He was running. Bare feet slapped against marble inlaid with gold, the sound ringing through corridors that seemed to stretch into eternity. Sunlight poured through arched windows of crystal and stained glass, splintering into rivers of color across walls carved with the deeds of many great kings who were his ancestors. The air smelled faintly of oil and steel, yet somewhere in the distance, flowers bloomed, their perfume carried on the wind.
Above him, the vaulted ceiling was not a ceiling at all, but an open sky framed by soaring buttresses of white stone and steel. It glimmered with suspended bridges and luminous banners, each stitched with a crest of a crowned dragon. This was no ordinary castle; it was a place that had walked through ages, carrying both the weight of the past and the heartbeat of futures yet to come.
Then came the sound. A roar deep as the ocean, sharp as lightning, ancient as the mountains. It shook the chandeliers until their crystal teardrops sang. He looked up and saw the shadow pass vast wings blotting the light, scales like shards of stars. The dragon's cry rolled through the castle, a call that seemed to claw into the foundations of the stones and his bones.
Below, far in the courtyard, titans in human form trained. Knights — though no ordinary fighters. Their armor shimmered with shifting patterns of light, their weapons forged from metals that hummed with caged storms. Each strike of their practice blows left ripples in the air, like reality itself bowed to their skill. They moved with grace that belied their size, power chained to discipline. And their armor, it was a work of art which shined brightly in the morning sky.
"My prince…" The voice was old, heavy with patience and sorrow. It came from the far end of the hall — where the light bent strangely, as though the world behind it belonged to another time. An old man stood there, clad in robes the color of midnight seas, his beard as white as starlight, his eyes deep as a winter sky. "Come before your father sees you."
The boy, he, moved toward him, without a second thought. His steps echoed like drumbeats in the empty hall. The old man's gaze was steady, knowing, and the air between them seemed to hum with unspoken truths. Just as he reached out… Artorius woke up.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/332492385011261487/
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The roar still echoed in his chest when his eyes opened. Gone was the castle of his dreams with that young boy and old man who seemed very familiar. There was no sky. No ground. No air.
Only liquid, thick and luminous, pressing into his mouth, burning his lungs. He convulsed, thrashing instinctively, clawing at the suffocating void around him. It was like drowning in sweet nectar, a syrupy sea of light that stung and soothed all at once which tasted of honey, vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon all at once. Sweet, cloying, and merciless.
Panic surged. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He had no idea where he was. All he could do was curse the system and the admin which randomly teleported him here. He was inside something. The glow around him was dim, golden walls curving in all directions. He slammed against one with his hand. The surface was hard and ridged, yet warm. Like a cage or even a shell. He was running out of time and had no idea how much longer he could hold out, so he tried again and again to break out.
Just then a shape moved in the shadows vast, sleek, circling like a predator. The first glimpse was a glimmer of pearl-white scales, trailing like ribbons through the fluid. Its body was serpentine, sinuous, and beautiful. Long whiskers curled from its jaw like strands of light, and its eyes glowed with impossible kindness. For a heartbeat, Artorius thought it was salvation, something pure, something noble. Then it turned its head towards him as rows of teeth glinted in the glow as it struck out and he had time to only see a pop up from the system.
[Luck Dragon — Level 0]
Image: https://in.pinterest.com/pin/484348134926401033/
The impact slammed into him like a spear. His body spiraled in the fluid, pain ripping through his side. Blood bloomed into the yolk like crimson smoke, carried on unseen currents. He cried out in pain, but only bubbles burst from his throat. His lungs burned with drowning fire.
The creature circled back. Its body was like a dream given flesh, long and shimmering, its eyes, those shining eyes, held not hunger, not malice, not cruelty. Only a desire to stop him. The egg was too small for two lives.
It struck out again, jaws snapping wide open to finish him. Impulse overrode thought as Artorius grabbed hold of its neck and tried to choke it. It clawed him, tearing across his forearm, trying to get him off. Not letting up, he flexed harder to throttle it some more. The creature recoiled, twisting sinuously, then giving as much as it got, it coiled around him like a serpent. Its body tightened, crushing his ribs, forcing the yolk deeper into his lungs.
Not letting up, he also upped the ante as he bit out. His jaws closed around its flesh and fur, tearing soft scales loose. Silver ichor spilled into the yolk, mixing with his blood. The taste was electric, alive, like biting into lightning and song. The dragon writhed, thrashing, slamming him against the wall until cracks spiderwebbed outward.
It was strong. Too strong for him, but when had that ever stopped him. His chest ached, vision dimming. The fluid was filling him, drowning him. His self was fading in and out, as his ribs creaked and groaned under the pressure of the creature trying to crush him like a giant anaconda. All he could do was hold on for dear life and savagely tear into it.
