"Oh. You're awake."
The hollow voice cut through the steady hum of medical equipment.
Armaan blinked, fighting the haze clouding his vision. His dark brown eyes slowly focused on the stark white ceiling above him. Turning his head, he found Raiden lying on the bed beside his, wrapped in spotless white bandages.
"Raiden?" Armaan rasped, his throat dry as he struggled to piece together the shattered fragments of his memory.
"You fought well."
There wasn't a trace of praise in Raiden's voice. His face remained as unreadable as ever, yet beneath that emotionless mask lingered a quiet respect.
Then everything came rushing back.
The Thunder Threads.
The suffocating fear of losing.
The moment the Actual Howl awakened.
Armaan remembered surrendering completely to the beast within. His instincts had devoured his reason, ripping through everything in their path. He had nearly killed the lieutenant standing only a few feet away.
A heavy knot settled in his chest.
"I'm... sorry," he whispered.
Raiden raised an eyebrow without taking his eyes off the ceiling.
"For what?"
"I completely lost control." Armaan's voice tightened. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I went berserk. I almost kil..."
"So what?"
The interruption was sharp enough to silence him.
Raiden finally turned his head.
"Victory is what matters. Not the process."
A quiet sigh escaped him.
"Be proud. You defeated a lieutenant of the Draconic Eightfold Court."
"But still..."
"You need to stop."
His golden eyes locked onto Armaan's.
"If you keep apologizing, then my defeat means nothing."
His voice remained calm, but the weight behind those words was unmistakable.
"Do you really want that? Especially when you're the same man who never stops talking about ego."
Armaan couldn't answer.
Those words struck harder than any punch.
Behind Raiden's blank expression, he could finally see it.
Not hatred.
Not resentment.
Only the bitter frustration of a warrior forced to accept defeat.
After a long silence, Armaan let out a slow breath. The tension left his shoulders, replaced by the faintest smirk.
"If that's what you want."
The cabin door slid open.
A Zenka nurse stepped inside, her pale skin contrasting against the deep-blue medical uniform she wore. She glanced at the holographic clipboard in her hands before looking at the two patients.
"Sir Raiden. Sir Armaan. Your injuries have recovered enough for normal movement. You have both been summoned to the Draconic Eightfold Court."
Her eyes lingered on Armaan a second longer than necessary.
She wasn't just looking at another patient.
She was looking at the Earthling who had defeated one of the Realm's strongest lieutenants.
The news had already spread across the Draconic Realm like wildfire.
"The Draconic Eightfold Court?" Armaan frowned. "That's the place Zykarith mentioned. Why are we being called there?"
Before the nurse could answer, cloth rustled behind her.
Raiden was already out of bed, casually tearing away his bandages without so much as a wince.
"You've completed every trial of the Draconic Awakening," he said while stretching his shoulder. "You've proven yourself worthy of inheriting Xarthos's complete power. The final inheritance ceremony takes place in the Court."
"Since you defeated a lieutenant... you'll be treated as a lieutenant-level candidate."
"I see..."
Armaan pulled off his own bandages, revealing the countless wounds left behind by the battle.
Then another thought suddenly hit him.
"Wait... will Samar and Roumit be there too?"
(Cue an exaggerated split-screen cutaway. Chibi Samar and Roumit appear with bulging veins on their foreheads, glaring at Armaan for completely forgetting they even existed.)
Raiden adjusted his collar.
"Most likely."
The nurse remained frozen near the doorway.
Neither of them seemed remotely bothered by the injuries covering their bodies.
Instead, the overwhelming Prana pouring from the two teenagers made the air itself feel unbearably heavy.
With a flick of his wrist, Raiden drew his sword.
Lightning crackled across the blade before slicing open the air itself.
A vacuum gate formed.
Without another word, the two stepped through.
...
The hospital disappeared.
Armaan found himself standing before an enormous ancient gate, easily the height of a five-story building.
"Hey," he muttered. "Couldn't we have teleported straight inside? Why stop out here?"
"The Court is completely sealed against spatial distortion," Raiden replied as he walked ahead. "No teleportation. No dimensional travel. It prevents assassinations and other... disasters."
"So everyone enters through the front gate."
"Oh..."
Armaan nodded.
