After a period of excruciating pain and agonizing recovery, Pierre felt ready — or at least determined — to continue his training. Volgrim led him to a place that seemed out of time, an ancient arena made of crystal and metal, its walls pulsing with an ethereal light, reflecting the power of the elements that were about to be unleashed. This arena was built to withstand the chaos of ice and fire, a place where forces collided in brutal harmony.

“You know this process will be painful, Pierre. It's not just about enduring physical pain,” Volgrim said, his voice reverberating through the space like an ancestral echo. “If you don’t do this, you will never balance the forces of ice and fire. This artifact doesn’t just pierce your flesh; it delves deep into your draconic essence.”

Pierre nodded, his determination masking the growing anxiety within him. He knew this step was inevitable. The last test had almost destroyed him; his own internal forces were on the verge of consuming him. He could no longer afford to be a slave to his own nature.

Volgrim then revealed the artifact: an intricate needle, its tip shimmering as if made from fragments of crystalline ice mixed with embers of eternal fire. It was no ordinary needle. It pulsed with its own energy, ancient and dangerous, a piece of living magic. Pierre couldn’t help but ask:

“How many times have you done this with others like me?”

Volgrim’s silence was prolonged, his gaze fixed on Pierre, as if weighing the gravity of his response.

“I have never treated a being like you before…” he finally admitted, his voice heavy with seriousness. “Dragons are strong creatures, their energies do not mix. But you… you are unique. In your essence, ice and fire coexist in chaos. The magic says it can be done… And so, it will be.”

Those words fell upon Pierre like a crushing weight. Before he could fully process what he had just heard, Volgrim, without hesitation, began the procedure. The needle pierced his skin, and the pain was immediate, intense, as though ice and fire were tearing through his body simultaneously, defying nature itself.

Pierre did not scream. He could not. The pain was beyond comprehension, beyond physical endurance. He felt his internal forces shattering and rearranging, forging new pathways within his essence. The needle moved methodically, not just through his flesh, but through his very soul, forging a new balance — or a new kind of chaos.

Each puncture was a new torture. Volgrim moved the artifact to precise points: the base of the spine, the shoulders, the temples. These were places where the forces within Pierre collided violently. The procedure lasted hours, and Pierre’s struggle was not only against the physical pain, but against the despair itself. He felt his body being reshaped, felt the invisible scars marking his spirit. But at the same time, he felt ice and fire intertwining in an unbearable dance, burning and freezing his insides without respite. There was no more relief, only the promise of perpetual torment.

When it was over, Pierre was not just exhausted — he was destroyed. His body was not drenched in sweat; he was both frozen and burned at once, his skin alternating between unbearable cold and searing heat. Despair gripped him. He could no longer feel pain in the same way. Now, he was destined to live with the duality of the forces that dominated him. He would freeze and burn simultaneously, and he would have to grow accustomed to it, to survive in this endless state. This was his new reality, and there was no escape.

Volgrim observed him for a long time, a mixture of pride and caution in his eyes.

“You are the first of your kind, Pierre. A dragon whose essence holds the impossible,” he said with solemn reverence as he stored the artifact away. “Now, the true training begins. Your struggle will not be against external enemies, but against the very nature inside you.”

Pierre took a deep breath, still trembling, but knowing that the real challenge had only just begun. He had no choice but to accept his new condition — condemned to burn and freeze, eternally.

---

After a long period of intense training, which felt like years in Avalamite, Pierre realized his magic had evolved. He mastered new spells of unparalleled power, like the “Energy Cube” and “Summon Huge Monster,” but, curiously, what brought him peace was not the complexity of his abilities, but the small interactions with the new friends he had made in the community where he lived.

That afternoon, Pierre was sitting at Lady Peyton’s floating two-story house, gazing at the crystal-clear lake. Beside him, two young orcs, Gelub and Aluora, his neighbors, sat comfortably. Pierre already considered them great friends. Their conversations often delved into serious and profound topics, but there was something about them that made the weight of reality easier to handle — humor. It was their way of coping with the world’s pain.

Gelub, always ambitious, spoke about his dreams with a sparkle in his eyes: “I’m going to win over a Zerg of noble birth. Someone who dares to love an orc like me and gives me a life of luxury! Who knows?”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Pierre smiled, observing his friend’s enthusiasm. He realized that, for Gelub, this dream of winning over someone from the “nobility” was more than just a material ambition. It embodied a search for acceptance, a desire to transcend the barriers that society still imposed on orcs. Pierre had never thought of it in those terms, but Gelub and Aluora spoke of this dream as if it were an almost unreachable ideal — he recognized the archetype of the prince charming, the dream and glory of every being who believes they need someone to save them, to lift them out of a difficult reality.

Before Pierre could comment, Aluora, with her usual teasing, looked at him with a mischievous smile.

“You know what it means that the two of us are single, right, Pierre?”

Pierre raised his eyebrows, curious. “What does it mean?”

Aluora let out a light laugh. “It means no one wants us!”

The three burst into laughter. Their self-deprecating but subtle humor was a constant in their interactions. But Pierre sensed that, behind the levity, there was a hint of truth. Aluora, like Gelub, also carried this silent desire to find someone special, someone who would bring a new reality, a better life. It was more than love; it was hope, a way out of what they were and what society expected them to be.

As the laughter died down, Gelub, with a tone of mock lament, made another observation:

“You ever notice that sometimes people only take an interest in you on a certain day, in a certain place, and of course, with the help of a lot of drinks?”

Pierre, feigning confusion, furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

With a sarcastic smile, Gelub explained: “It’s because you’re a low-quality nutritional option.”

