"Death... it's something that comes for everyone, right? Even when we least expect it."
That's what I was thinking as I lay on my hospital bed, dying.
How did I die, you ask? Simple.
Cancer.
Yeah, I know—anticlimactic, isn't it? No explosions, no isekai truck. Just the slow fade-out kind of death.
People always ask: "Do you have regrets?"
Yeah, a lot actually.
Maybe I didn't live a fulfilling life.
Maybe I made the wrong choices.
But as I lay there, surrounded by people I cared about, one thought crossed my mind:
"I wish I could live again."
[Wish granted. The Voice of the World has heard you.]
"...Huh?"
[Soul has been checked. Memories have been scanned. World selected. Time for soul transfer.
Welcome to your new world, Thomas... or should I say: Albion.]
I blinked.
Okay, I would've blinked—if my body wasn't currently turning into a gooey light show.
At first, I thought it was just a weird dream or a hallucination from the morphine.
But then I moved... and I felt... and everything changed.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in a hospital bed.
I was in a massive, ornate bedroom. The ceiling sparkled with gems. There were floating candles. The whole place looked like it belonged in an ancient fantasy novel or one of those ridiculous card game backstories.
I staggered over to a mirror—well, window first, actually—and there, staring back at me, was a child.
White hair, streaked with glowing blue lines. Big blue eyes. Pale skin.
Wearing some fancy Victorian-era-looking noble kid outfit.
For a second, I thought: Huh, not bad, I look like an anime prince.
Then I noticed the wings.
Big, beautiful, white dragon wings, stretching from my back.
They shimmered in the sunlight like they were made of moonlight and pearl.
That was when my brain tapped out.
I flopped backwards onto a soft, massive bed like a wet sack of potatoes.
I didn't even try to sit up again for a good ten minutes.
Because, oh yeah—then the memories hit.
Five years' worth.
Of this life.
Of being called Albion, the Dragon Prince.
Of being born in the Monster World.
I closed my eyes and groaned into the silk pillows.
"...Is this what having a full consciousness feels like?
Also... where the hell am I?"
[To the reader: From now on, the story will be in 3rd Person—because writing in 1st Person is a pain in the ass.]
Albion looked around his room.
It was big—really big. Ornate pillars, gold-trimmed furniture, velvet curtains, a bed that could probably fit five kids, and walls so polished he could see his reflection in them. The room screamed noble. Not just any noble, but a high-ranking one.
It was obvious by now:
He wasn't in his old world anymore.
Not that he needed the decor to figure that out.
The giant dragon wings on his back were kind of a giveaway.
Add to that the flood of memories that weren't his but also were, and yeah—this wasn't Kansas.
He didn't fully understand this new world yet, or what exactly was going on. Everything was strange and unfamiliar.
To Albion, it was all new. And confusing. And just a little sparkly.
Then—
Knock knock.
His instincts kicked in and he scrambled to make himself look like he was asleep.
Hey, if pretending to be unconscious worked in video games and anime, it could work here too.
A calm voice came from behind the door.
"Young Prince, are you awake?"
It sounded like a young man—probably a servant or attendant.
Albion stayed completely still, keeping his eyes closed. From the memories he got, his five-year-old self was still very much a nap demon. Sleeping in was in character.
The door creaked open.
Albion kept his breathing steady, body relaxed—trying his best to look like the world's most innocent and definitely-not-panicking child prince.
Apparently, it worked.
The footsteps inside were soft. Light. The voice returned—closer now, quieter.
"Still asleep, huh…"
The man let out a small chuckle and gently adjusted the blanket over Albion before walking out, closing the door behind him with a click.
As soon as he was gone, Albion cracked one eye open.
"…Holy hell, that worked."
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Okay... okay. Time to figure out where the hell I am... and why I look like a JRPG final boss's adorable baby form."
Albion rolled out of bed.
Not gracefully. Not dramatically.
He flopped right off the side like a sack of potatoes and landed square on his butt.
Or… he was supposed to.
Instead, he kind of just hovered midair for a second before gently touching the ground like a feather. No pain. No bump. No "ouchie." Just a soft little "plop."
"…Okay. Dragon perks. Got it."
He stared at his wings, then at his tail, then back at the spot he'd just landed.
Physics? What physics?
Getting up, he looked around the room again, hoping—praying—for anything that could explain where exactly he was and what kind of world this was.
Unfortunately… no dice.
No books. No maps. Not even a baby encyclopedia.
Just toys.
Stuffed plush monsters (some of which looked suspiciously like Dragonmaid lore monsters), drawing paper, blocks, a wooden dragon figurine that might actually be alive (he chose not to poke it), and a whole lot of princely decor meant to keep a five-year-old occupied.
