The stench of burnt flesh and spilled wine clung to the air, thick and cloying. Leonard Drayven's eyes, once sharp and commanding, now stared blankly at the smoke-filled sky. He lay sprawled amidst the carnage, the shattered remnants of his once-proud army scattered around him like broken toys. The crimson stain spreading across his chest mirrored the setting sun, a cruel and final echo of the battle that had just concluded.
He remembered the betrayal, the sudden, brutal strike from behind. The faces of those he had trusted, twisted in malice, their blades plunging deep. The whispers of "traitor" and "usurper" still echoed in his ears, a venomous symphony of deceit.
A kingdom lost. A life stolen.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, a gurgling, bloody sound. He had been a warlord, a conqueror, a man who had carved a kingdom from the wilderness with his bare hands. Yet, he had fallen, not to a superior force, but to the poisoned daggers of those he had called allies.
Darkness began to creep in, a cold, suffocating blanket. He closed his eyes, the image of his shattered kingdom, the faces of his betrayers, burning into his retinas.
Then, silence.
A gasp, sharp and ragged, tore through the stillness. Leonard's eyes snapped open, wide and disoriented. He found himself lying on a cold, stone floor, the air thick with the musty scent of damp earth. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the faintest sliver of moonlight filtering through a narrow crack in the wall.
He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him. His body felt weak, unfamiliar, like a vessel too small for his spirit. He looked down, his hands trembling. They were slender, delicate, the hands of a youth, not the calloused, scarred hands of a seasoned warrior.
What… what is this?
He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with a dull ache. The room was small, a cell, its walls rough-hewn stone. A single, rickety wooden door stood at the far end, secured by a heavy iron lock.
A faint thrumming sensation pulsed within his chest, a strange, rhythmic beat that resonated deep within his bones. He placed a hand over his heart, feeling the faint warmth emanating from within.
Something… different.
He closed his eyes, searching his memories, trying to reconcile the fragmented images of his past life with the unfamiliar sensations of his present. And then, he felt it. A surge of power, a raw, primal energy, coiled within him, like a sleeping beast. A dragon's core, pulsating with ancient magic.
Dragon… core?
The memories flooded back, not of his past life, but of this new life, this current existence. He was Leonard… again. But not the warlord. He was Leonard Ebonvale, the exiled prince of the fallen kingdom of Aethelgard. A kingdom betrayed, its royal family slaughtered, its lands seized by the usurper, King Valerius.
He was the last of the Ebonvale line, cast aside, left to rot in this forgotten dungeon. A pawn, discarded after the game was won.
A wave of incandescent rage washed over him, hot and consuming. Betrayal, once again. But this time, it was different. This time, he had a second chance. This time, he had the power of a dragon within him.
He clenched his fists, the faint thrumming of the dragon core intensifying. The darkness of the cell seemed to deepen, the air growing heavy with latent energy.
Valerius… you will pay.
He stood, his legs unsteady, his body trembling with a mixture of weakness and nascent power. The memories of his past life, the knowledge of warfare, the experience of command, mingled with the raw, untamed power of the dragon core. He was no longer just Leonard Ebonvale, the exiled prince. He was something more.
He was a force of nature, a storm waiting to be unleashed.
He walked towards the door, his steps slow and deliberate. He placed his hand on the cold iron lock, feeling the ancient magic within him stir.
"They think they have buried me," he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with a chilling resolve. "They are wrong. They have only planted a seed."
With a surge of power, he unleashed the dragon core's energy. The iron lock twisted and warped, glowing red hot before shattering into fragments. The door swung open, revealing a dark, winding corridor.
He stepped out, his shadow stretching long and menacing in the faint moonlight.