions. In a climactic showdown, the Supreme Angel herself, supported by the Hell dragon and Heaven dragon, engaged Lavedi and successfully sealed the demon with the assistance of her two sons, Kaveh and Kazem.
While victory was achieved, the cost was staggering. Countless lives were lost, and the Supreme Angel, witnessing the aftermath, felt a profound sorrow and guilt. Convinced of human frailty, she called upon the two brothers and commended them for their valour, kindness, and courage. In gratitude, she summoned two legendary dragons, both of which had fought alongside the humans against Lavedi.
Bestowing upon the brothers the dragons' spirits, the Supreme Angel imbued them with unparalleled power. She then turned her attention to the remaining humans, grateful for their assistance despite having no or very little magical abilities. Offering her own life as the only remaining reward, she ascended into the sky, unleashing eight radiant orbs. These orbs scattered into the atmosphere, and the particles they released infused the humans with control over fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, and shadow. However, the human body could only harness the power of two elements, chosen from the six orbs.
Yet, two orbs remained aloft, untouched by the process and flew up high in the sky. The humans infused with a force in their bodies called "Reiki" were also not very much behind the Dronogas and were thus called "Kaigens". The two brothers, now known as the Dronogas, transcended the limits. Their mastery allowed them to use the Reiki in their body to command all six elements simultaneously, granting them unprecedented power.
The peace the first heaven Dronoga envisioned was achieved all though for not long as the different nations once again fell into the state of war. The High bloods envied and feared the Kaigens, so they went to war with them and relied on something sinister and forbidden, the dark magic. The war ended with almost all the kaigens losing their lives and only a few survived. Seeing all this, The Dronogas, embodiments of both heaven and hell, took charge of the land. The Heaven Dronoga, driven by a vision of equality, sought to create a peaceful coexistence among all beings. Assisted by his descendants known as "Drakiens" who were different from the kaigens as they possessed both Reiki and potent magical prowess, the heaven Dronoga began his efforts for harmony and peace.
Conversely, the Hell Dronoga, along with his five sons famously known as the five Drakiens of death, took a more brutal approach. They extinguished all of the high bloods, believing that power alone could bring peace. The spirit of the hell dragon, it was said, transformed the Hell Dronoga into a monstrous being. In a tragic confrontation, the Heaven Dronoga was forced to confront his own brother, resulting in a fierce battle that ultimately saw the demise of the Hell Dronoga. However, the Heaven Dronoga, too, died soon after due to an illness.
Years passed, and one of the descendants of the Hell Dronoga inherited the powers of the Heaven Dronoga proving that this power would remain among their own bloodlines. Many Dronoga came over the years, and the bloodline grew big too with the descendants scattering all over the world thus Dronogas rising one after the other in different nations. As for the spirit of the Hell dragon, no descendant ever of the heaven or hell Dronoga inherited those powers over the years and it was believed that angry over his defeat the Hell dragon decided to never bestow his powers on the humans again.
Unfortunately, history has a way of repeating itself and in the present day, echoes of the past reverberated in this society marred by divisions. Humans without magical abilities or Reiki find themselves at the bottom rung. Above them are individuals with Reiki known as the descendants of the surviving Kaigens, referred to disdainfully as Low bloods. A select few, recognized as Royal bloods or the Drakiens, claim direct lineage to the Dronoga brothers. These Royal bloods excel in both magic and possess potent Reiki. Within the Royal bloods, the occasional emergence of a Dronoga reinforces their sense of superiority. This world divided into ten great nations is still at the brink of war as the scales of power among these nations fluctuate and the nation with the most power tends to dominate others.
In the venerable halls of Daten-shi academy, Grand Master Hirorama Wulto, adorned in traditional attire with a robe bearing five stars on its shoulder, sat among a group of children. With his long, flowing white hair, he began narrating the rich tapestry of the Dronogas to the attentive youngsters.
The Grand Master's voice carried the weight of history as he unfolded the tale of the Dronogas. As the story concluded, a young boy, captivated by the narrative, dared to question the Grand Master. "Where is the Heaven Dronoga now?" the boy inquired.
