Chapter 2: Eyes Across Time… The Whisper of Blood

  I dreamed a very strange dream.

  I knew that I was asleep, and that everything I was seeing was born of my imagination.

  And yet…

  Everything was terrifyingly real.

  It was not merely a dream.

  But something closer to a memory that did not belong to me.

  I felt as though I was witnessing history—

  Not through my own eyes,

  But through the eyes of someone else.

  The eyes of a being that was not human.

  A crimson dragon being born within a volcano.

  It was not an ordinary birth—

  But an explosion.

  Fire splitting from fire, magma gathering to forge a body, and a first roar that shook the sky.

  I was watching, but I was not merely a spectator.

  I felt the heat of the lava, the pulse of the earth, and the flow of energy around the crimson body.

  The dream was not fragmented scenes—

  But a long, endless film, where events unfolded without pause, and entire eras formed before my eyes.

  In that dream, I felt the flow of energy around me.

  I did not merely see it— I understood it.

  I learned how to control it and use it.

  The crimson dragon was not merely powerful—

  It was a catastrophe walking upon the earth.

  A power beyond imagination.

  Cities turned to ash.

  Forests became black deserts.

  Continents trembled beneath his wings.

  Humans.

  Elves.

  Demons.

  They were forced to unite against him after he destroyed vast parts of the continent.

  It was not an alliance born of honor,

  But of fear.

  In response, countless mighty beings rose to challenge him.

  Heroes.

  Saints.

  Kings of ancient bloodlines.

  And yet…

  They all fell before his overwhelming power.

  Practitioners of the path of magic in the sky, and practitioners of the path of spiritual energy on earth and in the sky.

  Spells the size of cities, and techniques that tore through space.

  And yet none of them could defeat him.

  He crushed a great alliance of three races that had sworn to destroy him.

  Humans—the weakest among all creatures—were the first to flee the battlefield.

  It was not merely cowardice, but recognition of the truth of power.

  The elves and demons continued the war, even as their kingdoms were torn apart and their thrones collapsed.

  It was a war of pride… or stubbornness unto extinction.

  Where the dragon’s arrogance manifested in its most magnificent tyranny.

  At one moment, I found myself floating above a vast battlefield.

  I was no longer in the dragon’s body, nor among the armies.

  I was above everyone.

  The battlefield seemed to represent the final and decisive clash between the crimson dragon and the allied armies of elves and demons.

  Even the Elven King and the Demon King joined the battle.

  Their presence was not natural.

  It distorted the very flow of energy, as if they existed outside the laws of the world.

  The Elven King— a woman of royal majesty, whose beauty the war had not touched, as though she were the embodiment of an unbreakable idea.

  The Demon King— massive horns, and wings like those of bats blocking out the sun.

  I watched their battle as it leveled mountains and altered their features.

  Every movement, every strike, redrew the face of the world.

  They did not care for the lives of their followers.

  Thousands died with each clash of their power.

  Blood was no longer seen— because the earth itself was being erased.

  Chaos dominated the battlefield.

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  There were no tongues of flame, no remnants of magic.

  Only… emptiness.

  Energy itself was erased.

  The land was carved into a vast abyss.

  A great rift dividing the world.

  I felt as though the world had split into two.

  Two continents…

  Born from a single wound.

  When I turned to look at the dragon, our eyes met.

  And in that moment…

  A sharp chill ran down my spine.

  It was not a passing glance.

  It was acknowledgment.

  I felt as though those eyes pierced through the barrier of space and time, transcended the boundaries of the dream, and settled directly upon me.

  I was not merely a witness.

  I was being witnessed.

  Through this dream, I learned many things.

  It was not merely a display of ancient power, but a transmission of knowledge.

  An inheritance.

  And I gained a name.

  A name that was not spoken aloud, yet engraved itself within me as if carved into my soul.

  I learned how to train in the use of energy.

  It was not chaotic energy, but a precise system, a balance between will and flow.

  I understood the hierarchy of authority within the energy system.

  It was not merely a difference in strength, but an entire structure, unwritten rules, and layers of control and dominance.

