Helistar Academy had a narrow, ancient path winding into the woods behind campus. The trail twisted eerily, shadows thick and foreboding. Sunlight filtered weakly through tangled branches, casting only a hazy glow. Wind swayed high in the treetops, a deep, slow rustle filling the air. Above, a desert-like sea of trees shifted silently, contrasting the still forest below.

Yamwen led Oren and Dysaia slowly along the path. Watching her back, Oren sighed softly and turned to Dysaia beside him.

"By the way, what’s with that Crimson Dragon? Someone you know?"

Dysaia paused after hearing his question, then spoke quietly.

"I always thought it was none of your business—that’s why I left our castle alone... But since we’re here now, I suppose it’s fine to tell you."

As she spoke, Dysaia’s face grew unusually grave. Oren had never seen her like this. She’d always been carefree, as if nothing could shake her.

"Dragons are split into two kinds by ancient lineage. First, the Ancient species: Silver Dragons, Bronze Dragons, and Gold Dragons—the oldest clans. Second, the Five-Colored species: Crimson Dragons, Black Dragons, Blue Dragons, Green Dragons, and White Dragons. These five are the largest clans; humans and Elvenfolk rarely see others."

Dysaia sighed, her voice strained.

"During the Ancient Epoch, to resist human invasions, the Five-Colored emperors joined the Elvenfolk and dwarves’ alliance. Bronze and Gold Dragons from the Ancient species also joined."

Oren noticed Silver Dragons weren’t mentioned. Before he could ask, Dysaia continued.

"The alliance’s first battle against humans was at Luporicus—now Longsummer Castle. Everyone thought it’d be easy. They pictured human armies turning to ash under dragon breath..."

Dysaia sighed heavily, a sound like an old man lamenting fate. Oren felt she was utterly unlike her usual self.

"But unexpectedly, Ilis Elvys, Emperor of all humans, summoned Demons. Under their power, Dragons were dragged from the sky, torn in half alive. The frontline collapsed instantly. As dwarves and Elvenfolk prepared to defend Luporicus, Ilis slipped in through a secret passage. The Ancient Epoch’s first massacre of non-humans began."

Dysaia stared at the sky for a long moment, as if reliving it. Finally, she turned to Oren.

"I thought all Dragons died then. But recently, I heard a Crimson Dragon still lives. I had to see him."

Oren nodded slightly. Though he hadn’t fought that war, he’d seek out any surviving kin too.

"But Dysaia," he said. "You never mentioned Silver Dragons joining the alliance. What were you and they doing back then?"

Dysaia froze. Unusually, she averted her eyes and stammered.

"Back then... the Silver Dragons had actually..."

"We’re here."

Yamwen’s soft voice cut her off from ahead. Dysaia’s face lit with relief. She hurried forward, looking at Yamwen.

"Is this the spot? I sense no life here."

Oren joined them. The clearing held nothing special—just bare earth where trees should be. A small hill blocked the path ahead.

"Hmm... strange," Yamwen muttered, glancing around. "He said we’d meet here."

"That was when you brought Oren to me alone!"

A huge voice boomed from the air. Oren and Yamwen scanned the sky but saw nothing. Dysaia stepped forward, shouting.

"Elaer? I know that voice! Crown Prince of the Crimson Dragons! Are you alive?"

"Ah... Dysaia."

Oren’s gaze snapped to the hill. A faint shadow there sharpened into form—a massive Crimson Dragon. He crouched, wings and tail enveloping the entire mound. His head towered proudly, scales dazzling in the sun like a sheer cliff face.

The dragon’s mouth opened slightly. A deep voice echoed from all directions, like thousands drumming.

"Eternal Vigilant. Over a century. I never thought I’d see you again."

He eyed Dysaia disdainfully with lava-like pupils.

"That despicable form—it sickens me. Why not your true shape? Afraid of humans?"

Dysaia smiled faintly.

"I’ve worn this form five hundred years. Changing now is... difficult."

"Hmph. Five centuries are a blink. Excuses, Eternal Vigilant."

Elaer snorted, steam hissing from his nostrils. Oren guessed it was dragon disdain. The Crimson Dragon turned his gaze to Oren.

"I won’t argue. Hand over the human Oren. We part ways here. I won’t want to see your ugly face for centuries."

Elaer raised a claw toward Oren. Dysaia lunged forward, shoving it aside.

"Glad to see your ugly face too. But business is business. This human’s under my protection. Take him? Give me a perfect reason."

"A reason."

Elaer placed his claw back on the rock, wearing that same disdainful sneer.

"Bronze Dragon King Hilwen’s dying words: a human named Oren would become the Princess Silver Dragon’s adopted son. Then he’d kill the last dragon."

The Crimson Dragon stood. A crushing dragon aura swept the forest like a tidal wave. His voice boomed, deep and thunderous:

"Hilwen named him—the Dragon Slayer raised by the Princess Silver Dragon."