[Chp 20] The World of Dragons

Atop a wind-swept hill in the Second Realm, two lone figures stood beneath a darkening sky. “Zarif, what is it you need?” Iskar asked softly, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. Zarif stood with his back to him, his long, red-and-black hair dancing in the gusts, the remains of his tattered cloak whipping like torn banners. He exhaled deeply before turning, his eyes glowing with a deep ocean-blue intensity. “Once I’ve finished bringing peace to this realm…” Zarif began, his tone heavy, “it’ll be time to move on—to the First Realm. The realm of endless war.” Iskar’s breath caught in his throat. Zarif continued. “And after that… Death himself will come for me. I already know I won’t survive that fight. Even with all my strength—even stronger than most gods—I won’t win. Death always wins.” He paused. The wind stilled for a moment, as if holding its breath with him. “But if I fall…” Zarif’s voice faded as he raised one arm, plunging it into his chest without hesitation. Bloodless—divine—his fingers emerged holding a dark, swirling sphere pulsing with unstable energy. Iskar’s eyes widened. “That’s… the Oblivion Orb!” “Indeed,” Zarif nodded. “And it came from your realm—the Eighth Realm.” He stepped forward, holding the orb out between them. “When I die… this orb will return to your land. It will be unclaimed—unguarded. But listen to me, Iskar… if you find someone who carries fragments of me—my soul, my fury, my fire—then that one is my heir.” Zarif’s grip tightened around the orb. “He won’t bear my name… but he will carry my will. He won’t seek the path… but the path will find him. And when it does—give him the orb. Let him consume it.” He met Iskar’s eyes, the wind screaming once more around them. “You must not let anyone else take it. Not a single soul. Only him.” Zarif took another deep breath, his gaze hardening with purpose. “And one more thing…” he said, his voice low but resolute. “When the time comes, take him to the World of Dragons. Only there will he awaken the truth within—his dragon soul… his dragon power.” He turned his eyes to the distant horizon. “Without it, the Seventh Realm will devour him.” Several days had passed since the intense duel with Iskar, filled with training and restless thoughts, and the air in Zero’s room still seemed charged with anticipation, as if something was about to change. A firm knock interrupted his thoughts, and when Zero opened the door, Iskar stood there with a serious expression and sharp eyes. “It’s time,” Iskar said. “The World of Dragons awaits. We leave immediately.” Zero’s heart quickened. “Already? Just like that?” Iskar gave a curt nod. “There’s no time to waste. Your next trial begins now.” Zero took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Then let’s go.” Without another word, they stepped, “Where are you headed, Iskar?” the Guildmaster asked, his voice calm but firm. “I’m taking him to the World of Dragons,” Iskar replied without hesitation. The Guildmaster nodded thoughtfully. “Good. Just so you know, in a year’s time the Tournament of Realms will begin. Every realm—except the Ninth—will send their strongest champion to compete and prove which realm is the mightiest.” “Zero will be there—just not yet,” Iskar said over his shoulder, his cloak fluttering behind him as he walked off with Zero at his side. The road was long. And brutal. From the moment they departed the iron gates of Moon Lence, Iskar and Zero were swallowed by the vast wilderness of the Second Realm—where roads faded, stars felt farther away, and the very wind whispered omens. The first leg of their journey led them into the Ashen Marshes, a place where the land itself seemed to mourn. Smoke rose in curling ribbons from the cracked earth, and sulfur clung to the air like invisible chains. The marsh floor bubbled beneath their boots—hot, unstable, alive. Zero’s footing slipped more than once, black sludge clinging to his legs like the grasping fingers of the dead. Each step was a war. But Iskar, ever silent, ever forward, pressed through the muck as if the land feared him. They didn’t stop until the smoke turned thin and the sky cracked open again. The terrain shifted violently in the following days, giving way to the sharp cliffs of Skystone Valley. Towering boulders levitated unnaturally in the sky—massive stones, some as large as castles, suspended by ancient magicks from ages lost. Lightning threaded silently between them, like celestial serpents weaving through the clouds. At night, the rocks pulsed with faint runes—names of long-dead dragons, etched into stone. The wind here howled not with