The weightless sensation of no longer having solid ground beneath her feet felt like a pair of icy hands clutching the little one's internal organs. It left her increasingly dazed and lost.
Subconsciously, she began to vent more fiery exhaust from her wing-blades, but this panicked reaction only worsened her predicament. The little one's hindquarters were thrust even higher, leaving the young dragon dangling upside down from the canopy like a hooked fish.
It was hilarious. It was fascinating.
"Roar!" (Hahahaha!)
Making no effort to hide his amusement, Asterion was genuinely doubled over by his daughter's pitiable, panicked state. He laughed uproariously, showing absolutely no intention of descending to help his child. Instead, the wing-blades on his back shifted slightly, adjusting his propulsion to send him into a high-speed diagonal barrel roll through the mid-air!
With Asterion's level of proficiency and control, there was no risk of him making a fool of himself. Following that gale-like rotation, his blade-tail swept beneath the very branch the little one was clinging to with her foreclaws.
CRACK!!
The crisp sound of the branch snapping was piercing. The final thread connecting the little one to her sense of security vanished without a trace.
In that instant, the little one knew she was doomed.
"ROAR!!" (HELP!!!)
With a desperate shriek, the little youngster launched like a literal skyrocket, shooting diagonally into the sky. Unable to maintain any semblance of balance, she spun through the air like a haywire gyroscope, rotating more times than anyone could count.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! She was spinning so fast she was practically taking off!
She looked a bit like a load of laundry tossed into a high-speed tumble dryer. The little one spun with wild abandon; the fear in her heart and the terrifying void of weightlessness made her struggle desperately, even if she didn't know what she was actually struggling against.
Instinctively, for the first time, she learned to vent thrust from all eight of her wing-blades independently. This was supposed to be an advanced flight technique, but appearing at the wrong time did nothing to save her. Her situation didn't improve; if anything, she lost total control as the eight wing-blades fired in completely different directions.
A streak of fire here, a flash of light there—now she looked like a spinning firework. Twirling, tumbling, falling—the little one roared with all her might, her cries sounding so pathetic that the Grimalkynes hiding in the distance couldn't help but flatten their ears. Some of the larger cats even covered the eyes of the kittens so the "littlest beans" wouldn't have to witness such a tragic scene.
Even the cats couldn't bear to watch.
The branch she had been clutching had long since been flung into the unknown. Clearing the highest leaves of the Great Tree, the little one traced a perfect arc across the sky. Having lost all stable propulsion to keep her aloft, she plummeted heavily toward the ground!
Such was the love of a biological father.
Asterion didn't do this to help her face the sky bravely or to learn flight maneuvers; he did it simply because he thought it was fun.
He didn't even plan to fly down and catch her. Instead, he lingered in the sky, laughing wantonly. The sheer joy in his roar was something even the Grimalkynes—who couldn't speak the tongue of dragons—could clearly understand.
Gradually throttling down his propulsion, Asterion eventually landed stably on the edge of the canopy, peering down to check on her.
She was, after all, a little one who had inherited Asterion's robust physique. Despite falling head-over-heels, she wasn't injured; in fact, she still had enough energy to keep screaming.
The happier Asterion looked, the unhappier she became.
"Roar." (Watch it. Don't go too far.)
Well, alright. It seemed Kulve Taroth was also a bit displeased. She let out a low growl as a warning.
Ah, the protective mother.
The Mother's Heart and the Golden Coat
Unlike the little one, Kulve Taroth didn't particularly enjoy the top of the Great Tree. After all, she couldn't fly. The path up the tree was a bit narrow for her, and she always had to worry about falling or accidentally crushing the Grimalkynes' homes.
Kulve Taroth actually quite liked the cats Asterion kept; she wasn't keen on destroying their houses.
Even though Asterion told her not to worry about it, Kulve Taroth remained resistant to the idea of leaving the solid earth. Therefore, while Asterion took the little one to the canopy to teach her to fly, Kulve Taroth stayed on the ground below, constantly looking up to monitor the situation.
