From the moment they were born, dragons bore an inescapable destiny: to ascend to the absolute pinnacle of the food chain upon reaching adulthood.
As if taken from the ancient religious myths, their forms were astonishingly diverse. Some had avian traits, others resembled reptiles, and a few even possessed humanoid forms.
Yet, despite their differences, they shared traits that unmistakably set them apart from all other creatures. Among these, their colossal size was one of the primary reasons they inspired overwhelming fear.
Unmatched by any other monster on the continent, they stood out due to their staggering dimensions: on average, their bodies exceeded a hundred meters in length. Majestic and terrifying, they were presences without equal.
Nevertheless, no matter how massive and sturdy they could grow, that was not the source of their ultimate strength. What truly made them apex beings was their deep connection to mana—a bond so deep that few could hope to match it.
For that reason, even after the Transfer, dragons never succumbed to the weakness that had afflicted other races, always preserving their unshakable might.
After that catastrophic event that reshaped history, they alone could roam the world unchallenged, immune to the countless dangers that plagued it. However, that superiority turned them into the most terrifying creatures mortals could ever encounter.
Fortunately, they had always upheld unwavering neutrality. Unless provoked deliberately, they would never attack those with whom they could communicate.
But with the monumental war that humanity was about to unleash—one that could drag every inhabitant of the continent into chaos—the Alliance's leaders could no longer trust that the dragons would remain on the sidelines.
"Are we supposed to trust a bunch of damned lizards? Are you out of your minds!? Those monstrosities must be eradicated before the plan begins. We can't afford to let them interfere. They'll destroy us if we leave them be!"
So declared a military strategist, a member of the army's most radical faction: a reckless proposal from an old man blinded by stress, rage, and resentment.
Naturally, his words were dismissed by those who had witnessed firsthand the terrifying feats of those mythical beings.
Thus, the resolution on that matter leaned toward a path of peace.
An elite squadron was sent to the Dragon King's domain, charged with securing his pledge of non-intervention, offering benefits of dubious value to someone of his stature.
At first, expectations for that mission were low. Yet, to the envoys' fortune, the diplomatic effort succeeded.
"We dragons, as children of mana, shall forever remain a race devoted to peace. We will never interfere in the conflicts of others, for impartiality is the mandate bestowed upon us. Mana flows equally in all things, and our duty is to follow its will."
Such was the response of that sovereign being.
Dragons did not fight unless provoked. They were, they are, and they would always remain neutral.
At least, that's what everyone believed… until now.
. . . . .
"Dragons..."
Teeth chattering and pupils dilated, the man fixed his gaze on the spot where the elven queen stood because that was precisely where they had appeared. Soaring through the skies, laying waste to the land. Beings who had no reason to be here.
"No... this can't be happening."
Hand on his head, he pressed his forehead as a vivid memory resurfaced: a conversation from just days ago.
«Haha! You should've been there to see Susan's face when she found out! It was priceless...
Hey, all this feels so surreal, doesn't it? It's so strange… With everyone we know getting ready for war, I should've accepted this reality by now, but I still haven't. Being here still feels like a dream… a nightmare that's lasted for decades.
Wait, are you worried about me? Nonsense! You're the one who's going to be in danger, not me.
Oh, right! I almost forgot why I was looking for you. Sorry, I've been distracted, heh, heh...
Uh... well... this isn't something I'm happy to talk about. Honestly, I'm still mad at those old bastards who made such an important decision without even asking us. But it looks like we don't have a choice… or so they told me.
Wait, wait! Don't rush me. Let me get to it, okay?
Perfect. Thanks, Dylan. You're always so kind to me...
The thing is… while you'll be out there, fighting on the brink of death, my squad will stay at the base as an emergency measure, in case an unexpected crisis arises. I know this must sound disgusting to you, horrible even—cowardly—and I won't make excuses. No, excuses would only make it worse. You can hate me if you want, although... that would hurt. It would really hurt.
You... Why do you look so happy...? Whatever, the point is that it won't be me in danger, but you. So make sure you survive, or else I'll ask Mr. Roan to help me bring you back to life… just so I can kill you with my own hands.»
After standing still for more than a minute, Dylan lowered his hand from his face, letting out a deep sigh as he thought that perhaps that would be the last one he could release so carelessly.
"An unexpected crisis, huh?"
Those were his words, spoken with a hoarse voice: words that marked the beginning of an impulsive resolve.
He forced mana to surge through him with such intensity that his previous battle felt like mere child's play, ignoring the desperate warnings of his own body. Driven by sheer willpower and a rush of adrenaline, he threw himself forward, breaking past the limits he had long imposed on himself.
