Draconic Awakening

The sound of the cold wind, the slight murmurs of what could be discerned as humans reached his ears. Or was this just his mind deceiving him?

Ragnar could slowly feel his consciousness returning to him, his entire body emptied of the pain and now having some sort of deep soreness. Still, this was a step down from the pain he originally felt, so it didn't bother him much.

However, as he slowly returned to himself, he felt as though cradled on the back of someone and immediately knew something was awfully off.

'Where am I?' Ragnar asked himself, finally opening his eyes to view his surroundings. At first, everything was definitely blurry, but after a few squints here and there, he finally got a good image of his surroundings.

He was certainly on the back of someone, and around him was no longer the hellish caves of the obsidian cursed Mesa, but the vast crumbling snow hills and knolls.

The white sky radiated the enigmatic light upon the realm and he instantly knew—he was out of Wendigo's crust.

"He's awake."

A young feminine voice called out to Ragnar from his left, catching his attention.

He turned his gaze and stared into the eyes of a young woman with short curly hair. She was dark in complexion and attractive—not to mention, dressed in dark blue armour. She looked like a knight herself.

The man that had Ragnar on his back turned his gaze to the young Lord and gave a smile in return. "Hi, welcome back to the land of the living, my Lord."

Ragnar was silent. He prioritized studying his saviours first before reacting—the girl and the man who carried him. This made him recall how short he really was in this life. No, that wasn't it. I'm average, yes average.

"Are you alright, my Lord? My back is really hurting," the man that carried him spoke, groaning a little as he struggled to straighten his back.

Ragnar immediately nodded and pushed himself off the man's back, landing foot first onto the snow. However, his knees buckled, letting him fall bottom-first into the snow.

How long have I been without straightening? Ragnar had no idea, but now that he was on the ground he could see the extent of this group.

They were a lot of them. Apart from the two he had just seen, there were about six more members in this group, and all were geared up properly in equipment that was battle-worthy of the realm.

Three of them were surely recognizable.

Seeing that he was awake, the group that was originally moving had suddenly come to a rest, all eyes latching onto him with intent—some with hate and others with surprise.

The man that had been carrying him all this while groaned as he stretched, then approached Ragnar first. "You might not be able to recognize me because of all the facial hair and the way I look now, but I'm Veron, your assigned guard."

The young Lord's eyes widened as he glared at the man in recognition. From Ragnar's memories, he could barely recognize this man and recall his name—he was a sworn guard to him and also obligated to enter the first realm alongside Ragnar to protect him if they met.

However, he was a bit older and looked far unkempt compared to how he was in the normal world. Still... it was an amazing fact he was able to notice Ragnar was not some beast.

"I see," Ragnar said, turning his gaze away from his supposed assigned guard and onto the others, locking his gaze with three familiar figures—

The princess, Cleaver, and Klein, who now seemed to be part of this new group.

How comfortable was that.

Ragnar could only imagine how this partnership had happened between each of them to get this huge, and why he had been saved. How did they meet him? He was full of questions; however, this was not the time to get any answers.

The girl closest to him walked forward in hopes of introducing herself. However, she stopped midway—not because of being hesitant, but due to the person that walked past her.

A man larger than the rest, bulky and very dangerous-looking, seemed to walk before her and then stopped when he got beside Veron.

Ragnar, seeing this massive embodiment of a man, felt as though he was a child compared to him. It was somewhat intimidating.

"So you are the one that killed a Grade Two Dreadling on his own?" That was the first thing the man muttered, taking a long stare at him. "I am the leader of this group, Kendricks—but Kenny for short."

Ragnar lingered for a moment and then nodded. "I am, Ragnar—"

"Yes, I know, the bastard of Lord Rok," Kenny cut him off before he could finish, forcing a smile on his hardened expression. "I know you might be full of questions and all, but let's reach the camping sites first, then we can talk fully."

With that, Kenny turned around and began to walk to the front of the group. It didn't take long before the others began to move forward—all but Veron, who waited loyally for Ragnar to rise from his feet.

Why the hell is he waiting for me? It's the realms, he doesn't need to be loyal, no one is obligating him, Ragnar thought as he stood upright to his best capacity, paying no attention to the man before him as he began walking.

And as he did, Veron stayed close—very closely—to him, as though a guard behind his Lord.

{Writer: honour? Or is that just remarkable loyalty}

The writer seemed to be skeptical with its words and this made Ragnar wince, but he kept silent, his mind running through what had happened during his time when he was knocked out.

Then he had an idea. Turning his gaze to the dancer, he decided to ask, 'Can you explain all that happened to me since I was asleep?'

The dancer seemed to shake its head in disagreement to his command, which was strange. The prisoner was the same—indifferent—and the writer the same.

'Why won't you tell me anything?' Ragnar got a bit perplexed, and the next answer that came made his throat go dry.

{Writer: Because the first master commands it}

His gaze flew up once more and onto all the people that were present in the group. Could it be the owner, the first master of the shadow... is here in this group?