The dragon tail swayed gently with the airflow as Ryan, transformed into a peach-colored dragon, wobbled unsteadily through the sky. The flame cloud beneath his claws flickered like an incompletely burning flame, intermittently supporting his body.
The sensation of flying was dreadful—far from the imagined elegance of soaring through clouds, it felt more like a toddler learning to walk, requiring him to tense every scale with each ascent.
"Huff... I survived after all."
As the thought surfaced, a faint whimper escaped his dragon throat. Glancing down at the grayish-black scale fragments still clinging to his claws—remnants shed during the earlier poisoning—he noticed they were now covered by a layer of newly grown peach-colored scale armor.
The burning pain in his lungs had completely vanished, replaced by a warm, flowing sensation that spread through his blood vessels, even soothing his smoke-irritated eyes.
It worked—the fruit had truly taken effect.
This realization abruptly relaxed his tense nerves, nearly causing him to tumble from the flame cloud. He frantically swung his tail fin to stabilize himself, catching a glimpse of the Marine ships in the harbor from the corner of his eye.
During his earlier escape, he had clearly seen the swarming blue-and-white figures on the decks and the dark, gaping muzzles of cannons.
Approach? No way.
Ryan shook the small horns on his head, his pale yellow dragon whiskers swaying with the motion.
He was a prisoner—in Punk Hazard's records, merely a numbered test subject. Even if he had miraculously survived thanks to this fruit, in the eyes of the Marines, how was he any different from the monsters Caesar used as experimental materials?
Who knew if there were any formidable individuals among them?
If he encountered someone with Haki or a scientist specializing in Devil Fruit research, wouldn't this newly fluttering little dragon be easily captured in a net?
Forget freedom—would he even be able to keep his body intact? Sliced for research? Dissected for analysis? Just imagining those scenarios sent a chill beneath his scales.
He couldn't afford to gamble, nor was there any need.
He tilted his head and vigorously flapped his fins away from the harbor. The flame cloud beneath his feet seemed to sense his intent, suddenly thickening and propelling him rapidly upward into the high altitude.
Wind roared past his ears, leaving the poisonous fog and clamor far behind.
Although turning into this absurd form was outrageous and his flying skills were terribly clumsy, at least he had survived, right?
Ryan gazed at the increasingly distinct sea ahead, a flicker of relief in his round eyes—first, he had to leave this troubled place. As for what came next... he would deal with it later.
For now, at least, he was free.
....
Ryan, transformed into the peach-colored dragon, flew straight toward the horizon.
On the first day, he still felt in control, with novelty overpowering everything else. The flame cloud beneath his feet resembled a docile wad of cotton, carrying him over the rolling sea of clouds. Occasionally, he glanced down at the sparkling blue sea, the wind carrying the salty scent of freedom.
So this is what it feels like to be a dragon.
But by the second day, the novelty had turned into torment. The sky was monotonously unsettling, with no decent clouds in sight except for the occasional passing seabird.
The harsh sunlight beat down on his peach-colored scales, making him nostalgic for the gloomy, poison-shrouded skies of Punk Hazard.
At least he didn't have to endure such scorching sun anymore.
His stomach chose that moment to growl untimely, the hollow feeling still like a hand gripping his internal organs until they tightened.
On the third day, despair surged over him like a tide.
Ryan couldn't remember how long he had been flying. The Flame Cloud beneath his feet grew increasingly sparse, flickering in and out, nearly dropping him several times.
Looking around, there was still nothing but the vast ocean, not even a passing ship in sight, let alone an island where he could land.
His consciousness began to blur, the sea and sky twisting together until he could no longer tell which was which.
"If only... I had tried approaching the Marines back then..." Ryan thought hazily, a faint whimper escaping his Dragon Throat.
Maybe those people would have found it strange to see a flying little dragon. Even if they didn't take him seriously, they might at least have given him some food or pointed him in the right direction?
Why had he been so stubborn back then, convinced he would be dissected? Now, instead of being captured by the Marines, he was going to die of exhaustion in this godforsaken sea...
He even began to regret not thinking about direction earlier. Thinking he could just fly randomly and stumble upon an island was laughably foolish.
The ocean was a hundred times larger than he had imagined. Without coordinates or a goal, flying felt like spinning in place, every ounce of effort wasted.
Just as his consciousness was about to sink completely, a flash of color that didn't belong to the sky or sea caught the corner of his eye—a floating landmass suspended among the clouds!
The island was covered in lush greenery, and he could even see a waterfall cascading down a cliff, turning into a white ribbon as it plunged into the sea of clouds.
"An island... there's an island!" Ryan felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, jolting him back to alertness.
Summoning the last of his strength, he flapped his nearly immovable Fins with all his might. The Flame Cloud beneath his feet seemed to rally one last time, coalescing as it carried him toward the floating island.
As he drew closer, he could even smell the fresh scent of grass and trees from the island.
But when he finally reached the island's airspace and saw the soft grassland below, the tension that had gripped him for three days and nights suddenly snapped. All his strength seemed to drain away in an instant.
His Fins could no longer flap, the Flame Cloud dissipated completely, and his body plummeted like a heavy stone, crashing straight toward the ground.
"Thud—"
With a dull thud, Ryan slammed into the grass, creating a shallow crater on impact. Dirt and grass clippings splattered all over him, several of his Peach-colored Scales scraped off, the pain making him grimace.
But he didn't move, lying there on his back in the crater, his chest heaving violently with each breath carrying the scent of grass. His round eyes stared up at the sky, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves, warming his face.
No Poisonous Fog, no explosions, no Marine ships, no endless sea.
"I'm saved..." The moment the thought surfaced, Ryan felt every bone in his body groan in protest.
As his mind relaxed, the exhaustion from three days and nights without sleep washed over him like a tide. His eyelids felt as heavy as lead, and all he wanted was to curl up and sleep right there in the warm sunlight.
No! I can't sleep!
He shook his head violently, his pale yellow Dragon Whiskers trembling intensely. Using his claws to push hard against the muddy ground, the sharp pain that shot through him brought a measure of clarity.
In such an unfamiliar place, falling down could mean never getting up again. He had to figure out where he was, find something to fill his stomach, and find a way to familiarize himself with the power of this Dragon Form Body...
But before he could steady his front claws, a faint, elusive sound of wind brushed past, followed immediately by a sharp, arrogant laugh exploding overhead: "Heh heh heh heh, so it's just a little worm."
The voice seemed to come from far away, carrying a strange echo. Though the tone was light, it radiated an undeniable pressure.
Ryan instinctively looked up. The moment his gaze met the figure, his round Dragon Pupils abruptly contracted, and the Scales all over his body instinctively tightened.
This attire... this aura... and this way of speaking...
How could it be him?!