Red lunged, claws outstretched, eyes ablaze with primal instinct.
The First twisted aside just in time—the heat of Red's form seared the air where he'd stood a heartbeat before. The impact of the flame born's charge cracked the blackened earth.
This wasn't a greeting.
It was a challenge.
Not one born of malice, but of something deeper, older. Instinctual. A trial written in the blood of their kind. A contest of right. Of power. Of who would lead.
He didn't flee.
Something inside him shifted, cold, ancient, vast.
The Void Seed stirred.
Not in fear, but in recognition. It pulsed like a second heart, silent yet resonant, its echo vibrating through every fiber of his being.
As Red wheeled for a second strike, the First didn't brace for impact. He reached inward, beyond breath and bone, past heat and heartbeat, into the hollow that was the Void.
And there, he found it.
A connection.
His shadow flickered on the scorched earth beneath him, thin, warped by heat, but real. A single thread of Void. It was enough.
He pulled.
[New Ability Awakened: Void Tendrils — Lv. 1]
Manifest tendrils of pure Void. Can bind, grasp, or lash targets. Moderate magical cost. Effectiveness increases with level and affinity.
From his shadow, a tendril erupted, smoke like and sinuous, real yet impossible. Its edges blurred and writhing, tinged with violet. It lashed out mid pounce, catching Red's forelimb and yanking him down with a brutal crack.
Red snarled, fire spilling from his maw. His claws tore into the tendril, and pain screamed through the First's mind.
The tendril wasn't just magic, it was him, a limb of his essence, a strand of the Void within. When it was shredded, the backlash burned through his soul like fire through dry leaves.
It unraveled into mist. He stumbled, chest heaving, vision sharp with pain.
The Void trembled, not broken, but shaken.
Across from him, Red rose again, flame licking from his teeth, but now, he hesitated.
And that was enough.
This time, the First moved with purpose.
He reached into the Void once more, not in panic, but with will. The tendril formed again, denser now, shaped not by instinct but by control. It rose from his shadow, honed by his intent.
Red roared, fire in his eyes, and charged again.
The tendril struck, no longer wild, but precise. It coiled around Red's chest and slammed him into the ground. The flames faltered. Cracks split the scorched earth.
The pain returned, but dulled. Bearable.
He stepped forward, closing the space between them.
Red writhed, once. Twice.
Then stilled.
He met the First's eyes.
A beat passed.
The tendril uncoiled and vanished into the dust.
Red rose slowly. Smoke curled from his nostrils, but his stance had changed. Not in defeat. In understanding.
This wasn't submission.
This was recognition.
There would be no subordination.
They would rise, together.
Then, the air shifted.
From the far side of the nest, mist curled inward. The heat of the scorched earth faded, replaced by a creeping chill, calm and clean.
The blue egg stirred as if prompted to awaken by the commotion.
Its surface rippled with moonlit silver and deep ocean blue, slick with condensation that shimmered like dew under an unseen moon.
It pulsed, cold, aware.
Then, a crack. Thin, perfect. No tremble. No violence. Just inevitability.
A second pulse, and the shell parted, fluid, graceful. Like petals opening beneath the tide. Mist unfurled, coiling along the ground.
And then, she stepped free.
Her form was sleek, limbs long and precise, her movements smooth as flowing water. Scales shimmered in layered hues of sapphire and frost silver, crystals of ice forming on her scales as if wishing to be close to there source curling in mesmerizing fractals.
She moved without hesitation. Silent. Certain.
Her eyes, deep polar seas, vast and still, surveyed the nest. First, the shards of her shell. Then the circle of jagged ice ringing the scorched earth of the nest. Then the endless, pale sky above them.
And finally, her siblings.
Her gaze passed over Red, still smoldering, still proud.
Then she looked to the First locking eyes.
She did not bow. Nor posture.
She studied him, calm and measured, with a intelligence in her eyes assessing him.
The void still curled faintly around his limbs. The ground bore the scars of their clash.
She held his gaze.
And nodded.
A slow, glacial motion. As if ice recognized its mirror, or the moon acknowledged the tide.
Then, without a word, she settled beside him, coiling into a spiral of slow breath and resting limbs. Her body poised, her presence vast and unmoved.
Not a follower.
A presence.
One worthy of being among them.
The air around her chilled. Mist clung tighter, drawn by her will. She was not fire, nor void, nor brute force.
She was inevitability.
The kind of power that didn't roar, because it had no need. It had already won by arriving.
She did not speak.
But her presence whispered:
I am here. I am third. And if any wish my place, they must take it.
