The forest was silent now, except for the faint drip of rain from leaves and the distant hum of unseen creatures. Dyego lay motionless, eyes wide, tracing every shadow, every subtle movement of the moss and roots around him. The dragon had vanished moments ago—or so he thought.
Then a sound rumbled through the air, low and deliberate, like the beat of a drum that shook the ground beneath him. Dyego felt it through his small chest, through the bones he had barely grown into. The dragon returned, and this time it moved closer, every step measured, scales glinting faintly in the fading light.
Its eyes fixed on him, intelligent, curious, and piercing. Dyego had seen fear in countless faces, had read hesitation, anger, and ambition, but nothing had prepared him for the weight of this creature's gaze. It was not merely watching. It was assessing, considering, probing.
He could not move. His body was still a newborn's, weak and untested. But his mind stretched outward, older than this world, aware of everything: the pulse of magic beneath the earth, the whispers of life in the trees, the faint shimmer of energy that radiated from the dragon itself.
The creature lowered its massive head until its snout was close to him. The heat from its breath washed over his small face, warm and potent, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and ancient forests. Dyego's mind recoiled slightly, not from fear, but from awareness—the sheer force of life, of power, that pressed against him.
And then it spoke.
Not in words he had ever known, not in the language of men, but something deeper, resonant, filled with authority and intent. The sound rolled in his mind, a vibration that brushed against every corner of his consciousness. He understood it—not with comprehension learned, but with recognition.
"Survive, small one. Bear the weight of life and power, and you may endure what none else could."
The forest seemed to shiver at the sound. Leaves trembled. Birds froze mid-flight. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath. Dyego's body could not move, yet his mind reached outward, brushing against the invisible currents of the dragon's energy, tasting the pulse of strength that flowed like a river around him.
The dragon lowered one claw, massive and gleaming, hovering just above him. Dyego's gaze followed it, noting every detail: the ridges of the scales, the faint glint of iridescence along the edges, the subtle aura of life that emanated from the creature. A pulse of energy brushed against him, brushing along his small form, and Dyego felt it seep into his body.
Something stirred inside him—raw, overwhelming, impossible. A surge of power, not human, not mortal, pressed against the fragile limits of his body. Dyego could feel his muscles tighten in response, though his body was far too weak to move, far too small to contain it. The dragon's energy brushed against him, testing, measuring, and then receded slightly, leaving only the thrum of its power behind.
He tried to focus, to contain what it had left. Dark warmth flickered in his chest, instinctual and deep, the echo of something he had never known. His tiny hands clenched the moss beneath him, his newborn body trembling against the unfamiliar force, and then he reached for it—not with strength, but with will.
He drew it inward, felt it coil and writhe inside him, and pressed against it with the smallest spark of what had once been his dark life. The power resisted, threatening to spill outward, to overwhelm, but he wrapped it in a mental cage, a small seal of dark magic that whispered of control and restraint.
The dragon's eyes narrowed, a slow, deliberate examination, and then it lowered closer, nostrils flaring, wings folding. It touched its snout to his forehead, and a wave of understanding passed into him.
Eyes of dragon. Heart of dragon. Voice of dragon. The essence of something immortal, infinite, and untouchable pressed against the fragile shell of his body, brushing his mind and weaving itself into the contours of his consciousness.
Dyego gasped internally, tasting the immense mana the heart contained, feeling the eyes press outward into the world, allowing him to perceive everything, yet restrained by the limits of his form. He had the awareness of a newborn, but the wisdom of decades, and it worked in tandem with the dragon's gifts to stretch his mind beyond comprehension.
The dragon pulled back slightly, wings brushing the moss like a whisper, and a low rumble passed through the forest.
"You are fragile, yet you will carry me. Do not break, small one. Grow, endure, and the world will bend before you."
Dyego could feel the weight of the gift pressing on his chest, the pulse of life and magic that wanted to overwhelm him. Yet even in his tiny body, he understood the necessity of restraint. One misstep, and this power would destroy him. Slowly, deliberately, he strengthened the seal, wrapping the energy in layers of dark magic that pulsed with his will.
The dragon's gaze lingered. A flicker of surprise crossed its massive eyes—not at the power he now held, but at the control, at the precision with which such a small, fragile body contained something so immense.
"You are… remarkable," it rumbled, wings shifting, leaving the clearing. Its massive form faded into the shadows, leaving Dyego alone with the hum of his own heart and the faint pulse of draconic energy coiled within him.
Night descended. The first stars pierced the canopy, and the forest shifted, alive with unseen movement. Dyego lay on the moss, the weight of the dragon's gift pressing against him, restrained by his dark magic. Hunger and cold gnawed at him, but the smallest flicker of warmth lingered—the spark of something far greater than any mortal life.
He could not move yet. He could not speak. But within the fragile shell of his body, the mind of decades and the power of a dragon stretched outward, taking root. The forest around him was no longer just a test of survival. It was a beginning.
And Dyego, newborn in body but ancient in mind, felt it: the first true step of a journey that would bend kingdoms, magic, and men to his will.