—Azael's POV—
Time erodes all things.
Even fire, even bone, even Echo.
For Azael, time had long since lost its meaning. Beneath the crumbled ruins of Korr Vale, the once-mighty dragon lay—motionless, voiceless, yet far from dead. His heart, scorched and hardened, still beat with the last embers of Primordial Shinrei.
He had waited.
And waited.
For centuries.
Azael's breath no longer stirred the wind. His scales, once molten gold, now dulled to obsidian and ash. His wings were broken; his veins cracked with faded light. Echo crystals pulsed softly around the walls of the cavern, mirroring the rhythm of his failing spirit.
But one thing had not faded:
Hope.
"One will come."
That had been the final whisper of the Echo Sage before she vanished into the Shade.
"One who walks not in prophecy, but between the cracks of fate."
"Not a hero… not a villain… but one who should not exist."
Azael had believed.
So he waited.
Not for a chosen one…
…but for anyone who would choose him.
Now, after so many wasted centuries…
A presence entered the cavern.
Not powerful. Not radiant. Not marked by prophecy.
But… curious. Intentional. Quiet.
"So," Azael thought, his voice like a mountain grinding against itself. "You finally arrive, nameless one."
Azael stirred for the first time in decades.
Dust rolled off his shoulders like ancient snow. Crystals embedded in the walls began to hum, resonating with his awakening breath. The flames embedded in the runes sparked back to life—dim at first, then pulsing brighter with each second.
And there he stood.
A child.
Cloaked, breathing heavily, no more than thirteen winters old. His frame was thin, his clothes worn by travel—but his eyes—
Too sharp.
Too knowing.
The ancient dragon's molten pupils narrowed. He lowered his massive, horned head, nostrils flaring with steam as he observed the boy who dared enter the heart of Korr Vale.
"Who are you, child?" Azael's voice thundered, like a distant volcano. His words echoed down the chamber.
He sniffed the air. "Hmmm… interesting. You do not smell like the others."
The boy stepped forward, cloak billowing as the ambient Shinrei pressure pressed against him.
"I am Khael Corzedar," the boy declared, voice firm despite the tremble in his chest. "From House Corzedar."
The dragon blinked slowly.
"A noble blood…?" Azael said, his tone unreadable. "Huh. That family still lingers?"
Khael nodded, clenching his fists to suppress the nervous shaking. The dragon's heat pressed against his skin, like standing near a roaring forge.
But his voice didn't falter.
"I need your help, mighty dragon."
The chamber fell into silence.
Azael's massive head tilted, his golden eyes burning like twin furnaces as he stared into the mortal soul standing before him.
"Hmm…" Azael rumbled. "Why do you need this one's help?"
"You do not reek of prophecy. Nor ruin. You carry no curse…"
"...yet I see something strange in you. Like a misplaced word in a sacred text."
…
Khael closed his eyes briefly. Then opened them, sharp and honest.
"It's better if I show you."
Azael blinked once.
"Show me?"
Khael nodded. "I know dragons can read minds—if the other opens willingly."
"I want you to see my memories."
The dragon stared, then chuckled. It was a deep, broken sound.
"So bold. Most humans fear to even meet my eyes."
"And yet you would lay your soul bare?"
Khael stepped into the glowing circle of Echo runes.
"Yes."
"I'm not from this world."
"I've seen it destroyed before. I don't want to watch it burn again."
Azael's glowing eyes narrowed.
He extended a single claw, pulsing with emberlight.
"Very well," he said.
"Open your mind. If your truth is as strange as your presence… then I shall see it for myself."
Khael took a breath…
…and dropped his mental walls.
"Read me."
(This is a gamble… But dragons don't just listen. They remember.If Azael sees what I know Kaen, the Voidborn, the deaths, the war… maybe he'll choose me.He has to.)
The moment Khael opened his mind…
Azael's claw glowed, and the space between them rippled like heat above a forge.
The boy's body went still his eyes open, yet distant. Echo runes around the cavern flared in spiral patterns, forming a mindlink ring older than the Empire itself.
Azael's voice echoed into the void:
"Let the truth be unveiled in flame."
....
Within the Mind Realm
They stood on a platform of molten light, suspended in the middle of an infinite black void. Memory embers danced through the air glowing fragments of Khael's soul.
Azael watched in silence.
A TV screen. A glowing laptop. A bedroom stacked with manga volumes.
The title: Kaen Eclipse
Panels flashed by in floating shards of memory.
Kaen screaming in agony as his Vein Gates burst open.
Lira weeping beside the ruins of a burning shrine.
A massive Voidborn creature descending from the sky with thousands of eyes.
Characters dying. Villages destroyed. Sacrifices made.
And Khael no, Shigeo Smith watching it all unfold from the safety of another world.
"He was… a reader and a watcher."
Azael narrowed his eyes.
"No... more than that."
He saw Shigeo's obsession. His note-taking. His passion. His grief at characters' deaths. The late nights rereading battle scenes. His anger when Kaen nearly lost everything.
And finally—
Shigeo's death. The truck. The lights. The pain.
The rebirth.
The new name: Khael Corzedar.
Suddenly, the memory shifted faster, sharper. The future of this world flashed in snapshots:
Kaen in his final form, cloaked in Shade.
The betrayal of a trusted friend.
The world nearly lost to the Eclipse.
And Khael... dead. In the original story. Unnamed. Unnoticed. A corpse beneath rubble.
Azael's eyes widened for the first time in centuries.
"You do not belong to this thread of fate..." he whispered aloud.
"...but you carry its whole tapestry in your hands."
He stepped forward in the memoryspace.
Khael young, exhausted, soul open stood before him like an ember refusing to die.
"You are not a chosen one."
"No prophecy marks your blood. No hero's crest rests on your brow."
"And yet..."
"You came to me."
The realm trembled as Azael's spirit loomed larger.
His ancient soul, the last of a divine lineage, looked down at the boy with something new in his eyes:
Respect.
And maybe... hope.
"Very well," Azael said, his voice shaking the very fabric of the memory realm.
"I accept your plea, memory-bearer."
"But knowledge alone is not strength."
"To inherit the Ninefold Flame… you must still endure the Trial."
Khael's eyes refocused.
He stood straight, fists clenched.
"I'm ready."
"Then step forward."
"Face the Fire that remembers everything."
To be continue