"Be careful. There could be a monster hiding nearby."
"Quiet, Man'sul. Even if there isn't one, your talking will bring it here!"
Two blue elves moved cautiously through the depths of the forest, bows in hand. One was a black-haired woman, the other a silver-haired man. They were young and agile, but inexperienced. They had set out on a hunting expedition, hoping to bring honour to their families.
The silver-haired male elf softened his steps and tilted his head slightly, straining to listen. A forest was never truly silent, even in daylight: whispers between leaves, distant birdcalls, the subtle tremors of small creatures beneath the soil… Yet now, beneath all that natural murmur, there was an unsettling emptiness.
Man'sul, the black-haired female elf, had sensed it as well. She raised her bow a little higher, fingers poised on the string.
"This place is wrong," she murmured. "Even the wind isn't changing direction."
The silver-haired elf pressed his lips together. His pride refused to turn back, but his instincts whispered that he should stop. For a moment, his gaze was caught by a dark shape between the tree trunks, something indistinct. A shadow… or merely a trick of the light?
"Did you see something?" Man'sul asked, her voice barely more than a breath.
"No," the male elf replied, though his answer failed to convince even himself.
At that moment, a dry branch snapped a few steps ahead of them.
They froze simultaneously. Bows drawn tight, breaths held. The sound that followed was heavy, neither hurried nor cautious. It was the step of something that had no need to hide. The male elf glanced at Man'sul. Fear was there, but stronger still was determination.
"We still have time to retreat," he said.
Man'sul shook her head. "We can't return to our families empty-handed."
When a massive three-horned bull emerged before them, the elves went rigid.
This creature was nothing like ordinary prey.
The bull's body resembled a slab of black stone wrapped in muscle. Two long horns curved forward from its brow, while a shorter third horn jutted upwards from the centre, as though its skull itself were a weapon. Steam rose from its nostrils with every breath, and the ground trembled faintly beneath each exhalation. Its eyes glowed with a dull crimson in the forest's gloom. It was not unintelligent, but it was utterly devoid of mercy.
With the bull's appearance, the male elf understood why the forest had fallen silent. This was its territory.
The bull tilted its head, scenting them, measuring them, weighing them. Then it took a step.
The earth groaned.
"Now," the male elf said, almost like a prayer.
Two arrows flew at once. One sank into the bull's shoulder; the other scraped across its thick hide. The beast bellowed in pain but it did not retreat. Instead, its fury erupted. It slammed its forelegs into the ground and charged.
The distance vanished in an instant.
The male elf threw himself aside at the last second. One of the bull's horns tore through the air where he had just stood. Man'sul released her second arrow, this time aiming for the eye. The shaft struck the beast's face, but failed to blind it completely. The bull staggered, then shook its head violently and snapped the arrow.
"Man'sul, fall back!" the male elf shouted.
But Man'sul had already nocked her third arrow. She felt her hands trembling, not from fear, but because time was running out. If this shot failed as well, there would be no chance to escape.
The bull lunged again.
As the male elf rolled away, his back slammed into the trunk of a thick tree. The breath was torn from his lungs; his fingers were forced to release the bow. He tried to stand, but his leg would not support him. When his eyes caught the rapidly advancing shadow, a single thought remained:
It's over.
Man'sul's arrow struck the bull's chest… and stayed there. It did not penetrate deeply enough, nor did it slow the beast. The three-horned bull roared, lowered its head, and locked onto Man'sul.
This time, she was the target.
Man'sul stepped back, but her foot caught between roots. She lost her balance and fell flat on her back. Her bow flew from her hand. Her eyes widened as the monster's massive body filled her entire field of vision. The third horn aligned perfectly with her heart.
Time thickened.
The male elf screamed until his throat tore, but his voice was swallowed by the bull's roar. He could not rise. No arrows. No strength.
Only helplessness.
Just as the horn came down...
The air stopped.
There was no wind, no explosion. The monster simply forgot how to breathe for a single instant. The bull's colossal body froze mid-motion. Its muscles remained taut, its eyes still fixed on Man'sul but the life moving within it… stalled.
And then, a woman appeared behind the bull.
She was young. She wore no ornate armour or flowing robes, only simple dark clothing. Her black hair fell to her shoulders, and a smooth mask concealed her entire face. She neither hurried nor radiated menace; she seemed as calm as someone taking a walk through the woods.
