The morning sky stretched endlessly above Elarion.
Clouds drifted beneath us like an endless white sea.
For the first time in five months—
Home was finally within sight.
The academy had long since disappeared behind the horizon.
The bustling capital of Ero had become nothing more than a distant memory hidden beneath layers of mountains and clouds.
Ahead...
The landscape slowly transformed.
The orderly plains surrounding the capital gradually surrendered to towering cliffs, ancient forests, and jagged mountain ranges that seemed to claw at the heavens.
This was Elarion.
Wild.
Untamed.
Beautiful.
The homeland of dragon bloodlines.
The homeland of House Ashford.
The cold wind rushed past my face as enormous crimson wings carried me through the sky.
Each beat sent powerful gusts rolling through the clouds.
Not far ahead, another silhouette sliced through the air.
Ceal.
Or rather...
Castor Navir no longer existed.
Outside the academy walls, he had once again become Ceal Ashford.
His transformation remained deceptively modest.
The black feathers behind his ears had grown considerably longer, flowing backward with the wind like ribbons of midnight.
Behind him stretched a magnificent pair of obsidian wings whose feathers shimmered with an almost metallic blue tint whenever sunlight struck them.
Every flap was effortless.
Graceful.
Elegant.
And ridiculously fast.
I was already pushing my wings close to their limit.
Ceal looked as though he was taking an afternoon stroll.
I narrowed the distance between us.
Barely.
"A little slower?"
Ceal didn't even look back.
"I'm already flying slowly."
"..."
I frowned resisting the overwhelming temptation to throw something at him.
Mostly because we were several thousand meters above the ground.
Dropping my bag this early into the journey felt irresponsible.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
There was no need.
Flying through Elarion possessed a strange tranquility.
Below us, countless avian beasts soared between mountain peaks.
Most were far too distant to identify.
Some glided lazily above valleys.
Others hunted across endless forests.
The larger ones ignored us entirely.
The sunlight warmed the crimson scales along my arms.
I absentmindedly brushed a thumb across them.
Home.
Somehow...
It still felt strange saying that.
In another life, home had been a cramped apartment with poor internet and an unhealthy collection of instant noodles.
Now...
Home belonged among people with enough power to be called monsters.
Life truly had an odd sense of humor.
Hours passed.
The mountains beneath us gradually became familiar.
I recognized rivers I had crossed during childhood.
Cliffs where Lucien had once attempted to teach me "proper combat."
By which he meant repeatedly beating me until I learned how not to kneel when taking a punch.
Character building.
According to him.
Trauma.
According to me.
Then...
Something changed.
It began as a faint warmth beneath my scales.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
I frowned.
The sensation spread through my body.
Not painful.
Comfortable.
Almost...
Familiar.
Without realizing it, I drifted several degrees west.
Ceal immediately noticed.
"You've gone off course."
I blinked.
Had I?
I corrected my direction.
A few seconds later—
I drifted west again.
"..."
That was odd.
I consciously forced myself back into formation.
The warmth intensified.
It wasn't heat.
Not exactly.
It felt more like...
Recognition.
Something was calling.
Not with words.
Not with sound.
With instinct.
An ancient pull buried somewhere deep within my blood.
The crimson scales on my arms shimmered faintly.
My wings twitched.
West.
Always west.
I stopped flying.
Ceal slowed before turning back toward me.
"What is it?"
I remained silent.
The feeling grew stronger.
Not loud.
Persistent.
Like hearing someone whisper from the opposite side of the world.
I closed my eyes.
The sensation became clearer.
Mountains.
Stone.
Bones.
Fire.
Then—
Memory.
Not because of the strange call.
Because I remembered writing it.
My eyes opened.
"...No."
The word escaped almost immediately.
Ceal raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
I stared toward the western horizon.
Far beyond the visible mountain range.
Far beyond civilization.
Far beyond anywhere ordinary people willingly traveled.
"...Absolutely not."
The pull intensified.
Almost impatient now.
"..."
"...Unless..."
The realization settled like a stone in my stomach.
The Dragon's Grave.
Publicly...
People believed it to be an unconquered S-Rank dungeon.
One of the Empire's greatest mysteries.
Countless expeditions had entered.
None had ever returned.
The official explanation was simple.
The monsters were too strong.
Which...
To be fair...
They were.
But that wasn't the entire truth.
Because it wasn't really a dungeon.
Not originally.
It had once been something else.
Somewhere else.
Long before the Empire existed.
Long before Elarion.
Long before recorded history.
An Ancient Dragon had fallen there.
Not merely died.
Fallen.
One of the oldest dragons ever to exist.
Its corpse had remained untouched for over two thousand years.
Its mana...
Had never dispersed.
Instead, it seeped endlessly into the surrounding land.
Year after year.
Century after century.
Until reality itself warped beneath the overwhelming concentration of dragon mana.
Mountains twisted.
Forests evolved.
Creatures mutated.
Entire ecosystems changed.
Eventually...
The world classified it as an S-Rank dungeon.
It was easier than explaining the truth.
Every monster born within its borders carried traces of Ancient Dragon mana.
Wyverns.
Drakes.
Dragonkin.
Even the insects.
Everything had evolved into something stronger.
Something far more dangerous.
No one below Ten-Star had any business entering.
The minimum recommended requirement I'd written...
Had been Ten-Star.
I was currently five.
Exactly half.
Which meant I had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near the place.
I nodded to myself.
Good.
Decision made.
We would continue flying home.
Pretend none of this had happened.
Forget the strange call entirely.
A perfectly reasonable plan.
Then the warmth pulsed again.
Stronger.
Almost...
Longing.
I grimaced.
"...Stop that."
It didn't.
Instead, another memory surfaced.
Buried deep beneath countless chapters.
One sentence.
One line of lore.
One reward.
Hidden beneath the heart of the Ancient Dragon.
A weapon.
Not merely Legendary.
Personal.
Forged from the dragon's final breath.
Waiting.
For me.
Or rather...
Waiting for the one I'd originally intended to inherit it.
Black Dragon Blade...
Hageth.
I slowly turned my head.
Ceal had remained completely silent throughout my internal crisis.
He simply watched me.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Then I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Ceal sighed.
"...No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You looked at me."
"..."
The corner of my mouth twitched.
Perhaps...
Just perhaps...
There was a way to survive visiting the Dragon's Grave after all.