The Dark Fire Dragon was dead.
The world should have felt lighter—skies clearer, the river freer.
But inside, the koi knew the truth: he hadn't killed it.
It was Ian's sword. It was Rakkel's sacrifice. Blood, fire, and loss had ended the dragon—not him.
Mari's death had not been avenged by his fins, his teeth, his will. The vow he had clung to, the reason he had endured endless deaths, had not been fulfilled by him at all.
A hollow ache pressed into his chest.
I was there. But I wasn't enough. Never enough.
—
The koi drifted downstream, body sluggish. He didn't dive for food. He didn't train his skills. He let the current drag him wherever it pleased, thoughts circling like knives.
He saw Mari's smile—the ribbon tied to his bowl, her arms shielding him even as flames consumed her, the way she had died while he had lived.
He saw Ian's scars—the missing arm, the bent back of an old man who had carried too much for too long.
And every memory stabbed the same words into his skull:
Didn't avenge. Didn't protect. Failed again.
His tail flicked weakly, as though he could shake it off. But the weight only grew heavier.
Weak. Useless. Burden.
—
Then another memory tore through him.
Not of dragons. Not of rivers.
But of his first life—when he was human.
The classroom floor. His hand stretched out, palm down. A heavy shoe slammed down, grinding his fingers into the tiles.
"Trash."
He couldn't breathe.
The scene shifted. His jaw pried open. Rotting scraps shoved down his throat. The stench of grease, sour milk, and mold gagging him.
"Eat it. That's all you're worth."
He coughed, choked, clawed at the ground. A bucket tipped—rancid water flooding his throat, burning. Boots rained down every time he moved.
"Drink. Drink it, weakling."
The humiliation, the pain, the despair—every moment he had tried to bury surged back in one crushing wave.
—
His body spasmed in the river. His fins went limp. He stopped fighting.
He sank.
Down past reeds and drifting silt, into shadow where the light barely touched. His thoughts tore at him like hooks, dragging him deeper.
Mari's smile. Ian's scars. Rakkel's sacrifice. His own broken past.
The weight was unbearable.
I can't swim anymore.
Even the river, once refuge, now felt like chains.
—
[System Notice]
Through the collapse, the System's voice cut in—merciless, exact.
[Host mental stability: critical]
[Adaptive response: triggered]
[New skill unlocked: Harden]
His thoughts stilled.
[Skill: Harden]
Type: Passive/Active
Description: Reinforces body with condensed spiritual force. Increases defense, resists damage, prevents collapse.
Effect: Forces survival under extreme strain. Body will not break. Mind will not collapse.
His fins shivered. For a moment, light sparked in his eyes. His scales tingled, stiffening, as if thin armor layered over them. His body no longer felt like dead weight.
Harden.
The word echoed inside him. A skill not born of glory, but of filth. Of every stomp on his hand, every forced swallow of rot, every memory of weakness.
It was born of pain. And it was his.
Slowly, he moved again. His body no longer sank freely. His fins spread, rigid, cutting against the current.
He was still weak. But now he had one more way to endure.
—
The riverbed was dark. The world above unchanged. Mari still gone. Ian scarred. The dragon slain by others' hands.
But he no longer drifted helplessly. He flicked his tail—slow, steady. His scales gleamed faintly, heavier, harder.
In the silence, he whispered to himself, though no one could hear:
I'm not done yet.
The vow had been broken once. He would not let it stay that way.
Harden was only the first scar. There would be more.