A thunderous roar shattered the air.
"You dare, humans, to step into my territory?!"
The words rumbled like an earthquake, shaking leaves from the trees and sending flocks of birds fleeing in chaos. The voice was ancient, deep, laced with fury—and unmistakably draconic. The prince's shared body froze in its tracks as the source of the voice descended from the obsidian clouds above.
A colossal figure emerged—its wings.
The body—the prince and his vessel—stumbled back. Reflexively, they shouted, "We… I didn't want to come here! At least, not after death!"
The prince's thoughts echoed within the shared consciousness, disbelieving. Did… did that dragon just speak? I've heard tales of ancient wyrms, but never once did they speak the tongue of man.
There was no time to ponder.
The dragon's massive claw, thick as a castle tower and adorned with obsidian talons, rose above the treetops. With a mighty slam, it descended—rending earth, shattering stone, and sending shockwaves through the forest. Trees snapped like twigs under its force.
The body ran—faster than instinct, faster than fear. Adrenaline surged through his limbs as he darted between roots and rocks, the ground behind him erupting in chaos.
The impact hit.
Not directly—but the sheer force of the claw's strike lifted the earth beneath the body's feet, launching him through the air like a discarded pebble.
Branches whipped across his face. Dirt stung his eyes. He landed harshly, tumbling across the uneven terrain, a flurry of dust and broken leaves swirling around him. Yet—remarkably—the body did not break. Bruised, shaken, but not shattered.
Inside, the prince reeled. This body... it's stronger than I expected.
Still dazed, they forced themselves to move, scrambling back onto their feet and dashing toward the thicker part of the jungle—away from the volcano's fiery slopes, away from the dragon's domain.
Beneath the canopy of tangled trees, shadows cloaked him. The dragon's furious roars continued to echo, but its eyes could not pierce the dense foliage.
A beast that size—majestic and terrifying—was blind to the scurrying form below. The forest hid the prince well, for now.
Their breaths were ragged. Hearts pounded in unison. But they survived.
For how long…?
One side loomed the jagged maw of a simmering volcano, its peak hidden behind rolling clouds of smoke and ash. The other side dipped sharply into a treacherous slope terrain—mud-slick and littered with fractured trees, evidence of nature's wrath. Between these deadly boundaries, the prince and the body he now shared darted through the chaos, a single soul navigating a world not quite their own.
"Looks like he can't see us clearly now," the prince murmured internally, his voice echoing through the shared consciousness.
But any hope of escape was short-lived.
A thunderous, guttural roar cracked across the sky.
"Oh ho ho, you think you can escape me?" the Crimson Dragon bellowed, its voice laced with rage and insult. "You dare attack me—me! What have I ever done to you, insolent creatures?"
The words, alien in tone and laced with raw power, would've been incomprehensible to any ordinary being. But somehow, the prince understood. His connection to this world—this body—was deepening.
"I'm starting to understand this world," the body whispered aloud as his legs pumped beneath him, boots thudding against the wet earth. "It's not that different from mine…"
But the world wasn't done showing its teeth.
The wind shifted violently—growing, screaming, tearing against the prince's direction like an invisible force pushing him back toward the inevitable.
High above, the Crimson Dragon inhaled, and the very air itself bent toward his maw. The skies trembled.
From the beast's throat, a sphere of fire began to form—at first a mere flicker of yellow light, but quickly, terrifyingly, it grew. It sucked the air in like a void, a spiraling core of destruction condensing before their eyes. The color changed—yellow gave way to searing orange, then blood-red, then… a terrifying, unnatural shade of deep blue that shimmered like death incarnate.
And then it happened.
The dragon narrowed his eyes, aimed with ruthless precision—and released.
The fireball erupted forward, screaming like a banshee through the sky. It wasn't merely heat; it was obliteration. Trees turned to cinders in an instant. The rain turned to vapor before it touched the ground. The very earth cracked open in its wake, the slope terrain shattered into a thousand flaming fragments. Rivers boiled away. Shadows vanished.
The line of destruction wasn't narrow. The blast tore through everything—and then some. It was a cataclysm.
But he was alive.
The explosion had reshaped the land itself. Smoke and ash spiraled into the sky, blotting out the fading light. The very air crackled with the aftershocks of the dragon's attack, and the once-dense forest was now a wasteland of scorched earth and shattered trees. Amidst the devastation, a lone figure stood—exposed.
The prince and his body no longer had the luxury of cover. The remnants of the woodland had been obliterated in the blast, leaving only charred stumps and embers where towering trees once stood.
Above them, the Crimson Dragon's colossal form cast an ominous shadow. His gleaming eyes fixated on them, not with mindless rage—but with curiosity.
"Finally, I can see you, mole," the dragon rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of the mountains. His words, though spoken in an almost casual tone, echoed like a thunderous roar to the body's ears. The beast tilted his massive head slightly, his slitted pupils narrowing as if peering beyond flesh, beyond sight itself. "What's this...? The young one holds two kinds of power... No, two souls. Interesting."
The body stood, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. The exertion of running, of enduring, had drained him—but there was no more running now. His posture shifted, not one of flight, but of resolve. A stance that accepted reality.
The prince felt it too. The body's pulse, its trembling exhaustion, but also—its determination.
"You can sense what I'm feeling now, right?" the body murmured, his voice weary but calm.
"I can," the prince responded. He understood, not just the words, but the emotions beneath them. The weight of an imminent end.
"If I be direct… then it might be the end of us… again." The body let out a faint, breathless chuckle, his lips curling into the ghost of a smile.
The prince took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, with a slight grin, he spoke with the energy of one who had defied death before.
"Let's roll our dice and see where fate leads us."
A moment of silence passed. Then, unexpectedly, the dragon let out a low, rumbling sound—not a growl, but something close to amusement.
"You are ready to face me? A wise decision. You have nowhere left to run." His massive wings flared slightly, casting gusts of hot wind in all directions. "There are only a few who do not flee when they stand before me. Fewer still who hold their ground with dignity."
A beat.
"Tell me your name, young warrior. It is the least I can do before your fate is sealed."
There was no mockery in his words. No disdain. Just something that almost resembled honor.
And now, it was time to answer.
The body's breath was steady now, no longer shaken by exhaustion or fear. The dragon loomed above, expectant, waiting for an answer.
But now wasn't the time for past names.
"Looks like… it's not the best time to say our names," the body muttered, swallowing hard.
"Yeah," the prince replied, his voice firm.
A moment passed. Then, something shifted. A realization. They weren't just remnants of two different lives. They weren't just survivors thrown together by fate.
They were explorers of the unknown. Defiers of destiny.
They were more.
The body straightened, squaring his shoulders. His eyes burned—not with fear, but with resolve.
A grin tugged at his lips. His voice rang out, clear and unwavering.
"We are…"
And in perfect unison, they roared to the heavens:
"ASCALON!"
The name carried through the ruined land, fierce and unyielding. A name born from fire, from battle, from the unbreakable will of those who refused to be shackled by fate.
The Crimson Dragon's gaze sharpened. The embers in his throat dimmed for a moment as he considered the name—not as something to mock, but something to remember.
"ASCALON…" he echoed, his tone thoughtful, almost respectful.
Then, his lips curled into a slow, knowing grin.
"Very well then… ASCALON."