"Sometimes the world doesn't choose those who shout. It answers those who have endured the quiet too long."
Ameira's Light, Part II
The next morning, the world resumed its rhythm.
Ameira tied her hair, packed her school bag, and left the house with a faint hum under her breath. Nothing had changed.
Except, she felt different.
She couldn't name it. She wouldn't try to.
But when she stepped into the sunlight, it felt like the sky knew her name.
During lunch, Ameira sat with Vikran and Rudren on the back stairs of the school building. The mural they were painting wasn't finished yet, but she liked the half-done look of it. Like something in motion.
Vikran munched on dry bread with a grin. Rudren sat with his head resting back against the wall, pretending to nap.
Ameira watched a single petal fall from a nearby tree. It danced downward, caught in the softest breeze.
She smiled.
And for just a moment, the air around her shimmered—not with heat, but with clarity. As if the world had blinked, just to acknowledge her presence.
She didn't speak of it.
She didn't need to.
Some things were better carried gently.
That night, as she watered the balcony plants, she paused.
A bird was perched on the railing. Completely white. Unmoving.
She stepped closer, blinking.
The bird blinked back. Then vanished. No sound. No feathers left behind.
Just the faint scent of rain… though the sky was clear.
Far above her home, through dimensions unseen, the White Dragon soul circled once more—slower now, as if savoring the moment of recognition.
It had not chosen her because she was strong.
It had not chosen her because she demanded it.
It had chosen her because she embodied stillness that calms storms.
"This one will not wield power," the dragon mused,
"She will understand it."
It turned away—for now.
The moment of awakening would come.
But not yet.
And as she closed her sketchbook and let the window's breeze kiss her cheek,
a whisper of ancient wind curled gently into her chest.
It held no words.
No weight.
Only presence.
The soul of the White Dragon had entered her — quietly, with no promise… only patience.
Rudren's Fire, Part I
Rudren's world smelled of fried oil, dust, and sun-baked pavement.
His home was modest—tight rooms, old furniture, a father with weathered hands and a mother who always tried to stretch money further than it would go.
They weren't poor. They weren't rich.
But everything they had, they had earned.
And so had Rudren.
After school, he swapped his uniform for a faded T-shirt and jogged down to the roadside mart where he stocked vegetables, moved crates, and handled grumbling customers.
He never complained.
Never asked for less.
It was normal now—carrying burdens others didn't see.
At school, people called him rude. Harsh.
But those who watched closely knew the truth.
He helped the cleaner stack fallen chairs after class.
He lent his notes without ever asking for them back.
He worked until his fingers ached, then smiled like he wasn't tired.
But he never let anyone get close.
That evening, after closing shift, Rudren stood on the rooftop of his apartment building, eyes locked on a blinking red plane in the sky.
He clenched his fists, like trying to hold the entire world in his palms.
A wind stirred.
Warm.
Sharp.
Full of static.
He turned his head slightly—expecting someone to be behind him.
There was no one.
But the air crackled. His spine stiffened.
The smell of metal and ozone rose.
And from the edge of the clouds above… a shape passed, too quick to see, but heavy enough to be felt.
His breath caught.
"What the hell was that…"
Far above, wrapped in a stormcloud no satellite could trace, the Black Dragon soul watched.
Where others saw fire as chaos, it saw in Rudren discipline forged through pressure.
He was not soft. But he was never cruel.
He did not seek power. But he never ran from struggle.
"This one does not break."
"He hardens."
The dragon soul drifted lower. Not to enter.
Not to call.
Just to wait.
Because one day, Rudren's fire would not burn in silence.
It would blaze for the world to see.
To be continued ..