Petunia stood between the two massive lightning dragons, their bodies still humming with residual energy, their glowing eyes now calm, even curious. The sky above remained cloudy, heavy with storm-scent, and the ground still bore the scorched marks of their clash. In her arms, the three purple eggs pulsed with soft light, as if sensing the nearness of their parents and the shift in atmosphere.
She turned to the dragons, speaking clearly in Valyrian, her voice resonating with ancient cadence and an air of command:
"Skoriot jorrāelan, nykeā tolī rhaenar se dāez bē naejot ēdruta.
Hāedus kesrio syt jaelā naejot moriot, tolī naejot ēdruta, se ūndegon vēttan.
(Would you like me to provide you with a place to recover and live in?
A place where you will not feel hunger, a place where no danger could reach you and your offspring.)
A deep thrummmm vibrated in the air as both dragons tilted their heads slightly. Their auras, visible only to Petunia's sensitivity to emotion, pulsed with recognition. Acceptance bloomed between them like warm thunderclouds — not quite speech, but a mutual understanding.
The scenario she referred to was one she had unlocked through her system: a personal domain, a privilege to access a realm devoid of the principle of hunger yet it was — barren and peaceful. In this world where magic was unknown and primal, the idea of a place without hunger or danger was otherworldly.
"Rhaenagon ñuha rūklys," she said firmly.
(Touch my hands.)
As both dragons obeyed, bowing their great heads, one wing brushing lightly against her shoulder, she held out her palms. Their scales met her skin.
No bright flash.
No lightning strike.
No dramatic fanfare.
Just stillness.
And then — they were gone.
Vanished.
Without a ripple in the air or gust of wind, the trio — Petunia and the two lightning dragons — simply ceased to exist from the onlookers' reality.
A stunned silence followed.
Zephros, perched on a nearby rocky outcrop with wings half-extended, gave a sharp snort and tilted his head in confusion, releasing a low rrruhh? as he searched the spot where his companion had just stood.
The villagers and warriors, already shaken by the earlier battle, now stood completely still, some dropping their weapons unconsciously. One child tugged on a mother's cloak and whispered, "Where did she go…?"
A heartbeat later — FWUMP.
Petunia reappeared.
Alone.
Her dark hair still billowing gently from the residual shift in space. Her clothing singed but regal in its defiance of disorder. Her hands now empty, her eyes sharp with quiet intensity. She turned to face the crowd, her gaze sweeping over them like cold steel.
There was no smile. No warmth.
Only precision.
"I'll be camping outside the village tonight," she said coolly, her voice carrying clearly through the air, reaching even the furthest edge of the gathered crowd.
"I expect to have a peaceful time during my stay — no hidden attacks, no malice, and I will leave you be." Her gaze locked on several of the warriors still clutching spears. They quickly dropped them.
She stepped forward once, and the air seemed to still.
"By nightfall, I want supplies: dried meat, clothing, and a few well-made axes."
Her tone sharpened at the last sentence, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Understood?"
There was a long pause.
Then frantic nodding. Muttered confirmations. The elders began barking orders. A few ran toward storage buildings. Even those previously brave enough to stand their ground now turned to obey.
Petunia tilted her head.
"Oh—" she added flatly, almost as an afterthought, "also, a comb for my hair."
The demand — mundane, almost humorous in contrast — struck an eerie chord of fear through the villagers. Because even that, they sensed, was not a request. It was a command.
Then, without another word, she stepped back and gave a graceful leap.
FWOOSH—! A sharp current of air coiled around her legs, catching her like an invisible hand, and propelled her into the sky. Zephros, with perfect timing, swooped in beneath her. She landed on his back with the precision of a seasoned rider, her figure silhouetted against the stormy sky.
RRHHWWAAAMM! Zephros let out a deep cry, wings flaring as he soared above the stunned village. His shadow swept across the rooftops like a silent omen.
And then they flew — away from the center of the village, toward a clearing just beyond the treeline. There, the earth was untouched, peaceful, and quiet — the perfect distance to be seen, but not threatened.
--------
The quiet of the forest clearing was thick with mist and the scent of scorched ozone. The crackling tension of the battle had long since faded, replaced by the low rustling of leaves and Zephros's calm breathing as he lay curled protectively around the perimeter.
