The fire crackled in the small wooden house, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Outside, snow fell softly over the village of Valka a quiet, forgotten place on the eastern edge of the world. The kind of village where nothing ever happened. Where people farmed, fished, and lived simple lives under the supposed protection of the 10th Empire.
Inside, a group of children sat in a circle around an old man, their eyes wide with excitement.
"Grandfather! Tell us the story!" a young boy shouted.
"Yeah! The one about the dragon!" another child added.
The old man weathered and gray, with kind eyes and a warm smile chuckled softly.
"Again? Haven't you heard this story a hundred times already?"
"We want to hear it again!"
they all said together.
Among them sat Nida fourteen years old, with long black hair tied back and sharp, curious eyes. Unlike the other children, she wasn't sitting close to her grandfather. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, trying to look bored.
But she was listening.
She always listened.
"Alright, alright," the old man said, settling into his chair. "Then listen well..."
THE GRANDFATHER'S TALE
"Eight hundred years ago," he began, his voice taking on that storytelling rhythm all grandparents seem to know, "the world was dying."
The children leaned forward.
"Humanity summoned an ancient dragon to fight a demon from Hell. The dragon won, but we broke our promise to it. The demon survived and bonded with a girl just a child, really. The demon demanded humanity accept her as their new god."
"And we said no!"
one of the younger kids interrupted.
"That's right. We said no."
Grandfather nodded gravely.
"And for that, she destroyed us. She led an army of the undead across the world. The sun vanished. The sky turned red. Darkness everywhere."
The room grew quiet. Even Nida stopped pretending not to care.
"But then,"
Grandfather continued, his voice dropping to a whisper,
"one man performed a forbidden ritual. He sacrificed his own blood, his own life, to summon the Blood Dragon Warrior."
"The warrior with the red scales!"
a girl whispered.
"Yes. Crimson scales that glowed like fresh blood. Wings so large they blocked out the sky. With one strike, he split mountains. With one breath, he poisoned the air itself. He tore through the undead army and ended the girl who led them."
"Did he kill her?" Nida asked suddenly, unable to help herself.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Grandfather smiled.
"Not her grandfather, actually. But the girl herself—yes. Though..."
He paused, his expression thoughtful.
"History doesn't tell us why she did what she did. Some say she acted out of love. Others claim a demon possessed her as a child."
"Tsk." Nida rolled her eyes. "It's obviously fake. Dragons, undead, all of it just stories."
"Nida!" Her mother's voice cut through the room like a knife.
Ruioa stepped out from the kitchen—a strong woman in her thirties with the same black hair as her daughter and tired but fierce eyes. She worked too hard, worried too much, but loved her family fiercely.
"Is this how you speak to your elders?" Ruioa said, hands on her hips.
"I'm just saying—"
"You asked us to tell you a story because none of you could sleep. And now you're being disrespectful?"
Nida looked down. "Sorry, Mother."
Grandfather waved his hand dismissively.
"It's fine, Ruioa. She's young. Let her question things." He smiled at Nida. "Questions are good."
Ruioa sighed but didn't argue further. "It's late. Everyone should sleep now."
The children groaned but slowly got up, heading to their sleeping mats.
"Goodnight, Grandfather!"
"Sleep well, everyone," the old man said warmly.
ALONE UNDER THE STARS
Later that night, Grandfather sat outside on a small wooden bench, a cup of cheap wine in his hand. The stars were bright tonight cold and distant, but beautiful.
The door creaked open.
Nida stepped out, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.
"Can't sleep?" Grandfather asked without looking at her.
"...No." She sat down beside him.
For a moment, they just sat in comfortable silence, watching the snow fall.
Then Nida spoke quietly. "Grandfather... is it real? The story about the dragon warrior?"
He took a sip of wine. "Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've lived long enough to see the world repeat its mistakes."
He looked at her. "Why do you ask? I thought you didn't believe in it."
Nida pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "If it's real... then why doesn't the dragon come back now?"
Grandfather's smile faded. "What do you mean?"
"Since I was born, we've been hiding here," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
"We can't leave. We can't see the world. We're just... stuck." Her fists clenched. "And Dad... that day when the soldiers came... why did he have to sacrifice himself just so we could hide here?!"
Her voice cracked.
Grandfather set down his cup and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nida..."
"I'm tired of it," she whispered. "I'm tired of being afraid."
The old man was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice soft but firm.
"Your father didn't die that day just to save us from becoming slaves, Nida. He died so that you could inherit his will."
Nida looked up at him, confused.
"He wanted you to make this country free again," Grandfather continued. "A place without fear. Without cruelty. That's why he gave his life—so you could live and carry that dream forward."
Nida stared at him, her throat tight.
"The dragon will come," Grandfather said quietly, looking back up at the stars. "Not to save the world. But to save us from ourselves."
Nida didn't respond. She just sat there, her mind racing, her heart pounding.
Somewhere deep inside her, something stirred.
A spark.
A vow she didn't fully understand yet.
One day... I'll free us. I'll make them pay.
But for now, she just sat with her grandfather under the stars, unaware that everything was about to change.
End of Chapter 1