The first warrior of the Ivory Dragon

O1. Exception Amongst Ashes

In the blink of an eye, chaos descended upon your village, an unforgiving tempest that left devastation in its wake. The calamity struck with a swiftness that defied reason, leaving you in a bewildering state of disbelief. You weren't meant to survive; the cruel fate that awaited you was the cold embrace of petrification.

The haunting memories lingered, etched in the recesses of your mind like a macabre painting. Unhealable scars adorned your body, each a testament to the cataclysmic event that unfolded. The once vibrant village, a sanctuary of joy and camaraderie, now lay in ruins. The very essence of your existence crumbled alongside the doughy figures of those you held dear, turning to stone in a harrowing dance of despair.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of ash and the echoes of agonized cries reverberated in your ears. Time blurred as seconds stretched into an eternity, the village reduced to nothing more than ashes and crumbs. Desperation clawed at your heart, entwining with confusion as you grappled with the incomprehensible tragedy that had befallen your once thriving home. The world had morphed into a nightmarish tableau, and you stood amidst the ruins, a lone survivor in a desolate sea of devastation.

Amidst the eerie anticipation of your supposed fate, an unsettling void enveloped you; the expected transformation into stone never materialized.

The agony was palpable, every breath stinging as the air brushed against your burned and crumbling dough. The dragon orb fixated its gaze upon you, a chilling stare that pierced through your very core.

In a crescendo of distress, your voice shattered the heavy silence, a desperate plea laced with terror and unbridled anger. "What... what are you waiting for!?" The question echoed in the desolation, a plea for release from the torment that held you captive. The inevitability of your demise lingered, a cruel twist of fate that seemed to defy logic. You had witnessed the annihilation of your people, the swift transformation into lifeless statues, yet you remained untouched by the merciless gaze of the dragon orb.

As the seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity, the dragon orb loomed, an ominous sentinel in its ethereal perch, a very subtle twitch emanating from it. Paralyzed by fear, you remained motionless, an unwilling witness to your own impending doom.

The pain, an oppressive force, bound your limbs in a vise grip. Even the thought of movement was eclipsed by the overwhelming agony that permeated every inch of your being. The sheer terror had rendered you immobile, trapped in a body on the verge of crumbling into oblivion.

Exhaustion seeped into your very essence, a weariness that transcended the physical toll. Each labored breath felt like a monumental effort, the air itself carrying the weight of your despair. Vision blurred, the world around you became a distorted tableau, a surreal painting of suffering and decay.

Strawberry jam oozed from the wounds, a macabre testament to the brutality of your ordeal. The once intact dough, now marred by hairline cracks, mirrored the fractures in your spirit. The slow drip of jam paralleled the rhythmic descent into an agonizing slow death, a relentless march towards an inevitable demise.

In the midst of this desolation, you grappled with the duality of existence – trapped between the cruel stagnation of time and the relentless progression of your torment. The pain, both physical and emotional, melded into a symphony of suffering, a requiem for a life slowly slipping away.

"Why do you persist in breathing?" A deep resonance echoed through the remnants of the once-vibrant village that now lay in ruin. With great effort, you lifted your weakened gaze, only to be met by an icy stare that sent shivers coursing through your crumbling form. "By what audacity do you remain among the living in my presence?"

Your breaths came heavy, eyes half-lidded, as you succumbed to the weight of your exhaustion, lowering your gaze in submission and fear.

"Look at me," Longan commanded sternly, their eyes narrowing with dangerous intent. "The weak are unworthy of existence; your frail form struggles to endure, a pitiful sight."