(Yuuta POV)
"How can you forget me, Erza?" I said, my voice half lost to the wind.
Her arm was wrapped securely around my waist as we flew, the air rushing past us with a force that made my clothes flutter wildly. Far below, the ocean stretched endlessly, a vast blue expanse that seemed to swallow the world.
Erza laughed.
"I'm sorry," she said lightly. "I didn't mean that I forgot you. I just forgot that you can't fly."
"Of course I can't," I replied, puffing my cheeks in frustration. "I'm human. Not a dragon."
She didn't try to comfort me or argue back. She simply kept flying, steady and unbothered.
Typical Erza.
We continued forward, cutting through the sky until the horizon itself began to change. The Pacific Ocean spread beneath us, calm and endless, as though it had no beginning or end.
After a while, Elena's excited voice rang out.
"Papa! Look!"
I turned my head instinctively.
"There's an island!" she said, pointing ahead. "And there's a huge castle on it!"
Erza followed her gaze, her expression softening.
"It's beautiful," she murmured. "It's hard to believe humans crafted something like that."
I narrowed my eyes, squinting as hard as I could. I even rubbed them, convinced something was wrong with my vision. No matter how much I tried, all I could see was the ocean and a tiny blur in the distance.
"I… I still can't see it," I admitted.
Grandpa spoke next, his voice calm and thoughtful.
"I'm surprised," he said. "Human architecture has always impressed me. But this one surpasses everything I've seen."
I frowned, feeling slightly irritated.
"How can all of you see it so clearly?" I asked. "There's nothing there for me—just a vast ocean."
Erza let out a quiet sigh.
"Listen, Yuuta," she said gently. "From this distance, what we see… it's probably only visible to dragon eyes. You don't have one."
I leaned back slightly, giving up.
"You know," I said, "you guys are basically walking cheat codes. You can see for miles, cast magic, live for thousands of years, and barely fear anything. You're like divine beings."
She was silent for a moment.
Then her voice came, softer than before.
"Just because you think we're unbeatable," Erza said, "doesn't mean we don't have flaws. Nature is fair. If you're given more… you will always pay a price for it."
I swallowed.
"And what do you pay?" I asked quietly.
There was a pause, long enough for the wind to feel colder.
Erza tightened her hold around me just slightly before answering.
"Memory," she said. "The weight of countless years. Longing that never fades."
Her voice was calm, steady as always—but beneath it, I felt something heavy. Something ancient.
I frowned slightly.
"But… memory is a good thing, right?" I said. "I mean, if I had that kind of memory, I'd become incredibly knowledgeable. Maybe even the smartest being alive. Wouldn't that make you happy, Erza?"
Erza let out a quiet sigh. She seemed about to answer—
But Grandpa spoke before she could.
"No, Yuuta," he said gently. "It doesn't work like that."
I turned toward him while we both flying.
"What do you mean, not like that?" I asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted somewhere far away, as if he were searching through his own memories.
"Memory will surely make you wiser," he said at last, " but it's also a cursed by nature. The wiser you become, the more unhappiness you carry."
I frowned deeper.
"That doesn't make sense," I said. "How can a wise person be unhappy? He has knowledge. He understands the world."
Grandpa smiled faintly.
"Then let me tell you a story," he said.
I listened.
"Imagine you are very hungry," Grandpa began. "You bake a cake with your own hands. But just as you're about to eat it, you accidentally drop it on the ground."
I swallowed.
"You're still hungry," he continued. "But now, you are a knowledgeable man. You understand bacteria. Dirt. Disease. Because of what you know, you refuse to eat the cake."
He paused.
"You remain hungry. And worse—you regret your mistake."
I stayed silent.
"But," Grandpa went on, "if you were a fool… you would pick up the cake, brush it off, and eat it with joy. You wouldn't know about germs or dirt. And because you don't know—you would be happy."
The wind seemed quieter as his words settled in.
"That is how it works," he said softly. "The more wisdom you gain, the more careful you become. The more careful you become, the lonelier you grow."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"A fool with limited knowledge," Grandpa said, "is often far happier than a man burdened with vast understanding."
