It was a miracle in the truest sense.
From a child's stacking structure to an impregnable white fortress, the transformation happened in an instant.
Astonished, Artoria placed her hand on the pristine marble, attempting to unravel the mystery within... but she couldn't.
She wasn't a proper magus; her understanding of magecraft was still at the novice level of "shooting flames from her palms." But even if the Magus of Flower himself were here, he'd be unable to fathom this secret.
"A miracle is called a miracle because it defies mortal ability and comprehension."
"It is a feat only gods can achieve."
Before this true "power of miracles," even Artoria, the destined King of Britain, could only marvel at the wonder of creation and the boundless potential within the baby dragon before her.
"A creature at the pinnacle of Phantasmal Species, turning the impossible into possible."
"That is a dragon…"
…
After the fortress's completion, Artoria lingered only briefly.
Then, with a tone tinged with both worry and relief, she bid farewell to the baby dragon, now capable of fending for itself.
"The rainy season is coming."
"We may not see each other for a long while."
"While I'm gone, eat well and sleep well, alright?"
Artoria patted the dragon's head, then hoisted the seven or eight large salmon it had given her and set off back to the village.
Alaric stood atop the fortress, watching her departing figure, then lifted his gaze to the sky, thick with dark clouds.
"The rainy season, huh."
For some reason, he suddenly found himself disliking rain.
"If only I could make the sky clear again!"
With that thought, the baby dragon spread his wings and took flight.
He soared over the fortress, the cliff, the mountains… straight up to the clouds.
Since becoming a dragon, this was the first time he'd flown so high.
The high altitude was cold... dark and cold. The damp, biting wind brushed against him, making even his frost-resistant dragon scales contract instinctively.
"Let's find a way to warm things up!"
Alaric closed his eyes, picturing the moment the golden-haired girl carved his statue with her sword.
That sword was ordinary iron, but with wind elements, it became a blade that cut stone like butter... that was Artoria's power, the authority of the "Wind Dragon King." Or perhaps the "Star Dragon."
... Wait, so she's Stardust Dragon?
"If she can do it… then surely I can too!"
With that conviction, Alaric began to channel the one element he could wield, the one with which he had an innate affinity.
[Light].
…
The Blue-Eyes White Dragon is a dragon of "Light."
Its ultimate form, the Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon, is the very embodiment of light.
Of course, Alaric was far from that stage… he was merely a growing baby dragon, with only a faint grasp of his powers and authorities, nearly nonexistent.
Most of his actions were driven purely by instinct.
... But that was enough.
When a dragon born of light called upon its essence, the light of the world would answer, rushing to his side to fulfill his desires.
"The sun…"
Encircled by layers of dark clouds, Alaric raised his head, gazing higher to the radiant, glowing orb above.
The sun saw him and responded.
A beam of sunlight pierced the heavens, cutting through the thick clouds to bathe him in its glow... then, it sparked a fiercer reaction.
Like water meeting sodium, it began to burn, then erupted in a fierce explosion.
With Alaric's body at its center, waves of light surged outward. The heavy clouds were pushed miles away, and a clear sky reappeared before him... along with warm, comforting sunlight.
The sunlight gleamed on Alaric's body, making his water-dampened white scales sparkle.
"That's more like it!"
Feeling his body warm, the satisfied baby dragon returned to the cliff, letting out a massive yawn.
He'd worked hard for quite a while.
Might as well… take a little rest and ride out this dreary rainy season!
…
A month later.
In the village, inside the stables.
Artoria tended to the newborn foals while casting worried glances at the torrential rain outside.
Despite preparing for the worst… the reality was even grimmer.
This year's rains came earlier and fiercer than expected.
The downpour had lasted half a month without pause.
Artoria had braved the rain to check, finding the rivers around the village far beyond their "danger line." Threatening to overflow at any moment. Her adoptive brother led the villagers to build makeshift dams of wood, stone, and earth, narrowly averting a crisis for their village.
But other villages likely weren't so fortunate.
Not every village had a humanoid Red Dragon or a Celtic warrior who could defeat giants with words alone... most were ordinary, filled with ordinary people, the standard way of life on this island.
"I'm still… too weak."
Thinking of the suffering common folk, Artoria felt a pang of guilt.
As the "perfect king" Entrusted with the hopes of Uther and Merlin, she had long embraced the role of "King." She held herself to the highest standards, including the defenseless commoners within her circle of protection.
The strong must protect the weak; a king must shelter her people... mustn't she?
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