Petunia knelt by his side, fingers brushing across his scales. Though his body was massive and his presence awe-inspiring, his wounds were thankfully minor—superficial burns, singed patches, and a few battle scratches that would heal in a day. He gave a low huff, smoke curling from his nostrils as if reassuring her.
She smiled faintly, then turned her attention to her own condition.
Her hands were stiff—burned where lightning had coursed through her, the skin along her fingers etched with blackened lines like cracked porcelain. She flexed them carefully, wincing. A lingering ache thrummed in her skull too, the aftermath of channeling raw power beyond her body's limits.
But just as she leaned back, preparing to meditate—
[Side Mission Complete — Successfully Executed:less than 10% Casualties .]
[Rewards Allocated:]
—Dragon Journal (Bound Item)
—9.5% Restriction Lifted: Weather Manipulation Ability
—Skill Gained: Axemanship [Lv.1]
—Strength: Lv.5 → Lv.10
A golden shimmer surrounded her as energy surged through her veins. Her fingers glowed faintly, and the scar lines vanished one by one, skin returning to its original color. Her headache dissolved like fog under morning sun. Strength poured into her muscles, subtle but noticeable — her breathing steadied, her body sat straighter without effort.
Then—
[DING!]
[Hidden Quest Accomplished!: solve the Skrill dragons problem. ]
A second wave of energy descended, heavier this time. A cold breeze passed over her skin, yet she didn't shiver.
[Rewards Granted:]
—Passive Skill: Cold Resistance
—Passive Skill: Lightning Resistance
—Item: Old Iron Shield [Rating: D]
—Dragon Affinity: Increased
—Coins: +1600
Petunia blinked as a modest metal shield materialized beside her with a soft clang, edges rough but durable. The new resistances took root instantly, like instincts suddenly remembered. She felt… safer. More whole.
Then—
[Allocating Rewards...]
...
[ERROR DETECTED]
Reallocation in progress...
Her breath caught. A pulse of heat stabbed through her chest.
[ERROR: ANALYZING INCARNATION'S STATUS WINDOW...]
[ANOMALY FOUND — Sign-In System Detected]
[Scenario General System Fragment Identified]
[Absorbing Fragments...]
Petunia screamed.
A searing pain erupted within her soul—not her body, something deeper, primal. Her vision warped. The clearing around her twisted, distorted. Her knees buckled as she dropped onto the grass, clutching her sides.
It wasn't just pain—it was theft.
Something inside her—hers—was being ripped out. Like pages torn from the book of her existence. She curled up, trembling, her fingers clawing at the earth.
She wanted to stop it.
She didn't know how.
[Reinstalling System — In Progress...]
The blue system panels flickered and glitched like broken glass being mended mid-air.
[REINSTALLATION COMPLETE]
System core integrity stabilized.
[Compensation Granted...]
—Private Attribute Acquired: [Doekabe-like (Unique)]
The pain ceased—abruptly.
Petunia gasped, gulping air like a drowning soul. Her body collapsed back onto the grass. The mist had grown still. Zephros stirred uneasily beside her, his silver eyes narrowed as he sensed something unfamiliar in her presence.
She lay there, silent.
Petunia huffed in fatigue, her body still trembling slightly from the aftermath. She slumped back against Zephros's side, whose steady breathing offered a strange but welcome comfort. Her hair, now dark once more, clung to her forehead, damp with sweat.
With a raspy voice, she muttered, "Status."
A familiar ding echoed in her mind, and a translucent blue panel shimmered into view, hovering just above her line of sight.
---
[Name: Petunia Targaryen / Evans]
[AGE: 52]
[Constellation Sponsor: NONE]
[Private Attribute:]
— Dragonic Warlock (Myth)
— Doekabe-like (Unique)
[Exclusive Skills:]
— Weather Manipulation –> Lv.7
— Transfiguration Magic –> Lv.2
— Enchantment Magic –> Lv.2
— Potioneering –> Lv.2
— Mind Magic –> Lv.3
— Mystic Cat Footwork –> Lv.2
— Deceitful Mouth –> Lv.7
—Axemanship –>lv.1
[Stigma:] None
.
[Overall Stats:]
— Stamina Lv.5
— Strength Lv.10
— Agility Lv.5
— Magic Power Lv.8
---
[INCARNATION PETUNIA TARGARYEN HAS THE UNIQUE ATTRIBUTE
— Incarnation can open a personal channel.
