In the heart of the Fire Dragons' planet, a strange egg lay—dark blue, almost black. No one knew where it came from, nor how it ended up there. But the Fire Dragons found it.
They circled the egg warily, their eyes sharp. These were ancient dragons, their scales battle-worn, their minds honed by centuries of conflict. They sensed that this egg was no ordinary one. The air crackled with tension. Every dragon knew that the creature within could be something unlike anything they had ever encountered. They waited in silence, the only sound the occasional hiss of breath or the shifting of massive claws.
Hours passed, and the shell finally cracked open.
A dark blue hatchling emerged.
The dragons stared, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
An elder, massive and scarred from countless battles, stepped forward. His voice was cold, laced with suspicion. "What kind of dragon breed is this?" he muttered under his breath.
Another dragon hissed, eyes narrowing. "It could be a threat."
Before anyone could react, the elder lunged, claws raised to strike.
But the hatchling moved instinctively.
A violent burst of wind erupted from his body, knocking the elder back with a force that left the air crackling. The hatchling didn't hesitate. He ran.
He was faster than any dragon of his size had the right to be. His wings, untrained and awkward, flapped desperately as he raced through the cave. The elder's roar echoed behind him, fury and contempt in its wake.
He broke free into the open sky.
His wings, weak and trembling, flailed at first. He struggled, the sky beneath him a vast, threatening expanse. But his instincts pushed him forward—higher, farther.
Behind him, the elder's roar grew louder, soon joined by the enraged cries of others. Flames tore through the air as they pursued him, their heat threatening to consume him.
They wouldn't stop until he was dead.
His body strained as he fought to gain altitude, his wings burning with every beat. A surge of power rippled through him, and he felt it—lightning, raw and unrestrained, crackling in his limbs like an unstoppable force. The storm in his chest churned. He released it.
Lightning surged through the air, arcing from his wings and tail, casting jagged streaks across the night sky. But it wasn't enough. The pursuing dragons were relentless, their fire twisting through the air like ropes of death.
In one final, desperate move, he dove.
Then, with a surge of power, he ascended. His wings burned with energy, his body fighting gravity and the overwhelming force of the dragons' pursuit. He broke through the clouds, into the cold, star-filled sky.
The Fire Dragons didn't follow.
He was free.
Space stretched before him, vast and endless.
He flew through the void, the ache in his wings growing with every beat. There was no direction. No purpose. Only the instinct to keep moving. No family. No home. He was a creature without roots, without a name.
Days passed—or maybe weeks. Time blurred. He was alone.
The weight of his isolation pressed heavily on him. His heart ached with a deep, gnawing emptiness. He longed for something—anything—that might fill the void within him. The endless stretch of space did not offer comfort; it offered only more of the same. The feeling of being lost. The feeling of being nothing.
Then, one day, he spotted a small planet below. Its surface was mostly barren, dotted with jagged mountains and craggy cliffs, its colors muted and strange. A place unlike anything he had ever seen, yet a place to land, a place that might offer the food his starving body demanded. He descended toward it, his wings sore from the strain of constant flight. He needed rest. He needed to find sustenance.
The planet was strange. Its days lasted 43 hours, and the star above cast a weak, cold light that never seemed to warm the world. The planet felt…wrong, a shadow of the sun-drenched planet he had fled. There was no heat here, only a dull, distant glow.
He landed on the rocky surface, his claws scraping against the rough ground as he touched down. His body trembled from exhaustion and hunger. His instincts urged him to find something to eat. He needed to fill the emptiness inside him.
He began to hunt.
Massive, muscular beasts with thick fur and strong legs roamed the planet's surface. They were powerful, fierce creatures, but they were no match for him.
With the speed of a storm, he pounced. His teeth sank into their flesh, tearing through the meat with savage hunger. The taste was strange, unfamiliar. But it filled the emptiness for a time, like a fleeting spark that briefly illuminated the darkness within him.
He devoured, fed, and rested. Yet, the gnawing feeling remained, even as his body grew stronger. The quiet of the planet was suffocating. It wrapped around him like a blanket of silence, the weight of his solitude pressing down harder with every passing moment.
Was this to be his life forever?
Days blended into one another as he continued his hunt, roaming the barren landscape in search of more food. But no matter how much he ate, no matter how powerful he grew, there was an emptiness he couldn't escape. It lived in his chest, a constant reminder of the one thing he lacked—identity.
Who was he?
What was he meant for?
He had no answers. Only more questions.
And then, something strange happened.
As he chased down his prey one evening, a bolt of lightning surged from his wings, arcing through the air and striking the creature. It died instantly, its body charred and blackened. The crackling energy startled him, but it didn't hurt. It felt… natural. As if the storm inside him had always been there, just waiting for him to unleash it.
In that moment, he understood. This power was his, a gift, a curse. The electricity surged from him again, this time on purpose. He felt it racing through his veins, a force he couldn't fully control but could use. It was an extension of himself. A part of who he was. But still, it didn't satisfy the emptiness inside him.
Over the next few months, he began to experiment. He unleashed the lightning in short bursts, feeling the power surge through his wings and tail. He could strike like a storm—quick, precise, but uncontrollable. He was powerful, far more so than he had ever imagined.
But the power didn't fill the hole inside him. It only made the isolation feel sharper. The loneliness felt more unbearable with every passing day.
As the months stretched into a year, the planet began to feel like a prison. He had learned to survive, sure. But surviving wasn't living. And he still didn't know who he was. What his purpose was.
One night, after another long hunting session, he sat alone beneath the cold stars. They seemed distant, indifferent, cold. They looked down on him, but they didn't care.
The stars were no different from the empty stretch of space around him. No different from the emptiness in his heart.
He couldn't stay here. He couldn't live in this cold void forever.
He needed more than survival. He needed a reason to exist—a purpose beyond the endless hunt. Something to fill the hole inside him. He needed to know who he was, and what he was meant for.
With a single, decisive beat of his wings, he rose into the sky once more. The wind howled beneath him, the stars burning bright ahead. His wings carried him higher, further into the unknown.
He didn't know what waited for him. But he couldn't stay. Not anymore.