He looked up at the endless sky.
"That is why," he added, "even gods grow disappointed with their creations. Because they see everything. Know everything. And understand every loss before it happens."
I fell silent.
Not because I didn't understand Grandpa's words—but because I finally did.
For the first time, everything made sense.
Since ancient times, people said dragons preferred solitude. That they slept alone in deep caves, far from the world. Not because they hated others… but because isolation freed them. The longer they slept, the fewer new memories they carried. And the fewer memories they carried, the lighter their existence became.
That was the curse.
To remember was to suffer.
But Erza's world was different.
Dragons like her weren't allowed to disappear into sleep and silence. They were rulers. Protectors. Forced to adapt, forced to stay awake, forced to carry centuries of memories—joy, loss, love, regret—all piling up without mercy.
And then the thought struck me.
Soon… Erza will forget me.
If Grandpa still remembered our promise—then that future was already written.
The wind rushed past us, but my heart felt strangely still.
Erza glanced back while flying, her silver eyes narrowing slightly.
"What happened?" she asked. "Why did you go quiet, mortal?"
I looked at her back for a moment longer than necessary.
"I didn't say anything," I replied softly. "I just… want to make this memory beautiful. With you, Erza."
She frowned.
"What does that mean?" she asked. "And why are you talking like that?"
I looked away, toward the endless sky.
"Nothing," I said gently.
"Just keep flying."
She didn't press further.
And I didn't explain.
Because some memories are meant to be cherished quietly—
even when you know they won't last.
After half an hour of flying, I finally saw it.
An island.
No—Zion Hills.
I wasn't imagining it. I saw it with my own eyes, floating quietly amid endless blue waters. The wind softened as we approached, as if even nature lowered its voice before something sacred.
Zion Hills was not a large island, but it felt vast in presence. Lush tropical trees covered the land, their green crowns swaying gently under the sunlight. Clear waters surrounded the island like a protective ring, reflecting the sky so perfectly that the horizon seemed to disappear.
At the heart of the island stood something extraordinary.
The Great Church of Gilgal — the Church of New Life.
It was mentioned in the Scriptures, but no words could truly capture its beauty. Crafted with devotion rather than arrogance, the church rose slowly toward the heavens. They said emperors from medieval times had poured their wealth, time, and resources into its creation—yet even after seven hundred years, it remained unfinished.
And that was precisely why it was considered holy.
Not built out of greed.
Not built by force.
But shaped by love, generation after generation.
A massive cross crowned the highest spire, gleaming faintly under the sun. Countless statues surrounded the structure—saints, martyrs, and unnamed figures frozen in eternal prayer, as if guarding the church and all who stepped onto the island.
I felt my chest tighten.
Without realizing it, my fingers curled into a fist.
This is it.
This place.
This test.
This moment.
No matter what awaited me here—
I would win this test.
No matter the cost.
(Narrator POV)
Den remained silent.
He had no answer to Yuri's question—not an honest one, at least. Yet silence itself was dangerous around the young prince. Den understood Yuri's power better than anyone in the chamber. He knew what the boy would become in the future, how terrifying his presence would grow.
And yet, what frightened Den even more was not Yuri's strength—
—but the strange balance between his childish impatience and his frighteningly mature mind.
Den slowly lifted his gaze and spoke carefully.
"My Highness," he said, bowing his head slightly, "you were undeniably born of royal dragon blood. There is no possible way a mere human could have stood beside our Queen. She is a divine being, blessed by the Heavens themselves."
Yuri's aura shifted.
His voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"Are you trying to butter me up with words?"
Den's heart skipped. Fear crawled up his spine, but he forced himself to continue.
"No, My Highness. I speak only the truth. Look at your power—your aura alone can suffocate the strongest beings. Your eyes bear the mark of the Primal Dragons themselves. And your understanding…" Den hesitated before finishing, "…it is difficult to believe you were ever accused of being a sin-born child."
Yuri did not look pleased.
"I know I am strong," Yuri said calmly. "Wise. My aura is extraordinary."