Which is when it hit him.
Like, full-force slap-to-the-face realization.
That man… he called him "Young Prince."
Prince.
Prince.
PRINCE.
Albion's eye twitched.
He slowly sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and grinned like a maniac.
"…I'm a Prince."
Then it sank in.
He was a Prince.
A literal, royal, dragon-winged, five-year-old Prince.
"…Oh f**k."
Albion sat on the floor, his small hands gripping the soft carpet as he stared at the door. The room was silent again, the butler having left after assuming the young prince was asleep. Slowly, Albion stood up, wings twitching behind him. They felt... natural, even if he'd only had them for a few minutes.
He wandered to the window and pulled aside the curtain. What he saw took his breath away.
A castle. No, his castle.
It stretched across a mountain ridge, the walls made of shining silver stone, polished to the point where the morning sun bounced off it like it was forged from light itself. Dragons flew in the distance, some small, some the size of warships, each carrying noble sigils and glowing eyes. The sky was an endless sea of blue, broken only by floating islands and far-off spires that pierced the clouds.
Albion blinked. "Yeah... not Kansas."
Then he heard it.
A small, polite knock at the door.
He turned around. This time, he didn't pretend to sleep. He stood still, back straight, trying to copy how he imagined royalty should behave.
The door opened slowly, revealing a girl no older than her late teens, dressed in a maid outfit. Long black hair, crimson eyes, and a calm, composed expression. She stepped in with a small bow.
"Young Prince Albion," she said, her voice smooth like silk. "You're awake. That's good. Breakfast will be served soon. Lady Chame is waiting."
Albion stared. He blinked.
"...Wait. Chame?"
The maid looked up, puzzled. "Yes. Lady Chamber. One of your attendants. She specifically requested to personally handle your meals today."
Albion felt his soul leave his body. He wasn't just in some fantasy world. He was in it. With them.
He whispered to himself, "What kind of wish-fulfilment story did I reincarnate into...?"
"Pardon?" the maid asked, tilting her head.
"Nothing! Just... lead the way."
The maid bowed slightly again and stepped aside. Albion followed, his small feet tapping on the polished floor. The hallways were massive, clearly built for beings much larger than children—or even adults.
As they turned the corner, a familiar figure stood waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
She was beautiful, with long flowing hair, light-green eyes, and an elegance that radiated authority. Her uniform was more refined than the other maids', adorned with golden accents and a brooch shaped like a dragon crest.
[Insert Image of Chamber Dragonmaid]
One big difference between her and the card he knew was that she was his age; yup, she looked like a 5-year-old Cosplaying a maid. This is thanks to him reading way too many Web novels in his Hospital Bed when he thought his Cancer could be fixed.
It meant she was probably a child of one the maid's, that was put as one of his Personal Maid's.
Albion tilted his head, staring at her like she was some ultra-rare collectible figure brought to life. She looked exactly like the Dragonmaid he remembered from the card game—if said Dragonmaid had been hit with the "kidification beam" from every anime ever.
The little maid looked up at him with a perfectly practiced smile. "Young Master, please hurry. The food will grow cold."
Albion blinked a few more times, still trying to process. "Right. Of course. Food. Chame. Yeah."
He followed her down the grand stairway, where marble met velvet, and the air carried the faint scent of incense and roasted meat. The castle wasn't just large—it was massive. Meant to house dragons, clearly. The paintings on the wall were of great winged beasts soaring above kingdoms, and in one tapestry, a young white dragon stood among kings and queens.
Albion had a sneaking suspicion that dragon was him.
Chame led him into a wide dining hall, the ceiling covered in glittering crystals. A table that could seat fifty stood in the center, yet only one place was set—with gold-trimmed dishes and a ridiculously cute tea set.
Chame helped him into his seat with the sort of seriousness that could only come from a child taking her job very seriously. She poured him tea with expert precision and placed the first dish in front of him.
It was toast. Perfectly cut. Shaped like a dragon.
Albion stared at it.
Chame beamed. "I helped make it."
"You... really take your job seriously, huh?"
She puffed her chest out with pride. "Of course! I am your personal maid. I'll be the best there is!"
Albion held back a laugh, smiling instead. "Alright, alright. You win. Thanks, Chame."
As he picked up the fork, he couldn't help but think how absolutely surreal this was. Reincarnated into a world of dragons, living in a castle, and now he had a pint-sized dragonmaid declaring her loyalty like she was applying for a job.
His new life was going to be insane.
But maybe, just maybe…
He could actually enjoy it.