The Grand Master looks at him as he smiles and tells him, "The last Dronoga died 25 years ago and a new Dronoga is born around 10-15 years after the passing of the previous dronoga, so the new dronoga will be appearing somewhere in the world." Another child slowly adds "so can no one defeat a Dronoga Grand master?".
"The Dronoga, having attained mastery over their abilities, is rumored to wield Reiki equivalent to a hundred Kaigen, showcasing an unparalleled level of spiritual energy. Their magical prowess is fabled to be potent enough to manipulate the very landscape, capable of moving mountains." Grand Master replied as he looked in the sky and then further added "Despite these extraordinary feats, there have been instances where a few Drakiens surpassed the might of a Dronoga".
The children get excited and one of them looking at the Grand Master asks, "will the Dronoga come here to our island Daten-shi too?"
The Grand Master laughs and tells him "Maybe he will or maybe he might be living here on our island" as he says this he looks up in the sky and says "There have been many people with the power of the heaven dragon, some used their gift to help the humanity while there were some who became a threat to the humanity, so let's just hope that the new Dronoga is someone who will be blessed with a heart and soul that tends to help others, and respects the responsibilities he will have".
The morning sun spilled golden light over Daten-shi Island, painting the tiled rooftops and narrow alleys in hues of warmth. But for Hiroko Tatsuya, a sixteen-year-old with dark red crimson hair and bright teal eyes, the beauty of the day was lost in a haze of panic. "NOOOOOOOOOO, I am late!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the small, cluttered room he called home. Scrambling out of bed, he nearly tripped over a stray sandal, his pale skin flushed with urgency.
Hiroko lived alone, a fact that weighed heavier some days than others. His parents had passed, leaving him to chase his dream of becoming the king of the nation with only his own heart to guide him. That heart—pure, kind, and fiercely caring—burned with determination now. "I need to hurry up," he muttered, tugging on a worn tunic and mismatched socks. "I can't miss the exam."
He burst out of his modest house; the door slamming shut behind him and took off at a sprint. The island's streets unfolded before him like a familiar tapestry—vendors calling out, children darting between carts, the salty tang of the sea lingering in the air. Hiroko leaped onto a low rooftop, his agile frame bounding across tiles with practiced ease. He cut through alleys, his feet barely touching the cobblestones, and the neighbourhood folk paused to wave or shout encouragement.
"Good luck, Hiroko!" called old Mrs. Tamura, her hands dusted with flour from her bakery.
"Don't trip this time!" teased another vendor, grinning as he dusted the outside of his shop.
Hiroko flashed them a quick smile, his heart swelling despite his rush. These were his people, and he'd fight to protect them one day. But first, he had to make it to the academy.
The grand gates of the Daten-shi Academy loomed ahead; their stone arches carved with ancient symbols of the Dronogas. A throng of young aspirants milled about, their nervous chatter a low hum. Hiroko weaved through the crowd, his breath ragged, and skidded to a stop at the registration desk. "I'm here!" he gasped, slamming his hands on the counter. "Hiroko Tatsuya, sign me up!"
Before the clerk could respond, a voice cut through the din, sharp and taunting. "So, you finally made it. I thought you'd gotten scared and given up."
Hiroko's good mood curdled. He turned to face Shiro Nishimura, a boy his age with short brownish hair, light skin, and a small scar beneath his left eye that seemed to underscore his smug grin. Hiroko's teal eyes narrowed, irritation sparking. "Shiro, I'm joining the force, and I'll become Grand Master. You'd better run now."
Shiro's smile twisted, grim and mocking. "You and your silly dreams. You won't even make captain."
Hiroko's fists clenched, his voice rising. "Oh yeah? I'll be a captain before you ever will!"
Shiro matched his glare, the air between them crackling with rivalry. "Wanna bet? I'll be captain first."
"You're on!" Hiroko shot back. "I'll show you!"
Shiro's expression softened into something almost pitying. "I already know how this ends. No time to waste on you." He turned, sauntering off with a dismissive wave. "I'll be going."