A channel is a broadcast feed watched by constellations, potential sponsors from the star realms who may grant blessings, missions, or boons.
A constellation may enter the channel by paying coins or trading equivalents.
[ADDITIONAL PRIVILEGES GRANTED BY
— Authority to view the status windows of others.
— Access to the Doekabe Shop.
---
The panels slowly faded, leaving behind only silence.
Petunia exhaled heavily, slumping deeper into the grass. "At least... I got something out of it," she muttered, her voice laced with exhaustion and irony.
Compensation, yes. But this was something else entirely.
The words swirled in her head like a storm refusing to settle.
Constellations? Channels? Shop access?
The Doekabe-like attribute—it wasn't just compensation. It was a shift in her plans for the future.
Petunia's brow furrowed. She vaguely remembered reading a web novel during her old world days. ORV... Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. She hadn't finished it. Only bits and pieces—enough to recognize the keywords.
Doekabe. Incarnation. Constellation. Channel.
If she was now Doekabe-like, did that mean she was like a stream manager? Like the ones from the novel who watched scenarios, judged incarnations, issued missions? Did she just gain the ability to run her own stream—one that these story powered individuals, or whatever the constellations were, could watch?
She stared up at the moonless sky.
"If I can open a channel... does that mean there are other channels already open?"
"Are there other Doekabes?"
"And if they see me as competition..."
A sharp chill crept down her spine—not from cold, but from uncertainty.
Thoughts kept bugging her.
This world was no longer just a primitive survival test.
It was a stage.
And she might not just be a player—she might be the host.
As Petunia sat beside the quiet crackling fire, still immersed in the muddled web of thoughts about constellations, Doekabes, and what her new reality now entailed, a sharp crack echoed through the clearing—wood against stone, sudden and loud in the still night.
Zephros growled low, his silver eyes narrowing toward the source. Petunia turned her head slowly, lethargically, more out of reflex than alarm. Her own blue-purple eyes, dulled by fatigue, landed on a figure emerging from the treeline—a teenage boy, no older than seventeen.
He was muscular, tall but slightly hunched from the weight of the cart he dragged behind him. His red hair clung to his forehead in wet strands, freckles dotting his pale face, flushed from exertion. As he approached, his blue eyes locked with Petunia's.
Then he saw Zephros beside her.
The boy yelped.
His knees trembled visibly as he clutched the cart's handle tighter, clearly on the verge of bolting. But he didn't. He stood frozen, like prey under the gaze of a predator.
Petunia sighed, lifting her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her voice was as tired as her soul.
"Just leave it there and leave."
A pause. Then, with even less enthusiasm:
"You know what—bring me the comb. My hair's a mess right now."
The boy startled, like he had forgotten the cart entirely. He spun around, hastily rummaging through the bundles. After a few clumsy seconds, he found the comb—simple, wooden, but well-crafted—and approached with hesitant steps.
He stretched out his hand like he was feeding a wild animal, offering the comb to Petunia, who took it without a word. She didn't even look at him.
Sitting back, she began to comb her hair—slow, deliberate strokes. The strands, dark and damp, untangled under the rhythm of the teeth. Zephros rested beside her silently, his tail flicking once, causing sparks to hiss in the grass.
The boy lingered, awkward. His mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he found his voice.
"Mmm... please don't hate the villagers."
Petunia didn't stop combing.
"They're just simple people. It's just the chief—I mean... the previous chief... he went hunting dragons with the nearby villages. His family died because of dragons, you see..."
Petunia's fingers slowed slightly at the mention of dragon hunting, but her voice remained detached.
"Believe me. I'll forget such ever existed by tomorrow."
It was not comfort. It was dismissal.
Still, the boy persisted, his voice tinged now with something softer—earnestness, admiration, maybe even awe.
"Also... thank you."
A beat passed.
"When the dragons fought in the sky... I was on a nearby mountain. I saw everything. You and the dragon beside you—you blocked the Skrill dragons. You were... you were majestic."
He swallowed, nervous again, but the next words came quicker, like they had waited too long to be said.
"Like the stories we were told when we were young."
He puffed his chest slightly.
"I'm Vald Ivarson, by the way."
Petunia paused her combing for only half a breath.