He paused.
"But my sister was different."
Den stiffened.
"How will you explain that?"
For a brief moment, the room fell silent.
Den had no answer—because Elena was indeed different. Her very existence contradicted everything he had just said.
Yuri's voice hardened.
"If I was born with overwhelming power—if I am divine—then how was my sister so weak? So gentle? She was like a small flower. She should have been cruel, cold… a true dragon."
His eyes narrowed.
"Yet she showed human traits. And don't forget her eyes."
Den said nothing.
Everyone in the kingdom knew about Princess Elena's eyes.
They were feared—even by the strongest guards.
They said that when Elena cried, her eyes glowed like a living crimson moon. And when she looked at someone through her tears, no blade could be raised against her. Her voice carried a strange power—one that compelled others to stand beside her.
Enemies became protectors.
Strangers became allies.
Hearts melted.
And before anyone realized it, they were no longer fighting her—
—they were protecting her.
Den lowered his head, his lips pressed tightly together.
"My Highness," he said at last, his voice careful, "I know you carry many questions. Questions even the elders fear to speak aloud. But I am unable to answer them all."
He paused, choosing his next words with extreme caution.
"Please forgive me. We must wait for the Queen's return. Once she comes back… all truths will reveal themselves."
Yuri did not respond.
The silence stretched.
For a child, he was far too still. No impatience. No irritation. Only a quiet, suffocating calm that unsettled Den more than any outburst ever could. In that moment, Yuri reminded him painfully of Queen Erza in her youth—cold, observant, and terrifyingly composed.
This child is dangerous, Den thought. Not because of his power… but because of his restraint.
Sensing the growing tension, Den knew he had to change the direction of the conversation—quickly.
"My Prince," Den said, lifting his gaze slightly, "I heard of your actions at the Walls of Jarago. How you forced Mortivex—a Calamity-Class entity—to retreat on its own. Such a feat has already become legend among the border guards."
Yuri slowly turned his eyes toward him.
"It was not glory," he said.
His voice was flat.
Den stiffened. "Not… glory, My Lord?"
"It was an insult."
The words landed heavily.
"There was a goblin," Yuri continued. "A filthy, insignificant creature. It dared to speak to me without respect. It mocked me."
His fingers tightened, the faint hum of his aura leaking into the air.
"I wanted to kill it."
Den understood immediately.
Goblins were foolish beings—ignorant, loud, and reckless. Yet they possessed a strange loyalty. When they sensed someone they cared for was in danger like Pino was rescued by Valeor long ago and the reason he speaks to Yuri that way, they would provoke even dragons without hesitation. Pino must have insulted Yuri deliberately, hoping to draw the prince's anger away from Valeor.
But intent did not matter.
Disrespect toward royal blood was unforgivable.
Gathering his courage, Den spoke.
"My Lord… Pino is not dead."
The air froze.
Yuri's pupils trembled, and for a brief moment, a violet void flickered open within his eyes.
"What did you say?" he asked quietly.
Den felt his heart pound violently in his chest.
"He is alive," Den said. "We imprisoned him in the torture chamber."
The room fell into complete silence.
Den knelt lower, his forehead nearly touching the floor. He could not tell whether he had saved himself—or sealed his fate.
Then—
A violent pressure erupted.
The air crushed inward like a storm collapsing upon itself. The walls groaned. Even Den's breath became difficult to draw.
In the next instant, Yuri stood directly before him.
"Den," Yuri said calmly, his voice colder than ice, "you understand what it means to lie before royal blood."
Sweat streamed down Den's face.
"Yes, My Lord," he said hastily. "I would never dare. I swear it upon my life. You may see for yourself."
The crushing aura slowly withdrew.
"Very well," Yuri said.
He turned away.
"Guide me."
Den exhaled shakily and bowed.
"Yes, My Highness. I will obey."
As Yuri walked toward the exit, a faint smile curved his lips—one that carried no warmth.
"I will show him," he murmured, "what it means to offend royal blood."
His eyes darkened.
"Pino."
To be continued…