"You'll see!" Hiroko shouted after him, his voice ringing across the courtyard. "I'll be captain before you!"
Their heated exchange drew a few curious glances, but one figure in particular took notice. From the shadowed corner behind the registration desk, a girl with sharp eyes and a faint smirk watched them. "Silly boys with their silly dreams," she muttered under her breath before slipping away into the crowd, her presence unnoticed by the fuming Hiroko.
The clerk, a stern woman with a clipboard, cleared her throat. "Hiroko Tatsuya?"
Hiroko snapped to attention; his cheeks still flushed from the argument. "Yes, ma'am!"
"You're registered for the Zensen exam," she said, her tone clipped. "Front-line officer. First test begins in half an hour, third hall. Get moving."
Hiroko nodded, adrenaline surging anew. "Thank you!" He dashed toward the third hall, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and resolve. This was his chance—his first step toward greatness.
Far from the vibrant chaos of Daten-shi, in the shadowed command centre of a village near the borders of Stone Nation, a different scene unfolded. A soldier staggered into the office of Deputy Commander Jubiro Yuki, his uniform torn and his face pale with terror. He clutched his side, struggling to catch his breath as he collapsed against the doorframe.
Yuki, a grizzled man with a scar across his brow, rose from his desk, his eyes sharp with alarm. "What happened out there?" he demanded. "How could we be ambushed so easily by their army?"
The soldier's gaze dropped, his voice trembling with fear and shame. "There was no army, sir. It was… just one man."
Yuki's breath caught, disbelief etching his features. "One man?" He leaned forward, his voice low and urgent. "How many survived?"
The soldier's head bowed further, his silence a heavy answer. Regret hung in the air like a shroud, and Yuki's hands tightened into fists, the weight of the unknown threat pressing down on him.
The desolate village, a forgotten cluster of crumbling huts on the edge of the Fairystone Nation's command centre, lay shrouded in an eerie silence. Once a humble settlement where children laughed and elders spun tales by firelight, it was now a graveyard of shattered dreams, its air thick with the acrid stench of blood and smoke. The skeletal remains of homes leaned precariously, their thatched roofs reduced to smouldering ash, while the ground was churned into a mire of mud and gore, littered with the broken bodies of soldiers and villagers alike. A chilling wind howled through the ruins, carrying the faint moans of the dying and the distant crackle of flames.
A soldier in a tattered military uniform stumbled through the chaos, his boots slipping in the blood-soaked earth as he sprinted toward an open field beyond the village's edge. His face was a mask of horror, eyes wide and unblinking, as if the sights he'd witnessed had burned themselves into his soul. His breath came in ragged gasps, tearing at his throat as he broke through the gnarled, blackened trees that marked the forest's boundary. "Backup has arrived!" he choked out, his voice cracking with desperation. "A troop of five thousand soldiers is here!"
His words, meant to ignite hope, were met with a grim, hollow response from a wounded comrade sprawled in the dirt. The man lay propped against a shattered cartwheel, his uniform drenched in crimson, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. Blood oozed from a gash across his chest, pooling beneath him, and his face was ashen, drained of life. "No," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, each word a struggle against the weight of exhaustion and despair. "We can't win this. Tell them to go back… or they'll all die." His eyes, clouded with pain, flickered toward the heart of the village, where the source of their terror waited.
The soldier followed his gaze, and his heart seized. There, amidst the wreckage, sat a hooded figure atop a grotesque throne crafted from the mangled corpses of fallen warriors. The bodies were piled haphazardly, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, faces frozen in expressions of agony and fear. The figure's cloak, dark as midnight, billowed faintly in the wind, its edges frayed and stained with blood. The throne was surrounded by a sea of devastation—swords snapped in two, shields splintered, and the ground scorched black as if kissed by hellfire. The air around the figure pulsed with a malevolent energy, a silent promise of death that made the soldier's knees buckle.
Trembling, he forced himself to approach, each step a battle against the primal urge to flee. His voice quivered as he spoke, barely audible over the wind's mournful wail. "It's you isn't it… You are Ozul Kawaka, the world's strongest Drakien. But how… how did you defeat an army of ten thousand men so easily?"