He didn't know who gave in first, he was far too gone to notice as the little dragon hold on him slackened. He was acting more on instinct as something ferocious he never knew he had revealed himself. He didn't know when he started more than tearing into the beast, but actually consuming it. He only caught hold of himself after he was ripping into its heart.
You have slain [Luck Dragon — Level 0]
Reading the message before him, he looked at the corpse of the creature, he met its dead, wide eyes which were not looking at him with hate, but resigned and sorrow. Seeing that hollowed him out. He killed such a noble thing. A thing of legend. Savaged by his hand. Bubbles burst from his throat in what might have been a sob.
He also noticed that he wasn't drowning in this viscous liquid anymore, it seemed to settle around him like this was his place now. Then he watched as the body dissolved. Not into rot, not into blood, but into light. Pearlescent motes swirled through the fluid, drawn into him, burning across his body, healing his wounds and aches. He felt it seep into his marrow — the echo of laughter, the taste of sunlight, the whisper of fables.
Exhaustion threatened to drown him and he didn't resist as he sank deeper into the yolk, curling his body tight. And then… he stilled. The yolk was not only fluid. It was essence. Food for young dragons to grow strong.
He felt his body open up as it poured into him, raw and unrefined, the condensed dreamstuff of a forgotten brood. Each breathless moment he absorbed it, his body hardened, his soul thickened, his aura sharpened. He felt songs rushing into his veins, histories etching into his bones. His blood sang with predatory instinct — yet also shimmered with a thread of fate, of luck.
Time blurred. He meditated in silence, curled in his shell of light, his mind hovering between that of a man and that of a beast as he floated in that light, drinking deeply. When at last he awoke, he was in an empty place with a message hovering before him.
+10 to Luck!
Then an unconscious urge filled him. It was time to be born. His hands flexed and formed a fist. The shell that had once imprisoned him now felt fragile and laughably weak beneath his strength as he stuck. He continued striking against it, cracks spread like lightning as light bled through. He hit one more time and the world outside rushed in. A flood of air, heavy and hot, rolled across his face. With a final, furious heave, Artorius tore through.
The egg shattered. Shards of shell scattered like golden glass, what dregs left of the yolk spilling in a shimmering wave across stone. He collapsed onto the cavern floor, coughing, gasping not as a drowning man, not as a mortal, but as something more.
And he didn't stop there as if driven by need, he started munching on the egg shell, breaking and tearing into it like a ravenous beast. It was only after he was half through it did he catch hold of himself and stop.
His reflection glared back at him from the black glass of the floor: his eyes burning with slit-pupiled light before they flickered back to normal. But he felt like he needed to unleash something that had been building up from deep within his chest, the fire that had been lit at long last had erupted. His head tilted back and he roared.
It was not a scream. Not a cry of pain. It was not even human. It was a sound that shook stone, a sound older than language, deeper than thunder. A roar that carried pain, rage, and defiance but also beauty and musical symphony. It echoed through the cavern, a hymn of something both savage and noble.
The cavern answered. Across the place he hatched in other young hatchlings answered in challenge, in welcome, in fury, in joy, in awe and a chorus of different emotions. Far above, in their shadowed perches, much older broods awoke from their slumber, eyes cracking open their ancient pupils like suns glimpsing the newborn roar.
The Nest had recognized him. Artorius Pendrath had been born. Not just as kin to dragons. But as something dragons themselves would fear.
His voice had carried further than he intended. Higher than the Nest. Into places unseen. Into a silence older than fire. And something… heard him.
From within one of the Dragon Peaks, in a cavern where light itself had been strangled at birth, something stirred. It was not a presence so much as a wound, a gash in the fabric of existence that bled nothingness into the world.
Eyes opened. Not shining, not blazing, but devouring. Black voids ringed in emptiness. A mouth stretched in the dark. Not a smile of warmth, nor even malice but hunger, endless. It widened, impossibly wide, savoring the moment.
It delighted in what he had done. Delighted in the blood on his hands. Delighted in the killing of something noble, something pure, something blessed. The killing of a Luck Dragon, a creature fate itself had touched.
Its laughter did not echo but slithered, soft and cold, coiling like a parasite and slipping into the nest below.
The System message flared before his eyes, cold and merciless: [You have drawn the gleeful attention of the Void Worm ??? for slaying a Luck Dragon!]
The System's cold message still burned in his vision, but when it faded, silence pressed down once more. Not the silence of drowning — but the silence of a vast world holding its breath in. He looked around. He was in a cavern stretched outward into immensity, vast enough to swallow cities and drown kingdoms. The ceiling soared beyond sight, lost to shadow, the walls were streaked with riverlets of molten gold that pulsed like the veins of some titanic living being. Warm, heavy air pressed in from all sides, thick with the scent of stone, smoke, ash… and something older, deeper — the musk of scaled titans.
