The sun had risen.
Its rays slipped through the window and brushed across Noa's face, waking him from sleep.
He raised his hand to block the light, muttering in a tired, irritated voice,
"Morning already…?"
He sat up. The same stillness filled the room — sometimes peaceful, sometimes unbearably dull.
Rising from bed, he walked toward the wardrobe and changed his clothes.
A knock echoed at the door.
Noa turned toward it, his expression blank.
The door opened, and a red-haired maid stepped inside, head bowed respectfully.
Maid: "Good morning, my prince."
Noa: "Morning."
Maid: "After breakfast, you are to attend the throne hall. His Majesty requests your presence."
Noa: "Do you know why?"
Maid: "I was not told, Your Highness."
Noa: "...Very well. You may go."
Maid: "Yes, my prince."
The maid bowed and left. Noa stood there until the door shut behind her, then turned back to the window.
Why would they call me this early? he thought.
Perhaps… they finally plan to strip me of my title. Of course, who would ever want a prince like me?
He turned away from the window and walked out.
As he headed for breakfast, the same question circled in his mind — why was I summoned?
Then he stopped.
"No… I'll go before breakfast."
He changed direction and walked toward the throne hall.
---
At the massive golden doors, the guards bowed and opened them wide.
Inside, his father — Emperor Zagn, the Black Dragon King — sat upon the towering throne.
Noa swallowed hard and approached.
Zagn's cold eyes were fixed on him.
When Noa reached the foot of the stairs, he bowed deeply.
Noa: "You called for me, Father."
Zagn: "Yes. Do you know why?"
Noa: "I couldn't guess."
Zagn's fists clenched; his voice thundered like a storm.
Zagn: "Noa, even if you carry the blood of the Supreme Dragon, you remain weak! You don't even desire to grow stronger!"
The words struck like lightning.
Zagn: "Tomorrow, you will prove yourself — or you will lose your title as prince."
Cold sweat rolled down Noa's neck.
Noa: "As you command… Father."
Zagn: "You may leave."
Noa lifted his head slightly, turned, and walked away.
Behind him, the golden doors slammed shut — sealing his father's harsh words inside his heart.
---
I've disappointed him again…
The thought weighed heavier than the crown itself.
Everyone else can already transform… but me? I'm still stuck between forms. Why must I rush? If I fail tomorrow, I lose everything.
The doubt clawed at his chest.
He stepped into the royal gardens — calm and breathtakingly white flowers swayed under the cold mountain breeze. The sky was clear, yet the air carried the solemn stillness unique to dragons.
But Noa's heart wasn't calm.
Why must childhood, joy, laughter — all be traded for endless training and pain?
Still, deep down, he felt something shifting — the faint weight of truth pressing on his young soul.
At the end of the path stood an ancient tree.
Beneath its shadow waited Arya, Queen of the Frost Dragons — his mother.
Her silvery hair shimmered like falling snow, and her eyes, blue as glaciers, radiated both wisdom and warmth.
As Noa approached, her expression softened.
Arya: "You returned early, Noa."
He ran to her and threw himself into her arms — for a moment, just a boy again, safe within her embrace.
Noa: "Yes, Mother…" he whispered.
Arya gently stroked his hair.
Arya: "What did your father say?"
Noa's fists trembled, clutching her robe.
Noa: "He scolded me. Said I was too slow… too weak. But Mother, is it really that important? I'm only five! Does being like this already mean I've failed?"
Her eyes trembled softly. She cupped his face, her touch cool but tender.
Arya: "Listen carefully, my son. In ancient times, dragons waged wars that painted the skies in blood. They fought the Legions of the Abyss, lost families, kingdoms — even stars themselves. Through that pain, they learned one truth: Survive, or be devoured.
Strength, speed, transformation — these were sacred."
Noa's chest tightened. Each word bound his heart in the chains of history.
But Arya's voice grew gentler:
Arya: "Yet you are not weak, Noa. True strength doesn't lie in haste — it lives in resolve. Some dragons are born blazing like fire, others grow quietly, like a river carving stone. You are the latter. Your time will come. And when it does…" — her voice trembled with faith — "…even the heavens will kneel."
Noa's breathing shook. A spark ignited within him.
He clenched his fists, looked into his mother's eyes, and whispered for the first time with conviction:
Noa: "I'll prove myself, Mother. I'll train harder than anyone. I'll make you proud… and Father too."
His words were unpolished, but a fire burned behind them. Arya smiled, though sorrow shimmered behind her gaze. She embraced him tightly and whispered:
Arya: "Remember, Noa… every dragon forges his own path. Yours is only beginning."
Then, suddenly, the wind changed.
A strange chill rippled through the air.
Noa lifted his head and looked to the sky.
Noa: "What was that…?"
Arya's smile faded, replaced by a grave look.
Arya: "That… was a calling. Perhaps the first echo of your destiny."
Noa's heart pounded like a drum.
He didn't understand yet — but her words seared into his soul like fire.
---
Training Hall
Heat struck him the moment he stepped in — the scent of sweat, the roar of fire, the crack of impact echoing through stone walls.
Dragons trained in their humanoid forms; some partially transformed, scales glinting like metal as they clashed.
Noa stopped for a moment — small, uncertain.
But the spark in his chest refused to fade. His gaze hardened.
The great warrior Darion, his skin coated in iron-like scales, shifted from dragon form into human, surrounded by a crimson mist. When it cleared, he saw Noa standing there and blinked in surprise.
Darion: "Prince Noa… what brings you here?"
Noa: "I want to train. Tell me where to start."
Silence fell. Darion studied him — not as a prince, but as a dragon.
Darion: "Very well. Then let's begin. Body and spirit must first move as one. Are you ready to endure pain, Noa?"
His fists tightened; his heart pounded like war drums.
Noa: "I'm ready."
Respect flickered in Darion's eyes.
Darion: "Then come. Let's see… what kind of fire burns inside you."
---
Throne Hall
Golden pillars loomed above, and the council of elders whispered like serpents.
Elder 1: "The boy is weak."
Elder 2: "Even common-born dragons surpass him."
Elder 3: "A prince who can't even transform… he's no heir — just a shadow."
Emperor Zagn sat unmoving on the throne. His gaze was cold steel.
When he finally spoke, silence drowned the hall.
Zagn: "He will prove himself."
The words fell heavy as iron. None dared to argue.
But within Zagn's heart, a storm raged.
They doubt him — the clans, the elders, the people. None of them know… what kind of power sleeps within my son.
He clenched the armrest of his throne, voice a low growl.
Zagn: "The world will see. And when that time comes… it will tremble."
---
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