The sound of launchers echoed softly through the BeyMall training hall.
Most bladers were already preparing for the next stage of the tournament. The air smelled faintly of rubber and metal polish a familiar mix that meant work, not spectacle.
Ryo stood at one of the far stadiums, alone.
Eclipse Drago spun steady along the ridge, tracing a clean left-side pattern before gliding to a stop. He caught it smoothly and reset his stance.
Again.
Each launch had to feel lighter, faster. He'd learned that too much tension slowed him down.
A voice called from a few rows away.
"Still training? The next match isn't until tomorrow."
Ryo turned. A tall boy with brown hair and a loose jacket walked over, carrying his launcher in one hand.
"Rentaro Kiyama," he said with an easy smile. "Roktavor user."
"Ryo," he replied.
Rentaro nodded toward Drago. "Left spin, huh? That's rare. Looks strong."
"It's fast," Ryo said simply.
Rentaro laughed. "That's the same thing you said after beating Hayato, right? I was in the stands. The crowd wouldn't stop talking about that burst."
Ryo gave a quiet nod, not quite smiling.
Another voice chimed in before Rentaro could continue.
"Beast says the flames were scary!"
Both of them looked over. Ken Midori stood near the next stadium, one puppet on each arm Beast with sharp teeth and Boo half-asleep.
Ken himself stayed silent, eyes half hidden by his hair.
Rentaro waved. "Hey, Ken! You watching again?"
Beast's mouth moved. "Ken watches everything."
Ryo almost laughed under his breath. "Kerbeus, right?"
Ken nodded once. The puppets waved in sync.
For a moment, the three just stood there listening to the hum of other stadiums — clashing metal, bursts of noise, sudden silence.
Rentaro leaned on the railing. "You know, the three of us cover every type. Stamina, defense, attack. We should test that sometime."
"Maybe later," Ryo said, locking Drago into his launcher again.
Rentaro shrugged. "Fair enough. Don't burn out before the next round." He started toward the exit, Ken following close behind, Beast muttering something about "scouting the competition."
When they were gone, the hall quieted again.
Ryo launched once more.
Drago curved perfectly along the ridge, sparks trailing in neat arcs that faded almost instantly.
He caught the Bey in his palm and watched it spin down, the faint gold sheen pulsing at the edges.
Tomorrow would bring new matches, new faces, and tougher battles.
But for now, the quiet rhythm of practice was enough.
Night settled over Beycoma like a curtain of quiet light.
Most students had gone back to their dorms, their laughter echoing faintly through the glass halls.
Ryo stayed behind in the training room, alone, surrounded by dim lamps and the faint scent of ozone.
Eclipse Drago rested in his palm, cold now, its golden sheen catching the glow from the ceiling.
He turned it slowly between his fingers.
That match with Hayato still echoed in his mind the weight of each hit, the roar of the crowd, and that moment when he'd felt Drago's power burn brighter than ever.
But it wasn't just power. It was something deeper.
Something alive.
He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the building fade away.
The sound of spinning metal, cheering voices, and even the air itself dissolved into silence.
And then light.
It began as a flicker under his fingertips, a faint warmth pulsing from Drago's core.
The world shifted.
The floor beneath him vanished, replaced by endless air and swirling streams of red and gold.
He stood in a vast space that glowed like the inside of a flame calm at its center, violent at its edges.
Ashes drifted like snow through the air, but each ember burned too brightly to die.
He looked down.
Drago floated a few meters in front of him, spinning slowly, its aura rippling outward in waves.
Then it unfolded.
From the light, a shape emerged massive, coiled, alive.
A dragon made of molten fire, scales like liquid gold, eyes burning crimson.
Every beat of its wings scattered sparks that hung in the air like stars.
Ryo couldn't move for a moment.
He'd imagined Drago as a Bey, as a machine he built, tuned, launched.
But this this was something else.
The dragon lowered its head, eyes level with his.
