Just an hour ago, Byron, the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder, had concluded the long-distance conference with the leaders of all races. The proceedings were unremarkable—what was billed as a leaders’ meeting was essentially a session for digging up each other’s dirty laundry.

The Dwarves and Orcs were embroiled in territorial disputes, the Sea Folk and Humans clashed over environmental issues, and every race harbored grudges against the Demon Clan. Yet without the Dragon Clan’s Nidhogg, they might not stand a chance against the Demons. For now, they had to hold their noses and negotiate. It was the classic scenario of eight groups in a four-person dorm, each with their own agenda and constant friction. They went back and forth, bickering endlessly, yet made no tangible progress.

Elder Byron was well-accustomed to this, navigating it with effortless ease. He could maintain the most earnest expression of attentive listening while privately and methodically stirring the potato-cheese filling in the bowl with his tail wrapped around a wooden pestle.

Lately, he’d become utterly obsessed with a human dish called pierogi.

Whether pan-fried or boiled, they were finished with a generous drizzle of rich melted butter and a sprinkle of crispy fried onion bits. Paired with a heaping spoonful of smooth sour cream, each bite delivered a heavenly blend of rich meat juices and the velvety creaminess of potato and cheese. No carnivore could resist it. None!

Just imagining it made Elder Byron’s Adam’s apple involuntarily bob as he swallowed. But that imperceptible movement was caught by the sharp-eyed Elf King across from him, who seized upon it as ammunition for criticism.

“You seem to have strong objections to Bill 666?” The perfectionist Elf King’s very pause to glance back carried an air of pleasing elegance.

To the dragon clan, this was nothing but a pretentious act begging to be slapped. Elder Byron scoffed, “Which ear of yours heard me say I oppose it?” He felt the ethereal elf was looking for trouble, nitpicking deliberately—the sort who could find fault even in the curve of moonlight.

If they had that much time to spare, they might as well go fill the Endless Sea.

The two locked horns, immediately erupting into a heated debate. They argued their way from whether the Goddess of Nature was more powerful or the Dragon God more magnificent, all the way to whether modern magic originated from ancient dragon magic or elven elemental arts. It was all old hat, and the other leaders were well accustomed to it—this too was part of the daily routine at the leaders’ council.

Elder Byron, caught up in the heated exchange, accidentally knocked over the salt shaker beside the wooden basin.

From the moment this omen appeared, Elder Byron should have been alert. But he was too consumed by rage, determined to settle the score with the arrogant elf who had provoked the dragon, completely forgetting to first take a pinch of white salt and toss it over his right shoulder to ward off bad luck.

Thus, when confronted with Nidhogg’s strangely familiar Nidhoggian speech, Elder Byron’s first thought was that he’d been set up.

Set up by the elves, deliberately infected with bad luck.

How else could he hear the pride of his dragon kin tell him that he, a male dragon, had given birth to a child?

Even at this point, Elder Byron clung to an unrealistic fantasy—perhaps his advancing age had prematurely ushered him into some decline, causing his ears to play tricks on him.

He tentatively inquired, “Might I have the honor of knowing the name of the fine young lady who has joined you in building a family?”

The dragon clan’s mating criteria had always been brutally simple: strong enough, the stronger the better. When Nidhogg, the last surviving ancient dragon of this age, reached maturity and could bear offspring, it was no exaggeration to say the entire Dragon Island was in an uproar. The Grand Elder, who had long fretted over the dwindling dragon population, nearly thought he saw the hope of a dragon renaissance.

Then… there was no then.

The young, proud female dragons would rather mate with the second-strongest dragon and bear offspring that weren’t the mightiest than have even the slightest connection to Nidhogg, that madman.

“Magic can be strengthened, the body can be trained, but madness cannot be cured.” Even the most temperate wood-element mother dragon had spoken these words.

After mentally cataloging every mother dragon of breeding age on Dragon Island who might conceivably bear young this season, Byron despaired to find not a single one willing to take the plunge.

It doesn’t have to be a dragon, Byron told himself. After all, he wasn’t some old fossil clinging to outdated traditions. On the modern continent, dragons and humans alike were having children. His cousin’s granddaughter had even found a sea dragon mate and given birth to a half-dragon cub—a sturdy little fellow with powerful legs that could kick like a dragon. What dragon wouldn’t be charmed by that? Even if it meant breeding with demons, as long as it wasn’t those pesky elves next door, he had no objections.

The self-proclaimed enlightened patriarch finally settled his thoughts.

The black dragon, cradling its young, took flight from the spot, soaring straight into the sky amidst the child’s loud, “Wow!” of admiration.

The ancient dragon’s wings obscured the sky, each gentle sweep tearing a striking gash across the azure heavens. He carried the child over billowing clouds and mist, letting the north wind howl past their ears as they savored the adrenaline rush.

They soared higher and higher, as if poised to pierce the sun itself.

The dragon’s jet-black scales refracted the sun’s rays with a lustre honed over millennia, like the dark, bubbling lava beneath a dormant volcano or shards of stars colliding fiercely in the cosmic void.

Each flap of its wings radiated absolute power.

Ai Ai’s face, distorted by the wind, showed no trace of fear. Instead, it wore the playful expression of dough being kneaded, along with unstoppable excitement. He spread his arms wide, reveling in the freedom and thrill of soaring through the skies.

When parting ways with Job, Job specifically left Nidhogg a life spell. It was an obscure incantation he’d devised based on his cousin Valerie’s experience fighting alongside her elemental wyvern. Useless for mobile combat, it ensured the child could sit steadily and safely atop a carriage, a griffin, or any vehicle they desired to ride.

No matter how wildly the dragon dad chose to soar and show off in the skies, the little one remained as steady as a rock, freely savoring the rare cool breeze of midsummer.