force, but with voices. Some were deep and guttural, others soft and longing. Zero once thought he heard his name whispered in the currents. He didn’t ask Iskar if he’d heard it too. They set camp between stone pillars, blanketed by the ghostly blue light of Zero’s fire. The nights were quiet. The stars didn’t show. Iskar rarely spoke. But his eyes said enough—always watching, especially when Zero meditated. He was studying him. Not as a threat… but as something inevitable. As they crossed into Crystalwood, the world became hauntingly beautiful. Trees shimmered with crystalline bark, their leaves like fragments of stained glass. When the wind passed, the forest didn’t rustle—it chimed. Soft, delicate notes, like a song composed by gods. But beauty in this realm was deceptive. On the third night, a stone-jaguar emerged from the underbrush—its eyes glowing with malice, its body etched in runes. It lunged without a sound. Iskar moved first—his blade a blur, severing the beast’s head mid-leap. But it didn’t stop. The head writhed. The body reformed. Zero reacted instantly, igniting the creature in a blaze of blue hellfire. It screamed—not audibly, but into their minds—before dissolving into molten glass. Iskar gave a single approving nod. They never spoke of it again. There was no need. Then came the Thornridge Mountains—cold, towering, cruel. The winds here weren’t just cold—they hunted. Snow fell like razors, and the air tasted like metal. Their path wound through narrow ridges where one wrong step meant plummeting into a white void. Zero’s fingers cracked and bled beneath his gloves. His fire helped, but barely. Iskar didn’t complain, but Zero noticed frostbite along his collar. One night, without a word, Iskar handed Zero a thin strip of enchanted dragonhide. It pulsed with residual warmth. Zero took it and said nothing. That was how they spoke now—through actions, through silence. On the seventh day, they emerged from the frost, battered but unbroken. Ahead lay the Ruins of Vellmaris, an ancient, crumbling city swallowed by snow and silence. Obsidian towers leaned like ancient bones, half-buried in the frost. Statues of forgotten draconic gods loomed in shattered pieces, their faces eroded by time. The air was heavier here. Sacred. Even the wind dared not speak. At the city’s heart stood the Dragon Gate—an archway forged from obsidian and the bones of a long-dead elder wyrm. Jagged and ominous, it loomed like a maw of frozen time. The runes along its frame were long dormant… until Zero stepped near. A hum. Then a pulse. The runes flickered to life, one by one, like stars awakening in the void. Blue light spilled out from the archway, cold at first… then blazing, searing—alive. The portal rippled like glass stretched over a storm. Power surged in the air, reacting not to Iskar… but to Zero. He stared into it, eyes glowing faintly with that signature azure flame. His heart raced—not with fear, but with destiny pressing down like a weight on his shoulders. Iskar finally spoke, his voice rough from the wind and silence. “This is it.” Zero stood motionless. “This the gate to the World of Dragons?” Zero mumbled, awe tugging at the edge of his voice as the blue stormlight twisted in the obsidian arch. “Yes, it is,” Iskar replied—deadpan, arms crossed, expression unreadable. A beat passed. “Now get IN THERE!” Without warning, Iskar’s boot slammed into Zero’s back. “Wha—!?” Zero yelped as he stumbled forward, arms flailing uselessly—then the portal swallowed him whole. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. Heat. Wind. Pressure. It was like falling through fire and ice at the same time. The world blurred into a kaleidoscope of searing blue light and crackling flame. His ears rang. His skin prickled. Time warped. Reality stretched. And then—Silence. Zero hit the ground with a heavy thud, his body skidding through scorched grass and ash. He coughed violently, sitting up slowly, the scent of sulfur and smoke stinging his nostrils. Around him, the air shimmered with heat. The skies above churned with swirling firestorms, streaks of crimson lightning darting across endless clouds. Towering peaks jutted from the earth like dragon spines, glowing with rivers of molten gold and blue magma. Strange creatures—winged, scaled, colossal—moved between mountain ridges in the distance. It was as if the world itself breathed fire. “…So this is it,” Zero muttered, slowly rising to his feet. “The World of Dragons.” He barely had time to take it in before a rip in the air behind him tore open—and Iskar stepped through casually, brushing ash from his shoulder like nothing had