The morning after, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the palace, Elian stepped firmly into the corridor leading to Rio's room. His black armor gleamed in the morning light, and his red eyes beneath his mysterious helmet surveyed his surroundings with a deep calm. His long red hair, spilling out from under his helmet, swayed gently with each step. He was tasked with escorting Rio and taking him to Olivia. He stopped before the wooden door of Rio's room and knocked firmly with his armored fist. No sound came from within. He paused for a moment, then turned the handle and entered cautiously.
Rio's room was steeped in a quiet stillness. The golden morning light poured through the window onto Rio's wooden bed, where he lay sprawled in a messy, disordered heap. His blue blanket had slid halfway to the floor, and his white hair was scattered across the pillow. His sleep was so deep that even the heavy footsteps of Elian didn't rouse him. Elian stood for a moment, surprised, staring at Rio's peaceful face. Then his gaze fell to the small table beside the bed. Scattered papers covered it, adorned with precise drawings of stars, along with lines and dots marking their coordinates with astonishing accuracy. Next to these sketches were writings in a strange, unfamiliar language—intricate lines that Elian had never seen before. His eyebrows rose beneath his helmet, his mind buzzing with questions.
At that moment, Rio's eyes fluttered open. When he saw Elian holding the papers, he leapt from the bed in a panic. His feet tangled in the blanket, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. With a flushed face, a mix of embarrassment and agitation, he shouted:
"Don't look at those!"
He snatched the papers from Elian's hands and hurriedly stuffed them under the bed, as if hiding a priceless treasure from prying eyes.
Elian, amused by his reaction, hid an invisible smile beneath his helmet. Then, with a respectful and warm tone, he said:
"Forgive me, young master. I shouldn't have entered without permission."
Rio, still panting as he shoved the last paper under the bed, replied sheepishly:
"No, it's fine… I just… got startled!" He kept his head down, trying to compose himself.
Some time later, Rio and Elian left the room and headed toward Olivia's workshop. Along the way, in the grand reception hall, Rio spotted his mother, Maria. She sat by a large window, dressed in a long, white gown that shimmered in the morning light. The sunlight illuminated her kind face, and her white hair swayed gently in the breeze. Rio hurried toward her with excitement and said:
"Good morning, Mom!"
Maria looked at her son with a warm smile and replied:
"Good morning, my boy! How are you today?"
Rio began to chatter—about Olivia's lessons, the continent of Parmis, the gates, and the gods. With every word, he tried to seem normal and sociable. In his previous world, Christopher Ryde had been a recluse, and that isolation had only brought him distance and pain. In this new world, he didn't want to be different—being an ice dragon had already set him apart enough from dragon society, and he didn't want to grow distant from his family too.
Maria listened attentively, then said with a voice full of affection:
"Well done, Rio. Keep learning and be a good dragon, alright?"
Rio nodded eagerly and said: "Of course, Mom!"
When their conversation ended, Maria cast a gentle glance at Elian and said:
"Rio, could you leave me alone with Elian for a bit? Go to the palace courtyard and wait there."
Rio blinked in surprise and said: "Sure, Mom." He shot a curious glance at Elian before leaving the hall.
With Rio gone, a heavy silence filled the room. Suddenly, Elian dropped to one knee before Maria in a swift, graceful motion. His black armor clinked softly against the stone floor as he bowed his head as low as he could, as if standing before a goddess. The sunlight streaming through the window bathed his armor, making him shine like a statue of iron and fire. In a deep, profoundly humble voice, he said:
"My lady, I am at your service."
Maria, who until that moment had worn a maternal expression, now exuded a different aura. Her eyes gleamed with a hidden power, and her presence filled the hall, as though she were not just Rio's mother but something far greater. In a calm yet enigmatic tone, she said:
"Tell me everything."
Elian rose and began with reverence. He recounted everything he had witnessed in recent days: the capture of the mysterious man, his death at Nadia's swift and merciless hand, William's suspicions about Rio, and the elves' attempts to connect with the tribe. His words flowed with precision and detail, as if reliving each moment. Maria, seated on a velvet couch, crossed her legs with dignity and listened with a cold, thoughtful gaze.
When Elian finished, Maria fell silent for a moment. Her eyes seemed to drift to some distant place. Then, in a dry tone, she said: "Thank you, Elian.You can go now."
Elian gave a short bow and said: "Yes, my lady." Then he left the hall.