  I became aware of the classifications used by the dragon race,

  which differ greatly from the classifications of other beings.

  In this world…

  The dragon system is divided into four main stages.

  And each stage requires a long time and immense effort to master.

  Advancement does not rely on talent alone,

  but on the purity and strength of the bloodline.

  Blood… is the primary measure.

  And will determines how far that blood can ignite.

  The fourth and final stage—exclusive to dragons—is unique of its kind.

  Only after reaching it does the classification of power become unified among all races: humans, elves, demons, and beasts.

  Before attaining it, the dragon race retains its own system, laws, and standards.

  But after surpassing it…

  No difference remains.

  Only pure power.

  According to the dragon classification system,

  the first stage is:

  The Hatching Stage — the moment a dragon emerges from its egg.

  In this stage,

  the newly born dragon is granted a personal name,

  in addition to the name of its progenitor— the name of the bloodline from which it descends.

  The name is not merely a title,

  but a declaration of belonging,

  and a document of power.

  It is an official recognition of the blood that flows in its veins,

  and of a legacy that cannot be denied.

  From here,

  the young dragon begins to learn how to harness and sense the energy of the surrounding world.

  It trains properly

  to receive the surrounding energy and store it within the dragon’s heart—

  that deep center where bloodline and will intersect.

  Absorbing and synchronizing with the memories stored within its lineage.

  And those memories are not stories to be told,

  but skills,

  instinct,

  and accumulated knowledge across countless generations.

  They are a living history dwelling within the blood,

  requiring no verbal instruction,

  only awakening.

  Then,

  comes the Young Dragon Stage.

  In it, the dragon begins to fly,

  and its integration with the inherited bloodline memories becomes complete.

  This stage is considered the easiest,

  yet it is the foundation upon which everything that follows is built.

  Without this foundation,

  no dragon can aspire to what lies beyond it,

  no matter how pure its blood or how exalted its name.

  This is followed by the Adolescent Dragon Stage.

  It is the most dangerous stage of all.

  In it, the dragon becomes governed by instinct,

  especially by its thirst for battle,

  and gains its experience through daily combat.

  Learning no longer relies on inheritance alone,

  but on spilled blood,

  wounds,

  and survival.

  During this period, its unique personality takes shape,

  separate from the memories inherited from its lineage.

  Here, the dragon begins to step out of the shadow of its ancestors,

  and forges its own name—

  not through the blood it inherited,

  but through the decisions it makes in the midst of the battlefield.

  Then comes the Adult Dragon Stage, which is divided into two parts.

  In the first part,

  the dragon achieves complete harmony with the memories of its lineage,

  strengthens its identity,

  and gains awareness of its aspirations.

  The inheritance is no longer a burden or an inner whisper,

  but becomes part of its full consciousness.

  The second part

  is known as:

  The True Dragon Stage.

  This is the pinnacle of ascent.

  At this stage,

  the dragon must undergo the Ascension Trial—

  a calamity that tests everything it is.

  Not only its body,

  but its blood,

  its will,

  and its ability to surpass its limits.

  If the dragon survives and succeeds,

  it gains the powers of a True Dragon:

  the Dragon’s Strength,

  the Dragon’s Domain,

  the Dragon’s Knowledge,

  and the True Dragon Spirit.

  Only then do all dragon clans recognize it

  as a True Dragon.

  If it fails— yet does not die,

  it will never be acknowledged as such.

  It will be regarded as a Sub-Dragon,

  an existence that possesses the blood…

  but has not proven its worthiness of it.

  A lesser being.

  Outcast from the other dragon clans.

  In that moment, within the dream, knowledge began to flow into me like a river of ancient light emerging from the depths of my soul.

  They were not words, nor clear images,

  but a pure sensation—

  as though truth itself had been carved upon the walls of my spirit.

  The secrets of the dragon bloodline were revealed to me

  like a book written in fire and frost,

  engraved in war and peace,

  in death and rebirth.

  I realized that every conscious living being—

  dragon,

  or elf,

  or demon,

  or human—

  is bound to a shared system of bloodline classification.