"You've finally stepped inside."
It wasn't heard through sound; it trembled through his chest, warm and heavy, like the echo of a heartbeat.
Ryo swallowed hard. "What is this place?"
"Where flame lives when you stop fighting it."
He turned slowly, watching the horizon pulse with light. "So this is… inside Drago?"
"Inside both of us," the dragon corrected. "You built my body. I gave it breath. Together, we make fire move."
The words hit something deep inside him — a space he hadn't realized was hollow.
He took a step forward, the air shimmering beneath his feet.
"You spoke to me before," he said quietly. "During the battle. I heard you."
"You didn't just hear. You listened."
A faint rumble followed, almost like laughter.
"But you still hesitate, don't you? Even when victory is yours."
Ryo clenched his fists. "I can't show everything. Not yet. If I do, they'll—"
"They'll what? Understand you? Fear you? None of that matters in battle. Power sealed by fear is already lost."
He looked down at his hands the same hands that had launched Drago hundreds of times, each motion exact, perfect.
All that control, and still, he'd nearly lost round one.
"You're saying I'm scared?"
The dragon leaned closer. Its breath felt like heat washing over him, yet it didn't burn.
"Not scared. Guarded. You fight like a wall flawless, but hollow.
Fire needs space to breathe. Trust, Ryo. Not just in me. In yourself."
The words lingered in the air, glowing faintly before fading into the swirling light.
Ryo stared up. "And if I lose that control completely? What then?"
The dragon's eyes softened, their glow dimming to a deep gold.
"Then you'll burn brighter than ever."
A gust of hot wind rippled through the space, scattering trails of flame that wrapped around him.
He could feel them not just around him, but inside him, threads of warmth tracing through his chest, his arms, his hands.
His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the flames.
"Show me," Drago's voice said, quiet but firm. "Launch. Right here. Let's see how far you've come."
Ryo looked down. A stadium shimmered into being beneath him, forged from light.
He didn't question it. He just moved.
His hand tightened on the invisible launcher, Drago resting inside.
"Three…" His voice was steady now, filled with something new not command, not control, but connection.
"Two… One… Let it rip!"
The sound tore through the space like thunder.
Drago burst forward, spinning in a perfect left arc. The energy around it exploded outward red and gold streams circling the entire field.
For the first time, Ryo didn't think about balance or timing.
He just felt it.
Every second pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Every curve of the spin matched his breath.
He wasn't watching a Bey move. He was moving with it.
And in that unity, the fire grew.
Drago's wings of light extended fully, cutting clean through the golden air.
Flames trailed behind each strike, shaping a spiral that rose high above the field.
When it reached the top, the dragon itself roared a sound that felt like the earth cracking open.
Ryo lifted his arm instinctively, and the spiral collapsed inward.
The entire sky above him lit up.
And then silence.
The flames sank back into Drago's core, the arena fading away.
The heat receded, replaced by a calm that felt almost human.
Drago hovered close again, eyes dim but peaceful.
"Now you understand. You don't command fire. You become it."
Ryo smiled faintly. "You really like your metaphors."
"You're learning them too."
He looked down at his hands again small traces of red light glowed across his fingers, fading slowly.
"What happens next?"
Drago's wings folded in, the golden scales fading back into the void.
"Next, you show them what that light means."
The world began to break apart gently, like burning paper curling into smoke.
Ryo felt his body sink, the warmth staying behind like a memory.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in the training hall.
Drago rested in his palm, glowing faintly from the core.
For a moment, he just sat there in silence, letting the last pulse fade.
He could still feel it that rhythm, that bond.
It wasn't just power. It was trust.
Ryo stood, slipped Drago into its launcher, and whispered, "Let's burn brighter next time."
A faint spark flashed across the rim, like an answer.
He smiled, the kind that didn't need words.
Tomorrow, the real battles would begin.
And this time, he wouldn't be afraid to let the fire breathe.