Chapter 4: The Newborn Dragon.

How long… have I been unconscious?

Bas’s thoughts were a chaotic mess.
His heavy eyelids felt glued shut.
With great effort, he pried them open a crack, only for glaring light to force them shut again.
His brows knitted tightly from the dull ache radiating from deep within his bones.

At first, Bas only felt confined in a warm, viscous, narrow space that was extremely uncomfortable.

But soon, he realized this container was not a prison.
Instead, a gentle, warm power—like the very source of life—seeped in from all directions, slowly yet firmly soothing his aching muscles and throbbing bones, easing the tearing pain.

This strange comfort was like a soft lullaby.
Bas’s tense nerves unconsciously relaxed, and his consciousness sank back into darkness.

Yet the long slumber was not entirely peaceful.

Bas’s body felt as if it had endured the cruelest torture in the world.
While his consciousness struggled inside the void container, the heart-piercing pain finally dragged him back to reality.

First came a splitting headache, followed by an explosion of agony deep in his spine.
It felt as though someone had pried open his vertebrae with a red-hot iron rod.
An unprecedented, panic-inducing swelling and foreign sensation came from his tailbone—like something had already burst out of his body, tightly connected to his nerve endings, twitching and throbbing faintly as consciousness returned.

His entire body felt as if it had been burned in raging flames and then quenched in ice water.
Every inch of muscle and every bone had undergone complete disintegration and rebirth.
A massive wave of fear surged in Bas’s heart. He had no idea what monstrous form he had become.

After the long torment, his uncomfortable body finally calmed.
Having maintained a fetal curl for so long left his limbs numb and stiff.
He subconsciously wanted to stretch and loosen his sore joints.

But the next second—

“Crack.”

A tiny yet crystal-clear sound of shattering rang right beside his ear.

Bas froze instantly.
His muddled consciousness snapped awake.
He jerked his eyes open.
What greeted him was not familiar darkness or firelight, but a soft, hazy milky-white glow.
He seemed to be wrapped inside a huge, warm light cocoon.
The sound just now had come from a fine crack that had appeared on the wall of this cocoon.

Intense curiosity and the instinct for survival overpowered fear of the unknown.
Bas took a deep breath and forcefully pried outward along the crack.
More cracks spread like a spiderweb.

“Where… is this?”

Bas murmured softly.
His throat felt strangely delicate after the earlier roaring.

As a larger fragment broke off and fell, the milky-white glow imprisoning him was finally torn open.
A completely unfamiliar scene slowly unfolded before his eyes.

It was a room with deep, oppressive colors.
The walls were painted a rich dark red, like congealed blood.
Heavy black curtains hung all the way to the floor.

Strangely, in this grim atmosphere, numerous dragon statues were placed on the walls and desk.
Young flying dragons—some coiled, some spreading their wings.
They were made of various materials: cold forged metal, even roughly carved original wood.
Each had a different form, yet all exuded an eerie yet exquisite artistic sense.

Bas narrowed his eyes, which seemed to have become sharper.
Huge confusion welled up in his heart.
Did the owner of this room have such a pathological fondness for young dragons?

“Whose room is this?”

Bas muttered subconsciously.

“This is my bedroom.”

A low, cold, magnetic voice suddenly sounded from behind Bas without warning.
It seemed to pour directly into his ear, carrying a trace of laziness yet containing invisible pressure.

Bas’s heart clenched violently.
He remained frozen in the posture of breaking out of the shell, sitting rigidly in place.
The next second, pure instinct drove him to snatch up the largest, sharpest eggshell fragment at his feet.
He held the broken eggshell piece tightly in front of himself like a weapon, full of vigilance and panic, and spun around to point it at the black-haired demon—Rester—who was watching him as if appreciating a work of art!

“Hahahaha…”

Rester burst into a low, delighted laugh, as if he had seen the most ridiculous scene in the world.

His slender fingers elegantly covered the corner of his mouth.
Those dark-red eyes sparkled with undisguised amusement as his gaze lingered on the thin eggshell fragment in the silver-haired young dragon’s hand, which still emitted a faint milky-white glow.

“What?”
His voice was thick with teasing.
“Are you planning to use your eggshell to give me a little scratch?
What a unique greeting gift.”

“My eggshell?”

Bas repeated subconsciously, brows furrowed.
Following Rester’s teasing gaze, his eyes finally fell on the “weapon” gripped tightly in his own hand.
The moment he looked, overwhelming terror crashed over him like a bucket of ice water.

What Bas saw was not the familiar adult male hand with distinct knuckles and thin calluses.
Instead, he saw a pair of fair, delicate little hands—fine as newborn flower petals, with round, cute finger joints and healthy pink nails.
They were clearly the palms of a child.

“Eh?!”

A short, involuntary cry escaped his throat.
The tone was clear and childish, even carrying a milky sweetness, completely devoid of his former low, powerful voice.

Bas hurriedly looked down at himself.
What met his eyes was long silver hair flowing like moonlight over his slender shoulders.
His shrunken body proportions made the hair appear exceptionally long and thick.

His originally broad, sturdy shoulders had become thin and frail.
His collarbones were pitifully delicate.

A flat chest, the slender waist typical of an undeveloped child—even the steady adult anger deep in his heart now seemed diluted by this young body into childish grievance and stubbornness.

“Where are my clothes?!”

The sense of shame hit him belatedly, instantly drowning Bas.

He hastily used the sharp eggshell fragment to shield himself, curling his body up and trying to cover as much exposed skin as possible.

His small face flushed bright red.
Silver eyes burned with furious shame as he glared deathly at Rester.
His voice trembled slightly from extreme anger and the changed childish tone:

“You bastard! Give me back my clothes!”

“Oh? Clothes?”

Rester raised an eyebrow, as if only now remembering this trivial detail.

He thought for a moment and answered calmly:

“They were probably chewed up as snacks by those enthusiastic little cuties in the water.
They don’t have much taste when it comes to fabric.”

This casual answer completely ignited Bas’s rage.
He roared with all his strength, trying to vent the anger and humiliation that nearly tore him apart.

“Give me back my original body—!!!”

However, this tender, milky childish voice sounded like a fledgling bird just learning to chirp.
It carried zero intimidation.
Instead, it echoed pitifully and cutely in the empty stone chamber, sounding more like… coquettish whining?