"No changes today either?"
An ethereal beauty sat in the centre of a flawless, meticulously manicured private garden within the Dragon King's palace. She spoke softly as a maid poured her favourite tea.
Sera brushed a lock of long black hair behind her ear, silver eyes following the steady stream of liquid filling her cup.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," the maid said hesitantly. "I checked again… there's still no change. It might be—"
She stopped herself.
Sera exhaled slowly. "I know. Everyone gave up on him long before the coma."
The maid finished pouring, bowed, and excused herself.
Left alone, Sera's voice dropped to a whisper.
"He had to suffer all those years because of me… because of my choices."
She stirred the tea absently, as if trying to drown her guilt in its gentle swirl.
"Oh, my sweet boy… I saw the way you looked at yourself. So ashamed. So defeated."Her fingers tightened around the porcelain. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."
She took a delicate sip, barely tasting it.
Then—
"Your Highness!"
The same maid came sprinting across the garden, breathless and pale.
Sera stood so abruptly that her chair scraped against the stone.
"What is it?!"
"Prince Caspian!" the maid gasped. "It's Prince Caspian—he's awake!"
The teacup slipped from Sera's fingers and shattered against the table as she turned and ran.
_______
High above, in the throne room of the Dragon King, a massive golden throne hummed with latent power.
Upon it sat an old man with ash-grey hair and dim, crimson eyes.
Frailty was the one thing he lacked.
Thalric Drake—the Ember-Lord.
The strongest being in the world.
His gaze rested on his sons, all kneeling before him as they discussed matters of the realm.
A servant entered quietly from a side passage and leaned close, whispering hurriedly into Thalric's ear.
The servant nearly collapsed under the weight of the Dragon King's gaze.
Balgor, the eldest and most volatile of his sons, scoffed.
"What was that, Father? That wretch should be executed for interrupting us."
The servant went deathly pale.
Thalric waved him away, a rare, faint smile tugging at his lips.
"It seems my daughter will finally be happy," he said calmly. "That is… good."
The words reached every ear in the room.
Zakar, the third son, remained indifferent.
But Nyxos and Balgor both wore strained expressions, as if the news had soured their mood.
_______
Caspian lay sprawled on the floor, chest heaving.
He vaguely remembered collapsing once his bones began dissolving and rebuilding themselves—and frankly, he was glad he'd blacked out for that part.
"Hoooooly fuck," he groaned. "That was horrific."
Then he laughed.
"But… worth it."
He pushed himself up.
His body felt powerful. Solid. Alive.
Most importantly—it felt healthy.
Caspian staggered toward a nearby mirror.
A towering figure stared back at him.
Six-foot-five. Broad shoulders. A sculpted frame that looked more divine than mortal.
Golden hair spilled down his back, framing a sharp, handsome face. His orange eyes glowed softly, vertical slits cutting through the irises—fierce, yet strangely calm.
Red-and-gold horns curved from his forehead like a natural crown.
"…Damn," Caspian muttered.
"If I were a girl, I would—"
He stopped himself and laughed.
"If I looked like this back on Earth, I wouldn't need money. People would give me money."
He shook his head. "Pretty privilege is real."
Then—
[Host the Peerless Battle Physique has evolved into the First Hybrid Dragon Physique!]
[Skills acquired!]
[System shop available!]
[Missions unlocked!]
Notifications flooded his vision.
His excitement barely had time to bloom before—
The door slammed open.
An elderly man stood frozen in the doorway.
Vaxen.
The personal butler of both him and his mother.
The tray in the old man's hands slipped free and crashed to the floor as his eyes locked onto Caspian.
For a moment, Caspian wondered if it was shock from seeing him awake.
Or healthier.
Or—
He glanced down.
"…Ah."
Because he was very much naked.
And very much dragon.