Getting up, he noticed the heat, a thick furnace like air that clung to his lungs and tasted faintly of sulfur and the metallic tang of blood. Though it was not only that, he felt something vast, invisible, and crushing bore down on him like an ocean. More than mere gravity, but something almost like Authority.
It was like the same suffocating pressure he had felt standing before his father, magnified a thousandfold. His knees trembled under it, his chest tightened, every breath a crime measured, weighed, and judged.
The ground beneath him was slick and dark, not stone but some volcanic glass slicked with condensation. His fingers sank into shallow grooves with claw marks, each wider than his chest, gouged into the very floor that seemed harder than iron.
His gaze lifted. Farther away, he saw spires of crystal rising like towers, their surfaces crawling with shifting runes. Beyond them, valleys of magma boiled where fire-broods shrieked and stirred. High above, storm-wracked isles hovered, lightning flashing across their shattered forms. And he noticed more zones, some looked to be like arenas, battlefields, graveyards, and more.
This place contained worlds within itself. Pulling him from his observations was a crystalline chime that echoed in his mind as he got a message from the system: Welcome to the Dragon Eyrie - The Dragon Nest!
The birthplace of dragons! This is where the newly hatched are left to prove themselves, it is a hatchery, a crucible, a battlefield in which dragonkind forges their heirs. Here the laws are simple; the strong ascend while the weak are consumed. Survive, and claim your place among the chosen. Fail, and your bones will feed the next brood.
The words seared themselves into him, equal parts warning and promise. A part of him wasn't too surprised as if something in his blood only stirred, a deep and buried part of him which expected no gentler welcome here. Though his human self reeled in horror. What kind of beings subjected their children to slaughter at birth? What kind of race demanded its heirs crawl from the shell only to fight tooth and claw, with survival as the only proof of worth? And worse: he was among them now.
He stumbled forward, breath harsh in the furnace air. The plain stretched ahead, endless and ashen, its surface cracked by rivers of lava and fire. And he saw what lay there - Eggs. They stretched out across the ashen expanse, thousands upon thousands of them, each one massive and grand, glowing faintly from within. Some shimmered like sapphires, others pulsed molten orange with heat, others still crackled with faint lightning or earth tremors. While others seeped blood or starlight or even frost from hairline fractures. The air vibrated with their heartbeat. It looked to be some sort of Hatchery Fields.
For one long moment, he stood transfixed. It was beautiful... Stars scattered across blackened glass, each egg a world unto itself, breathing, waiting.
Then one cracked nearby. Followed by another, and another. The sound was sharp, wet, final. A fissure split down the shell and red light bled out. From it, a drakelet forced its way free, a red molten little hatchling you could say, only it was as big as a small car. Its scales still dripping with half-formed magma, its eyes burning like coals, it sniffed once in the air, then fixed him with its gaze. He could tell right away he did not like the look in its eyes.
Looking at the two others clawing their way out of their eggs, the second was a sickly green lizard sleeker and longer than the first with vicious looking eyes ready to spite him. Acid steamed from its jaws before it even opened them. The final emerged with a thunderous crack, it was a large, bulky dark blue brute that hauled itself lazily from its shattered shell. A single horn jutted from its brow like a blackened rhino's tusk, lightning arcing faintly from it. Three hatchlings. All newborn. All predators.
The creatures seemed to come to a silent agreement as they boxed him in somehow seeing him as the threat he was. The first to attack was the red one which shrieked, high-pitched and ear-splitting, the cry of something newborn yet already a killer, filled with hunger and vying for dominance, and launched itself at him with terrifying speed. And in the corner of his vision, searing itself across the burning air the system read: [Rage Drake — Level 1]
Image: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/PeKY3o
[Acid Drake — Level 1]
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/85990674126484881/
[Thunder Drake — Level 1]
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/25332816647671201/
Artorius had no weapon. No armor. No shield. Only his body and raw instinct. The drakelet struck out like a boulder loosed from a catapult. Artorius barely had time to throw himself sideways. Heat scorched his arm as he rolled away and claws raked the ground where he had stood, gouging molten furrows in the volcanic glass. He hit the ash hard, lungs seizing, his suit smoldering from the ground's radiant heat.
As if that wasn't enough, a wad of acidic gob came his way, thanks to being in an awkward situation where he was trying to get up he couldn't dodge in time. All he managed to do was throw his arms up to protect his face. The acid spit hit him straight on, causing pure agony to tear into him as it corroded his flesh all the way to his muscles.
Then coming charging his way like a bull was the blue Thunder Drake, he was able to dodge this one thanks to how slow and lumbering it was making the creature crash into an egg behind him.
