It was a cold autumn night.The rain fell in a thin mist, as if the sky had forgotten how to breathe and only remembered how to weep.The wind licked the stone walls of the castle, bending the branches of the trees with gentle persistence.
Lane, the young heir of House SkyDrane, stood by the tall window on the third floor, watching the garden below.The moonlight struck his white hair, and the strands shimmered in the wind like fine silver threads.He was only six years old, yet the expression on his face was not that of a child—it carried the weight of a man burdened by thought.
The kingdom was not doing well.The Holy Empire and the Solarin Empire had demanded that SkyDrane officially adopt their faiths.His father, King Kaelric SkyDrane, had refused.Peace had become nothing more than a rumor—a fragile illusion standing on the edge before silence.
Even at his age, Lane could feel the tension.As he listened to the footsteps of the soldiers in the garden, he thought even the castle stones were groaning with fear.He stepped away from the window and murmured to himself,"How did it come to this?"
Then, an echo stirred in his mind… an echo from another world.Once, in another life, he had been twenty-one—a young engineer.He had been betrayed countless times: by friends, by the one he loved, even by his own hopes.Raised under the discipline of a soldier father, he had always felt alien to the simple joys of ordinary people.
One day, sitting before a mirror, staring at his weary face, he whispered to himself:"Why does all this happen to me? Why am I always the one who suffers?"
After a long silence, he found the answer.Life itself was an ocean; a man was neither captain nor ship—just a wave."Life is a wave," he had said. "You don't fight it; you move with it.Fate is a tangled thread where everyone crosses into another's path—some led to fortune, others to ruin."
From that moment, he had found peace.Betrayal, lies, loss—none of them burned him anymore.Because he had understood: seeking meaning was merely another way of prolonging pain.
But that peace was short-lived.At twenty-one, he died quietly of a heart attack.When he opened his eyes again, he was in the world of Elarion—the first young heir of the SkyDrane dynasty.
This was a family descended from the Blood Dragons, the only human lineage capable of wielding dragon mana.Until the age of six, his memories had lingered like a dream—but now, that dream had solidified into stone.
He left the window and walked through the corridor.The torchlight flickered in the wind, and the flames cast shifting shadows across his face.
When he entered the dining hall, the family table looked more like a ceremony than a meal.His father, Kaelric, sat at the head; beside him was his mother, Selara—her face white as snow, her eyes calm as winter.Across from them sat his sister, Lyra—graceful like their mother, but carrying their father's cold resolve.Lane took his seat beside her.
Throughout dinner, the silence was sharp as a blade.At last, Kaelric spoke."Lane, one day you will rule this kingdom. You've done well in your martial training and raised your dragon mana to the two-star level.But from now on, you must learn strategy, politics, and the ways of ruling people."
Lane smiled."Alright, Father."
Yet inside, another voice whispered: There's no place for emotion—only protection.
Selara looked at her husband."Kaelric," she said, "how do you plan to resolve the situation with the Holy Empire?"
Both Lyra and Lane turned their eyes toward him.Lyra's gaze followed her father's lips with the precision of cold calculation.
Kaelric's voice was heavy."I'll seek aid from the dragons. Without their support, we cannot win this war."
A shadow crossed Lane's face.His father's reliance on the dragons felt like weakness to him.
Selara slowly shook her head."Are you sure? I doubt the dragons will return to us."
Kaelric's tone was unwavering."They are bound to answer our call once every century. It is a pact written in blood."
Selara said nothing more.The silence at the table merged with the whisper of the wind.
After dinner, Lane's nurse approached him.She knelt to escort her young master back to his room.
As they walked, Lane suddenly asked,"What do you want from this life?"
The woman blinked in surprise. "Your safety and happiness, young master," she replied.
"Not mine," Lane said. "Yours."
She hesitated, then smiled softly."I'd like to live in a village, to till my own field, to eat the bread made by my own hands."
Lane nodded."How beautiful... peace is seeing the fruit of one's own labor."
When they reached his chamber, she began to prepare the bed, but Lane gently held her hand."If this house ever falls," he said, "my order is this: forget me. Follow your own desires.The most valuable thing a person has... is themselves."
Tears welled in her eyes. "As you command, young master."
Lane lay down on his bed.The wind clawed at the castle stones, and the torchlight stretched and shrank.From afar, he heard a faint, deep breath—he thought a dragon might have turned in its sleep.Then silence returned.
The next morning, the sky was covered in a gray mist.Lane entered the conference hall with his father; Lyra was already there.Kaelric sat on the throne-like chair, and everyone took their places respectfully.
"The kingdom is in peril," said the king. "War is near. I want to hear your thoughts."
The hall erupted into murmurs.Some argued for diplomacy, others for an early strike.
Lane said nothing. He listened to every word, observed every glance.He saw the fear in one man, the greed in another.
Finally, Kaelric struck his staff against the ground."Enough," he said. "I will go to the dragons myself. If they refuse us, defense is all we'll have left."
Lane noticed the look on the finance minister's face—the flicker of discontent, the twitch at the corner of his lips, the brief glint in his eyes.He memorized it.Some wars begin not with swords, but with memory.
After the meeting, Kaelric ordered the army to prepare.That evening, he stood before his son in the courtyard.His armor gleamed faintly in the dying light.
Kaelric knelt and kissed his son's forehead."To protect the family is the duty of its head. If I fall, that burden will be yours. Guard them."
"Alright, Father," said Lane.
Kaelric nodded, mounted his horse, and rode toward Stormrest Mountain—the dragons' temple.The sky had turned to lead, and the northern wind blew with a sharp chill.
Meanwhile, Lane went to the training grounds.The voices of soldiers echoed across the yard.
"The kingdom's being dragged into war… I don't know what the king will do.""The king is strong. There are only five men on the continent whose swordsmanship rivals his. He could cut down an army of five thousand alone."
Lane listened in silence.A good king thinks of his people. A bad king thinks only of himself, he thought.He was proud of his father, yet a small ache lingered in his chest—Kaelric had still not taught him the Dragon Sword Dance.
"You'll learn it when you inherit the house," his father always said.Lane couldn't understand what secret that art was hiding.
He stepped onto the training field, sparred with the soldiers, then dismissed them.He took his sword and assumed his stance.
He knew tactics well; in his past life, he had learned warfare from his military father.As a child, he'd spent hours over maps, listening to the man who taught him, 'You don't command armies—you command ideas.'
That was why now, when he looked upon a battlefield, he didn't see men, but moves.
As dusk approached, he dismissed the troops and stayed alone.He crouched and closed his eyes.He began circulating his dragon mana.With his breathing, crimson rings of energy formed around him.The earth trembled quietly.
Suddenly, a distant voice echoed in his mind—an ancient call.It was as if a primordial breath spoke his name.The voice of a dragon resonated within his chest.
Lane opened his eyes; the wind had stopped.Even the stones of the castle seemed to be holding their breath.
Then, from afar, he heard his nurse calling.The ripple faded. Reality returned.The sky turned into a violet stillness.
Lane thought to himself,"Some voices can only be heard within silence."
That night, for the first time, he felt the world truly beginning to change.
And far away, atop Stormrest Mountain, thunder roared.
Kaelric SkyDrane was calling out to the dragons. But no answer came. Only silence echoed in return.