The closer they came, the heavier the atmosphere became.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"I don't know why..." he admitted quietly. "The Prana leaking from the other side of this gate... it's suffocating."
Raiden glanced back.
"Prana? That's what your world calls its energy?"
"Yeah."
A familiar smirk returned to Armaan's face.
"Zykarith said our systems are different, but similar at their core."
He looked toward the massive doors.
"But your Thanes..."
"...their Prana is absolutely monstrous."
The two stopped before the gate.
Towering Zenka guards in black obsidian armor stepped forward.
With a deafening groan, the colossal doors slowly opened.
The Draconic Eightfold Court revealed itself.
The pressure inside hit Armaan like a tidal wave.
This wasn't merely an aura.
It felt as though gravity itself had increased.
Eight colossal thrones formed a crescent overlooking the chamber.
To the left sat Sylus, the Thane of Eclipse, motionless beneath living shadows.
To the right floated Vera Hakui, the Thane of Wind, while Zykarith stood silently behind her.
Farther across the hall stood Samar and Roumit beneath the watch of armed guards.
The instant the doors opened, both snapped toward the entrance.
Relief flashed across their faces.
So did disbelief.
Without speaking, Raiden separated from Armaan and walked toward Sylus's side.
For the first time since entering the Realm...
Armaan stood alone.
His footsteps echoed throughout the silent chamber.
Every gaze settled upon him.
The Eight Thanes.
The royal guards.
The lieutenants.
And at the center of it all...
King Zor'kyrell himself.
His horns burned beneath an endless cloak of blazing Prana.
Yet Armaan never hesitated.
His back remained straight.
His face revealed nothing.
Residual energy stirred his disheveled hair as he walked down the center of the hall.
He didn't glance left.
He didn't glance right.
He carried himself like a warrior who had defeated a lieutenant and shattered the impossible to stand here.
One step.
Then another.
Finally, he reached the center of the Court.
He stopped.
Slowly raising his head, Armaan met the crushing presence of the Eight Thanes without lowering his eyes even once.
"Yo," Samar whispered, giving Armaan a subtle wave from across the hall.
Armaan glanced sideways, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he spotted Samar and Roumit watching from the edge of the court. Even in the middle of a chamber filled with monsters in human form, that silent understanding between the three of them hadn't changed.
Then the atmosphere turned cold.
"So... you are Armaan."
The voice echoed through the hall like distant thunder.
"The boy from Earth who defeated Raiden Sel Roff, lieutenant to Sylus, the Thane of Eclipse."
King Zor'kyrell slowly rose from his throne.
The instant he stood, every Thane followed.
Not one heartbeat later.
Sylus.
Vera Hakui.
Every ruler of the Draconic Realm stood in perfect unison, as though the King's will alone dictated the movement of the entire court.
Looking down at the lone Earthling before him, Zor'kyrell allowed himself a faint smile, a rare expression on his otherwise stern face.
"You have earned our respect."
His blazing eyes rested firmly on Armaan.
"You have proven yourself worthy of becoming the inheritor of one of the ruling dragons."
A brief silence settled over the chamber before he continued.
"The final stage of your awakening will begin shortly."
"When it is complete, you shall officially become a member of the Draconic Realm... and begin climbing the ranks of the Draconic Eightfold Court."
His words lingered in the silent hall.
Then the King returned to his throne.
As if responding to an unspoken command, every Thane sat at the exact same moment, their eyes never leaving the young warrior standing alone at the center of the court.
The Thane of Wind, Vera Hakui, gave a slight flick of her wrist, signaling the woman beside her throne to step forward.
Zykarith emerged from behind the throne with calm, measured steps. Stopping a short distance ahead of Armaan, she unrolled an ancient gilded scroll and cleared her throat. Her voice rang through the vast chamber with practiced authority.
"Upon completion of this sacred rite, Armaan shall become the true inheritor of the Deepsea Bloodshed Dragon, Xarthos, gaining both the Dragon's divine power... and its ancient memories."
Armaan quietly watched her from behind.
It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had spent half his journey bickering with him over the smallest things.
The sharp-tongued, stubborn Zykarith he knew was nowhere to be seen.
Standing before the Eight Thanes, she carried herself with flawless composure, every word and movement reflecting the dignity expected of a lieutenant of the Draconic Eightfold Court.
