Part Two: "Kindling the Flame"
Location: The Dragon's Dream realm – Time here flows differently. 1 minute in the real world = 1 day inside. It does not age you… but it breaks you in other ways.
The dream realm blinked into being like a furnace being exhaled.
Crimson skies churned above a scorched land of floating rock and ever-shifting flame. Grim stood on a fractured obsidian platform, his breath steaming in the unnatural heat. The scale he held pulsed once—then dissolved into his chest.
A thunderous voice echoed all around.
"Welcome, Inheritor."
The dragon emerged from the sky itself. Not flying—becoming. A living mountain of fire and fury. Eyes like twin suns, wings spanning entire horizons.
The Dragon (with absolute pride):
"This realm is mine. Born of my mind. Forged from the essence of true flame. Here, the weak are not just tested—they are reduced to ash, and reforged. If they are worthy."
Grim grunted, sweat already dripping despite doing nothing yet.
Then, from behind him—
Sparks:
"Wow. Subtle entrance. Got fireworks for breakfast too?"
The dragon's eyes narrowed.
"You bring a fragment to my realm? A... flippant one?"
Sparks (mock bow):
"Sparks. Resident voice of reason and sarcasm. Also technically his emotional support flame."
Grim:
"You're not helping."
Sparks:
"Neither is the fact your knees are already shaking."
The dragon unfurled a claw, and a thousand flame spears formed mid-air.
"Let the Kindling begin."
Then the pain started.
Day 1 (1 minute outside):
Grim ran.
Spears rained from every direction. Each flame was unique—some burned cold, some stung like lightning, others whispered doubts directly into his mind.
He dodged three.
The fourth tore through his shoulder.
He screamed.
Sparks (floating behind a conjured flame umbrella):
"Oof. Direct hit. Bet that's going to smart in five more dream-days."
The Dragon (to Sparks, smugly):
"His pain is necessary. Pain draws the truth of one's flame to the surface."
Sparks:
"Okay Socrates of Scorching, but if he dies in there, who's going to carry the plot?"
Day 3:
Grim stood again.
This time, a burning copy of himself fought him—every slash matching his thoughts, every move anticipating his next.
He lost. Again.
Day 5:
He burned. Not just outside—inside. His core trembled. His flame flickered blue. Then violet. Then white-hot. But he couldn't hold it.
Sparks (now wearing tiny dream-sunglasses):
"Look at you! You're evolving like a flame-based Pokémon with trust issues."
Grim:
"Remind me to smother you after this."
Day 7:
He started to see the patterns. The rhythm of the realm. The logic behind the chaos. Flame wasn't just destruction. It was choice. Direction. Precision.
He didn't dodge this time.
He absorbed.
The Dragon (voice now almost… intrigued):
"At last… the spark listens."
Grim fell to his knees, gasping.
Sparks:
"You did it, buddy! You're a roasted marshmallow with purpose!"
Grim:
"Sparks..."
Sparks:
"Yeah?"
Grim:
"I hate this place."
The Dragon:
"Good. Hatred tempers the soul. Return tomorrow. We begin again."