The world has always thirsted for blood.
And those who said this — they buried as madmen.
A red dragon with one wing torn off walked among the corpses.
Each step was as heavy as if sinking into a swamp. But it was not mud. It was blood that reached up to his knees.
His paws stepped on crushed helmets, severed arms, and broken horns. Some corpses still twitched.
The wind carried the smell of burning flesh.
The red dragon did not stop.
Each step, blood dripped from his wounds and splashed onto the corpses below.
He took a breath. A rasping sound came from his throat.
"…Kaldor…"
There was no answer.
Ahead, a hill formed of corpses rose. He began to crawl. His paw sank into a warrior's face — the skull softly crushed. Up again. A broken spear.
Finally, he reached the top.
And froze.
Kaldor lay there.
The once enormous black dragon that covered the sun in the sky was now cut in two. As if someone had sliced him with a single strike. The lower body lay on the corpses, the upper part had fallen sideways. One arm was stretched forward — as if still trying to save someone.
His eyes were open. Golden eyes. But nothing remained inside them.
The red dragon approached slowly. His knees bent. He placed his paw on the chest.
Cold.
He opened his mouth but no sound came out, as if someone had chained him, yet there was nothing around his neck. He tried again.
"…friend…"
His voice broke. Speaking seemed harder than the effort itself.
"…my friend…"
It broke again. As if the invisible chains binding him tightened.
"…my friend…"
The chest rose once. Only once. Kaldor's eyes turned and found the red dragon. The lips did not move. But from his throat — like pale mist — words emerged:
"…run…"
The red dragon did not remove his paw.
Then came the stench of sour sweat.
He couldn't turn in time. The sword was already in the air — aimed at the wing. Bone cracked, flesh tore apart. But the dragon felt not pain, but the invisible chains around his neck loosening.
His mouth opened, he tried to gather fire — his chest expanded, his throat burned. But the second strike came, to the throat. Not deep, but precise. The heat built up — with no way out. He tried to swallow.
He couldn't.
Instead of fire, blood came. Hot, thick, flowing back into his own mouth. His knees sank into the mud. His eyes turned red. The sword was still in his neck — the demon leaned in to pull it out.
A small flash appeared above the demon.
From behind. Heavy. One strike. The demon was cut in two, the sword remained in the neck.
An ogre. Huge, green, no armor. Axe made of bone. He turned and moved toward the third demon — with every step, the stench of sour sweat spread.
When the demon tried to flee, the ogre noticed and hurled his axe at him. The axe spun through the air toward the demon.
The air grew cold.
In an instant. White steam rose over the blood. The moist air above the corpses froze into tiny crystals.
A spear made of bone flew in and pierced the Ogre's head from ear to ear. The ogre stopped. The axe fell to the ground, frozen. Then the ogre slowly, heavily, as if falling asleep — collapsed.
The two demons looked toward where the spear had come from.
He stood there.
No armor. No sword. Only a black mantle — and beneath it, bone. Not human bone, but ancient bone. Palm open, fingers pointed straight at them.
A lich.
The first demon stepped forward — and stopped. The lich had no face. There were only eye sockets — in which small, cold green flames burned. No mouth, no nose. Only bone. And that bone stared at them.
"Look at your side."
The lich did not look.
"Look above you."
The lich raised his gaze.
A massive boulder — falling straight down. The air groaned beneath it.
The demons fled.
The lich remained in place. His mouth without lips opened:
"— Damn it."
He placed both hands on the ground. And roared — from within, from his veins, from his bones:
"— Bone Bind"
The earth opened. Cold silver light poured out from below — the chill of the grave. And from that light, bones began to rise. Tens. Hundreds. Giant bones shot upward and struck the boulder.
The boulder shattered in the air.
The fragments rained down like a downpour. One piece flattened a warrior — he didn't even have time to scream. Another hit the ground and knocked down those around it. Warriors ran past enemies, trampling allies, only to get away from that place.
The lich tilted his head.
The green flame in his eye sockets flickered slowly.
He didn't even take a step back.
It didn't last long.
The earth trembled.
Dust leaped up.
Corpses began to shift.
The earth trembled. Slowly, heavily, rhythmically. Growing slightly stronger each time. Stone dust rose into the air by itself.
Behind the stone, a foot appeared. One foot — not iron, but a wall. A giant was coming, slowly, heavily. The earth itself yielded before him.
The lich raised his hand.
The giant raised his foot.
And brought it down.
A rounded, deep earthquake rose. A crater formed, the surroundings filled with dust, the edges caved inward. The lich disappeared from sight.
Silence.
Only stone dust — and from very far away, someone's groan.
In the next moment, the sky shattered.
As if the sky itself had become a mirror and that mirror had broken.
Purple lightning poured from the black clouds.
A pressure heavier than death swallowed the entire battlefield.
Warriors who had been slaughtering each other moments ago could no longer even lift their swords.
From the tear in the sky — two eyes appeared.
Eyes burning with black and purple fire.
Even the dragons trembled before those eyes.
The entire army froze in fear.
"What… what kind of being is this?"
The earth shook.
An enormous dragon, large enough to block the horizon, stepped onto the battlefield.
