I was the weakest in the group.
A Level 2 mage. Just enough mana to light a torch, maybe conjure a weak barrier if I really focused. I had no battlefield experience, no noble lineage, no enchanted weapon glowing with legacy. Hell, I didn't even have a proper robe—just this threadbare one I bought secondhand from a retired alchemist who lost an arm in the last dragon raid.
I wasn't supposed to be part of this expedition. I was brought along to carry gear.
The others strode ahead like giants. Level 3 and above—mages, knights, spellblades, all of them stronger, faster, and more confident than I'd ever be. Their weapons buzzed with latent enchantments. Their steps were casual, as if danger was beneath them.
"Don't fall behind, Auno," Garren muttered without turning.
I adjusted the strap of the overloaded pack digging into my shoulder. "I'm right behind."
He didn't respond. None of them ever did.
---
The vault was buried deep in the spine of the Shattered Mountains. Rumors had swirled for months about ancient hoards buried beneath the stone—vaults sealed during the Dragonfall Apocalypse, untouched for centuries. With the war between the Dragon Lords burning the world above, anything remotely tied to dragons had become invaluable.
They came for riches, for relics. I came for something else.
Power. I was tired of being invisible.
We moved in silence through ancient tunnels choked in dust and time. Runes pulsed faintly on the walls—worn, cracked, but still humming with residual magic. Our torches burned blue with mana-infused fire, casting eerie shadows that flickered like ghosts across the carvings.
I walked behind Syla, a shadow witch who never spoke louder than a whisper. Her presence sent chills down my spine. Once, I'd seen her curse a bandit from fifty meters away—his blood boiled out of his mouth before he hit the ground.
I stayed clear of her.
The path twisted downward, and the deeper we went, the thicker the air became. Like mana itself clung to our skin, pressing into our lungs with every breath.
We reached a collapsed antechamber with four branching paths. Garren paused, pointing left. "That way."
They didn't explain why. They never did. I followed.
---
The beasts came an hour later.
Malformed wyverns—half-blind, scales chipped, snarling and desperate. They burst from side tunnels with screeches that rattled the stone.
The team didn't even flinch.
Garren's sword lit up with roaring flame as he cleaved two in half in a single sweep. Syla whispered something in a dead tongue, and the others collapsed mid-charge, choking on black smoke that poured from their eyes. Lys launched a blast of concussive wind that shattered skulls like pumpkins.
I pressed against the wall, gripping my staff like it might save me.
They made it look so easy. Unfairly easy. And I realized again how out of place I was.
Just the boy with the bags.
---
Another quake came without warning.
The ground trembled beneath us, and a roar echoed through the tunnels. Stone cracked and split. A ceiling slab gave way behind us, sealing the entrance with a thunderous crash.
Dust choked the air. Light orbs flickered. Panic set in.
"Damn it," Garren muttered, coughing. "Backtracked too far. We're trapped."
"No," Syla said, staring ahead. "We're here."
That's when I saw it.
A smooth wall shimmered faintly with mana. Cracks glowed with crimson light, spreading outward like a heartbeat. I don't know what pulled me forward—curiosity, instinct, or something older—but I stepped past them, hand raised.
When I touched the wall, it rippled.
And slid open.
---
The vault.
A chamber of impossible wealth, hidden for centuries, untouched by time.
Mountains of gold. Blades humming with old magic. Armor sets still glowing with protective enchantments. Chalices and scrolls. Gems the size of fists, pulsating with stored mana. I could barely comprehend it.
The others surged forward, awe and greed sparking in their eyes.
But I couldn't look away from the center.
There, above a black pedestal, floated a jagged stone—no, an egg. It hovered in place, spinning slowly, cracked with glowing red veins. It throbbed like a living thing, and when I stepped closer, I could swear I felt it breathe.
Lys whispered a spell under his breath, scanning it. His voice trembled.
"That's not just dragon... that's divine-class mana. This might be an SSS-rank egg."
The group froze.
Everyone turned toward the floating stone.
Then Varell stepped forward.
---
Varell was the strongest among us—a war mage ranked 3rd among the western provinces. Cold-eyed, scar-slicked, and terrifying. He didn't ask permission. He didn't hesitate. He reached up and plucked the egg from the air like it belonged to him.
The moment his hand closed around it, the vault screamed.
Runes flared violently. The ceiling cracked. Mana surged in chaotic bursts, lighting the room in flashes of white and red.
The temple was coming down.
"Move!" Garren roared. "Go! GO!"
Everyone scrambled toward the sealed entrance—only to find it blocked. But high above, where rubble had torn through the stone, a shaft of sunlight peeked through. A narrow escape route. Just enough for one at a time.
We ran.
Except Varell.
He stood at the base of a crumbling pillar, the egg clutched in both arms. He didn't help the others. He didn't lift rubble or call for aid. He stared at the egg like it was his heart, his breath, his reason to exist.
When a chunk of stone crashed down and pinned his leg, he didn't scream for long.
"HELP ME!" he roared. "You cowards! Get this off!"
But no one stopped. The vault was collapsing. Screams echoed behind us.
Varell only cared about that egg.
And when he looked at me—when our eyes met through the smoke and flame—I saw it.
He would kill to keep it.
---
I should have kept running.
But I couldn't.
Not for him—but for it.
I ran toward him. The heat singed my skin. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I saw his leg twisted beneath the stone, his hands white-knuckled around the egg.
"Let go!" I shouted.
"NO!"
But he couldn't stop me. Not with the pain. Not with the temple falling.
I wrenched the egg from his arms.
He screamed like I had torn out his soul.
I turned and bolted.
---
Spells flew.
Lightning surged past me. Heat burned my robe. My lungs were fire. My legs trembled.
Behind me, Varell roared.
"You're DEAD, boy! DEAD!"
I didn't look back.
Not when rubble thundered down behind me. Not when the exit shaft collapsed behind my heels. Not when the entire vault groaned like it was breathing its last breath.
And then, silence.
I stumbled into daylight, ash coating my face. Smoke billowed from the broken mountain.
The vault was gone.
So were they.
---
I fell to my knees, clutching the egg. It pulsed with warmth—alive. A steady, slow rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
And then, in the silence, I heard it.
A voice.
Not aloud, but inside.
Soft. Feminine. Ancient.
"Mine."
I froze.
Because in that moment, I knew.
I hadn't just stolen an egg.
I had been chosen by something far older, far stronger—and the weight of it was beginning to settle into my bones.
The world would come for me now.
But I would not run.
Not anymore.
---