Darek's Perspective
Drakar is an odd one. Very odd. He's quiet—too quiet, honestly—and sometimes when I watch him, I feel bad. I don't think he's enjoying his life. He moves like someone who's just… existing. Not living. He doesn't smile. He doesn't laugh. He just trains, fights, and follows orders.
Drakar is a Dragonkind. I'm human. We're different in many ways, but there is one thing that connects us, we're both heavy hitters. When we fight, we don't mess around. He uses an axe, a big one, while I use my sword, Lacrima Floris. He brings the fire, and I bring the earth. He soars in the air like a bird born to the skies, well a dragon born to the skies but whatever, and I stay rooted to the ground like a tree that's lived for centuries. He's quiet, calm, always thinking. I love the noise, the laughter, the energy of people. We're like fire and soil, complete opposites.
But still, I chose to train him. And if anyone ask me why. The answer was simple: I didn't want him to waste his life. I wanted him to live, to feel something. Not just grow stronger for the sake of strength, but to find meaning in what he does. I saw something in him, something even he didn't see. A spark, waiting to become a fire.
So I took him to Lastward.
Now, Lastward is not the kind of place you'd take someone for a vacation. It's the northernmost city in Avelya, and even calling it a "city" is generous. It's more like a massive warrior outpost. Rough roads, stone houses, no fancy markets or magic theaters. Just fighters, soldiers, and adventurers. People who live on the edge of danger. Because beyond Lastward, there's nothing but wild creatures and enemies. It's the first line of defense, and everyone there knows it. For me, it was the perfect place to train someone like Drakar.
But I didn't train him the way most mentors would. I didn't give him daily tasks or detailed routines. I just brought him there, and… waited. I let him sit in that rough, cold city and figure things out for himself. He didn't complain, not even once. He waited. Day after day. Silent, patient, probably confused.
It wasn't until a whole month had passed that Drakar finally spoke up. He came to me, his tone serious, and said that he didn't think my training methods were good enough. That they weren't at the level the King would expect for a Rising Hero. I just laughed.
Not a fake laugh. A real, loud one. I couldn't help it. He was right, after all. What I was doing didn't seem like training at all. Then I looked him in the eye and spoke with a bit more weight in my voice.
"You're right, Drakar," I said. "This isn't what the King would expect. But the truth is, I won't train you until you're focused. Right now, you're just going through the motions. I don't know what you've been through, and I won't pretend to understand. But if you keep bottling everything inside, it's going to break you."
He tried to deny it. Said he was focused, that he hadn't lost sight of the mission.
But I shook my head. "You're not doing this for the mission. Not really. You're trying to get stronger, but not for the right reasons. If you train just to become powerful, without any joy, without any heart, you'll never reach your full strength. You've got to want more than power. You've got to live."
That stuck with him. He didn't say much after that. But I could hope something changed.
He started thinking deeply. I think that was the first time he realized he wasn't alone. That The Rising Heroes weren't just teammates, they were people who cared. People he could rely on. People who believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself.
A few days later, I finally gave him a real task. I threw him into a hailstorm.
Not just any storm. The kind of storm that bites into your bones. Freezing winds. Ice slicing through the air. And worse, the land there was crawling with wild creatures. Dangerous ones.
I gave Drakar one goal: enter Overheat Mode and maintain it for an entire day.
Sounds simple, maybe. But it wasn't.
Overheat Mode is Drakar's most powerful form. His body burns hot, red fire surging through his veins, giving him massive strength and speed. But he had never kept it active for more than an hour before. And now, I wanted him to do it for 24 hours… in a freezing hailstorm, the worst environment possible for a fire-based fighter.
He tried. Again and again.
But he failed.
The cold wore him down. His fire fizzled out faster than expected. He couldn't last more than half an hour at first. But he didn't give up.
While he was out there, pushing himself against the ice and the cold, I was back in the city, living well. I drank warm drinks, enjoyed good food, and told the local kids stories of my past adventures. Added a little drama here and there, gotta keep it interesting, you know. I even spent time with the ladies. Gotta enjoy life too.
Two weeks passed.
And finally, one morning, Drakar managed to keep his Overheat Mode active for a full hour. He came back to the city, eyes burning with frustration, jaw tight, body steaming from the heat he had built inside. I smiled and said, "Congratulations."
That was the first time I saw it in him, hunger. Not just to grow stronger, but to be something more. To find purpose. It made me proud.
I told him to start talking to the others. To get to know the adventurers in Lastward. Learn their styles. Pick up tricks. Study different forms of fighting. And he listened.
He started spending time with veterans and rookies alike. He learned how to fight on the ground, not just in the air. He picked up footwork, defensive stances, close-range strikes. His growth was no longer just physical, it was mental. Tactical. Strategic. His fire was evolving, not just burning.
Within a month, he was able to maintain his Overheat Mode for six hours. That's when I gave him his next challenge.
"Now I don't want you to just maintain your Overheat Mode," I told him. "I want you to fight in it. Enter the hailstorm again. Engage the wild creatures. You don't need to kill them. Just stay in battle for 24 hours straight. Survive. Keep the mode active the entire time."
He tried. And he failed.
His six hours dropped to two during his first attempt. But he didn't give up. He understood now. This wasn't just training for strength. This was training for the mission. For the team. For himself.
He kept at it.
Every day, he woke before the sun, muscles still sore from the day before. He didn't ask for breaks. He didn't complain. He pushed his body past its limits, running drills across frozen cliffs, practicing combat forms with ice-crusted armor, forcing his fire to stay lit in winds that could snuff out a torch in seconds. When his flames flickered, he roared louder. When frost bit into his skin, he clenched his jaw and kept moving. There were no shortcuts. No mercy. Only sweat, blood, and that stubborn will of his that refused to let him fall behind.
Weeks turned into months. Again and again, he entered the storm. Again and again, he fought, fell, and rose. Until finally, one day, he did it.
He maintained Overheat Mode for 24 hours, battled the wild creatures nonstop, and came back alive. Exhausted. But different.
He smiled.
It was a small smile. Barely there. But I saw it. For a few seconds, his face lit up—not with anger, or stress, or pain. But with pride. He was proud of himself. And I was proud of him.
He was learning to enjoy life.
Then the call came.
---
The Rising Heroes and The Grand Party were summoned to prepare for the corrupted dungeon mission. Before we left, we were all called to meet Lord Thaldrik Haildaleom for his blessing.
He stood tall, eyes calm, as he faced Drakar. I stepped aside, letting the moment be his.
"When I saw you for the first time," Lord Thaldrik said, "you were different. Your eyes were full of fear and hate. Now, they hold something else. Peace. Purpose. You have changed. And it is for the better."
He raised his hand. "I hope the Winged Inferno doesn't burn out."
Drakar didn't say anything. But he didn't need to.
His eyes said everything. He was ready. He is going to burn even brighter and hotter...
Drakar, The Winged Inferno...