The void did not disturb Zen.
It did not welcome him either.
He drifted without direction, his long golden body gliding through the darkness with slow, unhurried grace.
There was no wind. No sound. No light—only the faint luster of his own scales, reflecting back at him like distant stars.
He did not rush to explore.
He remembered the phoenix.
He remembered the clash.
Two meters long.
Too small.
Too weak.
If I were to meet the Denglong now… I would die without resistance.
Zen did not feel fear at the thought. Only clarity.
He closed his eyes.
In a place where nothing existed, where no life could interrupt him, Zen turned his attention inward.
He examined his body.
Not with sight.
But with awareness.
What felt like a moment passed.
In reality, years slipped by in the silent void.
Then he found it.
His blood.
It flowed slowly through him—thicker than it should be. Heavy. Sluggish.
Within it were faint specks of gray, impurities that did not belong to something born from the Tree of Life.
Zen did not know how he understood this.
He simply did.
An instinct older than thought surfaced from depths he did not know he possessed.
Dragons do not draw power from the outside.
Dragons refine what already exists within.
His eyes opened slightly.
"So this… is how my race grows."
Zen curled his body into a loose spiral and became still. His head rested near his tail. His claws relaxed. His breathing slowed until it nearly vanished.
He allowed his awareness to sink into his bloodstream.
At first—
Nothing.
Then…
Warmth.
A faint heat ignited deep within his chest and began to travel through his veins. It was not burning. Not painful.
But it was intense.
The gray specks in his blood began to tremble.
Zen did not move.
He observed.
The warmth grew hotter. The trembling became violent. The impurities started to dissolve, turning into wisps that escaped through the gaps of his scales like invisible smoke.
His body shuddered once.
Pain arrived.
Sharp. Sudden. As if every drop of blood in his body had begun to boil.
Zen did not cry out.
He had lived a century as a human. He understood pain. He acknowledged it—
And let it pass.
Time lost meaning.
The heat circulated again and again through every vein, every vessel, every hidden corner of his body.
The grayness in his blood lessened.
Gold became clearer.
Brighter.
Purer.
Zen felt the change before he saw it.
His body was becoming lighter.
Stronger.
Larger.
When the heat finally subsided, Zen slowly uncoiled.
His claws stretched outward.
His tail extended.
He opened his eyes.
The void looked exactly the same.
But he did not.
His body had grown.
From two meters…
To ten.
Zen lowered his head, examining his scales. The dull sheen they once had was gone.
Now they reflected a deep golden radiance, as if light itself lived beneath them.
He flexed slightly.
The movement felt smoother. More natural. As if this form was closer to what he was meant to be.
No exhaustion.
No weakness.
Only quiet improvement.
"So dragons cultivate… by purifying blood."
Zen gazed into the endless darkness ahead of him.
Calm.
Ancient.
Calculating.
"If this is only the first refinement…"
He did not finish the thought.
He did not need to.
Without hesitation, Zen curled his body once more.
Closed his eyes.