Ron stood.
The battlefield had gone strangely quiet.
The wind had stopped. The dust hung motionless in the air as if the world itself had paused to observe him.
Yet his hair fluttered.
Not because of wind.
Because of pressure.
Something unseen pressed outward from his body, distorting the space around him in faint ripples.
His pupils flickered.
Not like fear.
Not like rage.
But like something ancient turning its gaze through him.
For a brief second—
Ron did not look like a child.
He looked like a doorway.
He lifted the metal rod slowly.
His voice came out calm.
Too calm.
"First Biggining…"
The nearest mutadog lunged.
It never reached him.
Its body separated mid-air.
A clean, impossible cut appeared across its torso before the rod had even fully swung.
Then—
"DRAGON BLADE."
The sound of its corpse hitting the ground came late, as if reality had to catch up to the action.
A howl exploded across the field.
More mutadogs emerged from the broken structures and shadows, their red eyes locking onto Ron at once. Seven. Eight. Ten.
They moved together.
They attacked together.
Ron's expression did not change.
"First Biggining. Second Form…"
The ground beneath his feet cracked outward in thin lines.
"DRAGON SHIELD FORCE."
An invisible shockwave burst from his body.
The mutadogs were flung backward violently, their bodies twisting mid-air before crashing into walls and debris. Bones snapped. Dust exploded upward. Several lay still.
Ron stepped forward.
Each movement precise.
Each breath controlled.
Another swing.
"DRAGON BLADE."
Three more fell.
But then—
His body trembled.
The rod slipped slightly in his grip.
A sharp pain erupted from deep within his chest, spreading outward like burning ice through his veins.
His vision blurred at the edges.
"I…"
His knees weakened.
"I can't…"
The remaining mutadogs recovered quickly. They sensed it.
Weakness.
They circled him.
His heartbeat pounded violently inside his skull.
"My mind… it's…"
The world distorted.
Sound stretched.
Light bent.
Ron collapsed.
The mutadogs lunged all at once.
A spear tore through the air like lightning.
It pierced one beast directly through the skull.
A second strike followed instantly.
Fark.
His movements were sharp, efficient, merciless.
"Gale Strike."
Wind pressure cut through the battlefield. One by one, the mutadogs fell before they could even react. Within seconds, the area was silent again except for heavy breathing.
Fark dropped to Ron's side.
"Ron! Hey! Open your eyes!"
No response.
One mercenary knelt and checked his pulse.
"He's alive. But barely conscious."
"We're taking him to the hospital. Now."
The hospital corridors were narrow and dimly lit.
The smell of antiseptic mixed with faint iron and medicine.
Bootsteps echoed urgently against the tiled floor as Ron was rushed inside.
Maria arrived minutes later, her breathing uneven.
"Where is he?!"
"In here," Fark said quietly.
Ron lay on a white hospital bed, unnaturally still for someone who had unleashed such power moments ago.
The doctor examined him carefully. He checked his pulse. His breathing. His pupils.
He paused.
"That's unusual."
Maria's hands tightened.
"What is it?"
The doctor leaned closer to Ron's face.
"His pupils… they're not stable."
"What does that mean?"
"They're reacting to stimuli that aren't present."
Fark's expression hardened.
"Speak clearly."
The doctor exhaled slowly.
"He has awakened something. The First Biggining, I assume."
Silence fell heavy in the room.
Maria whispered, "He's only ten…"
"Yes," the doctor replied. "Which is why this is extraordinary. And dangerous."
"Is he in danger right now?" Maria asked urgently.
"He's unconscious due to extreme exhaustion. His body released far more energy than it can safely handle at his age."
The doctor gently lifted Ron's arm. The muscles twitched involuntarily.
"His nervous system is overstimulated. His hearing, sight, and internal energy channels are highly sensitive right now. If pushed further, the damage could have been irreversible."
Maria's voice shook slightly. "But he'll recover?"
"Yes. With rest. With control. With training."
Fark remained silent, staring at Ron.
"That pressure earlier," Fark muttered. "That wasn't normal."
The doctor nodded slowly.
"No. It wasn't."
The room fell quiet except for the soft hum of hospital equipment.
Ron was not asleep.
He was not dreaming.
He was somewhere else entirely.
His body floated—but not in space.
Not in water.
Not in darkness.
He floated within something that had no dimension.
No direction.
No gravity.
No time.
A 4th-dimensional paradox structure.
Lines extended infinitely, folding back into themselves. Points existed in multiple states at once. Shapes intersected without touching. Cause and effect looped in endless recursion.
Ron's body existed there—but also did not.
His memories drifted around him like fragments of broken mirrors.
Then—
A voice.
Distorted.
Layered.
Repeating itself across overlapping timelines.
"In the order of C… ???… ???…"
Another echo.
"You must survive… Ron R??..
Then more.
Whispers multiplying infinitely.
"Ron… Ron… Ron… Ron…"
Shadowy figures formed around him.
Sketch-like.
Incomplete.
Their outlines flickered like unfinished drawings in an unstable reality.
Hollow Memories.
They were not alive.
But they were not dead either.
They echoed him.
They called him endlessly.
"RON… R??… RON… RON…"
Ron clutched his head.
"Stop…"
The paradox loop tightened.
The voices grew louder.
"You must survive… In the order of C… ???…"
Then—
Everything slowed.
A presence appeared.
White.
Not blinding.
Not warm.
But absolute.
A figure made of pure light, its edges undefined, as though existence struggled to contain it.
It did not speak.
Yet meaning radiated from it.
Slow down.
Endure.
Wait.
The shadows shrieked in resistance.
"RON—RON—RON—RON!!"
The white figure extended a hand toward him.
The paradox geometry twisted violently.
Ron screamed.
"AAAAAHHHH!"
Ron shot upright in the hospital bed.
Maria gasped and grabbed him instantly.
"It's okay! Ron! You're safe!"
His chest heaved violently.
His eyes—
They were different.
His pupils rotated slowly, forming a draconic pattern that shimmered faintly gold against darkness.
Fark rushed forward.
"What happened?!"
Ron's breathing was unstable, as if he had just escaped drowning in something unseen.
The air in the room grew heavy.
Fark froze.
For a brief moment—
It felt like something ancient was staring back at him through Ron's gaze.
Not rage.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
Something observing.
Maria tightened her hold around Ron.
"It's alright. You're here. You're safe."
Ron's scream faded into shallow breaths.
The pressure slowly dissipated.
But Fark did not relax.
Because he knew—
Whatever Ron had touched…
It was not just power.
And it was not just awakening.
Something else had opened.
And it was watching.
---
Chapter End
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