Dragon System

“Desmond, you’re sitting in the way again.”

The voice cut sharp through the thin library air. A boy in worn-out clothes, tall, muscular, with a smirk that always carried trouble, stood over him.

Desmond looked up from his notebook, blinking as though dragged out of a dream. “I… I wasn’t blocking anything,” Desmond murmured, clutching his pencil.

“You exist, that’s the problem,” the bully sneered. Laughter followed from two others at his side.

Desmond kept his eyes down. He knew how this game went: push, shove, mock. Same every day. “I’ll move,” he said softly.

“You’ll move? You’ll vanish if you know what’s good for you.” The boy’s palm slapped Desmond’s notes, scattering them across the floor. Scribbled equations, half-finished diagrams, scraps of thoughts, gone under their boots.

One of them leaned down, eyes glittering with mock sympathy. “Why don’t you ever fight back, Desmond? Oh, right, you’re a nobody. No family, no money, no friends. Just a weirdo writing useless things no one cares about.”

The word nobody rang louder than the laughter. It always did. Desmond knelt, collecting his notes with trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Not to you, not to anyone.”

When the bullies grew bored, they left. Their echoes faded, but the sting stayed. Later that evening, Desmond sat in an abandoned building on the edge of town, the only place no one bothered him.

Cracked walls, broken glass, and silence: it suited him. He opened a pack of cheap biscuits, chewing without tasting.

The shadows stretched long. He whispered to himself, as he often did. “You’re just… here. Taking space. Invisible when it matters, visible only when someone wants to hurt you.”

Then—Clink.

His head snapped up. Another sound, softer. Like glass against stone. He froze. Rats, maybe. He knew the place crawled with them. But then—Glow.

A faint shimmer pulsed from behind a pile of broken crates. Desmond blinked hard. “Rats don’t glow…” he muttered.

Slowly, cautiously, he approached. Pushing aside the debris, he found it: a bottle, sealed tight, and inside, a tiny creature, flickering with light like a trapped star.

It flailed weakly, its small hands pressing against the glass. “What… are you?” Desmond whispered, kneeling.

The creature’s glow dimmed as if it were fading. Desperation bled from its movements. Something inside Desmond stirred. For once, someone, or something, needed him.

Without thinking, he pried at the cork. It was stiff, ancient, but he wrestled it loose. The bottle hissed, and in a flash, the creature burst free.

It tumbled onto his palm: fragile, no larger than his hand, with translucent wings and hollow eyes that shimmered with hunger.

Desmond’s throat tightened. “You… look like you haven’t eaten in forever.”

He broke his biscuit in half, holding it out. The creature sniffed, then snatched it with surprising speed. Tiny teeth devoured the crumbs. Its glow brightened with every bite.

Desmond let out a shaky laugh. “Guess we’re both starving nobodies, huh?”

The creature paused, then tilted its head, studying him. Its glow softened, almost… warm.

The next day, Desmond carried the creature cupped in his hands as he walked through town. He whispered to it, as though it were the only one who would listen. “You don’t care that I’m strange. You don’t care that I’m… unwanted.”

But voices cut through again. “Look at him!” The same bullies as before spotted him in the street. “Talking to himself like a lunatic.”

They closed in. Desmond clutched the creature tighter. “Please, just leave me alone,” he said.

“Oh, what’s that?” One lunged, trying to snatch his hands. Desmond twisted away, panic surging.

“Nothing!” he shouted. “It’s nothing!”

They shoved him against a wall. The creature hid in his palm, trembling.

“Freak,” one spat. “Always hiding, always whispering to your imaginary friends. Nobody wants you here, Desmond. Not the school, not the town, hell, not even your parents. Oh wait, you don’t even have any.”

Laughter exploded around him. Something inside Desmond cracked. His lips trembled. He wanted to scream, to fight, to matter, but all he could do was shrink smaller.

When they finally left, he staggered home. His breaths came ragged, his shoulders heavy. He slumped onto his cot, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “I can’t…”

Then, the creature stirred. It crawled from his hand, hovered above him, and glowed brighter. “What are you doing?” Desmond asked, eyes widening.

Without warning, the creature dove, straight into his chest. He gasped, clawing at himself, but the light sank deep. His heart thundered.

His head filled with voices, not one, but many, like whispers carried on the wind. “Wh-what is this?” he stammered. Then, a voice, clear, commanding, rang inside his mind.

System Activated.

Desmond froze.

[User: Desmond. Status: Weak. Potential: Untapped.]

“What?!” he cried, clutching his head.

[Power unlocked: Thought Echo. Range: One mile.]

His eyes widened. Suddenly, he heard them, the thoughts of people walking outside his house. Fragments overlapping: “I’m late, I need bread.”

“Did she notice me? Gods, I hope not.”

“That freak Desmond, still alive?”

He stumbled back, overwhelmed.

[System Directive: Complete challenges to grow. Affection, loyalty, strength, these will grant rewards.]

Breathless, trembling, Desmond whispered, “Why me? Why now?”

The system answered coldly: Because you freed me.

That night, as the city bells tolled, Desmond lay awake, half terrified, half electrified. For the first time in his forgotten life, something had chosen him. And somewhere deep inside, he knew: nothing would ever be the same.