As Lin Xian stepped into the sacred heart of the scroll vault, the walls shimmered with ancient runes, each one humming with barely contained power. The scent of old ink and spirit herbs clung to the air like a forgotten memory.
At the center stood a stone pedestal, atop which rested a coiled jade dragon. Its eyes, two rubies that pulsed like a heartbeat, stared directly at him.
"You carry the blood," the dragon's voice echoed not in his ears, but in his soul. "But blood alone is not enough."
Lin Xian knelt instinctively. "Then what must I give?"
"Your past. Your pride. Your path must be reborn."
In that moment, a pact was forged—not with a beast, but with a will older than empires. Flames of emerald surged from the dragon, searing into Lin Xian's veins. Pain lanced through him, but so did clarity.
Visions burst into his mind—of battles yet to come, of allies he had yet to meet, and of a throne not of gold, but of fate itself.
When the fire faded, the jade dragon crumbled into dust. Lin Xian stood, eyes glowing, breath steady. He wasn't just a man anymore.
He was the chosen heir of the Dragon System.