The low murmur of the crowd died down, replaced by a tense, expectant silence.
All eyes thousands of them turned to the central platform of the arena. The sun beat down on the stone floor, and the air was thick with the scent of dust and nervous dinosaurs.
Scarface, the head instructor, stepped onto the high platform. His scarred face carried an expression of grim satisfaction, as if he were about to announce something that would make us all suffer.
"Welcome, wyrmlings, to the official start of the annual Combat Training Competition!" he announced, his voice booming across the amphitheater.
"Like every year, the competition consists of three major rounds each designed to test your knowledge, skill, and the true heat of your flames."
ROUND ONE
"The Herb Gamble!"
Scarface's cruel smile widened. Instructor Ghostface stepped forward and pointed toward a distant area where towering redwood-pine trees deliberately encircled a small patch of flora and fauna. The space looked almost like a natural garden ferns, herbs, mushrooms, and a glimmering water pool in between.
"More than a hundred species of herbs, ferns, and mushrooms grow in that garden," Ghostface announced. "Some are medicinal… others are poisonous. Your task will test your knowledge of herbology."
A nervous ripple spread through the crowd.
"The catch," Scarface continued, "is that only twenty of those species are non-poisonous. Your task is to identify one safe plant and eat it without hesitation to pass this round."
The air tightened. Even the parents fell silent. The Herb Gamble wasn't a trial of skill—it was a trial of luck. Consuming the wrong plant could mean instant death.
ROUND TWO
"The Monster Draw!"
Scarface's voice rang out again before we could even process the first trial. "For those clever or lucky enough to survive, your second test will be of true combat. One-on-one battle… against the creatures of the Middle Forest."
A cold chill ran down my spine.
"Middle Forest creatures? Even I, with the strength of a dragon, nearly died there. Has he gone mad? Oh wait… he already is."
Scarface smiled as if reading my thoughts.
"Don't worry, parents," he said mockingly. "These are merely creatures from the Blue Region."
He gestured to the side.
"A twenty-year-old Dragonfly."
A ferocious, ember-winged dragonfly seven feet long struggled against flaming chain fibers, its wings buzzing with violent energy.
"Number two: a fifty-year-old Black Poison Spider."
The next creature, bound by fiery threads, thrashed as corrosive acid dripped from its fangs. Its eight eyes gleamed with bloodlust, ready to shred bones.
Wyrmlings flinched none had ever faced forest monsters before.
"And number three…" Scarface paused, relishing the tension.
"An eighty-year-old Beelzebufo."
Gasps erupted. The massive frog croaked, releasing a thick, magical aura.
"This beast," Scarface explained with dark amusement, "possesses a skill known as Bog Trap. It summons a circle of sticky, enchanted mud to slow you down before leaping in for the kill."
The crowd trembled. Wyrmlings glanced at one another, silently asking the same question: How are we supposed to survive this?
"And finally, number four…" His tone dropped to a near whisper. "A ninety-five-year-old Microraptor."
A huge, four-winged bird nearly twenty feet tall curled in its restraints of burning thread. What made it terrifying was its silence. It didn't struggle. It only watched us… coldly.
"Its behavior differs from the other creatures," one instructor murmured. "It's… intelligent."
Even hearing its name felt like a death sentence.
ROUND THREE
Scarface sneered, then roared,
"And for those who survive the monsters Round Three! Face-to-face combat! A tournament of champions! The last one standing… wins!"
The crowd erupted. Parents gasped. Students whispered. But then, Scarface raised his hand, and the atmosphere changed again.
"And now… for the prizes."
The word itself crackled like thunder.
A cart was wheeled onto the stage. For third place, an attendant placed a dull, rock-like object on a pedestal.
"This," Scarface said, "is a 250-year-old Tapejara Energy Core. Though cracked and leaking faint energy, it still retains the essence of aerial evolution."
Most of the crowd looked away in disappointment.
"A broken core? What a useless prize," one patriarch scoffed.
But I couldn't tear my eyes away. Something about it pulled at me.
Why useless? I wondered aloud.
My sister beside me sighed. "Because it's the heart core of a creature that evolved through aerial essence. It's broken so it's deadly poisonous. And wyrmlings can't digest its power; we can only wear it as an ornament. That thing appears every year and every year, it's rejected."
But then, Ragnarok's voice echoed deep inside my mind, dripping with hunger.
"Poison to them… but nectar to a dragon. That energy raw, untamed no T-Rex could withstand it. But you can. That is our prize, little one."
For second place, the attendants unveiled the Phoenix Malus Apple a fruit of impossible beauty. Its skin shimmered crimson with streaks of gold and orange flame dancing beneath the surface. Even from afar, it radiated heat.
"The Phoenix Malus!" Scarface announced.
The amphitheater exploded with chaos.
"By the sacred flames!" a mother screamed.
"That apple is legendary!" a Forgefire patriarch shouted. "My son must have it!"
Parents stood, roaring. Elders of great clans leaned forward, eyes gleaming with greed.
I turned to my sister, puzzled. "Why is everyone going crazy over an apple?"
She pinched me hard. "You really don't study herbology, do you? You've been to the Middle Forest and don't even recognize the Phoenix fruit?"
Emberheart blinked. "Middle Forest?"
I coughed, trying to cover. "Ah, sister, don't tease me. How could a little wyrmling like me enter the Deep Forest? That's why I'm… unaware of such fruits."
Emberpaw chuckled softly.
"Phoenixes are divine beasts flame incarnate. Their population nearly vanished from the Jurassic lands. From their tears, this divine fruit germinates. The Phoenix Malus contains condensed golden flame essence. Once consumed, your flame heat will soar, rivaling the phoenix itself. Any fire-based attack will dominate."
I nodded, thinking. That's powerful… but in my case, why need phoenix fire when I already have dragon breath?
Still, curiosity got the better of me.
"Then what about dragons, sister? Is there a fruit like that for dragon flame?"
The world froze.
Even though I had whispered, everyone heard. Every ember eye turned toward me, wide with shock as if I had spoken something forbidden.
My mother immediately covered my mouth. Emberheart bowed her head quickly.
"I'm sorry, my son spoke without knowing. He's unaware of worldly matters. Please continue."
Scarface sneered at us but said nothing. His silence was heavier than words.
He continued. "And now, for the Champion's Prize…"
An attendant carried forward a small, glowing mushroom. Its cap gleamed like molten iron.
"The Iron Bracket Mushroom," Scarface announced reverently. "Consuming it grants a ninety-nine percent chance for a 9-star wyrmling to evolve into the Juvenile stage!"
The amphitheater exploded with excitement. Every wyrmling stared at that mushroom as if it were divine treasure.
The ceremony ended, and chaos followed instantly. Students scrambled to form alliances; enemies turned into temporary friends. Fear and ambition thickened the air.
I sat frozen realizing the mistake I'd made.
Emberpaw leaned closer, whispering,
"It's not your fault, brother. But remember… speaking of dragons or anything related to them is a forbidden crime in the Jurassic lands."
I blinked in disbelief. "What… why?"
But before I could ask another word, my sister stuffed a red guava into my mouth.