“Hmph, begone! Wretched shadows, lurking to spy upon me… beware, lest I pluck your eyes!”

High above the world,

Draven Zorathar rode the winds, his gaze sweeping a land both known and alien.

This realm was vast beyond measure!

Far grander than the world of his past life, its horizons stretched into infinity.

Nurtured by sword and sorcery, it lacked the cold precision of his former steel-and-concrete realm, yet brimmed with a primal purity and mystic allure unique to this dominion.

By his reckoning, this was his first true pilgrimage through the world that forged his new form since his crossing.

Yet, scarce had he wandered when a prickle of unease stirred within.

A savage glint flashed in his eyes, a terrifying aura surging outward, engulfing all.

He felt it—the weight of unseen eyes upon him!

The intrusion was an affront.

Who would abide being stalked in their wanderings?

His rare moment of serenity shattered in an instant.

With a low, earth-shaking roar, the Dragon King’s wrath tore through the heavens.

Ancient, unfathomable magic pulsed, rippling the very fabric of space.

The air congealed, as if time itself held its breath.

All around him, the world stilled in reverent dread.

A warning thundered to the hidden watcher.

…

“Fate… it has been unmade!”

In a hall resplendent with celestial light,

An elder clad in flowing white robes stood before a towering statue.

Ivory Runearrays glimmered softly, his long beard and hair dancing in an unseen breeze, evoking the grace of an immortal sage.

Deep in prayer, his eyes were closed in devotion.

But a sudden furrow creased his brow, and his aged eyes slowly opened.

A piercing light gleamed within, fixed upon the sacred effigy before him.

He whispered, aghast: “The prophecy? How…”

“My lord… illuminate my path…”

Yet,

Crack, crack, crack!

A chilling grind of fracturing stone rent the silence.

Before his horrified gaze, the statue splintered, spiderweb cracks weaving across its surface.

…

The Hissarion Empire,

Mightiest of human realms in the Dominion of the Celestials, stood at the continent’s heart, claiming its richest and vastest lands. To the north sprawled the beastman tribes, to the east stretched the endless ocean and the elves’ Eternal Glade, to the south lay the dwarven holds, and to the west loomed the perilous Beastveil Thicket.

Scattered beyond were lesser realms of other races or factions.

Though races stood apart, humanity held dominion.

The Hissarion Empire wielded the continent’s fiercest armies and unrivaled political and economic might.

Champions abounded within its borders.

And now, in the imperial capital,

“Flayre, what ails you?”

Atop a lofty platform,

A stalwart knight, his visage carved with resolve, spoke with quiet concern.

Before this unassuming middle-aged man towered a colossal figure.

A crimson form, muscled and clad in gleaming scales, radiated the indomitable majesty of dragonkind.

A dragon!

A fire-red titan, no less.

Yet,

This proud and mighty creature bore a saddle upon its broad back, crafted for a rider’s command.

It had been tamed!

Thus, the man’s identity shone clear:

Alfred the Dragonknight, the Hissarion Empire’s peerless warrior, a legend who had grazed the realm of level 100, anointed by dragonkind as the empire’s sentinel.

The sole Dragonknight, Alfred!

He and his dragon, Flayre, were the empire’s unbreakable bulwark, revered by countless knights as the epitome of glory.

His name resounded across the continent.

So long as he lived and guarded the empire,

The capital stood as an impregnable sanctuary.

Yet now, his brow was knit, his eyes fixed on his companion.

Moments ago, Flayre, his staunchest ally, had grown strange—trembling without cease, its once-piercing gaze clouded, darting northward with furtive glances. It shrank back, cautious yet yearning to probe, yet gripped by a fear that stilled its heart, heedless of Alfred’s calls.

This was no bearing for a dragon of such fearsome might.

It seemed, instead, a quivering lamb.

Their bond was ancient and profound; Alfred knew his dragon’s heart. With Flayre’s pride and power, such terror was unthinkable!

Never had he seen his companion so unmoored.

“It cannot be… it cannot be… It’s him! He has come!”

“We’re doomed!”

“Doomed, Alfred! All is lost!”

“No, I must flee! Forgive me, my friend—I cannot stand by you! My treasures, I forsake them! I’ll return to Dragon Isle and sleep until the end of time!”

Alfred had braced for silence, as before.

But now, Flayre’s hollow eyes met his, quaking with dread, as if ensnared by a nightmare’s grip.

Its words trembled with unspeakable fear and despair.