The Chaos War
The battlefield had become a river of blood.
Mountains of corpses, rivers of fire, endless screams…
This was the Chaos War.
Dragons, demons, and warriors of every race tore each other apart like beasts.
No one sought peace—
their only desire was dominion.
Only power.
Only destruction.
But why had it come to this?
In the next moment,
the heavens split open.
From the black clouds, a violet bolt of lightning struck.
A pressure heavier than death swallowed the entire field.
The warriors who had just been slaughtering one another could no longer even lift their blades.
From that rift in the sky—two eyes appeared.
Eyes burning with black and violet fire.
Even dragons trembled before them.
The armies froze in terror.
"What… what kind of being is that?"
The ground quaked.
An enormous dragon, vast enough to block out the horizon, emerged across the battlefield.
It looked down—
and all who met its gaze stood motionless in fear.
Then the dragon's body ignited in black flames, its form shrinking and shifting into that of a man.
Silver hair fell to his waist, two horns crowned his noble brow, and violet eyes glowed with divine fury.
Each step he took shook the heart of the earth itself.
The entire army fell silent.
No sword dared to move.
The dragon drew closer.
Even the proud dragon warriors could only stare, trembling.
In a low voice, he asked:
"Do you desire victory?"
"Do you crave power?"
The dragons glanced at one another—
then, as one, they shouted:
"Yes! We do!"
He smiled.
Then bit his finger, letting drops of dark-violet blood fall to the ground.
Each drop made the world tremble.
He extended his hand forward:
"Do you wish to make the world kneel?"
The earth split open.
The blood moved like living flame, pulsing like a beating heart.
"Then drink my blood. It will grant you power…
But it will consume you as well.
There is no way back. Forever."
The dragons stood in silence.
But hunger, despair, and their thirst for dominion broke them.
One by one, they stepped forward.
One by one, they drank.
He whispered softly:
"Don't die… not before this world."
Then the shattered heavens swallowed him whole,
and as his body vanished into the darkness, a single thought circled in his mind:
This is my end. After reincarnation, even my memories will be gone. But I believe the new me will surpass who I am now—and take revenge.
The broken tear in the sky sealed shut,
and the battlefield fell into utter silence.
A Million Years Later
The world had changed.
Races vanished, empires crumbled.
But those who had drunk that blood remained alive.
From their lineages, a new race was born—
one whispered of in fear and awe:
The High Dragons.
Centuries passed, yet Chaos never truly died.
The great wars seemed to fade, but the world once again drowned in blood.
Every empire, every kingdom fought for the same thing—
power.
Even the dragons divided among themselves.
One great clan splintered into hundreds of smaller realms, locked in endless conflict.
Their blood held strength—
but it also carried the curse of greed and dominion.
Their ancient glory was shattered.
Only blood remained.
The Birth of Noa
In such an age, at the heart of a small dragon empire, a child was born.
Eyes as black as the void,
hair as white as starlight,
veins glowing with red energy that burned from within.
His name was Noa, heir to the Nuxtar Empire,
son of Emperor Zagn.
The emperor—a tall man with black hair and dark eyes in his dragon-human form—took the infant in his arms and whispered:
"This child… will be my heir."
Five years passed.
Noa loved to read, to write, and to gaze at the stars.
"One day, I will conquer the world," he said,
"but I don't yet know how."
Emperor Zagn grew uneasy at those words.
Each day he repeated the same lesson:
"You are a prince, Noa.
One day you will be emperor.
Be strong. Live for battle.
My son, you must become like me. Otherwise your brother will take the throne."
But Noa remained silent,
because within his heart burned not the flame of war—
but something entirely different.
A power born of compassion.
He would sneak away into the palace gardens,
lose himself beneath the trees and stars,
and for a fleeting moment become an ordinary child—
neither prince nor heir,
just Noa.
Alone with the sky.
"I don't know if my dreams are right," he would whisper,
"but I know this world will drown in blood."
The Blood of the High Dragon
But the laws of the empire were merciless.
Anyone bearing dragon blood was born for war.
Noa knew it. He felt it.
Because the blood flowing in his veins was no ordinary blood—
it was the blood of the High Dragon.
One night, beneath the twin lights of Ruya and Siamond,
Noa sat in the palace garden beneath a tree, reading.
"How beautiful the sky is…" he murmured.
"But someone must exist to protect that beauty…"
Noa returned to his room, thoughts tangled in silence. He lay down, pretending to sleep.
Ruya's light slowly began to pierce through the palace windows.
Dawn had not yet fully awakened, but the sky was already painted in shades of silver.
The sun had not risen—yet its breath could be felt: calm, but heavy.
Noa opened his eyes. As always—in silence.