She raised her right hand slightly.
The magic was not spectacular. It did not glow. It did not thunder. She whispered a single word so quietly that even the elves did not hear it, then closed her fingers.
The bull's body exploded from within.
First the skin split. Then muscle, bone, and horn tore apart, as if pulled by invisible strings. No blood sprayed outward; instead, the fragments hung suspended in the air for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground. What remained of the massive beast was an unrecognizable heap of ruin.
Everything had taken no longer than a single breath.
Silence returned.
Man'sul still lay on the ground, eyes open, her mind empty. The male elf was gasping, struggling to comprehend what he had witnessed. They had seen magic, yes but not the kind the masters described around campfires at night. This was not even a display of power.
It felt like indifference.
The masked woman lowered her hand and did not even glance at the bull's remains. She turned her head slightly toward the elves.
They could feel her gaze, even without seeing her eyes. Then she spoke in a language they did not understand. Though her voice was flat and emotionless, the two elves easily sensed the malice woven into her words.
"You two would make fine test subjects… I suppose."
o
When Areth entered the colossal arena at the center of the floating island, the suns were offering their final light before setting. Areth had come here, of course, to test his power. Surrounded by creatures of such legendary strength, he could not afford to sit idle and leave things to chance.
He needed to measure himself.
He decided to test the ability that intrigued him the most.
Not something meant for duels, but for moments requiring pure destruction.
Dragon Form.
In the game, clicking a simple icon instantly transformed the character into a dragon. But here, there was no icon to click. As far as he remembered, the character did not speak a magical incantation or utter a coded phrase when activating it. Which meant this was not a spell-driven mechanism, it had to operate on sensation, or imagination.
He stood at the exact center of the arena. The stone beneath his feet bore the scars of countless battles: cracks and scorch marks were still visible, as were the remnants of repaired magical seals. This was not a place built for spectacle. Here, power was measured and judged.
He took a deep breath.
This was an ability he had used without thought in the game, memorizing its results without ever questioning the cost or the mechanics behind it. One icon, a brief animation, and overwhelming force.
He closed his eyes.
He tried to remember what he felt during those moments in the game. Did he speak a word? No. Was there a magic circle? No. It simply… happened. The character accepted being a dragon and the world accepted it in return.
So the key was not imagination.
It was identification.
Areth did not summon a dragon in his mind. He did not shape it, choose its color, or draw its wings. Instead, he focused on something more primal: weight. Heat. Hunger. The instinct to rule the sky.
He did not think of himself as becoming a dragon.
He felt like someone who was already a dragon.
At least he hoped that if he did so, it would work.
He focused and cleared his mind. He had to succeed.
"I absolutely must succeed."
And just as Areth was fully focused, the flow of mana in the arena changed.
The air grew noticeably heavier. An invisible pressure spread toward the arena's pillars, causing the seals etched into them to glow briefly. The stone beneath Areth's feet began to crack.
His bones ached.
But it wasn't pain; it was more like things settling into their proper places.
Heat surged along his spine, turning into an unbearable pressure across his back. His shoulders broadened; the seams of his jacket split silently. His breathing quickened as his lungs expanded, craving more air. His heartbeat slowed to a steady, deep rhythm.
When Areth opened his eyes, the world had changed.
He was looking down at the arena.
The ground lay far below. The pillars, once massive, now seemed almost ornamental. His chest jutted forward, covered in dark scales that barely reflected light. When he set his forelimbs down, the stone shattered beneath them.
Wings… he could feel his wings.
He had not opened them yet, but they were there. Their mere presence made the air tremble.
No, Areth was not what he was in that moment. He tilted his head slightly. It took a second to adjust to the weight of his neck. He opened his mouth instinctively. When he exhaled, the air warped; an invisible wave of heat struck the far wall of the arena and rebounded.
"So this is it..."
He said this, and even he was frightened by the terrifying sound that emerged. He had never heard a voice convey such authority, dominance and fear. There was no such sound in the game when the character turned into a dragon; more accurately, the character in dragon form could not speak.
Silence ruled the high terraces surrounding the arena.
No one was watching. He had deliberately emptied the arena so that if he failed to transform, no one would see it. Of all of them, Areth's dragon form was considered sacred. Failing to become a dragon would have been a great shame, at least in Areth's view.
Yet something else troubled his mind now.
"…All right. But how do I turn back into my original body?"