Think.
Don’t do the work.
Don’t force it.
Just flex.
fang stood on the edge of the stone cliff, wind tugging at the feathers along his wings. The world below him stretched wide and quiet—mountains rolling into mist, forests breathing slowly beneath the clouds.
Think, he reminded himself.
He stepped forward.
Didn’t jump. Didn’t dive.
He glided.
Air caught under his wings naturally, smooth and effortless, like the sky itself wanted to carry him. His descent was calm, controlled, almost lazy as he drifted downward toward the massive structure carved into the mountain’s side.
The dojo.
Ancient stone pillars rose from the rock like bones of the earth itself. Dragons were etched into the walls—old, weathered, watching. The scent of incense and ash filled the air.
fang landed lightly.
A voice greeted him before he could take another step.
“Where have you been?”
sir dracks stood near the center of the courtyard, arms folded behind his back. His frame was tall and broad, scales faintly visible beneath worn training robes. His eyes—ancient, sharp—studied fang the same way they always had.
fang scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve been… looking.”
sir dracks raised an eyebrow. “Looking for what, exactly?”
“That thing again,” fang said. “The one with the big power surge.”
sir dracks nodded slowly. “Ah. That one.”
“You know who I mean,” fang said. “The guy who beat the Ancient.”
“Yes,” sir dracks replied. “I know.”
They stood there for a moment, the wind whispering through the courtyard.
“You’re ready to be done chasing ghosts,” sir dracks said finally.
fang scoffed. “You say that like it’s easy.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
sir dracks stepped closer. “You’ve been training for this moment longer than you realize.”
fang looked away. “I don’t feel ready.”
sir dracks placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s how I know you are.”
sir dracks was the last of the dragonborn of his time. A warrior, a teacher, a survivor. To fang, he was more than a sensei.
He was family.
“Show me,” sir dracks said.
The training began.
Stone cracked as fang struck. His wings blurred as he dodged, twisted, adapted. sir dracks moved with brutal precision, correcting every mistake with a sharp word or a heavier blow.
“No. Again.”
fang fell, rolled, rose.
“Think before you strike.”
fang adjusted his stance.
“Your balance is off.”
He fixed it.
Sweat hit the stone. Feathers scattered the ground.
They trained with blades. With bare hands. With energy that hummed in the air like thunder waiting to break. sir dracks forced fang to slow down—to think.
They talked between strikes.
“Power without control is useless,” sir dracks said.
“What if control isn’t enough?” fang replied.
“Then you learn restraint.”
They moved through the dojo—past ancient weapon racks, broken training dummies, murals of forgotten wars. sir dracks tested fang’s patience, his focus, his temper.
At one point, fang slammed a fist into the ground. “This is crap.”
sir dracks didn’t react. “Then stop wasting your strength.”
They trained until the light shifted.
Until fang’s muscles screamed.
Until his mind quieted.
Finally, they walked together through the halls of the dojo. The walls glowed faintly with old runes, reacting to their presence. sir dracks spoke as they walked.
“The world is changing,” he said. “Old powers are stirring.”
fang frowned. “Stronger than the Ancient?”
sir dracks stopped.
“…Yes.”
They stepped outside.
The sky darkened unnaturally.
The air twisted.
The ground trembled.
From the horizon, something emerged—not walking, not flying, but existing into place. Reality bent around it.
A figure formed from blinding energy and shadow.
sir dracks whispered, “No…”
fang’s wings flared. “What is that?”
The figure turned.
Eyes like collapsing stars locked onto them.
A voice echoed across the mountains.
“I am Rezok.”
The sky cracked.
“And I am your new god.”
fang clenched his fists.
The training was over.