"Is that so?" she replied, the disinterest heavy and pointed.
Vald flinched, the sting of her cold tone unmistakable. He nodded, eyes dropping, and turned to leave. His steps were heavy, slow.
Then, without turning around, his voice came again—this time quieter, stripped of all his earlier bluster.
"Can I go with you?"
The words hung in the air.
"I can do anything you want," he added, voice nearly breaking.
"Just... I think I'll do better if I go with you."
Silence.
The only sound was the low whirr of the comb running through hair and the occasional pop of the fire.
Then, Petunia's voice—cold, final, and sharp as a blade:
"No."
Vald didn't argue. He simply nodded, his back still turned, and walked away. His shadow disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the night.
Petunia didn't look up.
She continued combing, each pass smoother than the last, as though it was the only thing holding her together. The fire flickered, shadows dancing on her face, and Zephros let out a soft rumble, sensing the tension—then lowered his head, resting it beside her.
The crackling fire and the comb's steady rhythm were the only sounds left in the clearing.
----------------
Vald Ivarson's POV
I'm no one special. Just Vald. Just another orphan in a village that forgets your name the second your parents die.
Everyone here hates dragons. Always have. They blame them for everything—burnt homes, lost sons, missing livestock. And maybe they're right. But dragons didn't kill my family.
Hunger did.
We were dirt poor. My father—he was once strong. Worked harder than any man I knew. Then he stepped into a dragon's trap. Didn't die, just lost both legs. After that, he couldn't hunt. Couldn't even stand. I watched him crumble inside a body that stopped listening to him.
My mother... She tried. God, she gave everything. She cleaned other people's homes, washed clothes in the freezing river, begged for scraps. All so she could feed me. Feed him. I remember watching her, arms trembling, eyes sunken, still trying to smile while she cooked a stew with more water than food.
One day she just... fell. Right in the middle of the hut. Died clutching a wooden bowl.
I was ten.
If you asked me what killed them, it wasn't dragons.
It was cold people and empty hands. And maybe me, too. I ate all the food they gave me. Maybe if they'd eaten more, they'd still be here.
I started hunting then. Learned to trap, to trade. I got good. Not strong enough to challenge anyone, but smart enough to survive. That's all anyone does here—just survive. One more winter. One more bite.
Then—she showed up.
I was on the ridge, setting snares, when the whole sky just exploded.
She was there, standing next to a beast straight out of the old sagas. Lightning wrapped around her like it belonged to her. The other dragons—feared her. She was flying with them, shouting commands like a warlord, standing between them and the village.
And I thought, how free she looks.
Back in the village, everyone whispered about her. Said she was Drekamær, half-girl, half-dragon. A monster, a miracle, a curse, a savior. All at once.
I didn't care what she was.
I just knew she was everything I wasn't.
So when she demanded meat, clothes, axes—I ran to help. Carried them all myself. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I did something right for once, she'd look at me.
She barely did. Told me "no" when I asked to go with her.
Didn't even hesitate.
But I saw the world in her eyes. I needed to know what was out there—beyond these cliffs and cold huts.
She said no?
Fine.
But I wasn't giving up.
---
Next Day
I woke before the sun. Barely slept.
Stuffed rope into a sack, tied my father's old hook to it. My hands shook, not from fear, but from too much hope.
If she was leaving the island, she'd have to cross the northern range. The cliffs there? No paths. Only stone and wind. But I'd climbed them a dozen times.
I waited, hiding behind the rocks, boots sunk deep into the earth.
Then I heard it.
A thunderclap that shook the trees. The wind kicked up hard. Birds fled. Clouds spun in unnatural spirals.
Zephros. I heard her shout his name in battle.
I peeked out and saw him—massive, wings stretched wider than a ship's sail, eyes glowing like winter moons. He flew just low enough.
Now!
I sprinted, heart pounding like a war drum. The world fell away.
I threw the hook.
It caught.
I jumped.
The wind tore the breath from my lungs. My arms screamed as the rope jerked tight. My legs dangled in the air.
I was flying.
I looked down—the cliffs, the trees, the whole cursed village—it all shrunk beneath me.
I looked up.
Toward the skies.
Toward her.
I didn't know what she'd do when she saw me.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't crawling in the dirt.
I was soaring.
