It was, in every sense, a miracle.
The transition from a toy-like pile of building blocks to a fortress of pure white stone — indestructible and divine — happened in the blink of an eye.
Awestruck, Artoria laid her hand upon the marble, trying to unravel the mystery hidden within.
But she couldn't.
She was no proper magus. Her understanding of magecraft was still at the level of "shooting fire from your palm." Even if you brought in that Flower Magus himself, he too would be powerless to decipher this phenomenon.
A miracle is called a miracle precisely because ordinary people cannot achieve it — or even comprehend it.
A feat only gods can perform.
And before such a true and undeniable miracle, even Artoria — the fated King of Britain — could only marvel at the workings of creation, and at the limitless potential that dwelled within this young dragon.
A creature standing at the pinnacle of all fantasy, capable of turning impossibilities into reality.
That's what a dragon is…
…
After the fortress was completed, Artoria only stayed a short while longer.
Then, in a voice laced with both concern and a touch of relief, she bid farewell to the young dragon — to Bluey, who had proven capable of taking care of himself.
"The rainy season is coming."
"We probably won't see each other for quite some time."
"While I'm gone, make sure you eat well, and sleep properly, alright?"
She patted Bluey's head, then hoisted the seven or eight large salmon he'd gifted her, and set off back toward the village.
Bluey stood atop the fortress, watching the girl's figure grow smaller in the distance. Then he lifted his head to the sky, heavy with looming storm clouds.
The rainy season, huh…
For some reason, he suddenly found himself disliking the rain.
If only I could make the sky clear up…
With that thought, Bluey spread his wings and took off.
He soared past the fortress, over the cliffs, across the mountain peaks… rising higher and higher — until he reached the clouds themselves.
Since becoming a dragonling, this was the first time he'd flown so high.
It was cold up here. Dark and bitterly cold. The damp wind bit against his scales, and even his cold-resistant hide involuntarily tightened from the chill.
Gotta figure out a way to warm this place up!
Bluey shut his eyes — and in his mind's eye, he saw the blonde girl carving his likeness into marble with her sword.
It had been an ordinary iron blade. Yet, infused with wind-elemental magic, it had sliced through stone like butter — that was her power. The power of the "Strong Wind Dragon," or perhaps the "Shooting Star Dragon."
—So… was she a Stardust Dragon?
If she can do it… then I definitely can too!
So Bluey thought, and began to stir the only element that resonated with him — the one he had been born attuned to.
Light.
…
The Blue-Eyes White Dragon is a dragon of Light.
Its ultimate form — the Blue-Eyes Shining Dragon — is said to be the embodiment of light itself.
Of course, Bluey was nowhere near that level… He was still in his growth phase, with barely any real mastery over his strength or innate gifts — one could even say he had almost none.
Most of what he did now was purely instinctual.
—But that was enough.
When a dragon born of light calls upon the essence of light itself—
Then the light of this world will answer, will rush to his side, and help him realize the things he wishes to do.
The sun…
Surrounded by thick, roiling clouds, Bluey raised his head. Higher still — toward the blazing orb far above.
And the sun saw him.
And the sun answered.
A beam of sunlight pierced through the cloud cover, falling directly upon him — and then, everything changed.
Like sodium dropped into water, it didn't just ignite — it exploded.
A shockwave of radiance erupted from Bluey's body, expanding outward at blinding speed. The thick clouds were blasted away for kilometers in every direction, and above him, the sky cleared — warm, comforting sunlight spilling down all around him.
The rays danced across his white scales, newly misted from the cold, making them shimmer and gleam.
That's more like it!
Soaking in the returning warmth, Bluey gave a wide, contented yawn and glided back to the cliffside.
He'd been working hard for quite some time now.
Maybe… it was fine to take a little break. To spend the rainy season resting — even if it was a bit boring.
…
One month later.
The village. Inside the stables.
Artoria tended to a few newborn foals, glancing now and then toward the sheets of rain pouring outside with a worried expression.
They'd braced for the worst… but the truth had been even more severe.
This year's rains had come earlier than expected, and hit harder than anyone predicted.
It had been raining nonstop for half a month.
Artoria had ventured out into the storm more than once. She saw with her own eyes how the rivers around the village had already risen past the "danger line," threatening to spill over at any moment. Her sworn brother led the villagers, stacking logs, stones, and packed earth to create makeshift levees. Only then had they managed to stave off the threat.
But other villages… likely hadn't been so lucky.
Not every settlement had a humanoid red dragon living nearby — or a Celtic warrior who could slay monsters with nothing but his bare hands.
Most of the island's villages were just that: ordinary. Ordinary people living ordinary lives — the true norm of human existence here.
I'm still… too weak.
As she thought of those who had surely suffered, guilt welled up in Artoria's chest.
As the "Perfect King" that Uther and Merlin had pinned their hopes upon, she had long since placed herself into the role of monarch. She measured every action by that standard — and had taken it upon herself to view the powerless, the defenseless, as those under her protection.
The strong must protect the weak.
The king must shelter her people.
—Isn't that what it means to be king?
---
T/N: oopsie... i mean its just a babyyy