Especially in a moment like this. After the little one had been sent soaring and then turned into a "falling meteor" thanks to Asterion's meddling, Kulve Taroth was right there. She reared up and caught the little one with her massive, spiraling golden horns. The youngster then tumbled down like she was on a slide, rolling from the top of Kulve Taroth's head all the way down her back.
The little thing was safe, but for Kulve Taroth, once she confirmed the hatchling was unharmed, the heartbreak began. She had just been given a rough "head wash" by the youngster. The exquisite engravings and artistic golden sculptures Kulve Taroth had painstakingly shaped onto her golden mantle were crushed into flat gold pancakes.
A deep gouge now marred her magnificent coat—as if a giant spoon had dug a tunnel through soft butter.
If they were still in the Caverns of El Dorado, Kulve Taroth would have burrowed into the earth immediately to craft herself a new outfit. If Elder Dragons weren't known for their stoicism, Asterion might have seen large Dragon Tears welling in the corners of her eyes.
Ahem... why do I want to laugh even more now?
Evil Asterion. To avoid sparking an Elder Dragon war right next to the Great Tree, Asterion quickly suppressed his grin. He hovered in mid-air, checking the little one's status from a distance.
Inherited Potential
She hadn't been injured by the flight mishap, but she was definitely throwing a massive tantrum. She acted like she wanted to ignore Asterion entirely, but the more she tried, the angrier she got. Currently, she was crouched on the ground, looking up and letting out a vibrating, purring threat, protesting her father's unscrupulous behavior.
One could only say she lacked experience. Asterion wasn't the type to self-reflect because of a few complaints.
Controlling his fire exhaust to land slowly on the ground, Asterion was about to go comfort the "bristling little hedgehog" when he suddenly noticed something. The little one was turning red, like a boiled crab. The mirror-like scales on her body were glowing with a faint crimson light, as if they were made of red-hot glass.
This wasn't an illusion. Even without stepping closer, Asterion could feel the heat radiating from her—a pure, direct release of thermal energy without the need for fire as a medium. The surrounding air began to shimmer and refract due to the high temperature, and the moisture in the soil evaporated so quickly that the ground beneath her claws began to crack.
Is this... the temperature control ability inherited from Kulve Taroth?
Asterion's eyes lit up. As expected, you have to push a dragon. If you don't push them, they'll never explode with their latent potential.
He lowered his head to nuzzle her. This friendly gesture from her father instantly dissolved the little one's anger. Without holding any grudge, she began nuzzling back—but Asterion wasn't just playing. He was trying to gauge her body temperature to see how far she could go.
The conclusion? He didn't feel much. Asterion was quite heat-resistant himself; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to get together with Kulve Taroth in the first place. His terrifying body, having undergone multiple evolutions, was long since immune to this level of heat. However, he was certain the little one had a bright future.
At the very least, like her mother, she would be able to breathe thermal waves that could instantly melt solid bedrock. This meant that while flying at high speeds, she could skim the ground and melt everything in her path.
That was terrifying. One must remember that Kulve Taroth's heat waves could instantly incinerate any hunter unlucky enough to be caught in them.
Of course, that was all in the distant future. At the little one's current temperature—which turned her red but couldn't even give Asterion a mild burn—she still had a long way to go. He wondered what level she would reach once she reached adulthood.
Temperature control was a fantastic ability. If she could match or even exceed Kulve Taroth's range, it meant her body could instantly melt anything she touched. At the very least, the meticulously forged weapons of hunters wouldn't stand a chance.
It didn't matter how thick or heavy a Great Sword or Charge Blade was; the moment it touched her, it would melt and become a new layer of metallic armor for her.
He wondered if she had inherited Kulve Taroth's magnetic manipulation as well. But even if she hadn't, it didn't matter. Significant control over her own body temperature was already enough. For the "Fire-Gas Flight System" Asterion had designed, this was the perfect patch.
