Time flowed indifferently, as it always did, marking nothing yet moving all. The once-raging river of molten red and gold had long since dried, leaving only black, glass-like obsidian stretching endlessly. Shadows lay heavy across the chamber, cold and still, a silence so deep it pressed against Dominic's senses. The warmth of the lava, the blinding light, the echo of life — all gone, leaving the air dense, the floor smooth, the vast emptiness echoing with eternity itself.
Then, a sound — sharp, resonant, undeniable.
Crack! Boom!
The obsidian beneath him fractured with a violent protest. Cracks raced outward in web-like patterns as Dominic's hand gripped the edge of the breaking surface. Slowly, deliberately, he rose. The glassy floor shattered beneath his ascent, fragments floating like suspended stars, catching the dim light in fleeting brilliance.
He emerged, chest rising, shoulders pulling back, his silver hair cascading down his back, shimmering faintly like liquid moonlight. His icy-blue eyes, pupil-slit and gleaming, scanned the cavern with a calm authority that betrayed centuries of inherited instinct. Muscles rippled beneath pale skin, coiled and ready. Dominic was the apex of his kind — a hatchling with the mind of eternity and the instincts of countless ancestors coursing through his veins.
Finally upright, he took a measured step. The obsidian floor fractured further, the sound reverberating like a distant storm. He bent a finger, tapping lightly. Boom. The fissure widened three meters across, ten inches deep — a reminder of latent power thrumming within him. He did not grin; he did not exclaim. He observed, noting the sensation, the feedback of strength against the world.
From these first moments, Dominic felt it all: the echo of a lineage beyond comprehension, the imprint of the Void Dragon's ancient will, and the instinctual delight at possibility. Here, at the edge of creation, his body, mind, and soul aligned with a purpose he had not yet been asked to name.
He moved forward. The chamber walls — once monolithic — gave way beneath a gentle touch, opening like petals to reveal the realm beyond. Light poured in, green and gold spilling across the obsidian plains, painting a forest that stretched for miles. Every leaf, every drop of dew, every creature stirred and whispered in the presence of him. Even without effort, he could hear the subtle harmonies of life across a five-kilometer radius: the heartbeat of birds, the tremor of insects, the pulse of wind across grass.
He inhaled — not just air, but the essence of the world itself. The scent of forest, wet stone, and a distant lake filled his senses. The sunlight was too bright, yet it was perfect. The wind tugged playfully at his hair. Every element of this realm responded to him as if it recognized its rightful heir.
Dominic crouched slightly, feeling the weight of the mountain beneath him, the vastness of the valley, the purity of the air. Then, with a single, controlled movement, he launched himself. Gravity pressed against him, yet he rose a full kilometer before his wings unfurled.
The transformation was seamless: the human form shifted into a wyvern. Black scales reflected the sunlight like polished onyx; velvet-blue eyes glimmered with intelligence and instinct; wings spanned wide, the tips clawed, moving with precision as though preordained. Every muscle, every tendon, every featherless sinew was designed for both elegance and terror. Dominic did not roar. He did not breathe fire. He moved, and the air parted for him.
He landed before the gates of his palace, a floating citadel of impossible architecture, 3–4 kilometers across, the central spire piercing clouds ten kilometers above. Even from this distance, Dominic felt it: the palace pulsed with knowledge, with waiting. Its gardens were lush, geometric in impossible patterns, lakes reflecting skies that had no horizon. The wind whispered across the stone, as though anticipating his first footfall within.
He shifted back to human form — draconic scales hugging his limbs, chest bare, every movement precise, controlled, imbued with both the thrill of discovery and the serenity of dominance. His eyes drank in every detail: mosaics etched with constellations, stairways spiraling impossibly high, corridors lined with treasures he had not yet been invited to comprehend.
Dominic's heart — or what approximated a heart in a being of his kind — quickened. The inherited instincts of his species merged with an echo of desires that felt oddly personal: the admiration of beauty, the longing for treasures, for majesty, for that which delights the senses. It was instinct, yet intimate; primal, yet refined. The palace was not just home — it was a dream made tangible.
Every step through the halls carried delight. Floors of polished stone reflected impossible constellations, walls seemed to breathe under his gaze, and corridors twisted in ways that defied logic yet felt perfectly natural. Every artifact, every painting, every rune told a story Dominic understood without effort: the lineage of power, the architecture of magic, the blueprint of dominion.
At last, he reached the tower at the very top. The smallest door opened to a chamber sparsely furnished, save for a black crystal levitating gently above a simple table. Light bent around it, drawing the eye, reflecting the infinite intricacy of the universe in its facets.
Dominic approached, taloned hand brushing the air before it, and the crystal responded to his presence. Blood from a minor scratch on his palm seeped onto the stone — not as a mark of pain, but as a key. The crystal sank into his flesh, and knowledge poured into him: the palace, the forests, the lakes, every corner of the floating realm, every secret path, every hidden library and chamber. He did not gasp; he absorbed it. Every pulse of energy, every current of magic, every latent possibility in the realm was now part of him.
A robe of black and gold descended onto him as if summoned by thought. Boots, pants, vest — each piece adorned with sigils of power and lineage, fitting perfectly. Dominic moved to the lone window, gaze stretching to the horizon. Forests, rivers, floating islands — all were his to study, to command, to explore.
And yet, beneath the thrill of discovery, there was calm. The inheritance of a Void Dragon granted a stability beyond comprehension: the balance of instinct and intellect, the serenity of knowing one is precisely where one should be, and the patient delight of realizing that the future — infinite, sprawling, and waiting — is his to shape.
He would begin his training. The library awaited. Magic would come in time. The stages of growth — Hatchling, Dragonling, Wyrm, Lord, Ancestral, God — stretched before him like constellations he could touch.
But for now, Dominic lingered, marveling, absorbing, enjoying the unparalleled thrill of a world that had been prepared for him alone. Every sensation was new, every sight magnificent, every sound a symphony of discovery. And yet, the composure of a being older than time itself allowed him to smile, take a breath, and step confidently into the palace of his own making, ready to claim the destiny that had awaited him for centuries.