The day had begun like any other, cold and gray, with the snow of the previous night hardened into jagged patches along the cobblestones. Lily, Liam, and Kyle were wandering near the outer district of the human city, their thin clothes soaked with slush, their stomachs empty, their hearts heavy with the bitter taste of hunger and desperation. Lily's silver horns glinted faintly in the pale winter sun, though the light did nothing to warm her. Liam's ash-blond hair clung damply to his head, and Kyle's black-and-crimson hair looked almost darker in the filthy shadows of the alleys they traversed.
They had survived the garden incident, but survival did not make the world kind. They were children. Trash in the eyes of everyone who passed. Every merchant, every passerby, every guard ignored them, scowled at them, or pushed past without hesitation. A few street kids had thrown rocks at them in jest, but that was better than the worst abuse to come.
The three of them huddled together near a street corner, their fingers shaking as they tore into the last of the cold fruit. Lily kept her eyes sharp, scanning the street, her mind already calculating the next move. Liam shivered beside her, muttering under his breath about how hungry he was. Kyle, restless as ever, was already scanning the alleyways, muttering curses at anyone who might be watching them.
"Stop whining," Lily said quietly but firmly, placing her hands on their shoulders. "We need to move before someone notices us. We can't survive by staying here."
Liam nodded, his teeth still chattering. Kyle gave her a reckless grin, showing sharp, hungry teeth. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll move." But his fingers twitched toward a nearby guard, as if daring him to come closer.
As if fate had heard him.
A carriage rolled down the main street, gold-trimmed and ostentatious, wheels crunching over the ice. Behind it strode a man whose presence seemed to drag the cold with him. He wore black and red, adorned with gilded embroidery. His eyes, sharp and cruel, scanned the streets like a hawk.
The duke.
And his gaze fell directly on them.
The children froze. Lily's heart thumped violently, but her mind went sharp. She could feel the weight of his eyes, the disdain radiating from him. The duke did not see children; he saw trash.
"Thieves?" the duke barked, voice like ice cracking against stone. "Begging in the streets?"
Lily stepped forward instinctively. "We—we didn't mean—"
"Silence!" the duke snapped, his hand striking the air as if swatting them like insects. Guards moved to encircle them.
Within seconds, the three were under his control. His boot struck Kyle in the side, sending him sprawling. Liam's face hit the ground as a guard grabbed him by the scruff of his collar. Lily tried to resist, but a hard shove against her chest sent her to her knees in the frozen slush. Pain bit deep into her ribs, and cold seared her skin through the thin fabric of her coat.
"You think you are clever?" the duke spat, leaning down to glare at them. "Trash like you has no place in this world. And yet you steal from me?"
Kyle snarled. "I—I didn't—"
A fist collided with his jaw before the words were out. Kyle crumpled under the blow. The duke laughed, a cruel, hollow sound that seemed to echo across the street. Lily's body shook, her stomach twisting not from hunger but from rage. Liam was kicked to his knees beside her, unable to shield himself, unable to fight.
For a long moment, Lily simply stared. Their bodies were being used like punching bags, beaten without mercy, thrown to the ground, shoved against walls, and laughed at. Their strength was nothing. Their skill was nothing. Their hunger, their pain, their fear—it was all nothing to this man.
And yet, in the middle of this hell, a spark ignited inside Lily.
No. This ends now.
Her voice was quiet, but each word felt like steel slicing through ice. "Stop!" she shouted, lunging forward, only to be met with a sharp strike that sent her face-first into the frozen ground. Pain blossomed across her cheek, but her heart roared louder. She lifted her gaze, silver horns catching the cold sun. She looked at Liam, broken and bleeding beside her, and at Kyle, curled in the snow, teeth clenching against the pain.
"This isn't the end!" she whispered, but it was no longer just words. It was a command—a seed planted in their minds, amplified by the System. She reached into Liam's mind, brushing against the shards of fear and hopelessness. You survive. You will survive. Hunger is nothing. Pain is nothing. We are stronger than this.
She did the same with Kyle, planting a flicker of clarity in the storm of his panic. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, their eyes sharpened. The fear remained, but now it was tempered by focus.
The duke, amused by their resilience, stepped forward and began striking them again. Fists rained down like merciless hammers. Liam's body was nearly limp. Kyle's arms shook from the repeated blows. Lily felt the pain tearing through her, felt her consciousness teetering on the edge of blackness.
Then—the first spark.
It started in her chest, a warmth that spread like wildfire, sharp and pure. Her vision seemed to narrow, the world fading into the edges of sound and light. Pain became a signal, a fuel, and her heart, which had survived slavery, abandonment, and hunger, roared in response.
Something ancient, locked deep within her, awoke. The silver horns atop her head pulsed faintly, though she could not see them. Her senses expanded—sharper, faster, keener. The pain did not disappear, but it became a rhythm she could move to, a guide.
A roar tore from her throat, trembling at first, then steady and commanding. Liam and Kyle felt it. The spark she had planted in their minds flared to life. Panic turned to instinct. Pain turned to fury. Hunger became raw strength.
Without thought, they rose. Liam swung his fists with precision, instincts guiding him in a way he had never known. Kyle moved like a storm incarnate, his anger sharpened into a weapon. The blows they delivered were instinctive, brutal, born not from training, but from the awakening of draconic blood that had slept through years of abuse.
The duke's laughter faltered. He had not anticipated this. These children—trash, he had thought—were moving, striking, resisting, surviving.
Lily's eyes glowed faintly with silver light, a reflection of the power stirring within. Her movements were fluid, precise, as if the pain she had endured had been teaching her for years. She struck at the duke's arm, his shoulder, anywhere that opened. Each hit carried the weight of survival, of anger, of everything they had endured.
The world seemed to slow around them. Each movement became instinctive. Each breath, each step, each strike was in perfect rhythm with the pulse of their awakening draconic bloodlines.
The duke staggered back, caught off guard, his confidence shaken. Guards hesitated, unsure of how children could suddenly strike with such force, such precision, such unrelenting resolve.
The snow beneath them was stained with blood—traces of the duke's arrogance, their pain, and the fury of children who would not die.
By the time the duke retreated, stumbling and furious, the three of them stood together. Breathing heavily, bruised and bleeding, but alive. For the first time, they had felt their power awaken—not full, not realized—but raw, undeniable, and terrifying.
Lily's silver horns gleamed faintly in the pale sunlight. Liam's ash-blond hair seemed sharper in the cold, and Kyle's black-and-crimson hair flared like fire against snow. They were still children. They were still trash in the eyes of the world.
But now, they were dangerous.
Now, they were awake.
And the world, which had thrown them away, would soon learn that even discarded dragon children could rise, and when they did, heaven itself would tremble.