Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

"That lady… who was she, and why were you all so on guard around her?" Greg asked, the question nagging at his mind ever since the tense encounter.

Drakonix leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening as the air around him grew subtly heavier. The levity from earlier had vanished.

"She?" he repeated, his voice low. "She's a being who should've stayed dead. A remnant of a past we all hoped was buried forever. Just like us, she is a leftover from a time long gone. But unlike us… she's the reason our universe is crumbling."

Greg blinked, startled by the gravity in Drakonix's tone.

"She was once known as Rebecca," Drakonix continued, his words slow and deliberate. "A name soaked in tragedy and ruin. If Grey was the hero of that era… then she was its villain. No, more than that—she was the catalyst for the decline of everything. A beacon of corruption that invited disaster upon our world. The very existence of that woman is a signal—an invitation—for threats from beyond to invade our universe."

He shifted his position, sitting upright with a quiet seriousness. "You deserve to know the full picture. So let me start from the beginning—about our world. The central world of the universe, the cradle of existence. Or as we call it… the Origin World."

He took a breath, letting memories flood his expression.

"It was a world vast enough to rival galaxies, a land so immense it could take eons to traverse. The ground itself shimmered with mana-rich veins, and the skies changed color with the thoughts of the world. It didn't orbit a sun—it was the sun. A self-sustaining, sentient world that birthed light, wove seasons, and whispered wind and storm through the will of its own mana. A living, breathing entity."

Greg listened, spellbound.

"But even a god-world like that… wasn't immune to ruin. The majority clans—dragons, celestials, demons—took it all for granted. They were powerful, arrogant, and careless. And their mistakes doomed us all. Though no one dares say it aloud, the true culprits were the Celestial King and the Demon God. They plunged us into chaos."

A flash of bitterness crossed Drakonix's face.

"I still wish I could kill them myself."

Then, with a far-off look, he began the tale.

✧✧✧

The Celestial King and Demon God had succeeded in their grand design—seizing control over their clans from within, like a silent coup veiled in ceremony and diplomacy. Their names were once respected… but behind their smiles hid centuries of calculation.

"Father, should we really let them walk free?" a younger Drakonix asked, tension thick in his voice.

His father, the Dragon King—regal and formidable, with golden horns and scales that shimmered with frost and flame—sat upon his throne carved from obsidian and bone.

"It's their clan," the king replied, his voice indifferent. "They can do what they wish with it."

That response, simple as it was, sealed the fate of many. The Dragon King's inaction, shared by the other majority clan leaders, allowed the Celestial King and Demon God to cement their power, reshaping their factions into personal armies. They moved with patience, consolidating influence in shadows, presenting no immediate threat to give others reason to strike.

The world, for a time, was calm. But it was the stillness before a storm.

✧✧✧

Then came the disappearances.

A dragon guard, armored in gleaming crimson scales, knelt before the throne. "My Lord," he said with urgency. "The minority clans are voicing serious concerns. Their people are vanishing—one by one. The pattern is unmistakable. Someone is taking them."

Drakonix's father narrowed his eyes. His slit pupils, cold and sharp, flickered with quiet irritation. His clawed fingers tapped slowly against the golden armrest of his throne.

"Have you identified a cause?" he asked.

"No, my Lord. We've deployed scouts and investigators, but there are no clear traces. The kidnappers leave no mana residue… no tracks."

The Dragon King waved a hand. "Then continue the investigation. In the meantime, send emissaries to calm the clans. Panic breeds rebellion."

"Yes, my Lord." The guard bowed low and departed swiftly.

Watching from beside the throne, Drakonix clenched his jaw.

"Father," he said, "I want to join the investigation. This can't be ignored."

"You are the heir to the throne," the king said, tone final. "Such tasks are beneath you."

"But Father—!"

"The minority clans won't be foolish enough to wage war against us," the Dragon King interrupted. "They know their place."

Drakonix sat back, fuming. He knew otherwise.

He'd visited their lands, hidden beneath cloaks and illusion spells, walking among humans, goblins, treants, and foxfolk. He'd observed their sorrow… their fear… their quiet rage. Especially the humans—so frail, yet capable of unthinkable tenacity. They might bow and scrape now, but when pushed too far, they would burn with fury and fight like cornered beasts. That kind of desperation… could ignite a world war.

But his father, in his pride, saw them as nothing more than ants beneath a dragon's claw.

The kidnappings grew worse.

Humans—especially young women—were taken. The fox tribes, famed for their beauty, suffered heavily. Goblins and orcs vanished in clusters. Entire families disappeared overnight. No one was safe, not even royalty. One night, the daughter of the human king was taken from within the castle walls.

Desperation finally drove the minority clans to act.

A delegation, led by a human elder cloaked in humble robes, came to the Dragon King's court. Behind him stood members of the other minor races—orc chieftains, dryad priestesses, anxious fox-kin. The king knelt, lowering his head in deference.

"My Lord… we beg for your help," he began, voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Our people vanish by the day. We fear extinction. We—"

"Is that all?" the Dragon King interrupted, voice sharp and bored.

The king faltered, eyes widening.

"…Yes, my Lord," he said quietly, forcing a bow. His pride tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Then leave," the Dragon King said, waving him off. "I've already sent a team to investigate. Exercise patience."

The elder hesitated, lips quivering. "But… but they've found nothing," he whispered. "Weeks have passed. Not a single trace. No progress."

"So?" the Dragon King asked, tone flat.

"…So perhaps we are not important to you," the king snapped, his voice rising against his will. "We are just minor clans—what can we do, right?"

His anger was raw, desperate, and dangerous.

All eyes turned to him.

A silence fell across the hall.