Dragon summoner

The egg hovered higher, now circling him slowly, as if guarding him. Or choosing him.

And in that moment, he understood one thing clearly:

This power… it came with a price.

But it was also the key to the truth — about his mother, the darkness rising… and the fate of everything.

The glow from his hands was fading when suddenly — the temperature dropped.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Something was watching him.

He turned toward the doorway — but there was no one. The light bulb above flickered once. Then again. Then everything went dark.

The egg darted back into his hand like a frightened creature. And from the blackened corner of the storeroom… something stepped forward.

At first, it looked human. Tall. Pale. Dressed in dark, ragged cloth that seemed to shift like smoke. But its face — no. That was wrong. Its eyes were completely black, as if someone had carved voids into its skull. Its smile stretched too wide. And its voice…

"So… the Heir awakens."

It didn't speak out loud — it hissed straight into his mind.

Vishu stepped back instinctively, clutching the egg to his chest.

"Who… what are you?"

The creature's smile twitched.

"I am the first shadow. The one sent to see if the stories were true."

Without warning, it lunged.

But before fear could paralyze him, his body moved on its own — reacting.

The moment the creature's clawed hand came close, a burst of blue flame erupted from his palm, knocking it back into the shelves with a thunderous crash.

He stared at his hand. Did I do that?

The creature growled, dragging itself upright, smoke rising from its chest.

"You don't even know what you are. Yet you dare use the flame."

It charged again — faster this time.

Vikram didn't think. He felt. The egg pulsed against his chest, guiding him. Power surged again through his veins — brighter, hotter.

He thrust both hands forward.

A wave of flame and light exploded outward — blinding, searing — and this time, the creature screamed. The scream wasn't human. It was broken, ancient, filled with rage and pain.

And then — silence.

When the light faded, the creature was gone. Burnt ash swirled where it had stood. Only the echo of its voice remained, hissing faintly through the room:

"They will come for you now… saviour."

Vikram stood in the dark, chest heaving, hands still glowing faintly.

He had fought something not of this world… and won.

But now he knew — the awakening was no secret anymore.

The world — and its shadows — had felt it.

He quickly shoved the egg in his pocket.

"But before anything else... I need to learn how to control these powers," he muttered, clenching his fists with determination.

Just as he turned to leave the dim, dust-laden storeroom, an uneasy sensation prickled his spine. His eyes were drawn to the cracked old mirror leaning against the wall — but something was off. Within its glassy surface, something shimmered... not a reflection, but the faint silhouette of a long, slender stick — almost like a staff — suspended in a silvery fog behind the glass.

"What the hell..." he whispered.

Without thinking, he rushed forward and slammed his fist into the mirror — but nothing shattered. Not even a crack. Frustrated, he growled, "What good are these powers if I can't even break a damn mirror?" He hurled another punch — this time, instead of bouncing back, his hand slipped through the glass as though it were thick, living slime.

His breath caught in his throat. Eyes wide with disbelief, he yanked his arm back, heart pounding.

"What... is this?" he whispered, staring at the liquid-like surface now rippling gently.

Driven by a strange pull — curiosity or fate — he reached out again, this time slowly. His hand disappeared into the mirror with ease. He groped through the strange, cold substance until his fingers closed around something solid — the stick.

No... not a stick. A staff. Old, ornate, pulsing faintly with a strange warmth.

He tightened his grip and pulled.

It didn't budge.

He gritted his teeth and pulled harder. "Come on... come on!" he groaned, straining with all his might. Whatever held the staff in place fought back, like it was anchored in some other world.

Exhausted and drenched in sweat, he dropped to his knees, still gripping the strange object inside the mirror. "Mom..." he breathed out, voice trembling, "What is this? I've tried everything... but I can't pull it out."

His fingers began to slip. His strength was fading.

But then—something changed.

Just as his grip loosened, the staff twitched.

He froze.

The stick — no, the thing — moved. Not away from him, but with him. As if it had been waiting for the moment he stopped forcing it.

With wide, astonished eyes, he slowly pulled again — and this time, the resistance was gone. Smoothly, effortlessly, the staff began to slide out of the mirror, as if the mirror itself was surrendering it into his hands.

In moments, it was fully out.

He stared at it, speechless. A long, ancient-looking staff — dark, sleek, yet glowing faintly from within, as though it held something alive inside.

"Finally..." he whispered, his breath shaking. "It's here."

Curiosity surged through him. Slowly, reverently, he ran his hand along the length of the staff — from the worn grip to the very top. But the moment his fingers brushed the entire length—

The staff trembled.

Then it shook violently in his grasp.

"What the—?"

A blinding flash of blue light erupted from it.

BOOM!

He stumbled back, shielding his eyes.

When the light faded, his hands were no longer holding a staff — but a sword. A magnificent, gleaming blue sword. Its blade shimmered like it had been forged from lightning. A fierce dragon was carved into its hilt, coiled and majestic, its eyes glowing with the same ethereal blue.

It felt alive. Powerful. Meant for him.

He stood there in awe, heart pounding, unable to speak.

The weapon in his hand was no ordinary blade.

It was a beginning.

His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of the sword. It thrummed in his grip, like a living creature recognizing its master.

The air around him crackled.

He took a cautious step back, still inside the old storeroom, and raised the sword in front of him. Light from its glowing blade reflected across the dusty walls, illuminating the shadows.

"Let's see what you can do," he murmured.

He swung it once — the blade sliced cleanly through the air, humming with energy. The sound wasn't just metal moving — it was something deeper, a resonant tone that seemed to echo in his bones.

He aimed at an old wooden shelf in the corner. With a swift strike, the sword carved through the thick wood like it was paper. The shelf collapsed with a crash, broken clean in half.

He stood frozen, staring.

"This thing..." he whispered, stunned, "It's not just a weapon... it's something else."