Meanwhile outside of the Castle, in between Border, a Giant White Dragon Roar, as he bits into another Dragon, a Blue Eyes White Dragon slams him into the ground
The Blue Eyes White Dragon Slammed to the ground, defeated, as the White Dragon then took the form of a Human with a White Dragon wing; he had long white hair and a sword strapped to his waist, a sharp face, and marks on his face, that was scales.
The man looked at Blue Eyes White Dragon as he spoke. "It is up to you, old Friends. You would rather Join me in my Nation. You and the Faction will forever be welcomed, or you can join the other nation, but trying to overthrow my family will never happen".
The Blue-Eyes White Dragon slowly stirred, its massive body battered and bruised. Its once-pristine scales were chipped, and its breath came in short bursts. The ancient dragon glared up at the white-haired man, growling lowly as it began to shrink, light enveloping its form.
Moments later, standing amidst the scorched battlefield was a tall, regal woman. Her hair was a shimmering silver-blue, her eyes glowing like polished sapphires. She wore an armoured dress adorned with the sigil of her kind — the Azure Crest of the Legendary Dragon.
She wiped blood from her lips, but her stance remained defiant.
"You've grown stronger, Albion the Second," she said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Too strong for a hatchling who once clung to my wing."
The man, Albion The Second and Albion Father — narrowed his eyes. "And you've grown tired, Elzera. The era of endless war among dragons is over. My son will bring about the new age — one where our kind no longer hides behind pride and fire."
Elzera crossed her arms. "Your son... The hatchling born under the Twin Comets?" Her tone was unreadable, but there was a faint trace of intrigue. "The prophecies speak much about him. Too much."
Albion the White nodded. "And all of it is true. The Dragon Prince will rise. And I will not let anyone, not even you, threaten his future."
Elzera looked to the horizon, where storm clouds brewed behind distant mountains — the borders of the other nations.
"…Very well," she said at last. "We will not join the other factions. Not yet. But neither shall we swear loyalty to your line, not until I see the boy with my own eyes."
Albion turned his back, the wind catching his cloak and white wings as he began to walk away. "That day will come, Elzera. And when it does… I hope you'll stand beside him."
He vanished into the storm, leaving the Blue-Eyes Dragoness standing alone, watching the skies above the silver castle where a young boy, unaware of his destiny, laughed over a dragon-shaped toast.
Back in the Castle, a few hours had passed, and as Albion was with Chame, he tried to get context clues for what it was like and right now, he was busy putting things together as he was drinking Tea.
Albion sat with his legs dangling off the edge of a cushioned bench in the courtyard garden, a cup of tea in his tiny hands—thankfully cooled down so he didn't scald his royal baby tongue. Across from him sat Chame, daintily sipping her own cup like the world's most elegant five-year-old maid. Her pinky was up. Of course, it was.
He watched her for a moment, then turned to glance at a passing guard… who just so happened to have what looked suspiciously like a Red-Eyes Black Dragon sigil etched into his chestplate.
Yeah. Not suspicious at all.
Albion narrowed his eyes at his teacup. Was this world a weird Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfiction? Or some messed up fantasy isekai inspired by the cards? Or both?
Chame tilted her head. "Is the tea not to your liking, Young Master?"
Albion blinked. "Huh? No, no—it's good. Very... herbal." He wasn't even sure what kind of leaf was in it. For all he knew, it was steeped in phoenix sweat.
Chame smiled brightly, completely unaware of his existential crisis. "That's wonderful. Lady Chamber insists on brewing it personally. She says it builds character!"
Albion raised an eyebrow. "By scalding your tongue?"
"She says true strength begins in the throat."
"…She sounds terrifying."
"She is!" Chame beamed.
Albion coughed and looked away, focusing on the castle towers in the distance. He tried sorting through the scattered memories of his younger self. What little he could gather told him that he was in one of the most powerful but not respect nations—probably the capital of the "Blue Territory" of dragons. Seven Nations, each ruled or inhabited by powerful Monster, and his family ruled one of them.
He had a title, too: Albion the Third, also called Albion Blue, son of Albion White, who, from context alone, was a walking, talking, dragon-punching legend.
Classic setup. He could practically hear the light novel narrator: "Born into a world of dragons and destinies, a terminally ill otaku is reborn as the son of the strongest dragon lord—can he survive the expectations of a legend and uncover the truth behind the Seven Nations?"
He groaned and slumped into the bench. "Yep. I'm living a trope."
Chame, meanwhile, was humming a song about burnt toast dragons and fireproof aprons.
Albion sighed again. "...And now I've got a maid who's basically a five-year-old gacha waifu."
Life was weird.
To be continued
Hope people like this Ch and Give me Power stones, this is my First Yu-Gi-Oh fanfic so hope People like it, and enjoy