With Elian's departure, Maria let out a deep sigh. She picked up a cup from the table beside her, filled with a pink liquid that shimmered in the morning light. She sipped it slowly, and her face returned to its warm, maternal expression, as if it were a mask she had slipped back onto her features.
With Elian's exit from the reception hall, the palace courtyard lay in peaceful silence. The golden morning light filtered through tall columns engraved with dragon motifs, casting a soft glow on the stone pavement. In the center stood a large stone fountain, water trickling from the intricately carved mouth of a dragon. Rio stood beside it, his white hair gleaming in the sunlight, his silver eyes fixed on the water. His mind still lingered on the mysterious exchange between his mother and Elian.
When Elian emerged from the hall, his black armor clinked faintly with each step, and his red eyes beneath his helmet gazed calmly at Rio. Seeing him, Rio approached with a simple smile and said:
"Well, shall we go?"
Elian nodded, and together they set off toward Olivia's workshop. In his heart, Rio felt suspicious—what had his mother Maria and Elian been talking about? But he decided not to dwell on it too much. If he asked questions, his identity as an ordinary child might be called into question again. A kid shouldn't be so suspicious; he needed to seem simple and carefree. He had to act like a child, even if a storm was raging in his mind.
Their path took them through the tribe. Cobblestone streets paved with marble stretched before them, and houses with arched windows and delicate carvings glimmered in the morning light. Smoke rose from the chimneys of a few homes, the scent of burning wood lingering in the air. People in simple, colorful clothing walked the streets, but Rio glanced around with curiosity and noticed something odd—very few of the tribe's dragons carried swords or weapons. Across the entire tribe, he spotted only a handful with swords strapped to their waists or spears in hand. For a fantasy world, this was strange. Why were weapons so scarce? If magic was everywhere, as Olivia had said, why wasn't anyone using it? Questions paraded through his mind, but he reminded himself to ask the right people. He decided to start with Elian.
In a curious tone, he said: "Elian, why do I see so few swords here? In a world full of magic and dragons, shouldn't everyone have weapons?"
Elian paused for a moment. His armor glinted in the morning light, and his steps were slow and deliberate. With a respectful and warm voice, he replied:
"Young master, it's true that in this world, many armies fight with swords and weapons, but true swordsmen are rare. Those with exceptional, untouchable skill can be counted on one hand. Dragons, however, have two reasons for not carrying swords. First, their physical strength is so great they don't need weapons. Second, swordsmanship is an art—it requires boundless talent, something not everyone possesses."
Rio mulled over Elian's words. His mind drifted to his previous world. There, not everyone could become an astronaut; it demanded knowledge, training, and a specific physique. It seemed the rules of the world hadn't changed, only their form had. But this thought stirred a bitter memory—the Simorgh Space Agency exam, where Rio had failed, watching his dreams turn to ash before his eyes. For a moment, he felt a heaviness, but he quickly shook his head and resolved to focus on his new life, not the past.
Some time later, they arrived at Olivia's workshop. Bathed in morning light, it sparkled like a jewel. The marble walls seemed alive in the sunlight, almost breathing. A stained-glass ceiling fractured the light into beams of blue, purple, and gold, scattering them across the stone floor. The central table was cluttered with crystal orbs, floating quills, and bowls of glowing liquids. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, packed with ancient scrolls and weathered books, while the air carried the scent of icy mint and night-blooming flowers. A fireplace burned with gentle blue flames, and an arched window opened to a view of the tribe.
Olivia stood by the table in her black-and-gold robe. Seeing Rio, she smiled and said: "Good morning, master Rio! Are you ready?"
Rio replied eagerly: "Yes!"
But as he sat, he noticed Elian stepping inside. Surprised, he said: "Elian, you're staying too?"
Elian gave a faint smile beneath his helmet and said: "Yes, young lord. From now on, I'll be by your side more often. I'm to observe you, so I can tailor the best training to your talents." He then stood respectfully by the door, his glowing red eyes fixed on Rio.
Rio paused for a moment. What did this mean? Was Elian going to be with him all the time? His mind swirled with questions, but a spark of excitement ignited in his chest. Perhaps this was the start of something big.
