Two humanoid figures hunched over a small bundle of blankets, their gazes softening at the gentle, barely audible cooing coming from within.
"What a precious child," said the woman with dark purple hair, flecked with white sparkles. Her white v-neck robe draped elegantly over her well-endowed frame. Beside her stood a man, bare from the waist up, towering over her with large midnight-blue horns that curved ellogantly from above his temples.
"Yes, our child will rule," he replied, his voice deep and resonant. "Our combined magical powers will be a force to be feared."
"Well, you are the Lightning Emperor Dragon..."
"And you are a six-winged angel who governs spacetime and gravity, positioned directly beneath the Supreme Deity herself. Our daughter will inherit your physique and my bloodline."
A wave of magic washed over the baby, prompting the woman to lift her head. "It seems she possesses dual bloodlines."
"I wish she could stay like this forever," the man said wistfully.
"I know, my love, but it’s too risky. They are on the move. How many people know we have a daughter?"
"Only us. Why?"
"We need to seal her powers and, at the cost of her divinity, change her into a boy. We’ll say we had a son. If her powers ever get revealed and she reverts back to being a girl, it will buy her enough time to hone her strength."
"When will she regain her divinity?"
"When she earns it. I cannot say when that might be—she could be a six-winged angel like me before it happens."
"Though it pains me, I understand we can’t have—"
"DON'T SAY HIS NAME! It has become taboo; uttering it could lead him to us. The fate of our world and the worlds of the lower planes are at stake."
The man and woman grew somber yet determined, they joined hands around the child, beginning to hum, invoking an ancient spell. The room filled with the sound of their voices as the child's hair lost its silvery sheen, turning to a mundane brown. The powerful ritual altered the child's entire existence from girl to boy and from angel to human, his skin dulling as he became mortal. Once the incantation ended, they marked the center of his chest with a seal, isolating his powers.
"The world will tremble when they discover he has a dragon heart, a conduit for mana far superior to the human's mere mana spring," the man said as a aura of magic enveloped the child. Shimmering signaled that the child, no longer possessing divinity, must be sent to the lower planes. Thus he started to fade and the woman whispered her child's name through tears, mourning the sacrifice made to protect the realms they were sworn to defend. She did not want to relinquish such a rare gift, but her union with the man was forbidden, violating treaties between both their kinds and of the abyssal plane.
"I can’t help who I love," she thought, longing for another way.
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A sixteen-year-old boy lay sprawled on the grass, bloodied and beaten. A stick lay just out of reach, while several other boys of similar age walked away, their sticks slung over their shoulders like hitchhikers. The largest among them, Ian, glanced back without turning. "If you want another lesson, Liam, you know where to find us."
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Liam belonged to a world of combat. Ian was the son of a warrior, a physically gifted class that provided you plenty of weapon proficiencies and combat centric skills. Ian and his friends were all hailed from families steeped in martial prowess, their parents and siblings celebrated as heroes. Each training session with them felt like a bittersweet reminder of what he lacked. Despite his desire to prove himself, their eagerness to show off their skills often came at his expense. As an orphan he had begged for their guidance and they hadn’t refused; but they didn’t train him; they used him as a punching bag, their laughter ringing in his ears as they landed blows he couldn’t defend against. They disliked him; he knew that. They included him in their group, a sort of unofficial membership, yet it was clear he was an outsider due to his weakness and lack of ability. When they sparred, their camaraderie transformed into something competitive and ruthless, a rite of passage he was never quite allowed to share. While they learned the intricacies of swordplay, Liam was left to dodge, parry, and survive their increasingly advanced techniques. It stung all the more because he felt their potential overshadow his own. Each encounter left him on the defensive, never learning anything beyond instinctual flailing.
In the Solomon Kingdom where they reside, societal hierarchy was paramount, with every youth afforded a chance to join the elite. At seventeen, each person undergoes a coming-of-age ceremony called an awakening where you're gifted a status page. If you're favored, you are granted the opportunity to choose a class that corresponds to your skill set. The classes can be broken down into three basic types; combat, support, or logistical. Failing to awaken meant living in obscurity and made daily living a struggle. Combat classes were the most coveted, with nobles often hiding their prowess, paid to defend the city from dungeon breaks and monster invasions. Support classes included healers and debuffers, while logistical classes encompassed chefs, blacksmiths, and enchanters. Roles that proved essential but indirectly support in dungeon delves and monster subjugation, for example a chef's profession can grant buffs to those that eat them.
He worked tirelessly, driven by the hope his dedication would pay off. With each passing day, self-doubt and his objective observation of his performance kept gnawing at his mind, growing more anxious. How could he expect to stand among his peers, let alone the elite, when he had barely learned the basics? They were already discussing their anticipated awakening, excited for what classes they may get to choose from. He remained silent, his sanity resting on achieving his dreams. Liam dreamt of awakening and attending the adventurer academy, where the country’s top guilds competed for promising talents. Just a few weeks remained until his seventeenth birthday. Despite his relentless preparation, he had struggled to acquire even basic skills. Malnutrition stunted his growth and left him thin, while his peers towered over him, muscles honed from years of training. After nearly a decade of effort, he had only gained a basic trait: Tenacity, which improved his pain tolerance and stamina regeneration.
Sighing as the boys departed, he muttered to himself, "Just two more weeks. Then I can change my life. Just you wait." He tried to convince himself as he felt hollow words, a vow he feared he might never fulfill.
In the days that followed, Liam trained alone, practicing in the shadows where the laughter only echoed in his mind. With every swing of his stick, he envisioned the day he would finally stand shoulder to shoulder with his peers, not as a target but as an equal. He may have even dared to see himself as their superior rising above all who mocked him. Being an orphan stacked the cards against him; malnutrition stunted his growth and thinned his muscles. Basic skills were important because the more you had, the more class options for you upon your awakening day or so they say. After nearly ten years of training he had only received a basic trait, not even a skill. Tenacity which boosted pain tolerance and stamina regeneration. As the countdown to his awakening ceremony ticked away, a nagging question loomed: what if he couldn't awaken?