She continued reading.
"The rite is absolute. The chosen candidate shall either receive a sacred Draconic blade... or have their existing weapon reforged with the holy blood of the Five Ruling Dragons."
As the final words echoed through the hall, two Zenka mages stepped silently from the shadows between the towering pillars.
They approached Armaan, bowed respectfully, and extended their hands.
Wordlessly asking for his weapon.
Armaan hesitated.
Instead of handing it over, he slowly raised one hand.
It looked less like a legendary warrior seeking permission to speak...
...and more like a student asking a question in class.
A few curious eyes shifted toward him.
King Zor'kyrell gave a single nod.
"You may speak."
"Actually..." Armaan scratched the back of his head. "My Aethar weapon already has a spirit living inside it. His name is Meiryu Engetsuzaan."
He glanced between the King and the waiting mages.
"Nothing's going to happen to him during this process... right?"
Deep within the endless darkness of the blade's inner realm, Meiryu folded his arms and looked toward the distant light beyond.
"That's my boy," the spirit muttered with a proud grin.
King Zor'kyrell answered without hesitation.
"The spirit within your blade will not perish."
"The holy blood of the Ruling Dragons will merge with its essence, allowing both the weapon and its spirit to ascend to a far greater state."
"You have nothing to fear."
The tension left Armaan's shoulders.
"Thank you."
With a relieved smile, he unsheathed his dark katana and placed it into the waiting hands of the two mages.
One of the mages stepped forward, carefully producing an ornate crystal vial.
Inside swirled a dense, luminous liquid.
The sacred blood of the Five Ruling Dragons.
The Blackhole Dragon.
The Deepsea Bloodshed Dragon.
The Seer Dragon.
The Storm Dragon.
And the Inferno Dragon.
Beside him, the second mage raised Armaan's katana upright, its dark blade gleaming beneath the light of the court.
With flawless precision, the first mage uncorked the vial and let a single crimson drop fall.
Tap.
The instant it touched the tip of the blade, reality seemed to bend.
Instead of sliding down the steel, the tiny drop exploded outward, blooming into a torrent of scarlet energy that swallowed the entire weapon.
Armaan's eyes widened.
Across the hall, Samar and Roumit instinctively leaned forward, unable to hide their amazement.
The blade that had accompanied Armaan since his very first mission...
The blade that had slain his first Daitya.
That had clashed against Varkash.
That had finally defeated Raiden.
It was being reborn.
The dark steel blazed with crimson light before settling into a deep blood-red finish, its edges darkening into an abyssal black. The chain wrapped around the hilt reforged itself into crimson steel, while the once-simple circular guard expanded into a broad crossguard engraved with ancient draconic runes that pulsed faintly with life.
As the brilliant glow faded, the two mages respectfully carried the transformed katana toward King Zor'kyrell.
The horn-crowned monarch accepted it with both hands.
Silence settled over the court.
Then Zykarith's voice broke it.
"Armaan. Step forward and receive your reforged blade from the King of the Draconic Realm."
Without hesitation, Armaan drew in a slow breath.
The faint surprise on his face disappeared, replaced by the calm, unwavering composure that had carried him through every impossible battle.
He climbed the steps leading to the throne.
With each step, the atmosphere grew heavier.
A dense black aura of Prana slowly bled from his body, spreading across the chamber like creeping smoke.
The pressure alone made Vera Hakui inhale sharply.
Even among the Eight Thanes...
...the power surrounding this Earthling was impossible to ignore.
Yet none of them spoke.
They simply watched him approach the highest seat in the Draconic Realm.
Reaching the foot of the throne, Armaan lowered himself onto one knee.
He extended both hands forward in quiet respect.
King Zor'kyrell looked down at him, a faint smile softening his otherwise imposing features.
Without saying a word, he gently placed the blood-red katana into Armaan's waiting hands.
Swoosh.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, a violent surge shot through his entire body.
His muscles locked.
His heartbeat stopped for a fraction of a second.
His dark brown eyes flew open, the pupils expanding until they became completely blank.
Then...
Everything disappeared.
The towering court.
The Eight Thanes.
Samar.
Roumit.
Even the King.
The world shattered into silence as Armaan's consciousness plunged into an endless sea of darkness.