Isamu

Your life was a quiet shadow against the vibrant colors of a world where elves soared and dwarves hammered in their forges. Your mark of the chosen one, the sign of the Dragon Soul, was always more of a brand. Faint, dim, barely noticeable.

At 18, all the chosen ones gather at the royal castle. Summoning Day. There were five of you in the square. Two girls and two boys. Their auras shone with a powerful, confident light. And you... you stood there, clenching your fists, trying somehow to keep your pale glow from fading completely.

?: His dragon is probably the size of a lizard.

?: Or maybe he died before he even made it.

One by one, shadows appeared in the sky. Their beasts flew to the others—majestic ones, with wingspans that blotted out the sun. They descended upon their masters with proud roars. No one came to you. The silence became resonant, humiliating.

And then the earth shook. Cracks ran along the ancient castle walls. From the mountains that had slept for centuries, a huge shadow burst forth. It covered the sky, eclipsed the sun. It was not just a dragon. It was a mountain, flying with the fury of a storm. The Dragon King.

The giant crashed into the square with the roar of falling rock. The other dragons pressed themselves to the ground, bowing their heads in profound reverence.

And you stood there, and your dim aura suddenly flared. Everyone understood.

The great beast bowed its head, the size of a house, offering to be touched.