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Chapter Text

Agony surged through him.

The world spun on its axis against the unyielding, frozen earth upon which he lay. His eyes remained closed, concealed beneath an overwhelming veil of exhaustion. He felt as though he'd undergone an insurmountable ordeal.

Where was he now? It would be reassuring to know, to ensure his plan had succeeded. He had fled blindly, summoning every ounce of life force within him to escape despite his wingless form.

Kim Rok Soo pondered whether it might have been better to utilize his berserk form to inflict considerable damage upon his tormentors instead of fleeing, embracing a predetermined demise. At least then, he might have found satisfaction in witnessing their downfall, one by one, at the hands of the very power they had stripped from him.

Regrettably, he wasn't fortunate enough to entertain such idle regrets.

This situation was utterly wretched.

Those who transmigrated into a novel they'd read always seemed to have certain privileges, didn't they? Plot armor and significant character development along the way.

His life had taken a grievous turn, plunging him into a cycle of torment and shattered sanity over the past eight years.

Now, he was a dragon—a renowned creature believed to be the mightiest of all.

A faint sneer escaped his frozen snout. His breath was labored, and his condition critical enough that a semblance of laughter constrained itself within his lungs.

Kim Rok Soo could vaguely sense his blood dripping languidly from every crevice of his draconic form.

Ripped wings, clawless, broken horns, and devoid of a physical voice.

What kind of dragon had he become? In what sense was this life a privilege bestowed upon him? 

He lay motionless in what he discerned as a snowy expanse after crashing amidst a barrage of trees. His sense of time had long been shattered, leaving him unsure of how much time had elapsed.

Or how much time remained for him to endure, for that matter.

It was unfortunate, in more ways than one, that eight years had been spent enduring nothing but torment. He had no clue whether the story's plot had concluded or if it had merely commenced within its setting. He was powerless to intervene in his situation, and Kim Rok Soo felt disheartened knowing he had been compelled to endure in silence and suffering all this time.

Initially, his thoughts had been consumed with plans to escape. Those plans dwindled into a singular goal: survival. And now, in his mind's fading moments, he fixated on a minuscule detail he would carry into his dying breath—the black dragon.

That four-year-old dragon had met a grisly end at the hands of the main character after enduring prolonged captivity and torture.

Kim Rok Soo wondered if that dragon still suffered or if it had managed to break free, much like himself.

He... yearned to know.

Perhaps it was mere empathy—a shared sentiment he wished fervently to remain undisclosed.

The wind intensified, heralding an impending storm.

'This is it.'

Death approached.

Blood clouded his vision until the very last moment, the coldness of his blood loss welcoming the chill, consuming his drained life force in a feast.

Kim Rok Soo...

"What?"

A sudden voice echoed near him—a man, shaken and stunned. If he had been in slightly better condition, he might have instantly recognized the man's identity. But as it stood, Kim Rok Soo was utterly spent.

...He simply wished for death.

Was he destined to remain unable to perish, even in this world?

His consciousness wavered, and his thoughts ground to a halt as darkness surged forth, engulfing his very essence.

Chapter Text

An overwhelming surge of mana erupted forth.

The surrounding area quivered in response to his presence, snow vanishing instantly, unveiling the desolate earth crushed beneath his seething wrath.

Crackling—

Creatures' cries echoed as they fled in terror, while the sky swiftly darkened, punctuating the news with an incessant barrage of lightning strikes. His current state broadcasted to the other dragons across the continent—a mourning ancient dragon.

A profound, seething fury gripped his core. His eyes widened, trembling helplessly in the face of the dreaded sight he now confronted.

" What? "

His voice quavered and wavered, but he paid no heed.

The unfolding scene was abhorrent enough to stir resentment in every being.

His rage intertwined with sorrow and lament, compelling the mana around him to bend nature to its will.

Eruhaben knelt, his robe instantly drenched in crimson.

A hatchling.

There was no need for any explanation, as the condition of the young dragon itself spoke volumes, answering the relentless questions tormenting his mind.

His touch was tender as he cautiously assessed the hatchling's physical state. A slender, delicate thread of mana flowed, gathering the necessary data for a more thorough diagnosis.

The result was immediate.

It was the dragon's berserk form.

Truly, his gaze clouded over; the hatchling's injuries had multiplied manifold due to such desperate actions.