He watched them fly over towering peaks, soar across magnificent seas, and finally head toward an endless archipelago that seemed to stretch to the world’s edge.

In short, after the unconventional dragon dad had finished letting his son experience the joy of flight, he impatiently shattered the beautiful fantasy Elder Byron had conjured in the magic message.

What girl? There is no girl. Only me. My own child, born of a dragon. Why hadn’t Byron fixed his inability to understand dragon speech after all these years? But never mind, it didn’t matter. Nidhogg thought. He’d sent the magic message only because Job had urged him repeatedly before leaving: times had changed. Now, children needed household registration to gain school enrollment, and everyone was scrambling for prestigious academies.

Though Nidhogg himself didn’t know what school enrollment was or what it did, if everyone wanted it, it must be a good thing. And if it was a good thing, his son had to have it.

A domineering black dragon, unreasonable.

Elder Byron’s brain had ceased functioning some time ago. He hadn’t registered a word Nidhogg had said afterward. His lips twitched several times before he finally roared with every ounce of strength left in him, his words a thunderous cry of pure essence: “You’re a male dragon!”

You’re a male dragon, without a mate.

You’re a male dragon—how do you lay eggs?

You’re a male dragon—how do you produce a human?!

Even if you’re the last ancient dragon of the dragon race, show some restraint, for crying out loud!

Nidhogg’s choice was to hang up the magic call immediately. He then cautiously turned his nearly all-seeing golden eyes to glance nervously at the little one behind him, who remained utterly absorbed in the joy of weightlessness. The continent now lay beneath their feet, transformed into miniature toy landscapes. The child had neither the time nor the capacity to comprehend the Elder’s words.

Only then did Nidhogg finally exhale a silent sigh of relief.

Of course, he knew he was a male dragon, incapable of bearing children.

But his son didn’t know that!

During his argument with Job, whether Nidhogg had truly realized his son resembled a human more than a dragon was irrelevant. What mattered was his grasp of a fundamental truth: if others discovered his son had appeared out of thin air, it could bring endless problems and unnecessary troubles to the child’s future dragon life.

“Who are you?” “Why are you different from us?” “Are you really a dragon?” “Where are your parents? Did they abandon you? Would any dragon forsake its own child?” “No wonder your parents rejected you—you’re a freak! No dragon would ever want you!”…

Endless, utterly tedious.

Just recalling these nonsensical memories of the past was enough to push Nidhogg to the brink of losing control of his terrible temper. His vertical golden dragon eyes narrowed almost to slits, as if blue-white dragonfire might erupt from his throat at any moment, consuming the entire world in flames.

Dragons never waste energy internally. They only ensure every detestable creature vanishes from this world—physically!

Then, the reverse scale on Nidhogg’s neck felt an unprecedented, gentle caress. Soft and quiet, like a fluffy little creature tiptoeing, cautiously taking its first tentative step into the world.

Ai Ai, the little one, had never touched a dragon before.

Gazing at that unique, slightly upturned reverse scale on the colossal dragon’s body, the child found it incredibly hard to resist. Eyes wide as saucers, he told himself not to, yet couldn’t help thinking: Just gently, just once, just a touch—Mr. Dragon surely wouldn’t notice.

Touching other parts, the dragon might not even feel it—after all, he was so immense.

But the reverse scales were different.

Nidhogg couldn’t quite describe the sensation. Never before had a dragon dared—or even been able—to touch such a special spot at the back of his neck. Theoretically, he should have been furious. Yet in reality, he felt only a strange, unprecedented sensation—as if some void had finally been filled. The other was so careful, carrying an indescribable tenderness.

Throughout his life, he had witnessed countless dragons nuzzling their young with such intimacy, gently taming their unruly fledgling magic, or watching baby dragons cling to their parents, clamoring for affection and spoiling. He had never envied them.

Because he had no idea what that feeling even was.

Nor did he feel he needed it.

But now that he truly had it, he wouldn’t refuse it either.

The dragon’s pent-up fury seemed to dissolve as if under some calming spell. In an instant, Nidhogg’s entire world fell silent. All that had once enraged him, driven him mad, and filled him with a desire for destruction suddenly seemed insignificant. The only thing that mattered now was the bewildered child on his back. So small, so fragile—like a tiny flower struggling to break through the barren earth. A flower with little purpose, yet he longed to see it, to watch it bask in the sun, to witness its unrestrained growth.

The black dragon suddenly felt boundless energy surge through him. He soared skyward with his son, eager to show him everything. He wanted the child to know: ancient dragons were destined to rule these skies. And as his offspring, this child would become an ancient dragon possessing everything.

It was a miracle, born from the primordial power of the great dragon god’s blessing.

From now on, whenever his son faced those messy questions, he could boldly retort—any questions? Ask my dad!

Nidhogg narrowed his eyes dangerously. He could guarantee that every last one of these boring people would have no time left to chatter!

It was at this moment that Grand Elder Byron caught up, the silver ice dragon panting heavily as he blocked Nidhogg’s path. Facing the black colossus before him—a being towering over him by who knows how many times, radiating an unstoppable aura of terror as if poised to overturn the world for his child at any moment—the Grand Elder wore nothing but utter despair. He knew it would come to this.

“Do you have any objections?” the dragon raised an eyebrow.

Elder Byron nearly suffered a cerebral hemorrhage from the insult, almost becoming the first dragon to die of hypertension. What objections could he possibly have? Why did people always assume he had to voice an opinion? Did his forehead bear the words “I have objections” written in bold letters? He gathered his composure and finally managed, “The name… What should I put on the household registration for the child?” You want me to register your son, so I need to know what information to provide—like his name.

Silence. That was what the Great Dragon offered that day.

His son… seemed… probably… might… definitely didn’t have a name yet.