Inside the broken body, something ancient woke. It was Kairos, the Dragon Emperor.
His first thought was a deep and burning fury. After that, everything else crashed into his awareness, a sudden and overwhelming assault on his senses.
It was all simply too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too sharp.
The smell of blood was overwhelming. It was thick and metallic, filling his nose and making his stomach twist in revulsion.
The air also carried the harsh scent of burning things. The charred wood, old stone dust, and wet wool, all of it clawing at him, it all were raw and suffocating.
The sound of rain hammered against his skull, each drop landing like a physical strike to his head. Borak, the mercenary's rough and ragged breathing sounded incredibly loud.
The slow and relentless drip of water, combined with the distant clash of steel, created a chaotic and unbearable symphony roaring in his ears.
The light itself felt like a physical attack, stabbing his eyes. Flickering torches cast sharp, painful shadows across the broken dome, and the sheer agony of it was almost too much to bear.
And then there was the pain. A deep, tearing pain where the axe has struck, and a fire burning low in his belly. It was hot and unrelenting, screaming through the weak body he now inhabited.
This body. It felt incredibly small and fragile.
His skin was cold, his muscles were shaking uncontrollably, and his lungs struggled desperately for breath.
It was a prison, a tomb made of meat.
Hatred surged through him, an emotion even hotter than the searing wound in his gut.
'This weak body.'
'I am trapped.'
These thoughts burned and played over and over in his head.
Then, soft and faint images pressed against his overwhelming rage.
A woman's face, with kind eyes and warm hands, came to his mind. He instinctively knew it was 'his mother.'
He recalled the comforting scent of old paper and dust, the place where he often 'spent most of his time'.
He saw a taller boy with dark hair, and a smile of his that always seemed to hide something beneath it. Few words came up with this boy's image, Therion and betrayal.
Then he felt sadness, fear, and pain, which he knew these were this body's previous owner emotions.
Kairos snarled inside this body, making a sound like a grinding stone. He forcefully shoved those memories aside, crushing them under the sheer force of his fury.
This body was his now.
Borak, who had recovered from his shock, his initial fear now twisting into a raw and desperate anger.
Whatever this thing was, this boy with molten golden eyes, it scared him deeply. And that realization made him more furious.
He roared, and charged forward. His axe raised high above his head, ready to strike again at this boy prince.
Kairos saw him coming.
Through this body's eyes, he could see the fear hidden behind the mercenary's rage, and this body moved.
It did not move with the smooth, deadly grace of a true dragon, for this body was broken. But it was fast enough.
Kairos rolled quickly to the side.
The axe crashed down where his head had been just moments before, and sparks flew as the blade struck the marble floor.
Kairos's hand, which actually Aerion's weak and scholarly hand, found a shard of broken glass. It was a sharp piece from a shattered telescope lens.
He lunged to Borak with awkward movement, but it was fast. He moved like a wounded animal striking fiercely before it could be killed.
Then the glass cut deep into Borak's face.
The mercenary screamed in pain. He immediately dropped the axe, and his hands flew to his face, clutching at the fresh wound as blood ran freely through his fingers.
But Kairos hadn't finish attacking.
He threw his body forward, using the body's weight to force Borak down onto the wet stone floor. He landed hard against the mercenary's chest, feeling ribs crack beneath him with a sickening crunch.
Borak trashed wildly and terrified, in a desperate, futile struggle.
Kairos grabbed Borak's head with both hands. Aerion's thin and delicate hands, now smeared with the mercenary's blood.
He twisted as hard as this body could. He put his full strength and his full fury into the motion.
Then a loud and sharp crack filled the Atrium.
Borak stopped moving, he was dead.
Kairos crouched over the body, and breathing hard. The weak lungs burned with the immense effort, and the belly wound screamed with constant pain.
He tasted blood in his mouth. Was it this man's? Or his own?
It tasted coppery, bitter, and strange. It was disgusting, yet, thrilling.
He pushed himself up, standing unsteadily on his trembling legs. The world tilted slightly around him.
The rain pouring down on him from the gap hole, it was cold and refreshing. It felt good against the burning heat inside him.
He looked down at Borak's twisted and lifeless form. He saw the sickening angle of his broken neck.
He also saw the blood pooling around the man, mixing with the rain on the stone floor.
He had done this with these hands. Aerion's hands.
These weak hands now stained, used for killing. Kairos hated them, he hate this weak body.
But it was all he had to work with.
His foot touched something small and haed on the wet stone. He looked down to see the onyx dragon, his mother's necklace, lying in the bloodied rainwater.
He stared at it. Did it mean anything to him?
He bent down slowly, ignoring the sharp pain tearing through his gut with the movement. His fingers closed around the pendant. It was a cold stone, slick with blood and rain.
He stared at it for a moment, his expression blank. He shoved it into his pocked, then lifted his head.
The Atrium wall was broken, revealing the world outside. Beyond it, through the storm, the Imperial Palace towers stood tall on the distant hill, looking safe an untouched.
Therion was there and safe, while everything around him burned.
The fury inside Kairos's heart burned hotter than the wound in his belly.
Therion, the heir of Veridian Dominion. The crown prince, who did not wait to ascend to the throne patiently.
He had caused this destruction, and spilled this blood. He had trapped Kairos in this dying shell.
He did this, he should be burnt alive.
The thought cut through everything else, a single purpose from him now.
Vengeance.