The world froze.
Not slowly. Not gently.
One heartbeat the ruins were settling, dust drifting through the air—
the next, everything stopped.
Wind hung motionless. Cracked stone hovered mid-fall. Even sound vanished, swallowed by a heavy, unnatural silence that pressed against his senses.
He straightened.
His dragon core reacted instantly, not with alarm, but with deep recognition.
The sky above began to change.
Clouds twisted unnaturally, spiraling inward as if dragged by an invisible hand. A vast circular opening formed overhead, and from it poured cold white light, bright enough to wash the land of all color.
He raised his eyes.
The light condensed.
High above, a massive form took shape—wings stretching across the heavens, scales like frozen stars, eyes glowing with ancient intelligence.
The Great White Dragon.
Its presence was overwhelming, yet controlled. Not meant to crush him. Meant to measure him.
"You have exceeded expectation," the voice echoed, existing everywhere at once.
He didn't kneel.
"I didn't ask for your expectations," he replied calmly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the dragon's gaze sharpened.
"You were summoned to grow," it said. "To endure the system. To reach a point where correction could no longer contain you."
"So that was the plan," he said. "Make me strong, then leash me."
The dragon's voice carried no anger.
"Strength without will is obedience. Strength with will is choice."
White light descended, surrounding him. Pain followed—not violent, but intense, as if his very existence was being examined and refined. His dragon core burned, not expanding, but compressing, growing denser, sharper.
He endured without a sound.
"You are no longer bound by the system's balance protocols," the dragon continued. "From this moment on, your growth will no longer be corrected."
The pressure lifted.
The light withdrew.
The sky closed as if it had never changed.
Sound returned. Wind resumed. Dust fell.
He stood alone in the ruins, chest rising steadily, eyes glowing faintly gold.
Something had changed.
Not his level.
Not his form.
His status.
Far beyond the world, the system recalculated in silence.
And the path ahead—once guided by rules—was now entirely his own.