The hooded figure rose with a deliberate slowness, the movement as fluid and predatory as a serpent uncoiling. A single strand of white hair slipped from beneath the hood, catching the flickering light of nearby flames. The figure tilted its head, and though the face remained shadowed, a chilling smile curled its lips—a smile devoid of warmth, sharp as a blade. "Your backup has arrived," it said, the voice low and resonant, each syllable dripping with cold finality. "I am done here. Deliver this message to your royal court: it is futile to fight."
Without another word, the figure turned and began to walk away, its cloak trailing through the carnage like a spectre gliding over a battlefield. The soldier stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes from the retreating form. The figure's steps were unhurried, almost leisurely, as if the slaughter of an entire army was a trivial chore. Behind it, the village burned, flames licking hungrily at the remnants of homes and bodies, casting grotesque shadows that danced across the ruined landscape.
As the figure reached the edge of the village, it paused, raising its right hand toward the heavens. The air grew heavy, charged with an unnatural energy that made the soldier's skin prickle and his heart pound erratically. "Cataclysmic Annihilation," the figure murmured, the words soft yet carrying the weight of a death knell.
A blinding sphere of lightning erupted above, crackling with raw, untamed power. It hung in the sky for a moment, a malevolent star pulsing with dark energy, before the figure's hand swept downward. From the sphere unleashed a colossal beam of dark, reddish-purple light, its hue unnatural and otherworldly. The beam tore through the forest with a deafening roar, obliterating everything in its path—trees disintegrated into ash, earth vaporized into nothingness, and the screams of the incoming soldiers were swallowed by the apocalyptic cacophony. The ground shuddered violently, cracks spiderwebbing outward as the beam carved a path of destruction miles long, leaving only a smouldering wasteland in its wake.
The soldier fell to his knees, his mind reeling, unable to comprehend the scale of the devastation. The haunting wails of the dying echoed in his ears, a chorus of torment that would haunt him for the rest of his days. The figure continued its silent march, unperturbed by the inferno that now consumed the village. Flames roared higher, engulfing the ruins in a hellish glow, and as the figure's silhouette merged with the fire, it seemed to dissolve into the blaze, vanishing like a phantom into the heart of the destruction.
The soldier remained, alone amidst the ashes, clutching the message that would chill the royal court to its core: resistance was futile, and the strongest Drakien had spoken.
The hooded figure emerged from the smouldering ruins of the village, his cloak a tattered shroud of midnight black, its edges frayed and stained with the blood and ash of his handiwork. The air hung heavy with the reek of destruction, the ground beneath his feet a churned wasteland of scorched earth and shattered lives. Yet he moved with an eerie calm, his steps silent and measured, as if the carnage behind him were but a fleeting distraction. He crossed the threshold of devastation and stepped into a secluded field, where sparse blades of grass swayed gently under a star-strewn sky, untouched by the horrors that had consumed the world beyond.
He paused at the field's heart, tilting his head to gaze upward. The stars glittered like fragments of ice, their cold light casting faint shadows across the folds of his cloak. Beneath the hood, where his face remained veiled in shadow, a smile softened his unseen features. It was a kind smile, warm with a rare and quiet care, as if the weight of his actions had, for a moment, lifted to reveal a flicker of hope buried deep within. The single strand of white hair that escaped his hood caught the starlight, glowing softly against the darkness.
"The hour draws near for the examination," he said, his voice low and resonant, each word imbued with a gentle conviction that contrasted the devastation he'd wrought. "The entrance exam. I hope this year will call forth new souls, eager and untested. I wonder… what paths will they carve under these stars?"
The smile lingered, a beacon of compassion in the hidden lines of his expression, untouched by the cold malice that had defined his earlier actions. He stood still, the night wrapping around him like a quiet embrace, the silence of the field a stark counterpoint to the screams that still echoed in his wake. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn, he began to walk, his form melting into the encroaching shadows.
The darkness swallowed him gently, his silhouette fading as if absorbed by the night itself.