A dragon succumbing to berserk mode meant converting their life force into mana. It occurred once in a thousand instances, emphasizing how immensely impactful it was for an undeveloped body to endure such a state.

Eruhaben glanced downward, enfolding the hatchling gently against his chest, making sure not to exacerbate the injuries.

Up close, he sensed it.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

A slow, faint heartbeat.

Despite the obvious rhythm of the heart, there was no palpable breath.

'I understand.'

His tightly closed eyes experienced an overwhelming wave of grief for the first time in his long life.

Lowering his head, his mana fluctuated in an unusual manner, enveloping their bodies in a warm, golden hue.

"Life is never benevolent to anyone; that's why we must grow stronger to confront it. How will you fight back if you've already surrendered to the idea of ceasing to live, young hatchling?"

Eruhaben, the oldest living creature across both continents, comprehended the weight of his words all too well. This was why he refused to witness a hatchling barely eight years old simply giving up.

From the child's perspective, it might have seemed a cruel and selfish desire, yet he believed it would be even crueler to meet a futile end.

Slowly, the flow of mana intensified, seeming to seep through their skin.

『ʀɛֆօռǟռƈɛ』

An ancient magic that allows its user to alleviate the target's condition by harmonizing it with their own.

In essence, Eruhaben attempted to compel the failing organs to function akin to his own.

As a dragon nearing the end of his life, his remaining lifespan wasn't adequate to activate the ancient magic spell at its zenith. However, it should be potent enough to halt the deterioration process the hatchling faced.

As long as the heart continues beating.

And as long as the user possessed a greater life force.

Gradually, the expanding fissures noticeably diminished, reverting only to the hatchling's initial injuries prior to berserking. Although the bleeding had ceased long ago, it remained a severe and critical wound, warranting immediate action. 

He released a sigh; his body felt heavier than it had since turning a thousand years old. Essentially operating for two dragons—a critically injured one and an aged one—would inevitably bring about substantial recoil.

Amidst his exhaustion, the chaos in the surroundings had settled, and his dragon fear was nowhere to be felt.

Tap tap tap!

Scurrying footsteps echoed behind him, the owner's labored breathing resonating loudly due to his heightened senses.

"Er, Eruhaben-nim…! Is something—"

It was Pendrick, a young elf he had grown fond of. Pendrick's face had turned pallid, his eyes reflecting overwhelming terror—a turmoil that escalated as he got a better view of the situation. He knelt before Eruhaben, trembling violently.

Eruhaben sensed several other elves rushing in, likely bearing the same concerns as Pendrick.

"...."

How eventful his day had become.

The absence of a pair of wings in his hands sent a chilling shiver down Eruhaben's spine, jolting him back to the urgency of the situation.

Instructing swiftly, his mana flowed, erecting a protective dome. There was no time to teleport elsewhere. "Pendrick, channel your ability immediately. Focus directly on the heart and the brain, no matter what. I'll assist with the rest."

Tears streamed uncontrollably as Pendrick cried and sobbed, but as expected, the youngster swiftly grasped the gravity of the situation, moving with efficiency.

Their powers synchronized, both wholly absorbed in their tasks, disregarding the concerns voiced by elder and warrior elves who had finally caught up. 

Nevertheless, it became evident that the other elves comprehended the situation, and hastily directed their contracted elementals to offer the best assistance possible.

The operation endured for approximately three hours, and the injuries had ameliorated to the extent that the hatchling was no longer in critical condition.

With unwavering focus, he scrutinized the injuries more intently.

The inevitable prospect of the hatchling bearing numerous scars in the future caused Eruhaben to grimace. Moreover, the likelihood of undetected injuries remained high—a circumstance only the child could confirm.

Such potential outcomes were inherently intolerable. 

'If…'

His fury, previously suppressed by the recoil of 『ʀɛֆօռǟռƈɛ』, began simmering once more.

The impact was significant, causing a rapid shift in the surrounding atmosphere. 

His contemplations were abruptly interrupted by a voice.

"Dragon-nim…."

An elderly elf broke the silence, bowing deeply and speaking with a shaken voice, "We offer our deepest apologies, but we strongly believe a change of location is highly advisable."

All the elves lowered their heads in unison, while Pendrick mirrored the concern and sadness in his eyes.

'....' 

There was no reason for dissent.

Despite providing the most suitable environment, Eruhaben acknowledged that his lair was impractical for recovery, let alone for an injured hatchling to move freely.

