Dragon summoner

Vishu searched the entire storeroom, tearing through dusty trunks, forgotten shelves, and cobwebbed corners with trembling hands and desperate eyes. Shadows loomed large in the dim light, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

Then — hidden beneath an old tattered blanket — something caught his eye.

A black box.

Worn. Dusty. Ancient.

Its surface was scarred with time, and yet… something about it felt familiar.

He knelt down slowly, his breath catching in his throat. The moment his fingers brushed against the box's rough surface, a strange warmth surged through him — as if the object had been waiting for his touch all these years

What is this...?" he whispered, heart pounding like thunder.

He carefully opened it, his hands trembling. Inside, wrapped in fragile silence, were a few old belongings — untouched, sacred.

A faded photograph — yellowed with age, the edges curled like wilted petals.

The image was blurry, but there was a woman... her smile soft, eyes deep with emotion. His breath hitched.

"Is this… her?"

He stared, transfixed. Something in her face — maybe the shape of her eyes, or the curve of her lips — mirrored his own.

He found a few pieces of clothing — delicate, carefully folded, carrying the faintest scent of something sweet and forgotten. He held one to his face, inhaling deeply as if trying to breathe in a memory.

And then, tucked beneath the clothes, a small, simple box.

It had no lock. No engravings. Just smooth wood, plain and unassuming. But it felt heavy — not in weight, but in meaning. As if it held something far more important than its appearance suggested.

Vishu stared at it, his fingers resting on the lid.

"This box… it feels like it knows me."

He hesitated for a moment, as if opening it might unleash not just the truth, but the pain of everything he had suffered all that time.

Then, with a steadying breath, he opened it.

Inside the simple wooden box, cushioned by a bed of faded red velvet, lay something entirely unexpected.

A small egg.

Jet black. Smooth. Cold to the touch.

It looked lifeless — like stone — as though it had never known warmth, never held a spark of life within it.

Vishu frowned, confused.

"An egg…?" he whispered, reaching out slowly.There was something eerie about it, yet something… familiar, like the box itself.

His fingers hovered above it for a moment, trembling with hesitation. Then he touched it.

In that instant — everything changed.The egg pulsed.

A faint glow — deep sapphire blue — rippled beneath its surface, like a heartbeat awakening from a long, ancient sleep. The coldness vanished, replaced by a growing warmth that spread into his fingertips, up his arm, and into his chest.Vishu gasped and stumbled back, the box falling from his lap — but the egg didn't roll or break. Instead, it floated… just a little above the velvet, gently humming, as if it had recognized him.The storeroom around him faded into silence. The dust, the darkness — everything seemed to pause.

He stared, wide-eyed.

"What… are you?" he whispered.The egg pulsed again in response, glowing brighter, almost… alive.

Then a whisper echoed in the back of his mind — not a sound, but a presence. A feeling.

Not words, but a voice without a mouth.

"You are not alone."

His heart raced.

This wasn't just a relic. This wasn't just a keepsake from his mother's past.

This was something more.Something alive. Something ancient.

And somehow… tied to him.Then, the strange, floating egg gently descended and landed on his palm. A jolt ran through his body — not of pain, but of something unknown, something ancient. What is this? he wondered, staring at the weightless, obsidian-black shell. An egg that floats… how could it end up hidden among his mother's belongings? And more importantly — what was its connection to her?

His fingers trembled slightly, yet the egg remained steady, almost as if it wanted to be there. He could feel it — not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. It was as if the egg was alive, aware of him. He sensed a silent bond forming between them, fragile yet powerful.

Can this strange thing… help me understand my mother? The thought pierced him, stirring the ache he buried deep inside. As his heart sank into sorrow, the egg began to dim, its glow fading, its shell turning dull. It withered — as if it, too, was grieving.

He gasped. It feels what I feel... And just then, a terrifying yet beautiful possibility dawned on him:

This egg isn't just alive. It's connected — to her… and to me.

Compelled by something deep within, he reached out and touched the egg again.

The moment his fingers brushed its surface, the world around him dissolved into mist. A dense, swirling fog enveloped everything — colorless, endless, silent. The air was thick with an ancient stillness. He couldn't see his hands, couldn't hear his heartbeat. It was as if time had stopped.

Then, out of the silence, a voice echoed — soft yet powerful, like a whisper carried by the wind and thunder all at once.

"You are not alone…"

He froze. The voice wasn't just heard — it was felt, resonating inside his bones, inside his very soul.

The fog around him began to shimmer faintly. Shapes moved within it — vague, broken shadows of beings he couldn't name. Yet he felt no fear. Only awe.

The voice continued:

"You are the destined one… The bearer of the forgotten light."

"Within you lies the purity and innocence that can breathe life into the lifeless."

"What the world has lost… you can restore."

His breath hitched.

"Only you can awaken what sleeps… Only you can save them — and us — from what is coming."

The mist swirled faster now, revealing fragments of a world torn apart — burning skies, crumbling cities, monstrous silhouettes rising from the shadows. Screams. Darkness. Desperation.

And then — light. Blinding, pure. Flowing from his hands. The egg glowing with power. A force spreading like dawn through the world.

And just as suddenly, he was back — kneeling in the dusty storeroom, the egg resting in his palm once again, but now pulsing softly with warmth and life.

His heart pounded.

Who was that voice?

What was this egg?

What did it mean… that he was the "saviour" of them all?

He clenched his hand gently around the egg.

One thing was certain now:

This wasn't just about his mother anymore.

It was about a destiny far bigger than he ever imagined.

As he sat there, the egg still cradled in his palm, a sudden warmth began to surge through his veins — like fire, but without pain. His breath caught. The room trembled softly, and a faint blue glow flickered from his fingertips.

The egg responded instantly — rising an inch above his palm, suspended in the air, spinning slowly. It glowed brighter than ever before, casting strange reflections across the walls like water and light fused together. Something ancient was awakening.

Then came the pulse.

A wave of raw energy exploded outward from the egg, yet nothing in the room moved except him. His back arched, eyes wide, as visions flashed across his mind — voices, forgotten languages, symbols burned in light, and a blazing sky split by wings.

His arms flared with energy — vibrant, flickering strands of blue flame danced along his skin, wrapping around his fingers like serpents made of light.

He gasped. What… is happening to me?

He stumbled to his knees as power surged through his body — not violent, but overwhelming. It was as if every cell in him was waking up for the first time. His senses sharpened: he could hear the ticking of the old clock two rooms away, smell the dust that hadn't been disturbed in years, feel the energy of the world itself humming beneath his feet.

He looked at his hands — they were glowing. Alive. He wasn't just a boy anymore.

Then he heard it — the same voice from the mist, echoing softly in the back of his mind:

"The awakening has begun."

"Now the world will seek you — some to follow, some to destroy".