I open my eyes.
Or at least, I think I do.
There is no ceiling. No walls. No hospital lights buzzing overhead. Only a towering set of palace doors stretching higher than the sky itself. The metal is dark crimson, almost black, carved with ancient symbols that pulse faintly like veins under skin. The writing shifts when I try to focus on it, as if the language refuses to let a mortal fully understand it.
The air smells like smoke and something older—like ash that has existed for centuries.
I place my hand on the door.
It's warm.
Not burning. Not yet. Just warm enough to remind me that whatever lies beyond it is alive.
I push.
The doors groan open slowly, the sound echoing across a chamber far too large to belong to any building that could exist in the real world. A long path stretches forward—obsidian stone reflecting a sky of fire. Flames crawl along the walls like living serpents, twisting upward in spirals. They don't flicker randomly. They move with purpose.
The heat presses against my skin.
But it doesn't burn me.
That's what unsettles me most.
I walk forward, each step echoing too loudly in the empty palace. My reflection moves beneath me in the black stone floor, but it's slightly delayed—like it's considering whether it wants to follow.
At the far end of the palace sits a throne carved from molten rock and cooled into jagged shapes. It looks uncomfortable. Brutal. Designed not for comfort, but dominance.
And on it—
The dragon.
Its body coils around the throne itself, massive and patient. Crimson scales layered like armor forged from war. Each breath it exhales releases steam that rolls across the floor in thick waves. Its eyes open slowly as if it has been waiting.
No.
Not waiting.
Expecting.
I don't know how I know that it summoned me here, but I do.
I stop several feet away from it. My voice feels smaller than I want it to.
"What do you want?"
The dragon lowers its head slightly, studying me. Its pupils narrow.
When it exhales, the steam that leaves its nostrils is heavy enough to fog the entire hall. I can feel the pressure of its power, like gravity bending inward.
"Next time," it says, its voice layered—like multiple voices speaking through one throat—"I am not giving you power without an exchange."
The words vibrate in my chest.
"Let's get one thing clear," it continues, curling one massive claw over the edge of the throne. "I am not here to help you. I am not here to like you."
Its lip pulls back slightly, revealing rows of teeth sharp enough to shear through steel.
"I hate mortals. I despise your kind. Weak. Fragile. So quick to despair."
Its eyes glow brighter.
"And if you ever… ever truly despair—when you feel your life is meaningless… when you believe you have no one… when that emptiness hollows you from the inside—"
The air tightens.
"That is when I will take your body."
The flames along the walls surge higher.
"That is when I will take over fully."
There's no dramatic music. No thunder. Just the certainty in its voice.
It isn't threatening me.
It's promising.
I swallow.
My throat feels dry even in this heat.
"Okay," I say quietly.
Not defiant.
Not scared.
Just accepting.
"And send me back."
For a moment, the dragon simply stares at me. Then one massive claw lifts.
It snaps its talons together.
—
The world shatters.
—
I gasp as my eyes open for real this time.
Fluorescent lights. White ceiling. The faint smell of antiseptic.
Medical bay.
My arms feel heavy. I look down and see IV lines running into my veins. I follow them with my eyes and see two other beds.
Maya.
Jordan.
Both unconscious.
Machines hum beside them. Monitors beep steadily.
I sit up slowly, the IV tugging at my arm. My body protests. Everything feels sore—deep, bone-level soreness like I got crushed and stitched back together.
To my right is a mirror mounted against the wall.
Cracked.
I stand and walk toward it carefully.
The red hair is gone.
Back to black.
The blood that covered me before—gone. Cleaned off. But on the floor near the trash bin are stacks of bloody towels, thrown away like someone tried to erase what happened.
I stare at my reflection.
Was this supposed to happen?
Two weeks ago we were training with Shu. Just drills. Controlled sparring. Learning about monsters from textbooks and simulations. He told us stories about ancient threats, about how Dragon Keepers once stood between worlds.
But I never expected us to face something like that.
Not this early.
Not like that.
I lift my shirt slowly.
No gashes.
No burns.
No cuts.
The places I remember being ripped open are smooth. Healed. Not even scars.
I press against my ribs. My stomach. My shoulder.
Nothing.
"How…?"
My voice sounds different in the quiet room. Smaller.
I drop my shirt and take a breath before pulling the IV out carefully. The sting barely registers.
As I walk out of the medical bay, the soreness lingers, but it feels superficial—like my body remembers pain even if the wounds are gone.
Cameron is pacing back and forth in the hallway.
Shu stands at a computer terminal, typing rapidly. Lines of data flash across the screen—readings, scans, energy fluctuations.
Cameron's hands are clenched in his hair.
"I can't believe this happened," he says, voice tight. "I should have done more."
Shu doesn't look at him. "Calm yourself. You did what you could."
"It wasn't enough."
"It was what you were capable of."
"It's my fault for not preparing more!"
That's when they notice me.
Cameron turns first.
His eyes widen.
He runs over immediately.
"William—are you okay?"
Up close, I can see it. His eyes are slightly puffy. Red around the edges. He cried.
He doesn't look injured. Just shaken.
"I'm fine," I say.
And I mean it.
Relief washes over his face so quickly it almost hurts to look at.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I could have done more."
I place my hand on his shoulder.
Moments like this usually aren't my thing. I'm not great with words. But I can see the weight on him.
"I was afraid too," I tell him.
He blinks. "You were?"
"Of course I was." I let out a small breath. "Being afraid isn't wrong. It means you understand what's at stake."
He looks at me like he doesn't believe it.
"You're braver than any of us," I continue. "You were the only one thinking clearly enough to get them out. You saved us."
His shoulders loosen.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
The tension in him eases. Not completely. But enough.
He steps away, calmer now.
Shu approaches me next.
His usual composed expression is tighter than normal.
"William," he says carefully, "you've done something serious."
"What do you mean?"
"That red hair. That transformation."
I stay quiet.
"You performed Royu."
"Royu?"
"It is ancient," Shu says. "A state where the Dragon Keeper and their dragon synchronize at a deeper level. Every Keeper has the potential. Very few unlock it."
"And that's bad?"
His eyes sharpen.
"Yes."
The word is firm.
"The more you enter that state, the more your consciousness and your dragon's intertwine. The lines blur. Eventually, you may not be able to distinguish your thoughts from its own."
The hallway feels colder somehow.
"You could lose your identity."
The dragon's words echo faintly in my mind.
When you truly despair…
Shu steps closer.
"Never do it again."
There's no anger in his voice.
Just warning.
I nod.
"I understand."
But even as I say it, I remember the power. The heat. The way the world felt smaller in my presence.
I turn and leave before he can read my face.
Outside, the sky is darker now. Evening settling in.
I walk home slowly, hands in my pockets.
My body is healed.
My team is alive.
Everything should feel normal.
But in the back of my mind, I can still see the throne.
Still hear the snap of claws.
And somewhere deep inside my chest—
I swear I can feel something smiling.