The world blurred around them—trees streaking past in vertical green smudges, dry twigs snapping beneath their feet, wind tearing against their face. The rhythmic thud of their heartbeat echoed inside the body's chest like a war drum. They ran—fast, mind clear, breath jagged.
But the prince's voice still came through, breathy and tight in his tone. "Run faster!" he barked, though it was hardly necessary.
Amid the adrenaline, the body spoke out loud, half-gasping, "What… what was that sensation… just now?"
The prince responded between audible huffs, "When someone's magic power… is vastly higher than yours… that feeling strikes."
The body's eyes narrowed. The sensation had been cold—like something ancient brushing its gaze across his very soul. Not fear. Not instinct. Something deeper.
"So," the body thought with sharp clarity, "that wasn't fear… That was complete dominance."
The kind of power that didn't just intimidate—it commanded.
"Another question," he said aloud, dodging a thick root as he sprinted.
"Ask," the prince answered, breath still shaky—still… human.
The body didn't miss it. "Why are you huffing like that?" he asked, slightly annoyed. "You're not even doing the running. You're dead—or sort of."
A silence followed.
Then, as if embarrassed to be caught out, the prince replied in a quieter voice, "Ah… yeah. I… forgot that I'm somewhat dead." His words were slow, heavy. A little hollow.
The body didn't respond immediately.
"So, even a dead prince forgets he's dead," the body thought with a twinge of irony.
But deep down, he didn't mock him for it. Because when you're buried in someone else's memories—forced to feel what they've lost—sometimes you forget whose heart it is that aches.
The volcano's roar pulsed again in the distance, like a second heartbeat in the sky.
They kept running.
The forest roared with the tremble of the distant volcano. Leaves flailed in the wind like they were trying to flee, and every tree groaned under the pressure of something greater, older, and unforgiving. The body ran—feet pounding against the soft earth, heart thundering like a war drum.
This armor… it's not that heavy, the body mused, pushing through a curtain of branches. But I can feel it… this body is weak. Fragile. Not trained to endure, not built for survival.
His mind sharpened on that realization. So it takes more than strength. More than power. You need will. You need pain. You need scars that teach you how to live.
From within, the prince stirred—his presence barely more than a ripple in the sea of thought, but still there. Still tethered.
"…I'm sorry," the prince said softly, the words carrying the weight of unspoken truths. "That I am… so weak."
There was no deflection, no excuse in his voice—just raw guilt, bare and quiet. The kind of shame that doesn't scream but bleeds slowly.
The wind howled louder as if the world had heard his sorrow.
The body said nothing for a moment, letting the sound of the rushing storm fill the silence between them. But even as they sprinted, dodging fallen branches and leaping over twisted roots, the body felt it—that flicker of honesty. That shared pulse of regret.
Still, he ran—not just to survive, but for the boy inside him.
For the prince who'd never had a chance to be strong.
He Increases his speed.
The wind, which had been howling moments before, suddenly ceased. A suffocating silence blanketed the night, heavy and unnatural. Even the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of nocturnal creatures were swallowed by an eerie stillness. The very air seemed to shudder in anticipation.
The body's owner instinctively tightened his grip on control, muscles tensing as if bracing for an unseen force. The night sky, painted in deep crimson hues, shimmered as if bleeding into reality itself. And then—
Boom!
Something immense crashed onto the ground, shattering the silence like glass. The impact sent tremors rippling through the earth, cracks spiderwebbing beneath its monstrous weight. The very air trembled in response. Dust and embers rose into the sky, mixing with the already tainted red glow of the night.
The body's owner took a sharp breath, his hands clenching into fists. His eyes darted through the thickening haze, trying to make sense of the towering silhouette before him. It was massive—larger than anything he had ever seen. Wings, like molten obsidian, folded against its back, steaming as they cooled from flight. Scales gleamed like polished rubies, reflecting the dim moonlight in an otherworldly glow. The creature's breath alone radiated heat, making the air waver as if the world itself was set aflame.
He swallowed hard. "What… What is this humongous thing?" he asked, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance, his body preparing for whatever nightmare had just landed.
A voice echoed in his mind, one laced with both fear and grim acknowledgment. That… the prince's voice faltered for a moment before continuing, that is the most dangerous creature in the entire kingdom.
The body's owner stiffened. "You know what this is?"
The prince took a shaky mental breath before uttering the name like an ancient curse. The Crimson Dragon…
A silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of those words.
The volcano is his home, the prince continued, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. And he is the ruler here.
At that moment, the dragon shifted. Its golden eyes, like twin molten suns, snapped toward them. A deep, guttural rumble reverberated through the air, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. The heat intensified.
The body's owner felt a cold sweat drip down his back. He had thought himself ready for whatever was coming. He had been wrong.
Because this wasn't just a beast.
This was a king.
And they were in his domain.