Draegor stood quietly, the wind carrying the whispers of a world beyond. From atop his citadel's highest balcony, his crimson eyes looked out across the land before him. The dark woods extended for miles, their shadowed canopies dancing under the burden of night. He had been a ruler for years in Yggdrasil, but here, where he stood, all was altered. He was altered.
His fingers wrapped around, and therefore a shiver of energy shot through his body. The Primordial Tyrant System had not only granted him the shape of the Undead Dragon King, it had remade him into something else—something substantial. He felt the weight of his armor, the crunch of his claws warping, the gentle inhalation and exhalation of breathing.
He was no longer a player. He was indeed Draegor Nyx.
There was a soft clinking of metal behind him. He didn't glance over, already aware of the presence of his most loyal servant.
"Seraphis,"
The Wraith Queen sank to her knees, her ethereal form hovering not quite touching the stone floor beneath. "My lord, the scouting party has departed. They will be back within the day with the information you need."
Draegor nodded but didn't respond immediately. His mind was lingering on an even deeper question—how much of what he had learned about Yggdrasil still applied here? The fortress remained, his servants remained, and his authority was felt. But the world in general? Terra incognita.
"Tell me," he said, facing her again. "Do you feel anything changed?"
Seraphis tilted her head to one side. The blackness that made up her essence rippled as if considering his words. "I do, my lord. Before, my essence was. alone. A function, a tool. Now I carry the weight of thought, of decision. I am alive in ways that I once was not."
Draegor considered her a moment. As he had suspected. His guardians, once bound by coded consciousness, now possessed real sentience.
Seraphis bowed her head. "Does this distress you, my lord?"
"No," said Draegor, his voice with quiet conviction. "It fascinates me."
She bent her head, though a fleeting sense of something caressed her ghostly form—relief? Could she be capable of such a thing now?
Draegor turned to face the horizon, and there was silence between them. The weight of his new world rested on him. Every move now had tangible meaning. No do-overs. No do-overs.
He stood there for an eternity, watching the land as the shadows converged. The world waited, and he would join it in its time.
For now, he watched, schemed, and learned.
The actual conquest had only begun.