The Last Dragon Emperor

Chapter 3 – The Forgotten Legend (Part B)

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the attentive classroom. Greg, however, felt his fingers curl tightly around the wooden edge of his desk, his knuckles whitening from the pressure.

Varis continued his lecture with practiced precision. "Thousands of years ago, the primitive tribes of our world lacked any scientific understanding of natural disasters or geological phenomena."

He began pacing across the front of the classroom again, gesturing theatrically. "When volcanoes erupted without warning,"

He flicked his staff, causing orange and red illusions of flowing lava to appear, "they imagined fire-breathing beasts living within the mountains."

Another flick of his staff produced a new image. "When devastating earthquakes struck without explanation,"

He caused the entire classroom floor to tremble slightly through sophisticated illusion magic: "They invented stories of sleeping dragons thrashing beneath the earth itself."

Many students nodded thoughtfully, finding the explanation logical and reassuring in its rationality. The scientific framework made perfect sense.

"History," Varis concluded with finality, "exists for one sacred purpose: to separate verifiable fact from baseless fantasy."

Roland raised his hand eagerly. "Master Varis, if I may ask a question?"

"Speak freely," Varis granted.

"If dragons never existed in any form," Roland said, his characteristic grin widening mischievously, "then why do people continue to give children dragon charms for good luck?"

Several students laughed at the clever observation. Greg found himself instinctively touching the pendant hidden beneath his academy uniform, a gesture that did not escape the chief mage's notice—though Varis's expression remained completely indifferent for only an instant before returning to its usual coldness.

"Because merchants are remarkably skilled at profiting from human ignorance," Varis replied coolly. "People desperately wish for heroes and champions in their lives. Consequently, they invent elaborate stories." His voice hardened considerably. "They invent Dragon Knights—warriors supposedly bonded to these mythical creatures."

Another illusion formed above the classroom, this time depicting an armored warrior astride an absolutely colossal dragon.

The image looked majestic, noble, and utterly impossible all at once. "They invent chosen ones," Varis continued, watching as the illusion cracked and fractured. "They invent divine bloodlines granted special power." The dragon dissolved into smoke. "They invent miracles where none exist."

A profound, oppressive silence settled over the entire classroom like a suffocating blanket.

"Reality," Varis said quietly, his voice somehow more menacing in its softness, "requires no dragons to explain itself. Reality needs no magical intervention or divine intervention. Reality simply is."

Greg lowered his eyes, unable to hold the chief mage's gaze any longer. His thoughts drifted unwillingly back to Blackstone Well and what had transpired in those lightless depths.

He remembered the roar that had shaken the stone beneath his feet, the inexplicable warmth that had pulsed through the pendant before fading into obscurity. If dragons truly never existed throughout all of human history, then what exactly had he heard echoing through that ancient, forgotten cavern?

His logical mind searched desperately for rational answers. None came. Instead, an old memory surfaced unbidden from the depths of his childhood.

He remembered his mother sitting beside their tiny fireplace, her gentle fingers tracing the intricate dragon carved into the silver pendant. "Some stories survive across centuries because they're true, my dear,"

She had whispered to him. At that time, he had laughed off her words as sentimental nonsense. Now, older and questioning everything, he wasn't quite so certain. "Greg."

The sharp, commanding voice cut through his troubled thoughts like a blade.

He looked up abruptly, finding every eye in the entire classroom turned toward him. Chief Mage Varis was staring directly at the orphan in the back row with an intensity that made Greg's breath catch in his throat.

"You appear significantly distracted," Varis observed, his tone suggesting this was a grave offense.

Greg stood immediately, his posture stiffening. "My sincerest apologies, Master Varis. I was not paying proper attention."

"Then perhaps you can provide an answer to a question I pose," Varis said, folding his hands carefully behind his back. "If dragons truly existed as anything more than myth and superstition, then where are their bones? Where is the skeletal evidence? Where are the fossils scattered across our continents?"

The classroom erupted with chuckles at what was clearly a rhetorical trap. Greg understood immediately what was happening.

Any answer that suggested dragons might have existed would make him appear foolish in front of the entire class. Conversely, denying their existence entirely meant repudiating what he himself had begun to suspect based on his own experience.

He chose his words with extreme care, measuring each syllable before speaking. "I don't know, Master Varis," he admitted honestly.

"No theory, then?" Varis pressed, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer and was testing the boy's courage.

Greg hesitated, his mind racing through possibilities. "I've never personally seen a dragon in my entire life," he finally said, hearing a few scattered chuckles from nearby students. "But I have come to believe through my own experience that not seeing something doesn't necessarily mean it never existed."

The profound silence that followed felt strangely weighted with significance. For the briefest, most fleeting instant, something unreadable and complex flickered deep in Varis's cold, calculating eyes.

It was not amusement or approval, but something far stranger and more dangerous: recognition, as if he had glimpsed something in the boy that caught him off guard.

Then the moment evaporated completely, and his expression returned to its customary icy indifference.

"An interesting perspective," Varis acknowledged, his tone becoming noticeably colder and more cutting. "However, history is not built upon mere possibilities and wishful thinking. It is constructed exclusively upon proof—empirical, verifiable, undeniable proof."

He struck the floor once with his staff with enough force to cause a subtle tremor to ripple through the stone. "The lesson will continue."

The formal instruction resumed, and students returned their attention to Varis's ongoing discourse about historical methodology. Yet Greg found himself completely unable to concentrate on any of the information being presented.

Because beneath his shirt, against his chest, the dragon pendant had become noticeably warm once again—warm in a way that defied any rational explanation he could construct.