The next morning,
the garden still slept beneath the weight of the night.
Cold air drifted through the trees, carrying dewdrops that trembled upon the leaves.
On the stone platform, Noa stirred. His eyes opened slowly — dark irises encircled by a thin crimson ring, a vertical slit cutting through their centers.
Silver hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and from his head rose two small, half-formed horns. His clothing was simple yet noble — a black tunic, a patterned belt, and violet silk ribbons draping from his shoulders. Beneath the simplicity, the scent of royalty lingered.
— "My son, are you awake?"
The voice reached him like frost carried on a soft wind.
Noa lifted his head. Before him stood a woman with snow-white hair flowing down her back, her face serene, her blue eyes calm as a winter sky.
— "Mother…" he said quietly, hesitating.
— "Do you always come here every morning?"
Sylvia approached, knelt beside him, and smiled tenderly.
— "Yes, Noa. I always come to see you."
Warmth spread through his chest, though beneath it, a weight pressed hard.
He lowered his gaze.
— "…Am I really a high dragon?
I can't even reach my dragon form."**
Sylvia brushed his hair with a soft yet steady hand.
— "I know. It's rare… A dragon who can't take form."
Noa's jaw tightened. Niva — the humanoid form of dragons.
By ancient law, a child was born in the shape their mother held during pregnancy.
Many dragons now lived in Niva form, and so their children were born wingless, without scales — resembling humans.
The children of the high dragons were the same; when awakened, they shed that form and took on their true, draconic nature.
But "later" had already passed. His peers had long since taken flight.
He hadn't even felt the shadow of wings.
— "They've all changed," he murmured. "But me… nothing."
Sylvia wrapped him in her arms, her voice steady and warm.
— "You're not like the others, Noa. Even if your form sleeps, your heart carries power. Be patient."
The words had barely settled in his chest when a sharp voice cut through the air:
— "Prince Noa! His Majesty calls for you — immediately!"
A servant ran forward, bowing low.
Noa stood, every muscle tense.
— "Thank you." He nodded, then turned to his mother.
— "Will you wait for me?"
Sylvia smiled softly.
— "Of course, my son."
He left the garden. Along the stone path, other dragons turned to watch him — some whispered, others laughed outright.
The elders with their long white beards stared with heavy eyes.
Their gazes pierced him, but Noa kept a faint smile. Beneath it, his chest tightened, his jaw trembled, his teeth pressed together until pain flared.
Rumors had already spread — the prince who couldn't transform; the heir who might never awaken.
By the time the palace doors loomed ahead, his heartbeat pounded like a drum.
He entered the grand hall and bowed deeply.
— "Father… the trial will be today."
The Dragon Emperor looked down at him with a gaze neither warm nor hateful — only cold unease.
— "You still haven't changed form," he said.
"You avoid training. You don't carry yourself like a prince."
Cold sweat trickled down Noa's back. His throat felt tight.
— "Well?" The Emperor's voice sharpened. "Have you lost your tongue?"
Noa's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms.
— "I'm doing everything I can, Father."
The Emperor laughed — cold, cutting.
— "Everything you can? You've barely stepped outside the library."
Noa's teeth ground together.
Heat rose in his chest.
— "I'll train harder… I won't run anymore."
The Emperor's face didn't change.
— "See that you do. Words mean nothing to me anymore."
Noa lifted his head.
— "I'll do my best, Father."
— "In the northern valley," the Emperor said, "a dark beast has awakened. Third-class. At dawn, you will face it. Blood will decide — if the heir cannot prove himself, he is no heir at all."
Cold spread through Noa's veins. Still, he bowed.
— "I understand, Father."
— "Good. Now leave. This trial will reveal your blood — whether it runs strong… or not at all."
He paused.
— "The other dragon heirs defeated such creatures with ease. If you cannot…"
His eyes narrowed.
— "Then what awaits you will be worse than death."
The words struck like iron. Noa turned sharply, fists trembling, and left the hall.
From the shadowed corridor, Sylvia watched her son disappear through the palace doors. Her heart ached.
Noa… how can they send you, a boy who wouldn't even harm a fly, to face such a beast? Even I cannot tell you the truth — if you knew what sleeps inside you… what you are…
Would you still call me mother?
💭 What do you think will happen next?What kind of power flows in his blood?
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