  Ten great ranks,

  each divided into five levels of purity.

  From the most common natural bloodlines,

  where most creatures are born,

  to the rare and majestic imperial bloodlines,

  granted only to those destined to rule kingdoms.

  And as this truth unfolded within me,

  I felt a different pulse in my chest—

  a pulse that did not belong to any human.

  Something ancient had awakened.

  With each beat,

  I heard the voice of a dragon…

  whispering my name.

  Through this dream,

  ancient knowledge flowed into my depths.

  It was not mere information,

  but a living inheritance rooting itself within my consciousness.

  It was as though I were reading directly from the spirit of the dragon bloodline itself—

  not from a book,

  nor from a transmitted memory,

  but from a more ancient source.

  The system of this world imprinted itself upon my awareness,

  clear,

  absolute,

  unshakable.

  A law not written in ink,

  but carved into blood.

  All sentient beings,

  regardless of race,

  are subject to that system.

  No exception.

  Ten great ranks of bloodline,

  each rank divided into five degrees of purity.

  A rigid structure,

  ordering chaos,

  granting legitimacy to those who rise,

  and stripping it from those who fall behind.

  I stood at the edge of the dream,

  at the threshold of a time long buried.

  I was not merely a witness to a war,

  but at a dividing point in the history of an entire world.

  The battlefield stretched before me,

  endless,

  shattered,

  as if the remnants of a civilization that refused to die quietly.

  The sky was stained with blood,

  not twilight nor sunset,

  but the mark of violence that had not faded.

  And the earth split apart,

  as though it had sighed beneath the weight of destruction,

  and under the burden of clashing wills.

  And at the heart of it all,

  the crimson dragon stood alone.

  He had no need for an army.

  His presence alone

  was an army.

  Like a mountain of frozen fire,

  radiating terror and awe,

  casting his shadow over every soul upon the field.

  He did not fight in defense,

  nor for revenge alone,

  but as a declaration of existence.

  Before him stood the Queen of the Elves,

  graceful as moonlight,

  her eyes heavy with sorrowful nobility.

  She was neither weak,

  nor hesitant,

  but aware of the magnitude of the price.

  And beside her,

  the Demon King loomed upon the horizon,

  his horns touching the clouds,

  his wings stretching across the sky,

  as though darkness itself had taken form.

  His presence was no less terrifying,

  only different.

  A solid power,

  without apology.

  This was not a battle between three powers.

  It was not a struggle over land,

  nor over a limited throne.

  It was a confrontation between ancient wills,

  each determined to reshape the world

  in its own image.

  The will of fire.

  The will of light.

  The will of evil.

  And in that moment,

  I realized that the world does not change through strength alone,

  but through those who possess the audacity

  to impose their vision upon existence itself.

  The mountains trembled.

  It was not a natural quake.

  The plains shattered,

  as though the earth itself had lost its balance.

  Forests turned to ash,

  not by passing flame,

  but by a will rewriting the scene.

  Every strike was the end of an era.

  Every roar was not merely sound,

  but an engraving carved into the fabric of existence.

  Their armies?

  Dust in the wind.

  Power extinguished before it could be remembered.

  None of the three looked back.

  Not at their followers,

  nor at the victims,

  nor at the devastation stretching behind them.

  They left behind kingdoms,

  thrones,

  and blood.

  In that moment,

  the land was not a homeland,

  but a proving ground for will.

  I watched the earth split beneath their feet.

  It was not a fleeting crack,

  but a deep tear in the body of the world.

  Continents were torn apart.

  The courses of rivers changed,

  as if forced to choose new paths.

  Cities vanished into the abyss,

  swallowed by chasms without a farewell cry.

  And with every passing moment…

  the dragon’s eyes drew closer to mine.

  Not as an enemy,

  nor as a ruler,

  but as a mirror.

  A silent reflection.

  And within that gaze…

  I saw him.

  Not in the sky,

  nor in the magma,

  but within myself.

  Something ancient.

  Something not born now,

  but awakened.

  The bloodline.

  Were the language and grammar correct?”