Pierre couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “A low-quality nutritional option? That’s a good one.”

Gelub continued, keeping his playful tone: “Yeah, you know you don’t want to eat it, but when hunger strikes… there it is, suddenly delicious.”

Pierre’s cheeks flushed with laughter. Gelub and Aluora’s casual humor could turn even the most uncomfortable situations into something lighter. But behind it all, Pierre sensed how those little jokes carried an unsettling truth — the fear of not being seen, the desire to be chosen by someone who symbolized an escape from ordinary life.

Gelub, always ambitious, spoke about his dreams with a sparkle in his eyes: “I'm going to win over a Zerg of noble birth. Someone who dares to love an orc like me and gives me a life of luxury! Who knows?”

Pierre smiled, observing his new friend's enthusiasm. He realized that, for Gelub, this dream of winning over someone from the “noble class” was more than just material ambition. It embodied a search for acceptance, a desire to transcend the barriers that society still imposed on orcs. Pierre had never thought in those terms, but Gelub and Aluora spoke of this desire as if it were an almost unattainable ideal—he recognized the archetype of the prince charming, the dream and glory of every being who believes they need someone to save them, to lift them out of a difficult reality.

Before Pierre could comment, Aluora, with her usual provocation, looked at him with a mischievous smile.

— “You know what it means that the two of us are single, right, Pierre?”

Pierre raised his eyebrows, curious. — “What does it mean?”

Aluora let out a light laugh. — “It means no one wants us!”

The three of them burst into laughter. Their self-deprecating but subtle humor was a constant in their interactions. Yet Pierre realized that behind the levity, there was a hint of truth. Aluora, like Gelub, carried that silent desire to find someone special, someone who would bring a new reality, a better life. It was more than love; it was hope, an escape from what they were and from what society expected them to be.

As the laughter subsided, Gelub, with a tone of mock lament, made another observation:

— “You ever notice how sometimes people only take an interest in you on a certain day, in a certain place, and, of course, with the help of a lot of drinks?”

Pierre, feigning confusion, furrowed his brow. — “What do you mean by that?”

With a sarcastic smile, Gelub explained: — “It's because you're a low-quality nutritional option.”

Pierre couldn’t help but laugh out loud. — “A low-quality nutritional option? That’s a good one.”

Gelub continued, keeping his playful tone: — “Yeah, you know you don’t want to eat it, but when hunger strikes… there it is, suddenly delicious.”

Pierre’s cheeks flushed with laughter. Gelub and Aluora’s casual humor could turn even the most uncomfortable situations into something lighter. But behind it all, Pierre sensed how those little jokes carried an unsettling truth—the fear of not being seen, the desire to be chosen by someone who symbolized an escape from ordinary life.

Aluora, listening to the conversation, nodded in agreement. — “Everyone has been someone’s low-quality nutritional option at some point.”

— “I like the comparison,” — Pierre replied with a smile. — “Who hasn’t been, right?”

The conversation flowed naturally between them, and even amid the jokes, Pierre noticed the deep desires of the two young orcs. They longed for more than just a simple relationship; they dreamed of someone from the elite, someone who could break through the barriers of prejudice and bring a new reality with them. It was a romantic notion, but also a tragic one. From the outside, Pierre could see the fragility of that dream. And yet, he admired how Gelub and Aluora kept those hopes alive through humor.

Abruptly changing the tone, Aluora asked: — “Do you need a job, Pierre?”

Pierre, surprised by the shift in conversation, replied: — “Of course, but I'm still getting used to things around here.”

With a sparkle in her eyes, Aluora suggested: — “The Hungry Comet is an extraordinary place. A club frequented by the elite of the galaxy, and they're always looking for talented people. Who knows, it could be an opportunity for you.”

Gelub laughed upon hearing the name. — “Ah, the Hungry Comet. A place for the nobility and the upper echelon, with rare foods and exotic drinks. And the best part: all the staff are living beings, no robots. It's the new trend of valuing life.”

Pierre smiled, surprised by the proposal. — “Sounds interesting,” — he replied, considering the idea. He knew that place was more than just a job opportunity. For Gelub and Aluora, the *Hungry Comet* represented the chance to meet someone from the elite, a dream they carried as a promise of transformation.

Aluora continued, excited: — “And who knows, Pierre, maybe you'll find a secret love among the members of the upper class.”

Pierre laughed, joining in the playful mood, but he knew that, for his friends, it wasn’t just a joke. — “Or maybe I'll find someone who sees me as more than just a low-quality nutritional option!”

Gelub laughed heartily. — “If you don’t find anyone, at least you’ll get to enjoy some good music and the finest drinks the universe has to offer.”

The trio laughed once more, the light-hearted atmosphere filling the conversation. But inwardly, Pierre knew that his friends’ lives weren’t free of challenges. They dealt with daily hardships, worked without guarantees, in a universe where orcs and other species still suffered from prejudice and segregation. Yet, it was this humor, this lightness, that kept them strong—and kept them dreaming.

— “You know, Gelub,” — Pierre remarked, reflecting for a moment. — “You two have a unique way of dealing with difficulties. You turn pain into something easier to digest… like a low-quality nutritional option.”

Gelub smiled, crossing his arms. — “That's how we survive, Pierre. Not everyone handles fear and pain the same way. Some drown in it… we orcs prefer to laugh at it.”

For a moment, Pierre wondered what would be easier—enduring the physical pain of his training or living with the dreams of grandeur that Gelub and Aluora carried. Both seemed equally unattainable.