happened. “I told you not to hesitate,” he grunted. “This realm doesn’t wait for cowards.” Zero glared at him. “You kicked me!” “And you're still alive,” Iskar smirked. “You're welcome.” Before Zero could argue, a thunderous roar echoed across the valley—so deep it rattled the bones beneath their skin. The skies parted for a brief moment, and a shadow—massive, ancient—swooped overhead. Wings blotted out the sun. The presence alone made the air heavier. Zero looked up, stunned. “Was that… a dragon?” “No,” Iskar said, his face suddenly serious. “That was one of them.” He turned to Zero with a rare hint of solemnity in his tone. “Here, strength alone won’t save you. Dragons don’t respect power. They respect truth. And only by facing what lies deep inside you—your fear, your pride, your rage—will you earn their recognition.” Zero swallowed hard, his flame pulsing faintly around his fingertips. “Let’s go,” Iskar said, already walking ahead toward a path of cracked stone leading toward a far-off temple nestled in the cliffside. “Your training starts now.” Zero lingered for a second longer, eyes sweeping across the alien, breathtaking realm. Then he followed. The World of Dragons had awakened—and it was watching. Blades clashed with a thunderous clang, the sharp ring echoing across the frozen expanse. Each strike sent shards of ice flying, fracturing into crystalline dust that glittered like stars in the pale light. Where their weapons met, the earth itself seemed to respond—fissures cracked open beneath their feet, releasing bursts of blue flame that roared and twisted like living serpents. The air pulsed with raw energy, a volatile dance of scorching heat and biting cold entwined in a fierce struggle for dominance. Ice crystals formed in jagged patterns along Zero’s blade, their edges shimmering with frost, while sparks of azure fire licked along Iskar’s sword, illuminating the swirling mists that clung to the mountainside. Each clash sent shockwaves through the wilderness, stirring up swirling snowflakes that glittered as they spun in the tempestuous wind. The battle wasn’t just a contest of strength—it was a violent symphony of elemental fury, a wild storm tearing through the silent stillness of the World of Dragons. Zero gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he parried a fierce strike. The cold bit into his skin like needles, but the fire blazing within him surged higher, burning away the chill and igniting his resolve. His breath came in sharp bursts, mingling with the mist as he met Iskar’s gaze—a silent challenge, fierce and unyielding. Around them, the wilderness held its breath, watching as the two forces collided—fire and ice locked in eternal conflict, shaping the fate of the realms with every stroke. The roar of clashing blades faded slightly as the cold wind whipped around them, carrying the raw essence of the World of Dragons itself. Iskar’s voice cut through the storm, low and fierce. “Feel it,” he growled, teeth clenched, eyes burning like smoldering coals beneath furrowed brows. “The power of this world isn’t just strength—it’s survival. Master both fire and ice, or be crushed by them.” Zero’s chest heaved, muscles tense beneath his burning skin, the lingering heat and frost battling within him like warring titans. His gaze snapped upward, voice cracking with fierce defiance, echoing against the jagged cliffs. “I’ve already mastered the flames and the frost. I’ve fought with both raging through my veins, wielded their fury with every breath! Why—why must I be forced to learn again? What cruel fate demands I prove myself over and over, as if the power I carry isn’t enough?” His hands clenched into tight fists, blue flames licking along his knuckles, frost creeping up his arms like icy serpents. “This world tests more than strength—it tests the soul! And yet… it feels like I’m trapped in a cycle, forced to burn and freeze and burn again without end!” A sudden gust tore through the battlefield, whipping his cloak around him like a storm’s roar, yet his voice remained fierce, unwavering. “Tell me, Iskar—how many times must a flame be kindled, how many times must ice freeze and shatter before it’s truly mastered?!” His blue eyes blazed with a mixture of frustration, determination, and something deeper—a hunger to transcend the endless struggle. Inside Zero’s mind, a shadowy presence erupted like thunder—dark, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “You stand in the World of Dragons,” the voice growled, heavy and ancient, reverberating through every fiber of Zero’s being. “Your flames… your ice… They are fragile. Feeble. Weak. Useless.” A