Not giving him a breather, the Rage Drake wheeled towards him with newborn savagery, molten drool hissing against the ground. Taking advantage of its newborn awkwardness he went on the attack, its scales were not yet hardened pink and red, glistening but even half-formed, they turned aside his frantic punches like stone. He aimed for the throat, the eyes, the softer places, but his fists bruised and split against hot ridges of scale.
Seeing him close at hand, the hatchling shrieked and attacked again. Its jaws clamped down, teeth like shards of obsidian punching through his shoulder. Agony burst white across his vision as it shook him, slamming him into the ground. He screamed, his voice swallowed by fire and smoke. Blood slicked his arm, sizzling on contact with the drakelet's heat. To make matters worse, the sly Acid Drake took a pot shot at him, another wad of acid hitting him, this one tearing into his back, his clothing barely acting as protection, making his world of pain that much worse.
He could feel his flesh boil, skin slough, the stench of charred meat filled his nose. His vision swam, edged with black. He was pinned down, burning, and broken. He tried to get the red colored hatchling off him, helplessly swinging punches frantically into its ribs, but its jaws remained locked upon him ignoring his ineffective blows. Panic set in then as it clawed at his mind. He was going to die here, torn apart by a beast not even a day old. How pathetic was that!
Instinct, not reason, saved him. His other hand, which was looking for anything to use, closed around something sharp in the ash: a jagged shard of eggshell, his egg that he hatched from with its edges glowing faintly with residual heat. With a roar of his own, Artorius rammed it forward, straight into the softer gleam of the hatchling's eye.
The drakelet shriek split the air like metal tearing, the sound deafening, though thankfully it did unlatch its jaws from him. It thrashed wildly, trying to shake him loose as its claws raked down his chest and side, ripping soft flesh, hot blood spraying across the volcanic glass. Pain tore through him, but he held fast, driving the shard deeper, twisting until the eye burst with a wet crack.
The creature convulsed violently, its molten-scaled body writhing against him, then collapsed, twitching and half-blind. One final spasm and it went still, slumping heavily on top of him like a furnace of dead weight. Steam rose from the ruin of its face, its lifeblood hissing against the ground.
You have slain [Rage Drake – Level 1]
Congratulations! You have leveled up.
Race: [True-Blood DragonMen] → Lv. 1
Stat gains: +1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 Per, +1 CHA
Seeing the messages pop up, this time he felt a flood of strength pour into him. The flood of vigor was overwhelming, intoxicating his wounds knitting faster, his muscles hardening, his blood sung with power. Artorius felt reforged, rejuvenated, and elevated.
Then it was all gone as reality came crashing in. He was pinned beneath the corpse of the creature with others circling him, lungs burning, vision tunneling. His hands trembled around the shard still held in his white-knuckled grip, his fingers flayed raw and slick with blood. The stink of sulfur, charred stone, and his own scorched flesh filled his nostrils.
Knowing the battle was far from over, with a ragged groan, he shoved the corpse aside. The torn muscle screamed, but he staggered to his feet. He was a wreck. Clothes shredded, skin burned and bleeding. Yet still standing. Still alive and he still had some fight in him.
Turning to face the green shifty drake, he locked gazes with it. The bastard was ready to spit venom but it paused when it saw the look in his face, there had to be something there as the creature which was prowling at the edge recoiled back in trepidation.
Letting out a low menacing growl as he held the bloodied egg shell shard in his hand like a dagger, the creature flinched back and withdrew a pace or two before finally retreating in whole. Finally he turned to face his last opponent which thankfully seemed to be in its own mess. The egg it crashed into seemed to have housed some bat-like dragon creature and both of them were tousling with each other in a vicious tangle of horns, wings, and claws.
Reading the pop up that appeared when he looked at the new beasty; [Bat Wivern – Level 1]
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/12033123999323807/
For a heartbeat, Artorius wanted nothing more than to wait, let them kill each other, then finish off the survivor. He could still feel the high of leveling, the alien ecstasy of power flooding his body. It was like nothing he had ever known.
But then came the sounds that brought back his rationality. He heard more cries; thin, sharp, hungry. The sounds of shells cracking filled the air. Hatchlings, many of them, waking up for the first time in their life, and ready to kill and devour. A spike of cold fear cut through his haze of greed and vengeance.
Without looking back he hightailed it out of there. He staggered across the ash and molten glass, every step leaving a bloody print. He needed cover. He needed to catch a breath, come up with a plan. Somewhere—anywhere—safe enough to think, before the next nightmare came crawling out of its shell.
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Author Notes: The Luck Dragon takes inspiration from Falkor in the Neverending story.
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Chapter 3 Recap!
+10 to Luck!
Leveled up True-Blood DragonMen Race to Lvl. 1!
+1 STR, +1 DEX, +1 CON, +1 Per, +1 CHA