It meant she would never have to worry about overheating her fire organs, nor would she have to fear them exploding. Even a Valstrax would be envious. While the Valstrax's "Dragon Energy" flight system was cool, it was constantly at risk of damaging the user due to growth or energy imbalances—sometimes even leading to internal combustion.
Hmm... maybe this power could even assist her flight? Using high heat to create updrafts, reducing the load on her body... who knows? She'll have to figure that out herself.
The Price of Flight
"Roar, roar-roar." (Try again. Never panic. Relax your body. Use your instincts to control your wings and fly.)
Asterion spoke with rare earnestness.
"Roar, roar." (Feel the rotation of the wing-blades. Slowly shift the angle and direction... Yes, just like that. Commit this feeling to memory. You must remember exactly where every rotation of your wings will take you...)
Just as he had once taught Mirrorblade the Glavenus sword techniques, Asterion shared his flight experience with his daughter without reservation. He never held back when it came to passing down skills. He even lay down in front of her, using his foreclaws to draw diagrams in the dirt to help her understand.
For instance, he explained angle control during flight, how twisting the wing-blades would cause the body to tilt, and so on. He was so serious he looked like he wanted to teach her every single angle, every ounce of thrust, and even the rhythm of her breathing.
But truth be told, actual flight would depend on her. Asterion's body and hers still had many differences. Flight was a very personal thing—a sensation. Those capable of it could fly simply by following the impulse of their bloodline; it was something words couldn't truly describe.
Besides, even if he did use words, if the explanation got too complicated, she probably wouldn't understand. That's the downside of being uneducated.
In education, Asterion was a "practicalist." His philosophy was: once it hurts, you'll know you're wrong; once it hurts, you'll know what to do. To get her into the air as quickly as possible, he provided her with ample energy supplements and plenty of meat rich in Bio-Energy. After that, it was simple.
Fly.
One word, representing a world of hardship.
Asterion didn't know how other Flying Wyverns taught their young to fly, but his lineage—starting from his own training—was exceptionally brutal. Countless attempts to take off, countless collisions with trees, countless times falling from the sky like a headless fly...
Asterion couldn't even remember how many times he had kicked the little one off the canopy. Every time, he kicked without mercy, swinging his tail to knock her out into the open air. No matter how much she whined or whimpered, it was useless. In these moments, Asterion's heart was as cold as ice.
It had become a horror movie for the Grimalkynes—the kind where they strictly forbid the kittens from watching.
Realizing that acting cute or begging for mercy was useless—and that even her mother wouldn't help or protect her anymore—the little one began to bare her teeth and roar in protest. It still didn't work. Asterion would simply grab her, fly back to the edge of the canopy, and kick her off again.
Eventually, as time passed, the little one didn't even bother screaming or cursing. All that remained was the sound of her stubborn, heavy breathing.
Asterion didn't even have to kick her anymore. She would return to the canopy on her own and jump. That stubborn streak was no different from Asterion's own in the past. After jumping so many times, she actually began to exude a sense of heroic resolve.
Compared to hollow words and soft sentiment, practical lessons were what truly made one—or a dragon—grow.
From the beginning, when she fell like a lead weight the moment she jumped, to being able to wobbly stabilize herself for half a second, to finally learning to use thrust from only one side to correct her posture... every fall and every injury made her grow.
Finally, watching those eight wing-blades steadily venting bright blue-purple flames, holding the little one in a stable hover in mid-air, Asterion finally let out a sigh of relief.
She could fly.
The rest was just a matter of speed. As for more advanced maneuvers, she would have to discover those herself, finding the flight style that best suited her unique body.
The Grimalkynes, who had been keeping watch at the edge of the canopy, also noticed. They began to cheer loudly, celebrating that the child of the Dragon God had learned to soar. This meant the power protecting the Glavenus Tribe had just grown stronger.
Time for a feast!
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