Gazing over them, he channeled his mana to conjure a teleportation magic circle for everyone, ensuring the hatchling's unstable mana wouldn't cause any conflicts during transit.

"Well, then."

He knew a lengthy discussion lay ahead, but for now, he needed to rid himself of the sickening sight of frozen blood staining the surroundings.

Chapter Text

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Eruhaben exerted his utmost effort to maintain stability throughout the month of activating 『ʀɛֆօռǟռƈɛ』, meticulously controlling injuries, fatigue, and emotional fluctuations. In the meantime, the elves' overwhelming concern drained him to the point of attempting to send them away.

Encounters with Pendrick often resulted in tears and apologies, each encounter further etching exhaustion onto the child's gaunt visage.

Despite being an ancient dragon, Eruhaben prided himself on maintaining composure in extreme situations. He wasn't supposed to mirror Pendrick's state.

This realization held two implications.

Firstly, his body remained strained even after a month; the hatchling's recovery was alarmingly slow.

Secondly, the resonance with this hatchling was gradually evolving into something entirely different—an innate, instinctual connection of a dragon.

… Thump! 

A faint chuckle escaped from within him. 

"Hah. You will be held responsible for being my offspring without my consent, young hatchling."

Ancient magic had vanished from society, discreetly reserved among dragons. While offering remarkable powers defying reality, the repercussions, both physical and psychological, were no trifling matter. Prolonged usage necessitated thorough preparation, not to be activated unconditionally after a brief encounter. This was due to the likelihood of co-dependency between the target and the user's instinctual protective nature.

There was a reason it was considered taboo.

Among these, 『ʀɛֆօռǟռƈɛ』proved particularly challenging despite offering unparalleled assistance.

This meant that Eruhaben had unlawfully assumed parental responsibility before comprehending the gravity of his actions.

He shielded his eyes with a hand as he leaned against the wooden chair, drifting in a trance. The hatchling lay motionless on the bed, the injury where his wings were meant to grow had healed; however, his horns displayed no signs of regrowth, although the cracks had ceased spreading. The shattered scales showed minimal signs of reforming, partially covering the exposed skin from the severe damage it had sustained.

As for the internal organs, they functioned akin to his own—not optimal, but hopefully adequate. Yet, the sole regret robbing him of a moment of tranquility remained—the claws.

If the claws had been broken by force, the story might have differed. Broken claws offered potential for recovery, no matter how minimal. However, this hatchling had lost his claws upon hatching, ripped out completely—an action guaranteeing irreversible damage for a dragon, something not even divinity could mend.

It offered a clue while also presenting a significant concern of its own.

The culprit possessed an extensive knowledge required to subdue a dragon completely, even gaining access to dragon eggs. Their assistance likely relied on an insurmountable amount of power and up-to-date information to perpetrate such heinous acts.

'It's not the first.'

And certainly won't be the last.

These malefactors were evidently experienced, having carried out such deeds multiple times.

Cold sweat trickled down his forehead; his body trembled faintly from the surging fury he struggled to control. The seal magic he placed on himself to dampen violent emotional fluctuations was helplessly shaken, emitting a dark glow.

'....'

His heart vowed a chilling reckoning and the destruction of the future. Once again, the oath resonated across continents, reaching every dragon. Encounters with other dragons were imminent.

It was bound to be tumultuous.

How many innocent hatchlings had met an unknown and unheard demise?

The World Tree extended her power, soothing him as she had always done. The seal resumed its role, quelling his sudden turmoil into nothingness.

He gazed at the red dragon hatchling with profound lamentation.

"...Child. How dare you plunge your father into grief?"

How dare the hatchling arrive at his doorstep, revealing a gruesome truth all dragons had blissfully remained ignorant of for years?

The weight of guilt was overwhelming. Living his lengthy life while these hatchlings were subjected to torment and premature death was a deeply infuriating and saddening realization.

A dragon is a solitary creature.

Until matters directly involve their own kin.

A fight among dragons is a form of greeting and a display of unique affection. However, unnatural deaths invoke relentless vengeance, shared among every dragon privy to the knowledge.

This is the essence of a true dragon.

Standing up, he looked down at the unconscious hatchling before exiting the room.

The crown leaves, crafted from branches of the World Tree, remained clenched in his right hand—dried and crumbling with each step, leaving a trail of ashes; a testament to the burden he carried.

It was time.