chilling laugh echoed, cold as the deepest frost. “Especially that ice you cling to—pathetic. I have seen power beyond your comprehension. Power that can shatter realms and freeze stars.” The voice’s tone shifted—enticing, almost seductive. “I can unlock it for you. Sharpen your ice until it cuts through fate itself. Fan your fire until it burns hotter than suns. I can make you stronger… far stronger than you dare to imagine.” A silence fell, heavy and suffocating, as the voice waited, patient yet commanding. Zero’s eyes snapped wide open, his heart pounding like thunder. Mid-swing, his blade froze in the air, the clash of steel and flame suddenly muted around him. A sudden emptiness engulfed his mind, and without warning, the world slipped away. Darkness swallowed him whole. He awoke to a vast void — an endless black nothingness stretching beyond sight. A cold silence pressed against his very soul. Then, piercing the darkness, a colossal shape emerged — the ancient, majestic head of an ice dragon. Its scales shimmered like frozen stars, eyes glowing with a chilling, otherworldly blue light. The dragon’s gaze locked onto Zero’s, deep and endless as the frozen skies. The void pulsed with an icy breath, and Zero knew this was no dream. This was something far older, far more powerful — a force waiting to test him. The dragon’s colossal head emerged slowly from the shadows, eyes like shards of frozen night piercing the void. Its voice was low, a whisper carried on the howl of ancient glaciers—both a warning and a beckoning. “Zero...” it breathed, the sound echoing like frost cracking beneath a winter moon. “You walk in a realm where fire consumes, but ice preserves… yet your grasp of them is fragile, a flicker in the endless storm.” The dragon’s gaze seemed to ripple through time itself. “Your flame burns with borrowed fury… your ice chills only the surface. But beneath, beneath the frost lies a deeper power—one you have yet to awaken.” A breath colder than oblivion swept past Zero. “I am the ancient silence beneath the glaciers, the shadow in the frozen depths. I offer you a choice: awaken the true cold within your blood, or be shattered by it.” The void pulsed with unseen energy, waiting for Zero’s answer. The dragon’s icy gaze pierced the darkness as her voice echoed, low and ancient like the crackle of glaciers shifting beneath a frozen sky. “I am Sylthara, Keeper of the Eternal Frost. For centuries I have guarded the secrets buried beneath the ice—secrets that only the chosen may claim.” Her immense form shimmered faintly in the void, cold mist swirling around her like a veil. “Step forward, Zero. The frost does not weaken—it refines. Let me show you the true strength hidden within your ice.” Iskar’s eyes gleamed with a sharp, knowing light as a sudden frost spiraled around Zero, curling through the flames like delicate ice lace. A small, almost proud smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “So, a dragon has entered his mind,” Iskar said quietly, voice steady and confident. “I expected nothing less.” He circled Zero slowly, watching the swirling frost with keen interest. Zero’s movements slowed, his eyes glazing as if drawn into a deeper world, but Iskar’s expression showed respect—this was a sign of true power awakening. Zero’s breath hitched in the cold void as Sylthara’s immense, shimmering head loomed before him, her eyes glowing like frozen stars. Her voice, soft yet resonant, echoed through the darkness like a haunting melody. “You stand at the edge of ancient power, young one,” she said, her tone both warning and invitation. “The ice you wield is but a fragment of what lies beneath the frozen depths. To truly master it, you must let go of what you think you know.” Zero’s acceptance echoed in the void, and in that instant, an overwhelming surge of ancient power coursed through his very core. It began as a subtle tingling on his skin—a cold that was not just temperature but presence itself, like the breath of glaciers millennia old. His skin began to shift and shimmer, the pale blue light growing stronger, turning almost translucent like freshly formed ice. Then, crystalline structures erupted violently, not painfully but with purpose—jagged shards of sapphire-hued ice that grew rapidly, intertwining to form an intricate armor that felt alive. The plates weren’t smooth but etched with frost patterns—vines of frozen mist and delicate fractals that caught and fractured light into dazzling rainbows. From his back, massive wings unfolded with a haunting grace. They weren’t just wings; they were magnificent, ethereal veils of glistening ice, the