Red watched her.
His breath steady, smoke curling in slow wisps. His eyes narrowed, not in challenge, but in thought.
There was no fire in her stance.
Which made her more dangerous.
She hadn't struck or roared. Hadn't tested the nest with force.
She had simply stepped into the world, and the world had made room.
The frost at her feet did not spread, it flowed.The chill in the air did not bite, it lingered.
Red understood the hunger of fire. The thrill of battle. The call to prove.
He understood the First's silence, that cold, ancient depth.
But she, she was water that did not freeze. Ice that did not crack.
She had not crushed her way to power. She had claimed her place with stillness.
And Red, fire born and wild, understood instinct.
He recognized what she was:
A storm that took its time.
Not to prove herself.
But to let others realize they were already standing in it.
He snorted quietly. And turned his gaze to the nest.
Let the next rise.
But he knew, without needing to be told,
This one would not be shaken.
Not by fire.
Not by fury.
Not even by time.
A system interface shimmered before the First, Soul Sight activating.
[Name: Unnamed]
Species: Ice Dragon Hatchling
Level: 0
Age: 0
Stats:Strength: 25
Agility: 40
Resilience: 35
Magic: 50
Awareness: 40
Talents: UNKNOWN
Skills: UNKNOWN
Affinities: UNKNOWN
Like red he decided to refer to her as Blue until they had names.
She was not one to rule but the study her enemies and slowly wear them down into submission.
The siblings had only begun to rise.
And the nest pulsed still awaiting the last three, eggs.
After a time, there was movement.
Not from one egg, but two.
The First felt it before he saw it. A shift, deep and quiet, like pressure rising in the bones of the world. His breath caught. Not from fear, but from something older. Recognition. His Soul Sight flickered to life, not by intent but by instinct, as though his soul had turned its gaze on its own.
The two eggs pulsed. One gleamed in pure gold, the other in silver, their surfaces flawless yet alive with unseen tension.
In the gold, he saw density. Not just of body, but of soul. The shape within was tightly woven, forged of weight and certainty. The pattern of her essence spiraled inward like veins through stone, drawing power from stillness. It was not simply earth she carried, but the very concept of it. Endurance. Presence. Truth.
This was not a soul that rushed to meet the world. This was a soul that allowed the world to arrive at her.
The silver one was different. Softer in light but no less vast. His soul was long, smooth, layered like folded moonlight and reflection. He was calm where others roared, his form wrapped in intention rather than instinct. His magic flowed in delicate threads, silent as snowfall. If the gold was the mountain, he was the space between mountains. Cold. Wide. Still.
The First stared at them both. His Soul Sight revealed more than just elemental resonance. He saw their design, the unique script of their being.
The gold was wrapped in something deeper than power. A presence, subtle and immense. Something touched her. Not a blessing. Not even guidance. Just nearness to something beyond. A brush of meaning written in the structure of her soul. He could not read it. But she could feel it. Even now, not yet born, she already carried the weight of a question the world had not asked.
And the silver—he was unreadable, but not because he was hidden. His essence reflected too much to settle on any one truth. He was clarity without answer. Cold logic without cruelty. A mirror that never cracked, no matter what stared into it.
Then they hatched.Not one, then the other.Together.
The golden egg exploded in light and heat-less brilliance. The silver one unfolded in silence, its shell peeling away like a blossom turned to moonlight. The air in the nest shifted again, not colder or warmer, but deeper, as if the presence of these two had thickened the space between seconds.
The gold hatchling stepped forward.
She was smaller than her siblings, her body compact, her frame solid. But the moment her feet touched the earth, the First felt the world shift. As if the ground welcomed her. As if it remembered her. Her movements were slow, not from hesitation, but because there was no need for haste. She had been made to endure, and endurance needed no permission.
Her scales glowed like sunlit ore, radiant but not burning. Her gaze held a depth that unnerved even him. Not because she looked at him, but because she saw something else. Something far away. Something within.
She knew something. Or perhaps, she felt something. And whatever it was, it was not for them. It was hers alone.
Then the silver hatchling emerged.
His form was long, smooth, elegant. Where she was weight, he was flow. He moved like a blade drawn through water. Each step measured, each glance precise. His breath carried no frost, yet the air cooled subtly around him. He did not shine. He reflected. Everything. Everyone.
He looked at the others without judgment, without pride. He saw them, all of them, and gave nothing away in return.
They stood together. Not in challenge. Not even in unity.In equilibrium.
The First let his Soul Sight fade slowly, his vision returning to flesh and color.
Now Five they stood waiting for the last to emerge.