Outside the artificial storm surrounding the World Tree, a flow of mana signaled the arrival of another dragon.

Glancing at Pendrick, who swiftly returned to his side, he said, "Commence the preparations."

"Understood, Eruhaben-nim."

Pendrick bowed deeply and proceeded with his task without a word. His steps betrayed the anticipation of finally moving after a month of relentless stillness. He wasn't an elf warrior, nor did he have a contracted elemental. Yet, the child was eager to help in any possible way, a testament to the young elf's dedication.

Taking position in front of the village, he instantaneously transformed into his dragon form. The World Tree granted permission, clearing a direct path toward the incoming dragon beyond the artificial storm.

Throughout the month, entrance to the village was strictly guarded and restricted, allowing only those from within to verify visitors.

His colossal form wasted no time in reaching the entrance. Golden and grey mana clashed, intensifying the storm's waves. The surroundings trembled from the impact.

"Took you a while, Rasheel."

He roared, flapping his large wings, creating a powerful gust that bent the trees and terrain.

"Holy shit...! Old man, calm the fuck down, will ya?!"

Rasheel's smaller form was forced to the ground, unable to resist the forceful impact.

Gritting his teeth, Rasheel found himself unable to move even a finger in his draconic form before such an overwhelming display of power. He didn't mistakenly sense the seal surrounding the ancient dragon, but to witness this ridiculous strength even under such a seal was astounding!

He cried out, attempting to shake Eruhaben from the haze clouding his judgment.

"Let's calm down and talk, sunbaenim…!"

Like a switch, his words successfully coaxed Eruhaben back to composure.

However, Rasheel couldn't even sigh in relief before a magical sword materialized, pressing against his throat.

"How dare you impersonate that unruly child."

'But I'm not…?!!!'

Rasheel felt an overwhelming urge to weep.

Chapter Text

Rasheel groaned, stubbornness etching itself onto his countenance despite the keen edge of Eruhaben’s sword. He rose with effort and pressed forward, narrowing his position to secure a better hold, the earth crumbling beneath his feet. Wind fierce in its attempt to put pressure, the result of the two dragons' mana colliding was tremendously prominent. It went without saying that the exchange was one-sided, Rasheel couldn't bridge the gap of their mastery even if he tried. Eruhaben had simply throned at the peak of dragons, and said Eruhaben was currently wallowing in fury.

If he couldn't vanquish the ancient dragon in one attempt, then he would simply have to exert more effort. He's by no means the brightest mind, but Rasheel was inherently stubborn—much like his attribute.

He needed to find a way to catch the elder off guard, a detail Eruhaben must have overlooked so his words could go through. An opportunity he must seize before a full-blown confrontation ensues. Rasheel strained his mind to its limits within the fraction of a second it took for him to reach the optimal proximity to execute his plan.

Eruhaben maintained his stance, conjuring numerous magical swords above his head, all meticulously aimed at Rasheel. The swords themselves were manifestations of various spells, each possessing tremendous power that belied their origin from a sealed dragon. Rasheel's mind supplies, at this moment, had the ancient dragon release his seal, the manifested swords would have long since demolished the surroundings with their sole presence.

At a glance, it was evident who held the advantage in their exchange. Rasheel was deprived of opportunities to effectively utilise his strength, while Eruhaben stood motionless, delivering overwhelming strikes to subdue the younger dragon.

Nevertheless, Rasheel's resolve remained steadfast. He was keenly aware of the single chance Eruhaben had granted him out of pity. Or perhaps it was a challenge to see if his effort was worth paying attention to, a challenge to see if he was genuinely aware of what it means to dissent against a spectacle of power he had yet to understand.

It wounded his pride, it tore at his dignity to be subjected to such mercy. Burning him in humiliation and humbleness because he knew the answers. Let it be known for he were to hold this grudge in his life, he'll grow stronger and would one day lay a solid punch across each dragon who dared to put him in this situation.

Suppressing his mounting anger, Rasheel proceeded with his plan without hesitation. He had only one chance. That one chance was too precious to be wasted away arguing with his mind. A powerful beat of his wings propelled him to his utmost speed as he hurled himself forward, disregarding the menacing approach of magical swords converging to claim his life.

Against the odds, Rasheel made an unexpected move, something his nature wouldn't typically allow even in the face of death. For the very first time, Rasheel refrained from launching a physical assault. Instead, he opened his mouth wide, inhaling deeply. His diaphragm expanded, a vast amount of mana fueling his voice as he let out a piercing scream right in front of Eruhaben’s face.