membranes thin as glass yet crackling faintly with frosty energy. The edges flickered with a silver-blue aura, pulsing gently like the breath of a sleeping storm. Each flap whispered like wind through frozen pines, carrying the chill of eternal winter. His hair rippled, transforming into a cascading waterfall of shimmering ice strands that flowed endlessly, glowing softly with an inner light. They moved as if stirred by an unseen northern wind, swirling around him in a ghostly dance, the tips sparkling like freshly fallen snow under the moonlight. Zero’s eyes ignited with an otherworldly sapphire blaze, burning bright and cold—eyes that held the weight of ancient wisdom and the relentless fury of storms that had shaped the world. Their glow was sharp enough to pierce the deepest darkness, radiating a presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying. His fingers elongated, tips sharpening into crystalline claws that gleamed like frozen blades honed by the frostbite of time. The air around him turned frigid, frost spiraling outward in hypnotic, swirling patterns that clung to the ground and twisted in the wind. The temperature dropped drastically, crystallizing the moisture in the air into tiny snowflakes that danced and shimmered before settling like a delicate blanket of ice. As his new form solidified, Zero felt the raw power of the ancient ice dragon coursing through his veins—the cold a living entity, fierce yet strangely calming. His breath came out in frosty clouds, and the ground beneath him cracked and froze with each step he took, marking his presence on this world as something both natural and supernatural. He stood transformed: a towering figure of crystalline might, a living embodiment of winter’s harsh beauty and unyielding strength. No longer just a warrior, Zero had become a legend forged in ice—a harbinger of the World of Dragons’ frozen legacy, ready to face whatever trials lay ahead. Iskar’s eyes widened, a slow, rare smile curling at the corner of his lips. He stepped closer, his gaze sharp but filled with unmistakable pride. “So this is the true power the World of Dragons grants,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “You weren’t just chosen—you were made for this.” He extended a hand, fingers twitching as if eager to grasp the sheer force radiating from Zero’s new form. “This… this is no mere mastery of flame and frost. You’ve become a living legend, a force of nature itself. With this strength, you’ll not only survive but reshape the very fate of the realms.” Iskar’s eyes flicked upward toward the sky, the wind picking up and swirling around them both. “Remember this moment, Zero. Because what comes next will test every shred of that power. And I have no doubt… you’re ready.” His voice dropped to a quiet, almost challenging growl. “Now, show me what it means to wield the legacy of the dragons.” The cold wind whipped across the rugged cliffs as Zero flexed his newly transformed limbs, the icy-blue scales gleaming under the faint light. His wings stretched wide, casting immense shadows over the rocky ground. Each movement was heavier, more deliberate, yet charged with a newfound power that seemed to ripple in the very air. Iskar stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his eyes sharp with approval. “Your strength has multiplied tenfold, but raw power alone won’t win battles,” he called out, voice steady and commanding. “Control it. Shape it. Bend it to your will.” Zero lowered his wings, crouching into a fighting stance. Blue flames flickered around his claws while a shimmering frost coated his breath. He lunged forward, claws slashing through the chilled air, leaving streaks of fire and ice in his wake. The ground beneath him cracked and frosted over, a testament to the volatile fusion of elements he now wielded. Iskar matched him step for step, parrying strikes and pushing Zero harder than ever before. “Balance, Zero! You must fuse your fire and ice into one unbreakable force. Let one temper the other—neither overpowering, both perfect.” With a guttural roar, Zero unleashed a devastating sweep of flames laced with biting cold, the heat and frost swirling together like a storm. The air around them hummed as the battlefield became a tempest of opposing forces in perfect harmony. Iskar grinned broadly, his voice booming over the chaos. “That’s it! The World of Dragons flows through you now. Remember, your new form isn’t just power—it’s responsibility. Master it, or it will consume you.” The sun dipped low behind jagged peaks as their training raged on, an endless dance of flame and frost, strength and control, forging