Scene 1 — Tenebris
"Can you fucking calm down for a second?"
I'd already said it—he was too dangerous for anyone else to raise. That went for the stupid lizards too, even if they were his mother's side of the family.
"You think I don't know how brutal the fight for the throne is here compared to his home?" A sheet of darkness crawled over my hand, flame-like and black, as the boy in front of me threatened to jump. Not a boy anymore. A prince already.
Crimson hair framed his face. For a heartbeat, his pupils narrowed—black to red, slit like a dragon's. Madness lived behind them, barely chained.
"Keep testing my patience," I said flatly, "and I'll break your spine before your father does."
His aura flared, heat and pride crashing against my darkness. Each wave tugged at me, the pull of the Sea whispering through my bones, urging me back sooner than I wanted.
"Tenebris, leave it."
The old man's voice cut through the room.
I glanced past the prince. The clan head sat in the back, unmoving—same sharp cheekbones, same dragon eyes. A carbon copy of the fool in front of me, just aged into restraint.
"And you," the old man added, turning his gaze to his son, "leave us. Your mother made her decision, even if you disagree."
The prince clicked his tongue but obeyed. The door shut. The pressure eased.
"How much time do you have left?" the clan head asked, skipping every formality.
"Max fifteen," I answered. "Minimum five."
"So you intend to keep him."
"I'm going to be his caretaker until that day." I leaned forward slightly. "If anyone has an issue with it, give them my contact information."
Silence.
"If the world wants to hunt a monster," I continued, "then I'll give them one fight—when he's ready to sharpen his own claws."
His stare hardened.
"He's carrying something I can't ignore. Just like another headache of mine… this one decided to split into variants. My vacation was ruined by my own headaches."
I turned before the conversation could rot into negotiation.
"So let me finish what I need to finish," I said over my shoulder. "Then you can test another prince."
I left knowing dragon clans well enough. As long as the head was aware, no one beneath him would move.
Not unless he decided to release another monster.
Scene 2 — Training
"Again!"
I raised my fist, weak and shaking beneath the weights, and focused on the loose connection I'd been forcing open to the surrounding astral energy. I punched the tree and tried to refine my flames into a thread.
Failed.
The trunk combusted instead.
"Again!"
I tried again with less energy. My arms screamed like the weights were grinding my bones. My knees buckled. I collapsed, gasping, trying to force myself upright—
—and got pushed back down.
"If you're down, then stay down," Dad said. "I'm teaching you to survive, not chase death or anger. You can't do it yet. It's that simple."
I clenched my teeth.
"What I want to see is you pushing your body," he continued. "You aren't normal. I would never condone doing this to any other child. But you'll be hunted the day you leave me."
My chest tightened.
"If you're angry, be angry at me. Surpass me. Once you've touched my realm, you won't worry about insignificant issues."
Warm energy flowed into my hands. The cracked skin knit together, stronger than before.
"My memories are waking up," I muttered. "But they're never complete. I only see techniques. It's like he hid his personal life from me."
Dad patted my head. I swatted his hand away.
"You don't want answers from anyone else," he said. "And you'll ruin yourself if you let others define the path you're seeing."
I stared at the smoking tree.
"If you don't regret any action, then why question it? You asked for this training five years ago. Now you're ten and still doing the same thing."
He snorted. "You're a child."
I walked toward the house before I could snap back. He headed for the cliff to drink, like always.
This wasn't a house. The memories insisted it was a villa—courtyard stonework carved with obsessive detail. Floating islands drifted in the distance. Birds fought overhead for territory.
"Get food," I told myself, forcing my thoughts away from the memories. Food. Training. Thread the flame into a needle. Snake it inside the tree without burning everything.
Dad would fine-tune whatever technique I managed to scrape together. That was our routine.
We'd hunt later in the jungles beneath us.
I kept walking, eyes flicking toward the waterholes connected to the Sea, the Kunlun twisting in the distance like a spine of stone.
Scene 3 — Hunt
"Remember this when hunting a pack," Dad said from the side. "Strike the largest for dramatic effect, or kill the alpha. Once the head is gone, most animals aren't dangerous."
A shadow wolf snapped at my flank. I ignored it.
"A wounded beast is the most dangerous," he continued. "But a headless one? Easy prey."
I scanned the pack and found the biggest. My pulse rose. I forced the world to give my fist what it needed.
An explosion cracked open between my knuckles and the wolf's skull.
It flew back, half its body missing.
Not threading. Not silent. Just brutal.
The alpha froze mid-command. Barking died in its throat. The pack hesitated.
I grinned.
I dove in, fists swinging like sludge hammers. I used the smallest amount of astral energy possible—just enough to trigger chain reactions. Every hit detonated. Every detonation fed the next.
Instead of removing steps or finding shortcuts, I forced the world to produce the reaction I wanted.
"Ras!" Dad snapped. "What did I say about abusing that ability? Just because you can use it doesn't mean you should use it on everything!"
A wolf went flying from his slap.
Then that same hand backhanded me.
I blinked, disoriented. I'd slipped into my memories mid-fight, the overlap dragging at my focus.
"Secret technique with backlash, you idiot!" Dad wiped his face. "Use your own style if you're going to break things."
The alpha cowered after Dad struck it once.
"I swear," he muttered, "you're a match made in my personal hell."
He looked at me, irritation unable to hide the truth behind it.
"I don't have long in this world, kid," he said. "I'm not your blood dad, but that doesn't take away from anything."
My throat tightened.
"Both of your clans will come for you once you grow up. So this needs refinement before you start using it like a toy."
He exhaled, decision made.
"Screw it. I've got the answer—once you're old enough. You won't be my issue then."
His gaze hardened. "Selena will have to step up."
I looked at the mangled bodies.
Then I puked.
The memories never showed the smell. Never showed the heat. They only showed clean results—like pieces disappearing from a board.
But this wasn't a board.
This was real.