PART 2: The Dragon Protected the Boy They Tried to Destroy
The volcanic arena shook violently.
Ash rained from the sky.
Flaming arrows burned across shattered stone.
Yet at the center of the chaos—
the small boy never moved.
Never ran.
His tiny body stood directly in front of the colossal dragon.
Protecting it.
The dragon lowered one massive wing around him.
Shielding him from the storm of fire.
Arrows shattered harmlessly against black scales.
Smoke rolled through the arena.
The crowd stood frozen.
Terrified.
Because dragons did not protect humans.
Not like this.
Not ever.
Far above—
the ruler gripped the balcony railing.
Face twisted with rage.
“Why isn’t it killing him?!”
Beside him—
an old royal advisor had gone pale.
Hands trembling.
Because he recognized those words.
My King.
Ancient words.
Forbidden words.
Words spoken only to one bloodline.
The dead bloodline.
Below—
the dragon carefully lowered its enormous head.
Glowing orange eyes fixed gently on the child.
Then softly—
through smoke and thunder—
it spoke again.
“My King…”
The boy looked confused.
Scared now.
“I’m not a king.”
The dragon’s expression changed.
Something ancient.
Something grieving.
“You were stolen.”
Silence crashed across the arena.
The boy’s breathing stopped.
“What?”
High above—
the royal advisor staggered backward.
“No…”
Too much fear crossed his face.
Too quickly.
The ruler turned sharply.
“What does it mean?”
Before anyone answered—
the volcano erupted harder.
A violent roar split the sky.
Stone cracked beneath the arena.
Lava glowed through widening fractures.
Panic spread through the crowd.
People began running.
Screaming.
But the dragon never moved.
Only watched the boy.
Then slowly—
carefully—
it lowered its giant claw.
Resting something ancient in front of him.
A crown.
Blackened gold.
Half melted by fire.
Marked with the symbol of a forgotten kingdom.
The boy stared.
Heart pounding.
Because somehow—
it felt familiar.
Like remembering a dream.
The dragon exhaled softly.
“The crown your father wore.”
The arena went silent again.
Far above—
the ruler’s face drained of color.
Because twenty years ago—
he helped overthrow the royal family.
The infant prince disappeared in the fire.
Declared dead.
Yet standing below—
wearing the same eyes as the fallen king—
stood the child no one expected to survive.
The royal advisor suddenly shouted—
“Kill him NOW!”
Too late.
The dragon turned.
Orange eyes burning brighter than lava.
Ancient rage finally waking.
Because it remembered.
The betrayal.
The fire.
The night they murdered its king.
And suddenly—
the boy’s skin began glowing.
Faint golden markings spreading across his chest.
The exact same markings carved into the ancient crown.
The crowd gasped.
One old warrior dropped to his knees.
Voice shaking.
“The fire-born king…”
Then—
the volcano exploded again.
And something enormous moved inside the lava.
Something alive.
Something waking.
The dragon slowly lifted its head.
Protective.
Terrified for the first time.
Because something worse than war had returned.
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