His goal?
The place where the fiercest battle was unfolding. The site where human and non-human reinforcements clashed to the death—thundering collisions shaking every corner of the plain and rumbling across the surrounding lands."
His march was firm and precise. With total focus, he moved swiftly, dodging with skill the countless skirmishes erupting around him.
Mud and grime splattered with every step he took, suspended in the air for mere seconds before falling heavily back to the ground.
Untamed and unstoppable.
Nothing and no one seemed able to halt his advance; until a small group of three orcs stood in his way.
Not long ago, they had slaughtered their opponents, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the dragons' sudden appearance. Now, they had gathered in hopes of finding a worthy adversary to test their might against.
"Oi, human! What's the damn hurry?"
The shadow of a massive axe swung down forcefully in his direction, forcing Dylan to dive to the ground at the last moment. The blow landed just inches from his head, kicking up a cloud of dirt that blinded his eyes.
To make matters worse, pain shot through his body after being halted so abruptly—but he had no time to dwell on it. He rolled instinctively to the side, barely dodging the brutal follow-up attacks of the other orcs, eager to exploit his vulnerability.
For what felt like an eternity, he struggled in the mud, dodging relentless blows with frantic movements. The orcs, growing bored of such a pathetic sight, finally stepped back, watching him with a mixture of disdain and challenge. It was clear they wanted a real fight, not a mere spectacle of dodging.
"C'mon, tiny! Show us if you fight as well as you run!"
Without uttering a word, Dylan gripped his peculiar sword and channeled mana into its blade, enduring the growing pressure that threatened to shatter his bones from within.
The metallic taste of blood hardly slowed him. With burning gaze and bloodstained lips, he hurled himself at his enemies.
. . . . .
Cough, cou...!
Crawling through the mud and the traces of past deaths, Dylan struggled to suppress the coughs that threatened to give him away. In a desperate act, he buried his face in the dirt and bit down on a handful of it, pressing it against his throat to silence himself.
Sinking into that suffocating choice led him, seconds later, to lose consciousness and be shaken by violent convulsions, the result of both asphyxiation and the wounds ravaging his body. But even in that agony, he accepted such sacrifice as the inevitable price for staying alive. After all, his involuntary response had only been triggered once his executioners were far enough away to hear him.
The war that had claimed so many lives two days prior had ended, leaving as its only outcome the defeat of humanity. Three days had passed since that battle, which had cost Dylan his left arm, right leg, and several fingers on his remaining hand. Moreover, his face was marred by a gash that traced a jagged line from scalp to chin, bisecting his eye.
Back then, things had spiraled out of control. He had not been able to defeat the group of orcs fast enough, and by the time he did, new enemies had already arrived to take their place.
Over time, that small skirmish had grown into an uncontrollable conflict whose end drifted further and further away.
For better or worse, the arrival of those individuals had coincided with the emergence of human allies—some even stronger than him. As a result, the two sides managed to reach a fragile balance that lasted for several hours.
And so it remained until at last, only one remained standing.
Dylan, battered and on the verge of collapse, resumed his march toward the battlefield, where the echoes of battle had long since faded into silence.
After days of fighting and suffering, he was about to make it. He stood atop a small hill, just a few meters from a colossal crater that emitted cold air. A brief relief from the pain devouring him.
'Almost there... I'm almost there. Wait for me, Diane.'
With that thought, he urged himself forward. But deep down, he knew all too well that his arrival would change nothing.
In fact, it wasn't hard to imagine how it had all ended; a single glance around was enough to understand. His rational mind screamed that his actions were useless. Suicidal, even. But something within him kept pushing him forward.
'Ten meters... Only ten. Almost there... Seven... Just a little more, hold on...'
Although he usually saw himself as apathetic—someone who had made it this far thanks to cold, calculated decisions—he also understood that not everything in life could be measured by the logic of a well-laid plan.
His emotions: desperation, longing, and fear, drowned out all reason.
That was why he didn't stop.
'Five... three... two... come on, damn it, come on! You can do this. You have to do it for her... One...'
He didn't stop until he reached the edge of the crater, where the remnants of a colossal battle lay scattered like an indelible mark upon the earth.
Below, everything was encased in ice, as if time itself had frozen. The ground, the plants, and the bodies remained trapped, motionless, in a deadly stillness that spoke of the total absence of life.
"You..."
Or so it seemed at first glance. A mistake, for at the very heart of it all lay an immense silver dragon, resting.
"You!"
He stared in silence for a breathless second. Then, with a furious roar, Dylan confronted the one responsible for this catastrophe: the dragon king, who until then had lain dormant after his role in the war that had annihilated humanity.