The room was wide, but cold.
Dragon patterns adorned the walls, imperial symbols decorated the high ceiling,
and in the windows—the reflection of a sky that had forgotten its own color.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Then he breathed deeply and slowly rose from the bed.
He walked to the window.
Below, the training grounds blazed with red sand and the roars of young dragon warriors.
Fire burst from their mouths; every strike carried pride, fury, and power.
They were born to fight.
Noa watched them—and felt an emptiness inside.
"They love strength," he whispered. "But I don't understand it."
"What is strength? To protect? To destroy? Or… to rule?"
He did not yet know the answer.
Every day he woke, watched those preparing for war,
and then disappeared into the quiet sanctuary of books.
In the northern wing of the palace lay his favorite place—the library.
It was filled with ancient texts, forgotten legends, and secrets of mana.
But above all, it held silence.
No one shouted there.
No one spoke of "war," "power," or "glory."
He opened the door softly.
The air was cold, dust-filled, yet comforting.
The scent of old parchment reminded him of childhood—
a time before he knew words like blood, throne, or war.
He picked up a book—The Song of the Ruya Era.
It was written by an ancient dragon poet,
the only poem ever known to speak of peace.
He began to read aloud:
"They were born from fire, yet reached for light.
For light, too, is fire—but it does not burn. It soothes."
Noa stopped.
"Soothes…" he murmured. "So such a strength exists?"
At that moment the door creaked open.
A tall man with black hair and sharp eyes entered—Zagn.
"Noa," he said, voice stern. "You're here again?"
Noa lowered his head.
"Yes, Father. I'm just reading."
Zagn stepped closer.
"Reading is good. But books won't teach you how to wield a sword.
The world survives through power, my son."
"Perhaps the world can also be preserved with the heart," Noa replied softly.
"Perhaps strength is not power—perhaps it is the heart."
Zagn's gaze turned cold.
"You cannot rule an empire with your heart.
You are the son of an emperor.
You were born to fight, not to read.
Look at your brother—learn from him."
The words fell heavy.
Noa did not answer. He quietly closed the book in his hands.
Zagn stood still for a moment, then turned and left.
The door shut—and silence returned.
Noa looked out the window.
"I was not born to fight," he thought.
"I was born to feel what it means to live.
But in this empire… even living is a battle."
That evening Noa went to the garden.
The wind brushed the leaves gently as he sat beneath a tree,
a book in his hands, but his eyes fixed on the sky.
The twin lights of Siamond and Ruya shimmered above.
Anyone who looked at them felt as though they were staring into infinity.
"This view… it is more beautiful than war or power," he whispered.
"Why can't anyone else see that?"
He leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes.
The wind caressed his face.
Night descended.
Over the palace, Ruya and Siamond's lights formed a quiet halo in the sky.
Noa returned to his room.
On his desk lay scattered notes, ancient fragments, and old scrolls.
He opened one titled The Legend of the Primordial Dragon Blood.
"His blood shook the world.
Those who drank it were changed.
Some gained power—others were lost to eternal darkness."
Noa placed a hand over his heart.
It beat slowly—but deeply.
"That same blood flows in me…" he thought.
"Then one day… will I change too?"
He fell silent.
He feared awakening—because awakening meant power.
And power meant blood.
Yet in a world soaked with blood, he still dreamed of peace.
He looked out the window.
Below, warriors still trained—fire and shouting filled the air.
Every day the same scene.
"They gain strength… but in the end, their goal is peace," he thought.
"So to reach peace, one does not need to be strong. I am happy just as I am."
Hours passed.
He did not sleep.
He sat by candlelight, elbow resting on the desk.
The flame flickered, casting dragon-shaped shadows on the walls.
"Can I really change this world?"
"What if power could be used not to destroy, but to create?"
"No… no one would ever believe that."
He reached for a quill and wrote:
"Power is not the act of destruction.
It is the act of creation.
But to understand it, one needs a heart—not a sword."
He set the quill down.
Looked toward the window.
Ruya's light was fading, but Siamond still shone bright.
"I still feel nothing… no awakening, no voice," he thought.
"But inside me there is an empty space—waiting for something."
He sat there, listening to the silence of the night.
Outside, guards paced; distant roars echoed from the training grounds.
But for Noa—it was a peaceful night.
At last he blew out the candle and lay down.
Closed his eyes.
"One day I will change this world," he whispered.
"But not with a sword."
The scent of smoke lingered as the room sank back into silence.
Ruya's light flickered once more across the wall—
and vanished.
Noa drifted into deep sleep.
He felt nothing yet… unaware that in the throne room,
Zagn stood alone, leaning on his hand.
Tomorrow would decide who Noa would become.
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