"OLLIENE IS INCREDIBLY ANGRY RIGHT NOW…!!!" 

Rasheel steeled himself as he prepared for the impending agony. His eyes clenched shut in fear and dread at the mention of Eruhaben's sworn brother's name. It was a reckless move, suicidal even, the riskiest he had conceived at the cost of his own life. Never mind that the act itself had reduced him to a brat who tattletales.

He swallowed a sigh, knowing he wasn't adept at wielding the wisdom of the mind; he was born with the gift of strength. Therefore, deceit was out of the question for him; eloquently crafted falsehoods were not his forte. Rasheel was straightforward. He never needed to mask his intentions. There were only a few individuals to whom he showed respect in the first place. Directness could be considered a form of honesty, and he was not one to sugarcoat his words merely to be tactful. Of course, under normal circumstances, Eruhaben was a figure he would never dare to defy (being one of his disciples, who in their right mind would recklessly commit such a brazen act, anyway?). 

However, this was far from normal circumstances. 

Just a month ago, the continents had been rocked by upheaval. Humans and beastmen alike were in uproar over the drastic climate changes brought about by the scale of Eruhaben's dragon fear, which promptly affected the entire populace. The problem escalated further with the emergence of ancient magic, coupled with Eruhaben's well-being being uncertain because of the seal he had chanted on himself.

What would happen if the oldest and strongest being were severely injured, or worse, met his demise? And what could have driven him to resort to such forbidden magic, throwing the world into chaos with no meagre amount of 'fear'? 

Tensions had inevitably reached a boiling point in no time. To worsen matters, the path to the World Tree had been sealed off with a defensive dome, leaving its inhabitants' status shrouded in mystery. This effectively robbed them of the slim chance to seek information from the World Tree. It was already commendable for other dragons to remain still for a month, let alone cooperate (?) with each other to dismantle the dome. 

Especially Olliene. 

With only a 200-year gap between him and Eruhaben, a short span for dragons, they were regarded as the two oldest dragons by many. While younger dragons may squabble and fight over trivial matters, it was understood (through thorough beatings) that respect for the elders outweighed pride. And... he had come at Olliene's behest, the older dragon overcoming Rasheel's reluctance (fear) by claiming that Eruhaben truthfully held a fondness for him and that his attributes were better suited for the circumstances in case a confrontation arose. A substantial mockery, he might argue. Olliene must have deemed it troublesome to confront the emotional Eruhaben directly. 

'... He ordered me knowing this would happen!!!'

A fragment of his gruff demeanour acknowledged that it was inevitable for him to go. Olliene, Milla, her son Dodori, even the sombre Methyrouss, the scary-eyed Ottyme, and others had pushed themselves to the limit to keep him "healthy" enough as a last resort once they succeeded in creating a crack in the dome! 

In truth, he was just a pawn! And to deceive him by claiming he was the best for the job...! 

"... Oh." 

"...!?" 

Rasheel flinched, stunned by his own oversight and forgetting the most crucial detail; he's currently in the most vulnerable position. His mind raced a mile a minute, his stance momentarily faltering, deliberating if it was safer for him to put more gaps at the cost of being disrespectful.

It might be fortunate, once he notices the weak laugh Eruhaben had let out, that he's apparently too pathetic to beat. What kind of picture was their situation presenting to an outsider? A young dragon who couldn't fight because the older one's only restraint was another older dragon he held dear? His sleep was exchanged for this indignity worth hundreds of years! He couldn't even hold his petulance for long, for he would be the one beaten up had he done so. It just happens that a dragon's meaning of 'beaten up' means a hundred years' worth of recovery and dwelling in self-loathing. Why would 'hundreds of years' be the standard?

"Surely you're not here just to whine?"

He's not whining!

"... Yes," he felt his shoulder slumped, whatever, what can he do anyway, "we had yet to figure out the source, but we discovered traces of ambush in the younger dragons' den."

"And?"

"They're currently taking refuge in Mila's."

Ah ... Please don't discuss heavy matters with him. Rasheel could envision his future self plunged into the mountains because of Olliene's frustration at his forgetfulness. Scrapping the summit and creating another nonsensical folktale humans love to mend with anything to please their little heads. Just let him sleep—

The mana subsided at last, his breath came in gasps as relief took its hold and the swords pointed at his throat disintegrated. Eruhaben had the gall to send him a side glance (another mockery!) before motioning him to follow. Up front, the storm once again opened up a path, smaller this time as both dragons had decided (not him!) to tread the storm polymorphed.