Later, as Rio sat on a velvet bench by the window, his silver eyes gleamed with a thirst for knowledge, and his white hair shimmered in the morning light. Elian, his black armor casting a majestic shadow in the workshop's glow, stood by the door, his red eyes watching Rio calmly from beneath his helmet. Olivia, in her long black-and-gold robe, stood by the table, holding an ancient scroll. In a soft voice, she said: "Today, I'll tell you about the dragons."
Rio fell silent for a moment. The word "dragons" echoed in his mind, stirring a strange feeling within him. With a determined look, he turned to Olivia and said:
"I want to know about myself. Please tell me everything about ice dragons—why the other dragons fear and hate them so much."
Olivia hesitated for a heartbeat. Her gaze met Rio's resolute eyes, and a fleeting pang of sympathy tugged at her heart for this boy so earnestly seeking the truth. But when she caught Elian's subtle nod from the corner of her eye, she took a deep breath and replied:
"Alright, master Rio. I'll tell you a legend—a tale passed down through generations of dragons."
Olivia unrolled the scroll and began, her voice resonating as if it came from the depths of history.
***
Long ago, when the world was still young and the mountains had just risen from the earth, a dragon named Setrog Kalimor ruled the skies and lands. Setrog was not merely a dragon but the embodiment of grandeur and power. His wings, woven from molten gold and cold silver, blotted out the sun when unfurled, casting vast shadows over the land. His scales, a deep shimmering blue, outshone any jewel, and his body was impervious to every blade and spell. His eyes, twin orbs of blazing red, seemed capable of piercing the soul of any being. His wisdom was so vast that even the winds and oceans heeded his words. Setrog, the first, the most beautiful, and the mightiest dragon of the world, was a living god. Countless races, from humans to elves, knelt before him, whispering his name in awe and fear.
Setrog had many children, each inheriting a fragment of his power—dragons of fire, mountain, sky, and darkness. But among them was one unlike his father or siblings: the Ice Dragon. Born with white and blue scales and eyes colder than eternal winter, this child stood apart. Setrog looked upon him and, despite their differences, felt a fatherly love. But the Ice Dragon, with a restless spirit and a thirst for power, chose a path no one could have foreseen. With his icy breath, he turned cities to frozen ash; with his claws, he split mountains; and in his fury, he even sent his siblings to their deaths. Thousands from countless races perished beneath his feet, and the world drowned in fire and ice.
Unable to bear the destruction, Setrog confronted his child with a broken heart. Their battle shook the earth and tore the skies. The winds howled, the oceans raged, and the stars hid in fear. With a final strike, his wings descending like thunder, Setrog felled the Ice Dragon. As he gazed upon his lifeless child, a sigh rose from his chest that echoed through the mountains forever. He thought it was the end.
But years later, in another corner of the world, the Ice Dragon was reborn. Setrog, hoping this time would be different, gave him another chance. Yet the dragon followed the same path of chaos—freezing cities, razing forests, and spilling the blood of many. Furious and despairing, Setrog realized it was not his fault or a matter of upbringing; the flaw lay in the Ice Dragon's very nature. With a heavy heart, he issued a decree etched forever in dragon history: every Ice Dragon born must be slain at birth. This law became a sacred covenant. Even after Setrog's death, his body turning to a colossal mountain and his spirit scattering into the sky, the dragons upheld his command for centuries. Many Ice Dragons were killed until none remained. Hundreds of thousands of years passed, and the Ice Dragon faded into a terrifying legend—a bedtime story mothers told their children, a nightmare lost to time.
***
Olivia closed the scroll and looked at Rio. He rose from his seat and began pacing the workshop, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor, his eyes brimming with thought. Olivia's story was clear and vivid, but something weighed on his heart. Why had X turned him into an Ice Dragon? Why? Why something everyone despised? What was X's purpose? For the first time in five years, fear of the mission X would assign him at age ten—a mission he knew nothing about—stirred within him. For a while, his face was etched with worry and unease.
Elian, who had been silent until then, stepped forward. His armor gleamed in the workshop's light, and with a warm, firm voice, he said:
"Young master, don't worry. Legends can't define who you are."
Rio looked at Elian, managing a small smile, and said:
"Thanks, Elian." Then he turned to Olivia and added:
"Thank you for telling me everything. I'm glad I know now. Because I want to be the first Ice Dragon no one fears."
Olivia smiled back, admiring Rio's resolve, and said: "I'm sure you can do it, master Rio. Now, get ready—I'll tell you about the other dragon kinds."
Rio returned to his seat with enthusiasm, eager to listen once more.