----------
Zephros flapped his massive wings against the high winds, gliding smoothly between jagged cliffs and mist-veiled peaks. The early morning sun glinted off his silver scales like polished steel.
Then, with a twitch of his tail, he suddenly felt something.
Weight. A tug against his leg.
He tilted his serpentine head, his sharp eyes scanning below—and sure enough, a rope hung tight around his lower limb, swaying in the wind with a red-haired boy dangling from it.
"Good morning!" Vald shouted, as if it were a casual walk in the woods rather than being hundreds of feet in the air, barely clinging to a rope.
Zephros huffed a sharp exhale from his nostrils, almost amused, then relayed the situation through his mental bond.
Petunia was resting with her eyes half-lidded, still exhausted from the system chaos last night. The moment she felt Zephros's mental ping and saw what he saw, her expression dropped.
"What?!"
Zephros halted his flight path mid-air, wings beating rhythmically in place to keep afloat.
Petunia leaned over slightly, wind tousling her black hair. Her violet-blue eyes narrowed at the sight of the familiar boy swinging like a reckless acrobat beneath them.
"You again?! What are you doing, kid?!"
Vald looked up with a proud, lopsided grin despite the obvious strain in his arms. "I want to go adventuring!"
Petunia's eyes twitched. "Then go! Why are you dangling from my dragon?!"
"I want to go with you!"
She groaned, thumb and forefinger pressing hard into the bridge of her nose. "I said no yesterday. Were you born with broken ears or what?"
Zephros gave a small amused snort.
Petunia waved her hand. "Zephros, fly low and drop him nearby before he gets himself killed."
"I won't budge!" Vald yelled from below, his arms stiff from the rope. "Not going back! Not this time!"
Petunia crossed her arms tightly. "Are you sure?"
Vald clenched his jaw, eyes burning with conviction. "Yes!"
She leaned over a bit more and raised one sharp brow. "Fine. Suit yourself. Don't blame me when it all goes sideways."
With that, she sat back, turning her face to the wind and ignoring him completely.
Zephros gave a sharp upward flap and resumed his flight, cutting through the skies like a silver blade.
For the first few minutes, Vald managed to hang on, the rush of wind and adrenaline numbing his fatigue. But then—Zephros dipped.
Lower and lower.
Suddenly, Vald's boots slapped the surface of the sea below. Cold saltwater splashed up his legs. He spat some out, sputtering as the icy water soaked his pants.
"Can I... maybe get pulled up there now?" he croaked, water dripping off his chin.
No answer.
Petunia didn't even look at him.
He hung there like laundry on a windy day, soaked and shivering.
Minutes dragged by, and the water kept lapping at him. Each dip sapped more of his strength. His fingers began to ache. His grip weakened. His arms trembled.
But still—he refused to let go.
"Hey! Drekamær!" he shouted, hoarse. "Please! I'm sorry, okay?!"
Silence.
"I didn't mean to disrespect you or anything! I just—I just wanted to see the world from your eyes! Not the hate. Not the fear. Just... the freedom!"
His legs kicked uselessly in the air.
"I'll follow you! I'll never betray you! Just please—please!"
Then he looked down.
His stomach dropped.
Below him, a pale shadow glided through the water with lethal grace.
A shark.
No, a white shark. Big. Fast. Its dorsal fin cut through the surface as it started circling, sensing the frantic splashing of prey.
Vald's breath hitched. His heart raced.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
This was it.
But instead of jaws closing around him—he felt the rope jerk upward.
His eyes flew open.
Zephros had flipped, twisting midair with a roar that scattered birds from the trees below. Petunia now floated beside the dragon, her cloak snapping violently behind her in the wind. She hovered effortlessly, her palm extended.
Her expression? Cold. Sharp.
Her other hand grabbed the rope, pulling Vald up with a strength that shocked him. In seconds, he was on Zephros's back, gasping for breath, sprawled beside her.
Petunia didn't even let him sit up before she crouched beside him, staring with chilling intensity.
"If you ever do something this reckless again," she said, voice like ice breaking over stone, "your end will be worse than being eaten alive."
Vald nodded rapidly, lips sealed, too breathless to speak.
He looked like a soaked rat beside her.
Petunia sat back, brushing the water from her cloak like none of it had fazed her, while Zephros snorted proudly and resumed his flight.
Behind them, the shark circled once, then vanished into the sea.