The first warrior of the Ivory Dragon

O5. Abyssal Contours

The rustling of leaves and the gentle chirping of birds slowly pulled you from the depths of sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, and you felt a strange sensation, as if your body was lighter, almost ethereal. Blinking rapidly, you took in your surroundings, which felt both familiar and distant, like a half-remembered dream.

"Finally awake, are you, youngster?" a familiar voice called out, pulling your attention forward. It was one of the elders from your village, their wrinkled face creased with a kind smile.

Wait, your village?

You gasped slightly, your heart racing as you tried to process what you were seeing. The peaceful village where you grew up stretched out before you, its quaint houses and cobblestone paths bathed in the soft morning light. It was an old memory, a place you hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity.

"A-ah..." you stammered, the word barely escaping your lips as you tried to focus on the scene before you. The nostalgia washed over you, mingling with confusion and a strange sense of longing.

For a moment, you felt a profound sense of relief, mixed with the bittersweet ache of a time long past. This was a simpler time, before the battles and the harsh training, before the weight of expectations had settled on your shoulders.

As you took a deep breath, the familiar scents of your village filled your lungs, grounding you in this peaceful, fleeting moment of the past.

"What happened to you?" the elder asked, their brows knitting together in concern as they peered at you. "You were spacing out for a while there."

"I- uhm... sorry..." you mumbled, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. The elder let out a soft, knowing chuckle, their warm presence a comforting contrast to your swirling emotions.

"It is tiring, taking care of that garden by yourself, isn’t it?" they said, their voice gentle yet carrying the weight of experience. "It’s hard work, nurturing life. Harder still to sustain it and help it grow."

Their words struck a chord deep within you, and you suddenly felt a pang of sorrow as your vision began to blur. Memories of the garden you once tended flashed before your eyes—the vibrant colors of the flowers, the scent of freshly tilled earth, the peace it brought you before everything changed.

Before the attack.

The elder continued, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. "It seems Mother Nature favors you. You’re the only one who could coax such beauty from the earth, the only one who can do it."

Their words echoed in your mind, and the once bright scene around you began to dim. The village, the garden, the elder’s kind face—everything started to fade into darkness, leaving you alone with the weight of their final words.

"Change it."

The command hung in the air, heavy with an ominous tone. The serenity of your village was gone, replaced by a cold emptiness that gripped your heart. You were no longer in the safety of your memory; the darkness was creeping in, pulling you back to the harsh reality you had been trying to escape.

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization settled in—this wasn’t just a memory.

Your eyes snapped open, the sudden rush of consciousness accompanied by a sharp, piercing pain in your chest that made you gasp for air. The sensation was so intense it threatened to overwhelm you, your stomach churning as a burning ache flared across your entire body. The mere thought of moving was agonizing, but you forced yourself to glance at your arm, dreading what you might see.

The sight of the deep, mottled bruises jolted your memory, dragging you back to the harrowing events of the previous day. It wasn’t a nightmare, no fleeting figment of your imagination. This was reality—your new reality, forged in fire and pain.