It looked down —
and every living being its gaze fell upon froze solid.
Some warriors tried to take a step back, others couldn't move at all.
Then the dragon's body burned with black fire, shrank, and took human form.
Silver hair fell to his waist, two horns crowned his head like a diadem, and his purple eyes burned with divine wrath.
Each step made the heart of the earth tremble.
The whole army fell silent.
Not a single sword moved.
The dragon approached.
Even the proudest dragon warriors could only stand trembling, staring at him.
They whispered to each other:
"What kind of dragon is this?"
"This is not a dragon… this is something else," said one of them.
In a low voice, he asked:
"Do you want victory?"
"Are you thirsty for power?"
The dragons looked at each other —
None dared to speak.
He smiled.
Then he bit his finger and let drops of black-purple blood fall to the ground.
Each drop made the whole world tremble.
He stretched out his hand:
"Kneel, or make others kneel — which one do you choose? The choice is in your hands."
The earth split open.
Blood moved like living fire, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"My blood will give you power… but there is a price.
No way back. Eternal."
The dragons remained silent.
But hunger and the thirst of despair broke them.
One by one they stepped forward.
One by one they drank.
He whispered softly:
"Do not die… until this world ends."
Then the shattered sky completely swallowed him.
As his body merged into the darkness, one thought circled in his mind:
"Did they notice me?"
For the last time, he glanced sideways at the dragons below and whispered words that no one heard, as if someone did not want them to be heard.
The tear in the sky closed.
Hoooooo
Noa woke up from his sleep, one hand pressed to his left eye. He was drenched in sweat.
— What kind of dream was that? he thought.
He lowered his hand and stared at his palm.
The room was spacious but cold.
Dragon patterns adorned the walls, imperial symbols on the high ceiling, and through the windows reflected a sky that had forgotten its own color.
He took a deep breath and slowly rose from the bed.
He walked to the window.
Below, the training ground burned with red sand and the shouts of young dragon warriors.
Flames burst from their mouths, each strike filled with pride, rage, and power.
They were born to fight.
Noa watched them and felt an emptiness inside.
Noa left his room without a word and began walking down the corridor. When he reached the western wing of the palace, there was only one door at the end of the corridor.
He quietly opened the door.
The air was cold and dusty.
He looked at the bookshelves and sighed.
With a faint smile, he took one of the books from the shelf.
"Song of the Era of Dreams"
Written by an ancient dragon poet,
it was the only poem about peace.
He began to read it aloud:
"They were born of fire, yet they yearn for light.
Light is also fire — but it does not burn. It soothes."
Noa stopped.
"Soothing…" he whispered. He stared at the book cover for a while in silence.
— Maybe that light can soothe me too…
Words spoken without thinking.
Noa put the book back on the shelf.
He turned around and said:
"Magic books are more interesting."
At that moment the door creaked open.
A tall dragon with black hair and sharp eyes entered — Zagn.
"Noa," he said in a firm voice. "Are you here again?"
Noa lowered his head.
"Yes, father."
Zagn approached and clenched his fists.
"Reading is good. But books do not teach you how to hold a sword.
Noa stood with his head bowed, silent.
Zagn's gaze grew colder.
"You cannot rule an empire with your heart.
You are the emperor's son.
You were born to fight, not to read.
Look at your brother — learn from him."
Hearing this, Noa's hands began to tremble. He hid both hands behind his back so his father wouldn't see.
Zagn stood for a moment, then turned and left.
The door closed — and silence returned to the room.
Noa looked out the window.
"I don't want to join the dragons. They fight poorly, and even that is worse."
"Everyone here fights."
That evening Noa went out to the garden.
The wind gently stroked the leaves. He sat under a tree,
a book in his hand, but his eyes were on the sky.
The two lights of Siamond and Ruya shone above.
Noa breathed more steadily as he looked at them,
leaned against the tree, and closed his eyes.
The wind caressed his face.
Night fell.
Noa returned to his room.
Scattered writings, ancient fragments, and old parchments lay on the table.
He opened the manuscript titled "The Legend of the Primordial Dragon Blood."
— It's not here either. Was that being I saw only my imagination? he thought.
Noa placed his hand on his heart.
His heart beat slowly but deeply.
He looked out the window again.
Below, the warriors were still training — flames and shouts filled the air.
The same scene every day.
—"If everyone loses someone, maybe the wars will stop."
Hours passed.
He did not sleep.
He sat with his elbow on the table in the candlelight.
The flame flickered, casting dragon-shaped shadows on the walls.
Ruya's light was fading, but Siamond still shone brightly.
He sat there, listening to the silence of the night.
Outside, guards walked, distant shouts came from the training ground.
But for Noa, it was a peaceful night.
Finally, he extinguished the candle and lay down.
He closed his eyes.
"One day I will leave this place," he whispered.
Silence descended on the room again, leaving only the smell of smoke.
Ruya's light touched the wall one last time —
and disappeared.
Noa fell into a deep sleep.
But for another, this was an opportunity.
A dark silhouette appeared on Noa's balcony, slowly approached the door, grabbed the handle, and drew a dagger from its sheath.