The sky was still dark when the horns echoed again.
The Hell Walk was a rite of passage even the most seasoned warriors feared. No food. No water. No rest. Just an endless march through scorching cliffs, jagged peaks, and burning sun. The ground itself was sharp with volcanic stone—unforgiving, alive, and cruel.
Velgrynd was already awake. She hadn't slept. Her body was stiff, her wounds still raw. But her heart… it beat stronger.
She tied her boots—no, she couldn't. This was barefoot. Again.
Her linen wraps were gone. Only her bleeding feet touched the earth now. She joined the line in silence. No magic. No healing. No divine flames. Just her body, broken and still moving.
Mile One: The Flame Valley
The air shimmered with heat. The walk began in the volcanic zone near the heart of the kingdom. The path twisted along rivers of molten lava. The heat cooked the skin. Breathing burned.
Velgrynd stumbled once as the heat punched the air from her lungs.
"This is like home," she whispered through cracked lips, forcing a small smirk.
Middray, walking a few paces ahead, glanced back. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"So do you."
"Fair."
They pushed on. Soldiers collapsed—one dragged by his comrades. Another left behind, face down, shaking. There was no shame. But there was no stopping.
Yujiro walked beside the line, silent. Observing. Judging.
When Velgrynd slowed, he looked directly at her.
"The weak make excuses. The strong suffer."
She said nothing.
Mile Ten: The Cliff of Bones
The trail turned steep, wrapping up a cliff filled with jagged rocks like knives. They had to crawl. No shoes. No gloves. The rocks bit into flesh. Everyone bled.
Velgrynd's hands tore open again. Her knees cracked on stone. She grunted as a shard pierced her heel. Blood oozed with every step.
She wasn't used to this—pain without power. No regeneration. No instant fix.
Just the sound of her breathing. The crackle of pain in her ears. And the sheer will to keep climbing.
Behind her, a young soldier whispered through tears,
"I can't... I can't... my legs won't—"
Velgrynd turned, reached out her bloody hand, and said,
"Then crawl. With your teeth if you have to. But don't stop."
The soldier blinked, stunned. Then nodded.
They climbed together.
Mile Sixteen: Mirage Fields
The top of the cliff opened into wide plains of shimmering dust. The sun was blinding now. Vision blurred. The air distorted everything. The fields played tricks.
People saw loved ones. Old enemies. Nightmares.
Velgrynd stumbled as the illusion twisted the air around her. She saw herself, in her full dragon form—flames raging, soaring through skies, untouchable.
"You were proud once," the illusion mocked.
"You've fallen far."
She ignored it.
"Maybe. But this is how I rise."
She walked through the illusion. The pain brought her back.
One step at a time.
By mile twenty-three, the path turned uphill again, surrounded by towering black stone spires. The final challenge.
Velgrynd's body gave out.
Her legs buckled. Her face hit the gravel. Her breath came in ragged, wet gasps.
Yujiro stood at the top. Silent. Watching.
Soldiers passed her. Some slowed. Others whispered.
Milim approached, crouching beside her.
"It's okay. You did good."
Velgrynd shook her head. "Not… done."
She pushed herself up—arms trembling, face pale.
"I'm not a goddess here. I'm a fighter. I won't stop."
She rose, step by painful step. Her feet left bloody prints behind. Her hands dragged against the dirt. Every inch of her body screamed.
And then… she made it.
She crossed the top.
Yujiro gave a single nod.
"Now you're beginning to understand."
Velgrynd collapsed, not from defeat—but from victory.
Later That Night....
She lay beneath the stars, wrapped in rough blankets, body shaking. Milim, Middray, and a few soldiers sat nearby.
No one mocked her. No one bowed. They treated her like one of them.
"You didn't give up," the young soldier from the cliff said quietly.
"You helped me. Thank you."
Velgrynd smiled weakly.
"We all crawl until we stand."
Three months had passed.
Three months of waking before dawn.
Three months of running barefoot through frozen lakes, volcanic ash, razor trails.
Three months of blood, bruises, broken bones—and no magic, no energy, no shortcuts.
Velgrynd had trained every single day with the soldiers of the Forgotten Dragon Kingdom, with Milim, Middray, and under the watchful, silent eyes of Yujiro. She had fought, bled, and suffered. But she never stopped.
The dragon who once flew above gods now crawled and stood among mortals. And in that, she discovered something more powerful than pride—discipline.
She didn't even realize how much she had changed… until that day.
It was a crisp morning. The kind where the air is cold but carries strength. The mountains echoed with silence. No horns. No orders.
The soldiers gathered in the courtyard. Their bodies were leaner, tougher. Faces hardened with resolve. But today felt different.
Yujiro stood before them, arms crossed, eyes sharp like steel.
"You've trained long enough without crutches," he said, his voice booming.
"From this day forward... you may use your magic."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some gasped. Others grinned.
Velgrynd blinked. She hadn't used magic for months. She'd almost forgotten the feel of it. It felt... alien now.
Milim smirked. "Heh, finally! Let's see what three months of hell turned us into."
Velgrynd stepped forward, alone, onto the practice field.
She closed her eyes.
In her heart, she reached for the familiar—Primordial Flame, her essence, her power. But what returned was not the wild, overwhelming surge she remembered.
Instead… it was precise. Controlled. Refined.
A calm blaze ignited at her fingertips—no longer violent or volatile. It didn't roar. It whispered.
She raised her hand to the sky.
A burst of crimson flame erupted upward, piercing the clouds like a spear of divine fury—but it didn't spread. It obeyed. It moved exactly where she wanted. No more, no less.
Velgrynd's eyes widened.
"This... this is my magic?"
She extended her palm sideways and formed a lance of flame. Not a chaotic torrent—but a perfect construct. It shimmered like molten glass, deadly and elegant.
She swung it. The air shattered. The force cracked the earth.
"Incredible..." she whispered.
Middray stepped up beside her.
"It's not just strength," he said. "It's clarity. Focus. You learned to rely on your body, not your power. And now your power answers your will, not your ego."
Milim nodded. "Back then, your magic carried you. Now… you carry your magic."
Velgrynd was silent.
She looked at her hands, glowing faintly with embers. Three months ago, she could burn mountains… but she couldn't punch through stone without hurting herself.
Now?
She clenched her fist—and the flame pulsed, steady, disciplined, beautiful.
Yujiro finally spoke.
"This is the purpose of pain."
"This is why we suffer. To make our power an extension of our discipline, not our pride."
Velgrynd turned to him.
"Thank you."
Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but sincerity.
"I thought I was strong before. But I was just loud. Now... I am sharp."
Yujiro smirked.
"Then you are ready."
That Night....
The soldiers lit fires and danced. It was rare to celebrate—but tonight was different. Even citizens came out to watch the flames that lit the kingdom like stars. Velgrynd sat with Milim, Middray, and Yujiro, watching the people she once viewed as lesser—now understanding they were warriors of the highest caliber.
A young child approached her, no older than seven.
"Miss Dragon Lady... are you the strongest now?"
Velgrynd smiled, soft and genuine.
"No. I'm just the one who trained the hardest."