The school bell rang sharply, echoing through the vast halls of Emberlight Academy, a place known throughout the continent as the cradle of future legends. Its towering buildings, ancient stone walls, and mystical training grounds were built atop the ruins of a battlefield where dragons once clashed with gods. Here, combat was part of the curriculum, and only the strongest, smartest, or most dangerous survived.
Students wearing dark navy uniforms moved through the gates like a flowing tide—some chatting, some sparring, others lost in thought about the upcoming Combat Placement Exams. No one noticed the boy standing still by the front gate, quietly watching.
His name was Drakon, and he was not like the others.
To any ordinary observer, he looked… average. His uniform fit poorly, his shoes were worn-out, and his messy black hair looked like he'd cut it himself. A cheap backpack hung off one shoulder. But if someone looked closely—if they looked into his eyes—they'd see something impossible: a swirling gold deeper than any human eye should hold. Something primal.
Because Drakon wasn't human.
He was a dragon.
Disguised in flesh. Hiding in plain sight.
He took a slow breath. The air was thick with mana and ambition. Emberlight smelled like smoke and challenge—a battlefield in disguise. Just how he liked it.
---
His first class was in 1-C, the Combat Prep division for new students who hadn't yet awakened their full potential. Drakon walked through the hallways, ignoring the curious glances from those who noticed his strange presence. The floor buzzed beneath his feet with arcane enchantments. He felt every heartbeat in the building. Every drop of magical pressure from those around him.
A voice called out behind him.
"Hey! You."
Drakon stopped. A tall boy stepped forward from a group of students, blocking his path. His spiky red hair practically glowed under the ceiling lights, and his smirk screamed arrogance. Two others flanked him, clearly followers.
"You new?" Red-hair asked.
Drakon nodded once. "Class 1-C."
The boy grinned. "Then you're in my class. Welcome. I'm Raze, top of 1-C. Everyone knows the rule—newbies bow when they meet me."
Drakon blinked, expression unreadable. "Bow?"
Raze stepped closer, tone sharpening. "Yeah. Just a little one. Show some respect. Or things get messy."
Drakon didn't move. His voice stayed quiet.
"I bow to no one."
The hallway fell silent. A few students watching from the sides leaned forward. Raze's smile faded, his eyes narrowing.
"You've got guts. Too bad they'll be on the floor after our next training match."
Drakon met his glare without blinking. His golden eyes flashed—just for a second. Not with fear. But with something ancient. Something that said: You're nothing to me.
---
Later, in Class 1-C, the teacher introduced him.
"Class, we have a new student today. Drakon. Transfer student from… a private institution."
Drakon walked to the front with slow, even steps. He didn't smile. He didn't bow. He simply nodded and sat by the window, staring out at the distant mountains as if he were remembering something.
The other students murmured. Some were intrigued. Others were annoyed by his silence. And Raze? He was grinning like a predator. He loved challenges.
The teacher handed out mana control sheets and combat formation guides. But Drakon barely looked at them. He already knew this stuff. He felt it in his bones. Combat magic, chi flow, pressure points—it was instinct to him. As natural as breathing.
That's what happened when you'd lived for hundreds of years as a dragon.
---
At lunch, Drakon sat alone on the rooftop. The wind ruffled his hair as he looked out over the training fields below. Students were already sparring, summoning weapons, testing out low-tier spells.
They were strong for humans. But weak by dragon standards.
He closed his eyes, and for a moment, let his senses stretch beyond the school walls. He could feel something in the distance. A dark presence. Faint, but familiar.
He clenched his fists.
"I'll find you," he whispered. "And this time… I won't show mercy."
---
The rooftop door slammed open. Raze stepped out, flanked by his two followers.
"Thought I'd find you up here. You don't talk much, huh?"
Drakon didn't reply.
"You act like you're better than everyone. But you're in Class 1-C. Bottom of the bottom. You know what that makes you?"
"A student," Drakon said simply.
Raze laughed. "Nah, it makes you prey. And me? I'm the apex predator here. You can talk big, but unless you back it up, no one's gonna care."
He walked closer, cracking his knuckles. His followers moved to block the door.
Drakon stood up. Still calm. Still silent.
Raze smirked. "Let's see if the new kid can take a hit."
He threw a punch straight at Drakon's face.
Faster than anyone could see, Drakon caught it.
The pressure in the air shifted.
Raze's smirk vanished. His fist was trembling—no, his entire arm was. It felt like it had hit a wall made of fire and steel.
Drakon's voice dropped, barely a whisper.
"Do not mistake silence for weakness."
He let go, and Raze stumbled back, his eyes wide.
Drakon didn't attack. He simply turned and walked away.
He didn't need to fight.
Not yet.
---
That night, in the dorms, Drakon sat by the window of his room. The moonlight touched his face, and for a second, his human form flickered. Scales shimmered beneath his skin. His pupils narrowed into slits. Smoke curled from his mouth as he exhaled slowly.
He wasn't here to make friends. He wasn't here for grades or praise.
He was here for revenge.
Because long ago, someone sealed his true form.
Someone took everything from him.
And now… he was going to take it all back.
Starting with this school.