But maybe it was for the better, Rasheel concluded. As his adrenaline seeped away, he took note of Eruhaben's pale countenance, his face drawn with exhaustion he saw for the first time. That's ... unusual. Alarming. He may be old, yet Eruhaben have never once displayed this kind of dishevelled stature. He's scary in most cases, perhaps a bit sadistic if he feels the need to, just never this. He thought back to Olliene, who contributed to enlarging the crack in the dome for him to slip through. The last time he saw the green dragon it was as if nature mirrored his tumultuous mind.

"Just speak."

"Y, yes." He couldn't hold back from flinching, really, but between his fright and angry Olliene, he'd rather drown in fright to survive, if only because the subject of said fright was Eruhaben. "Olliene would like to know why you cast ancient magic."

—since it was Olliene who dispelled the repercussions it caused to beastmen and humans, including the dragon fear which briefly stopped nature itself from breathing, and nearly heralded the extinction of many. The impact itself was what one would expect from a berserking ancient dragon, it's not by any reason that dragons across continents met and gathered in one place as a response.

How many places did the dragons visit after hundreds of years because of this? Thankfully, they are now cognizant of the necessity to step in. Of course, Rasheel wouldn't have known that it's precisely what Eruhaben had in mind the moment he conjured『ʀɛֆօռǟռƈɛ』, he had to cause a bigger explosion to determine which party shows the most panic. Rasheel of several hundred years later might figure out, but Rasheel now was a dragon weeping over his lost sleep.

The answer to that question, as they arrived at the residence of an elf Eruhaben was quite fond of, was lying before him unconscious. Abruptly, silently, Eruhaben had opened doors and led him inside without letting out a single word. And Rasheel, he, he, he didn't know.

"...."

Wingless hatchling.

Not only wingless, it was a clawless hatchling.

The child was basically left crippled beyond measure, stripped of any chance for recovery, condemned to a life of suffering. What punishment could be harsher for a dragon? The cracks were akin to rivulets, crisscrossing and exposing the charred flesh beneath. It wasn't even possible to cover them in bandages. If this was what he saw after Eruhaben had treated this child, then what kind of appearance would he witness at the worst of it?

It drives a nail into his mind. How outrageously cruel. Dragons might as well have committed the sinful act of eloping with other races and given birth to dragon half-bloods instead of whatever treachery this had presented. But comparing an awful action to another awful action does not make one of them less awful, and that, even a fool like Rasheel understood very well.

Any words he'd wish to scream died on his throat. It stopped there, stopping his voice, clawing, swelling and burning until he had no choice but to buckle on his knees. It's difficult to breathe and more difficult to speak, "H, hey, old man, what is this. What the hell is this?"

Tell him this is a lie. Tell him this all some jokes Eruhaben used to make to lure him into a fight in his boredom. He'd rather take a beating, he'd rather sit for hours decrypting magical circles, he'd rather—

'I never, I never thought—'

He recalled the traces of ambushes on the younger dragons' den, a complete demolition of what once was a prideful place to be called home, his mind could not fathom the sheer errors in his discernment. He did not even let himself underestimate the situation, he had made sure to take matters with utmost seriousness, and it was for that reason he refrained from getting a wink of sleep for a whole month for the sake of gathering as much information as he could.

And yet here he kneeled uselessly, staring at the survivor of what he's blissfully ignorant paying the prices–wheezing weakly in pain, a pain the child would need to live with through his entire lifespan–while he had the nerves to not put forth his utmost effort even if it tore his limbs into pieces. What if? What if they care for each other more? What if they check on each other more often? So no dragons shall bear the pain of losing their eggs, let alone having said unhatched eggs met such gruesome torture? What if Rasheel had bugged on more dragons more often?

"Old man, old man!" He clung to Eruhaben's robe, he knew the answer but his mind did not have the capacity to calm down. "What the hell happened?! Why, why? No, this is, this can't be!"

"Rasheel."

"Uncle," his voice cracked, eyes wide-open yet unseeing, he couldn't wipe his tears, his trembling hands couldn't reciprocate Eruhaben's embrace. "Uncle, uncle—"

Rasheel wished he had never slept.