Noa spent the entire day training relentlessly. By nightfall, exhausted and drained, he came to the garden to gaze at the stars and fell asleep right there.
The morning sun had not yet fully risen.
The garden still slumbered beneath the heavy burden of the night.
Yet in the dragon palace there existed one merciless truth:
the weak dragons did not live long.
And Noa was the weakest among them.
Cold air drifted between the trees, making the dewdrops on the leaves tremble.
On the stone platform, Noa stirred. His eyes opened slowly—dark, almost pitch-black pupils.
His silver hair fell freely over his shoulders, and from his head rose two small, half-formed horns. His clothing was simple yet noble—a black tunic, a patterned belt, and violet silk ribbons draped from his shoulders. Beneath this simplicity lingered the unmistakable scent of royalty.
"My son, are you awake?"
The voice reached him like frost carried on a gentle breeze.
Noa lifted his head. Before him stood a woman with snow-white hair cascading down her back, her face serene, her blue eyes calm as a winter sky.
"Mother…" he said quietly, hesitating.
"Do you come here every morning?"
Arya approached, knelt beside him, and smiled tenderly.
"No, Noa. Whenever you are here, I always come to see you."
Warmth spread through his chest, yet beneath that warmth pressed a heavy burden.
He lowered his gaze.
"…Mother, one question has been tormenting me. Am I truly a high dragon?"
Arya brushed his hair with a soft yet steady hand.
"You are truly a high dragon. Sometimes even those without strong innate talent exist, but through hard work they can reach the level of the gifted."
Noa's jaw tightened.
"They've all changed," he whispered. "But me… nothing."
At the edge of the garden, the guard looked at Noa with a trace of pity and muttered to himself:
"Niva—the humanoid form of dragons.
According to ancient law, a child is born in the shape their mother held during pregnancy.
Nowadays most dragons live in Niva form, so their children are born wingless, resembling humans, and only later assume their true form.
When three-year-old children are already able to fly, the prince still has no wings… what despair in the imperial family.
If I were in his place, I would have achieved so much more," he whispered to himself.
Arya wrapped him in her arms, her voice firm and warm.
"You are not like the others, Noa. Even if your form still sleeps, your heart carries great power. Be patient."
The words had barely settled in his chest when a sharp voice sliced through the air:
"Prince Noa! His Majesty summons you—immediately!"
A servant came running and bowed deeply.
Noa stood up, every muscle taut.
"Thank you." He nodded, then turned to his mother.
"Will I be able to become strong?"
Arya smiled softly.
"Of course, my son."
He left the garden. Along the stone path, other dragons turned to stare—some whispered, others laughed openly.
The elders watched with heavy, judgmental eyes.
Their gazes pierced him like needles, yet Noa maintained a faint smile. Beneath that smile, his chest constricted, his jaw trembled, his teeth pressed together so hard it hurt.
The rumors had already spread far and wide—the prince incapable of transformation; the heir who might never awaken.
The disgrace of the dynasty's representative.
By the time the palace doors came into view, his heart pounded like a war drum.
He entered the grand hall and bowed deeply.
"Father… the trial is today."
The Dragon Emperor looked down at him with neither warmth nor hatred—only cold unease.
"That is correct," he said.
His voice grew colder as he began to reprimand:
"You avoid training. You do not carry yourself like a prince."
Cold sweat trickled down Noa's back. His throat felt constricted.
The Emperor's voice sharpened further:
"A weak heir will devour the empire."
Noa clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
"I'm doing everything I can, Father."
The Emperor gave a cold, cutting laugh.
"Everything you can? You've barely left the library."
Noa ground his teeth.
Heat rose in his chest.
"I will train even harder… I won't run away anymore."
The Emperor's expression remained unchanged.
"Now it is already too late for that. You should have done so long ago."
Noa lifted his head. With a faint smile he began:
"Father, you—"
Zagn ignored him and continued.
"I have brought a creature for you," said the Emperor. "It has easily defeated many of your peers. As prince, you must defeat it. If you fail, I will strip you of your title and exile you."
Cold spread through Noa's veins. Still, he bowed.
"I understand… Father."
"This trial will show who you truly are," he added.
The first elder standing beside Zagn stepped forward.
"The other dragon heirs defeated such creatures with ease. If you cannot…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…then what awaits you will be worse than death."
The words struck like iron. Noa turned sharply, fists trembling, yet a small smile lingered on his face—because dragons do not cry.
"Princes do not lose," he said, then turned his back and left the hall.
As the doors closed behind him, Noa's smile vanished instantly. Eyes fixed on the floor, he began to walk.
His thoughts tangled.
"Will I lose? I've never fought before… If I lose, I'll be exiled. Why do they keep treating me with such injustice?"
From the shadowed corridor, Arya watched her son disappear beyond the palace doors. Her heart ached with pain.
Noa… how can they send you—a boy who wouldn't even harm a fly—into such a trial? You are not ready. Even I cannot tell you the truth—if you knew what sleeps inside you… if you knew who you truly are…
would you still call me mother? Would you not come to hate both your father and me? I cannot allow that to happen, she whispered to herself.
Zagn remained staring at the hall doors, lost in thought.
"Sooner or later your gentleness and your patience will run out."
He cast a sidelong glance at the elder.
"The first elder is preparing Azel as heir… but so that he does not become a mere puppet, I had to give him the main part of his upbringing myself. I wonder how he will turn out…"
In another, darker part of the palace…
The creature slammed its head against the bars.
Then suddenly stopped.
It sniffed the air.
Its red eyes slowly widened.
The guard frowned.
"What is it?"
The creature growled low.
It crushed the bones beneath its feet.
It struck the cage with its paw, trying to break it—as if its patience was finally running out.
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