Zero into the true dragonborne warrior he was destined to become. As the battle waged on, the cold air thickened with swirling embers and frost, crackling and hissing wherever Zero’s claws met Iskar’s sword. Sweat beaded on Zero’s forehead despite the icy chill, his breath coming in sharp bursts. Iskar’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and unwavering. “You rely too much on brute force! Fire and ice aren’t just weapons — they’re extensions of your spirit. Feel their flow, don’t force it.” Zero gritted his teeth, muscles burning, and forced himself to calm. He let the blue flames simmer, the frost creep gently along his skin. Instead of launching an attack, he shifted into a defensive stance, letting his wings fold closer, his senses sharpening. Iskar pressed the attack, swift and precise, aiming to overwhelm. But Zero flowed like water, parrying each strike with calculated grace. He countered with a rapid blast of icy breath, freezing the ground beneath Iskar’s feet. Iskar smiled—a rare crack in his stern demeanor. “Better. But your control wavers when you hesitate.” Zero’s eyes flared brighter, determination roaring within. He summoned the full might of his draconic form, scales gleaming like polished sapphire, and unleashed a swirling vortex of flame and frost. The tempest howled, bending the very air around them. When the storm cleared, both warriors stood panting, respect shining in Iskar’s gaze. “You’re no longer just wielding your power — you are the power,” Iskar declared. “But mastery is endless. Prepare yourself. The real test is still to come.” Zero nodded, exhaustion and excitement mixing in his veins. He had come far, but the World of Dragons still had many secrets to reveal—and many challenges left to face. The sun dipped low beneath jagged peaks, casting long shadows over the frozen wasteland. Yet, Zero felt no fatigue—only the electric hum of power thrumming through his veins, each breath sharp and charged with ancient energy. Iskar watched silently as Zero paced the uneven ice, wings folding and unfolding with restless energy. “You’ve come far, but there’s one thing you must understand,” he said, voice low and grave. “Power without purpose is a wildfire—unstoppable but destructive. To truly master your draconic form, you must find the balance between your flame and your frost.” Zero’s eyes glowed cobalt as he absorbed Iskar’s words. “Balance…” he muttered. The word echoed in his mind like a distant drumbeat, steady and unyielding. Suddenly, the ground trembled—a deep, resonating pulse like the heartbeat of the world itself. From the swirling mists ahead, a massive silhouette emerged: a colossal dragon forged from ice and fire, scales shimmering like molten glass, eyes blazing with ancient wisdom. Iskar’s lips curled into a rare smile. “The Trial Guardian. You must face it.” Zero clenched his fists, the blue-red scales along his arms shimmering in the fading light. “I’m ready.” The creature’s roar shattered the silence, a sound both terrifying and mesmerizing. Flames danced along its icy horns as it charged forward, wings unfurling like storm clouds. The battle was no longer just physical—it was a dance of wills, a test of heart and spirit. Zero met the Guardian’s ferocity with calm precision, weaving between fire and frost, pushing past pain and doubt. Each clash forged something new within him—a deeper understanding, a profound connection to the duality burning at his core. Minutes stretched like hours, until finally, the Guardian bowed its massive head. The storm of battle settled into a serene glow. Iskar nodded approvingly. “You have found balance. Now, you wield not just power, but destiny.” Zero exhaled, feeling the weight of the journey ahead—and the strength to face it. As the colossal form of the Trial Guardian melted back into the mist, the biting winds of the World of Dragons softened—almost as if the realm itself acknowledged Zero’s triumph. Standing tall amid the swirling snow and fading embers of battle, Zero felt a quiet certainty settle in his bones. This was only the beginning. A year of relentless trials and unyielding growth awaited him in this ancient world—where fire and ice wove together not just as elements, but as the very essence of life, death, and rebirth. Iskar’s steady gaze met his, filled with the weight of unspoken challenges to come. “You have taken the first step, but the road ahead is long, and the power you seek will demand everything.” Zero nodded, flames flickering with renewed purpose. In the heart of the World of Dragons, beneath a sky heavy with legends yet told, he would forge himself anew.