THE ALMIGHTY WAR DRAGON

BIRTH OF THE PRIMORDIUS DRAGON

CHAPTER 3 — THE AWAKENING IN THE GARAGE

The cold night pressed against the steel walls of the transport vehicle as the convoy rolled away from the palace gates.

Evans sat between two soldiers, his wrists were locked in metal cuffs that rubbed against the skin. Snow tapped the roof of the vehicles in steady, soft rhythm.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, with a voice that was flat.

The soldier on his right didn’t look at him. “We are taking you to the holding prison. Your exile begins at sunrise.”

Evans stared at him. “Funny. I was supposed to be taken home first. Pack my things. Say goodbye to people that matter to me. But here we are, driving into the dark.”

There was no response.

“Ronan sent you, didn’t he?” Evans added.

The soldier across from him finally spoke, his jaw was tight. “Save your breath. It won’t matter after tonight.”

Evans let out a short, humorless laugh. He saw through their thoughts already. “You guys are not even pretending anymore.”

The first soldier flicked his gaze toward him. “Don’t talk.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a warning.

By the way, something was wrong. The route. The silence. The tension in the air. Everything told Evans that whatever this was, it wasn’t official procedure.

The convoy slowed as they approached a deserted checkpoint. The lamps flickered, then went out completely.

Evans straightened. “Why are we stopping?”

Neither soldier answered. The truck jolted as an explosion hit the lead vehicle. Metal screamed somewhere ahead.

“What was that?” Evans snapped.

The back doors burst open before anyone could respond. Masked men stormed inside. One grabbed Evans’s collar and yanked him forward.

“Get your hands off—” Evans shouted, but a rifle butt slammed into his temple.

As he blacked out, he heard one palace soldier mutter, “Make it look real.”

A masked man replied, “Lord Ronan his brother paid us well. We’ll handle the rest.”

*********

A few hours later, Evans woke to a throbbing pain behind his eyes. A dim bulb flickered above him. The air smelled of rust and oil.

He was strapped to a metal chair, ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

Four men surrounded him. Not Drakarion soldiers, but mercenaries with worn boots and impatient faces.

One tapped Evans cheek. “Welcome back, noble boy.”

Evans swallowed. “Where are the soldiers?”

“Gone,” the man said. “They got their money.”

Another leaned in close. “You expected loyalty?”

The slap came fast. Evans’s head snapped to the side, a metallic taste filling his mouth.

He breathed out slowly. “If you’re smart, then don’t do that again.”

They laughed like it was a joke.

“You still think threats work?” one said, flicking Evans’s forehead.

Evans met his stare, anger simmering under his skin. “You don’t know what you’re provoking.”

The leader stepped forward, boots stopping inches from Evans’s knees. “Your dear brother Ronan sends his regards.”

Evans didn’t react outwardly, but the words hit deep. So Ronan truly wanted him erased, even before exile began.

“What did he pay you for?” Evans asked. “My body?”

“No. Something, actually he payed us to take out something more useful within you.”

"Yes, your Celestro dragon force." Another mercenary muttered.

Evans was stunned. Not only did Ronan frame him for treason, but he also paid people to extract his Celestro dragon force?

They cut the ropes just to drag him across the floor. Evans struggled, but with his bruises and exhaustion, and the intoxicating aura from their runes, they overpowered him easily.

A metal slab sat in the center of the garage, etched with more glowing runes.

They pinned him to it and strapped him down.

A humming machine was pushed beside him, covered with symbols he recognized instantly.

Evans’s heart tightened. “You guy's are making a very big mistake here.”

The leader grinned. “Nothing here is a mistake. We will extract every last drop. Lord Ronan wants you drained.”

“That process is unstable,” Evans snapped. “It could kill me.”

“Then die,” the man said simply. “Not our concern.”

The machine switched on. Harsh light washed over Evans. His chest burned as energy ripped loose from inside him, pulled like threads being torn out by force.

Evans gasped, teeth clenched, sweat running down his temples. Every second felt like fire inside his ribs. His body twisted against the restraints.

“He’s crashing!” one mercenary called.

“Good,” another replied, adjusting the device. “Almost done.”

Evans’s vision blurred. His heartbeat slowed. He felt something leave him—something he had lived with since childhood. A final flicker of blue light rose from his chest and dissolved into the machine.

The glow faded. The humming died.

Evans went still.

The leader nudged him with a boot. “Looks empty to me.”

One of the men laughed. “Ronan exaggerated. He went out like a scared kid.”

“Poor noble guy,” another mocked. “So much for dragon blood.”

They kept mocking him, trading jokes and wiping sweat from their brows. Evans didn’t move. His chest barely rose.

Then the air shifted.

A faint warmth rolled across the garage.

One man frowned. “You feel that?”

Another pointed at Evans. “What… what is that?”

A soft glow formed beneath Evans’s skin, right over his chest. It pulsed once. Then again, stronger.

The leader stepped back. “Hold on. Something’s wrong.”

Evans’s fingers twitched.

“We drained him dry,” one mercenary whispered. “This shouldn’t happen.”

The glow expanded, heating the air around the slab. The ropes around Evans’s wrists started to smoke. A crackling sound spread through the room.

Evans’s eyes snapped open— it was no longer blue.

They blazed gold.

The mercenaries staggered back, shielding their faces. Scales formed along Evans’s cheek and jaw, shining like forged metal under the flickering lights.

One man yelled, “What kind of Dragon Force is that?!”

The leader’s face drained of color. “No… this isn’t Celestro. This is—”

He didn’t finish.

Evans lifted his arm, and golden energy burst outward in a wave. One mercenary was thrown across the room, smashing into a stack of crates that shattered on impact.

Flames erupted along the oil-stained floor, racing up old barrels and metal beams.

Heat rippled through the garage, forcing the men to stumble back.

“What is he?!” a mercenary shouted.

“It’s not Celestro,” another said, voice shaking. “It’s something else—something ancient.”

The leader stepped back until he hit the wall, eyes wide with horror. “No. No… it’s impossible. That’s a Primordius Dragon.”

The flames climbed higher, lighting the garage with gold and orange. Evans pushed himself upright, golden aura swirling around him like living fire.

The same men who mocked him moments ago stood frozen, trapped between terror and disbelief, as the ancient power of the Primordius Dragon, the greatest dragon grade in the whole Realm continued rising through Evans Draker.

Evans turned his glowing eyes toward them, the fire reflecting in his gaze.