The air was still—eerily so.
Where once molten rivers danced and the roars of a beast echoed across volcanic ridges, now silence reigned. Cracked earth stretched endlessly beneath Ascalon's feet, scorched and blackened by the devastation he had unleashed. The sky above held a burnt hue, tinged with fading embers.
Yet within him… a presence stirred.
"Humans live such short lives," came the voice—deep, ancient, and heavy with disdain. "And fragile ones at that. Flickering candles in a world of infernos."
Ascalon didn't speak. He knew who it was.
The Crimson Dragon.
"But I… I am fire itself. I am the Crimson Flame, once feared by kings and sung of in trembling hymns."
"For centuries, I paid no mind to your kind. You died too easily, scurried too quickly. But then… they started to come. Champions. Warriors. Each one believing they were chosen. That they could devour me, claim my fire, forge legends from my corpse."
His voice was layered—resentful, tired, yet almost… curious.
"It was then I first heard whispers. A noble-born child. Born hollow. No inner power. A shame to his lineage."
A faint breath escaped Ascalon's lips. He said nothing, but the prince stirred. That wound, old and quiet, reopened without effort.
"But then… silence. The tale vanished, as if snuffed out by unseen hands. Too sudden. Too complete. No one dared speak of it anymore."
"And not long after, a warrior came. One of the most formidable I ever faced. I burned half his body before he fell."
"But with his final breath, as flame wrapped around him—he screamed, 'Why?! Why does the coward born without inner power wield the Origin Flame?!'"
A pause. The weight of those words echoed in Ascalon's mind, like thunder caught in stone.
"And now… I hear it again. 'No inner power.' Spoken by you."
Ascalon exhaled slowly, letting the tension wash off his shoulders like fading steam. He glanced at his hands—still trembling faintly from the strain of surviving.
Then, calmly, flatly:
"Damn. You really went full lore dump on me, huh?"
"…Lore dump?"
"Oh, you know. Ancient beasts get sentimental. Digs up the past. Drops a mysterious line about a lost prince and then goes all quiet, expecting me to put the pieces together dramatically."
"I spoke the truth. One you should not mock."
"I'm not mocking. I'm just saying—if this were a play, your monologue would've had the audience crying by now. Real Oscar-worthy."
The Crimson Dragon growled. It wasn't anger—it was confusion.
"Do you always cope with sarcasm?"
"Only when a thousand-year-old soul fuses into mine and starts recounting suppressed royal scandals."
"And you're the one who used a suicide spell, aren't you?"
There was a beat of silence.
"…Alright, fair. Not my brightest moment," Ascalon said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But come on, you have to admit—climbing into your mouth and blowing us both up was pretty metal."
"You died screaming."
"I died stylishly."
"Naked."
"I woke up naked. There's a difference."
The prince groaned internally. "Must you?"
"Hey, I'm just saying. If we're gonna be flame-chosen saviors or whatever, we need a better PR team."
"…You are insufferable."
"And you're stuck with me."
There was no reply. But somewhere deep within, the dragon's presence simmered—no longer a roaring inferno, but a low, constant ember. Watchful. Waiting.
The ash-covered wind danced across the scorched remnants of the volcanic forest. Embers flickered like tiny stars in the daylight haze, but amidst all this raw destruction, three souls stood tangled in a web of absurdity.
"As I was saying…" Ascalon began, his tone suddenly shifting from reflective to dismissively casual, "Let's change the topic. You know nothing, Dragon."
"At least I know something!" the Crimson Dragon growled, indignant. "And regarding your power… it is very low."
The insult didn't even have time to land before the prince chimed in, voice tinged with curiosity and offense.
"Very low like…?"
The dragon snorted. The sound echoed like distant thunder from the hollow of Ascalon's chest.
"Dragon," Ascalon interrupted, tilting his head. "Is there any level system in this world?"
The silence was long enough to make the prince shift uncomfortably. Then came the dragon's utterly flat response.
"What's a level system?"
Ascalon's hand smacked against his forehead with a satisfying thwack.
"Means no," he muttered. "Okay, then make a level system. Like… you use level numbers to indicate someone's power. One, two, three, and so on."
"Why would I do that?" the dragon huffed, offended in the way only ancient, world-devouring beasts could be when asked to create something that sounded like a beginner RPG mechanic.
"If you have any problem understanding," Ascalon continued dryly, "just sense what I'm feeling. And yeah—level must be based on body power, not on any equipment or card power."
"I can sense what you're feeling, foolish mortal," the dragon replied with a regal scoff. "I understood your intent. But how do I measure a level? Just… pull numbers from my tail scales?"
Ascalon exhaled through his nose and asked the simplest question he could.
"How strong is the prince's body… now?"
"Weakest," the dragon answered instantly.
"Hey!" the prince's voice shouted from within, the offense practically leaking from Ascalon's ears.
"There we go," Ascalon said triumphantly. "That's level one, then. We'll increase it based on experience gain. You get to decide how experience is counted—your Divine Knowledge and all that jazz."
The dragon went silent, clearly processing the new role he'd just been assigned—Ancient God of Level Mechanics.
Ascalon added with a hint of sarcasm,
"Before that—sorry, I didn't ask—can you even do it?"
A long, low growl echoed. Then came the prideful declaration.
"Of course I can. Your body is still connected to the Royal Locket. I will channel my Divine Knowledge through that link and craft this… 'system.'"
"Perfect," Ascalon grinned.
"Wait…" the prince said slowly, wonder dancing in his voice. "I can't believe it. I have two friends now. Two real friends. And I'm going on a journey. An actual journey!"
There was a full beat of silence as both Ascalon and the dragon absorbed this outburst of sentimental pride.
"…He's crying, isn't he?" Ascalon muttered.
"I can feel it too," the dragon said with a sigh. "Emotions are… sticky."
"I am not crying!" the prince yelled. "Just—just overwhelmed with joy, okay?! For the first time in two lives, I feel like I belong!"
"Aw," Ascalon said flatly, "the prince is finally getting his anime protagonist arc."
"Shut up!"
"And what is the anime protagonist arc?"
And just like that, they laughed together—not in harmony, but in their own messy, chaotic way. The kind that only three utterly different beings forced into a single journey could share.
The laughter echoed over the scorched lands. A strange trio: a resurrected warrior of no name, a snarky dead prince, and a divine dragon trying to understand RPG mechanics.
And from within the golden locket, warm glyphs began to glow—divine runes shaping into a fledgling system…
A shimmering interface unseen to mortal eyes began to take form in the depths of Ascalon's soul.
[LEVEL SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Level: 1
Name: ASCALON
Class: ???
Title: Volcano Survivor
Stat Evaluation: Weakest Form Detected — Try Not To Die
"I'm going to enjoy this," the dragon said, laughing for the first time in centuries.
"Same," said the prince.
"…Regret," whispered Ascalon.