THE LAST DRAGON LORD AWAKENS

Trial By Fire

The Hall of Trials was nothing like Xin Hang expected. He had imagined something grand and ceremonial, but instead, it was a circular stone chamber deep beneath the palace, lit by torches that burned with strange blue flames. Ancient symbols covered the walls—the same symbols that now throbbed on his forehead.

"Strip to the waist," commanded an old man in gray robes. His beard reached his chest, and his eyes were clouded with age, but his voice carried the weight of absolute authority.

"Master Zhou?" Xin guessed.

"Grand Master Zhou," Princess Mei corrected sharply. She stood beside her father, arms crossed. "He's the keeper of the ancient texts. Show some respect, peasant."

Xin bit back a retort and pulled off his filthy servant's tunic. His chest was lean from years of physical labor but marked with scars from various palace mishaps. Nothing impressive. Certainly nothing that screamed "legendary dragon warrior."

Master Zhou circled him slowly, muttering under his breath. "Hmm. Weak constitution. Poor muscle development. Spiritual channels completely dormant." He poked Xin's ribs. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-two, Master."

"Twenty-two years of wasted potential." The old man sighed. "If the mark is genuine, you should have begun cultivation at age seven. Your foundation is going to be a nightmare to build."

"If?" the Emperor interjected. "Master Zhou, you examined the mark yourself. You said it was authentic."

"The mark is real, Your Majesty. But marks can be deceived, transplanted through dark rituals. The Trial of Flame will prove whether the dragon blood truly flows in his veins—or if this is an elaborate deception."

Xin's stomach dropped. "What exactly does this trial involve?"

Master Zhou gestured to the center of the chamber, where a metal platform sat covered in more glowing symbols. "You'll stand there. We'll activate the Dragon Flame Array. If you're truly descended from the dragon lords, the flames will recognize you and awaken your cultivation potential. If not..." He shrugged. "You'll burn to ash in approximately thirty seconds."

"That's comforting," Xin muttered.

"Scared, thief?" Princess Mei smiled coldly. "You can still confess. Tell us who gave you that false mark. We'll make your death quick."

Xin met her gaze. Something about her arrogance sparked a fire in his chest—different from the burning on his forehead, but just as intense. "I'm not a thief. And I didn't ask for any of this."

"Then prove it," she challenged.

The Emperor placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Mei, enough. This boy's fate is already sealed, one way or another." He turned to Xin, and his expression softened slightly. "I know you're afraid. But if the heavens have chosen you, then the Xing Dynasty needs you. Our enemies grow stronger every day. The northern clans prepare for war. Without dragon power, we will fall."

Xin wanted to argue, to run, to wake up from this insane nightmare. But where would he go? Back to shoveling horse dung? Back to a world where he was nobody, nothing, just another servant waiting to die forgotten?

At least this way, if he died, it would mean something.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's do this."

Master Zhou nodded approvingly. "Good. Stupid, but good. Step onto the platform."

Xin walked to the center of the chamber, his bare feet cold against the stone. The metal platform hummed beneath him, resonating with some invisible energy. The symbols began to glow brighter.

"Once we begin, there's no stopping it," Master Zhou warned. "The array will run its course. Either you survive, or you don't. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Any last words?" Princess Mei asked, echoing the Silent General's question from earlier.

Xin almost laughed. This was it—his second near-death experience in less than an hour. At this rate, he'd set a palace record.

"Yeah," he said. "When I survive this, you owe me an apology, Princess."

Her eyes flashed with anger, but Master Zhou was already chanting, his hands moving in complex patterns. The symbols on the walls blazed to life. The temperature in the chamber spiked.

Then the flames came.

They erupted from the platform, engulfing Xin in a column of searing fire. He screamed—he couldn't help it. The pain was beyond anything he'd ever experienced. It felt like his skin was melting, his bones turning to liquid, his very soul being torn apart and remade.

But underneath the agony, something else stirred.

The mark on his forehead pulsed. Heat answered heat. The dragon blood in his veins—blood he didn't know he had—recognized the flames as kin. The burning shifted from t*****e to... something else. Power. Raw, untamed, ancient power.

Memories flooded through him again, but clearer this time. He saw the first Dragon Lord, standing atop a mountain peak, commanding storms with a gesture. He saw battles against demons, against corrupt gods, against the very fabric of reality. He saw the cultivation path laid out before him like a golden road.

*Nine Heavenly Gates*, the knowledge whispered. *First Gate: Awakening. Open your spiritual channels. Let the dragon essence flow.*

Xin didn't know how he did it. Instinct? Memory? Desperation? He reached inward, found the blocked channels Master Zhou had mentioned, and forced them open. It was like breaking down a dam—suddenly, energy poured through him, wild and chaotic and glorious.

The flames responded. Instead of consuming him, they began to orbit around him, forming a spiral of fire that lifted him off the platform. Xin's eyes snapped open, and he realized they were glowing the same golden color as the mark on his forehead.

"Impossible," Master Zhou breathed. "He's already entering the First Gate. Without any training, without any preparation—"

The flames exploded outward, then vanished. Xin dropped to his knees on the platform, gasping. His skin was unmarked—not even a single burn. But he felt different. Stronger. More alive than he'd ever been.

He looked up at Princess Mei and grinned despite his exhaustion.

"I believe you owe me an apology, Princess."