After the Fall… When Awareness Begins
Lloyd did not move.
His body lay where it had fallen—motionless, unresisting, unconscious—as if the moment he collapsed had been his final decision. His limbs were sprawled unevenly; one hand lay open, fingers slack, while the other remained half-clenched, as though it had forgotten there was nothing left to hold.
The sky above him did not care.
It did not darken further.
Nor did it brighten in mercy.
And the ground beneath him showed no compassion.
It was hard and cold, fractured by the aftermath of the clash. Small stones were embedded in his exposed skin, and dust clung to his torn clothes, forming a thin layer that concealed their original color.
Bruises spread across his arms and chest—overlapping, stacking upon one another—each bearing the silent signature of a blow he had failed to understand in time. Some were darker, older; others were fresh, a harsh violet that had not yet settled. As for the open wounds, they refused to close—not merely because of their depth, but because the battle itself rejected the idea that it had truly ended.
Blood continued to flow.
Not in a rush.
Not in a fatal torrent.
But in a thin, stubborn line, slipping down his skin and disappearing into the soil, as if writing a quiet proof of survival no one was meant to read.
Life had not left him.
But neither was it stable within him anymore.
The dragon stood before him.
Its massive body did not shift. Its wings were folded, claws grounded, breathing steady—as though it had not fought moments ago. It did not raise its talons. It did not prepare another strike. There was no reason to.
To look at Lloyd now was not to see an opponent, but a result.
Its eyes were steady, ancient, carrying memories older than this place itself. It had seen many bodies fall like this. Had witnessed ambitions shatter, names erased, spirits that never understood why they were not allowed to continue.
"Human…"
The word emerged low and rough, yet devoid of anger or contempt. It was not an insult—only a classification.
"Thrown into a world that does not wait."
Silence followed.
Not an empty silence, but one filled with ongoing judgment. Its gaze returned to Lloyd's body, to the chest that still rose and fell with difficulty, to the blood that had not fully stopped.
"And yet…"
It paused.
The next words lingered unspoken—not because meaning was absent, but because acknowledging it served no purpose now.
The air behind it distorted.
There was no explosion.
No storm.
Only a slow deformation, as if space itself were rearranging its boundaries. The void stretched, compressed, then began to take on an unstable shape.
The gate began to form.
It did not open—it expanded.
It made no sound—it swallowed light.
The dragon turned, watching with a practiced eye, as though this transformation was not unfamiliar.
"So… it has changed its position."
The words carried no irritation.
It looked back at Lloyd one last time.
"That means the path has not closed."
A brief hesitation—barely noticeable.
Then, in a voice lower still, closer to an unspoken admission:
"I will wait for you, boy."
It was not a promise.
Nor a threat.
It was a fact suspended in time.
Light consumed it.
Space folded inward.
And the gate closed.
Lloyd was left alone.
A broken body.
An unconscious mind.
But… alive.
---
When the void finally settled, the place was no longer the same.
The silence was no longer still, but taut—expectant. Then a faint glow formed near Lloyd's body. It flickered, hesitated, as if even appearing required careful calculation.
And then it took on a familiar shape.
The small dragon emerged.
It was not large.
Not imposing.
Not a presence that dominated its surroundings.
Yet it stood with quiet balance, as though this cruel world acknowledged it—reluctantly.
It stepped closer.
Then another.
Its eyes never left Lloyd as it examined his body in silence, from head to toe. The inspection was not random; it was deliberate. It paused at the open wounds, at the bleeding points, at the smaller tears unnoticed during the fight.
Then… at something unseen.
It stiffened briefly.
Tilted its head.
Then straightened.
A decision had been made.
A short breath escaped it, and a soft green light flowed from its mouth. The beam was gentle, not sharp or forceful. It wrapped around Lloyd's body, closing wounds gradually. The bleeding stopped. The feverish heat faded.
The pain did not vanish.
It diminished—to something survivable.
Moments passed.
Lloyd's breathing changed. It grew deeper, heavier. His chest rose sharply, then fell. His eyelids trembled once… twice… before opening slowly.
The world returned blurred.
Sounds distant.
Light without edges.
He tried to move.
His body refused.
Exhaustion was absolute, every muscle demanding its due. He exhaled weakly, then noticed a small shadow beside him. He focused what little awareness he had left until the shape became clear.
The small dragon.
It stood there, tilting its head side to side, as if confirming that its companion had truly returned.
Lloyd stared at it for a long moment. He could not smile. He could not move. But words still found their way out.
"Th… thank you…"
He said nothing more.
He could not.
His eyes closed again, this time without resistance. His body surrendered, sinking back into darkness—but not the same darkness as before.
---
This darkness was not empty.
It was an inner space.
Awareness.
Weight.
Memory.
I lost.
The thought came quietly, without pain at first. Then it expanded. The battle replayed—not as chaos, but in slow motion. Every mistake became clear. Every moment of recklessness. Every decision driven by force instead of understanding.
"I fought with power…"
The voice within him was calm.
"Not with comprehension."
Gradually, awareness returned to the body.
A sharp gasp.
Real pain.
Teeth clenched—no scream.
He sat up slowly. His head spun, his stomach tightened, but his body obeyed. He looked at his hands. They trembled—but they could still grasp.
"I wasn't defeated because I was weak…"
He whispered.
"But because I wasn't ready."
The crimson eye pulsed.
Not a flare.
An awakening.
The world changed.
Energy traces.
Movement paths.
Open spaces he could have exploited.
He reached for his father's sword. Gripped it. The sensation was familiar. Steady.
A sword does not fight for you.
It reminds you who you are.
He stood.
With difficulty.
But with resolve.
He looked toward the horizon—where the great dragon had vanished.
"I will lose again…"
He said quietly.
"If I do not change."
Then, louder:
"But I will not break."
Somewhere far away…
Something stirred.
And for the first time—
Lloyd was no longer merely a survivor.
He was a developing threat.
{End of Chapter}