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## *Chapter 1: The Awakening*
Morning light spills through the window, casting a soft glow on the young man's face. His white hair shimmers, strands catching the daylight like woven silver. But his eyes—deep blue pools swirling with galaxies—hold something far greater than ordinary human essence. Within them, destiny is etched, waiting for its moment to unfold.
He sits up, stretching before reaching for his storage ring resting on the desk. A sleek device, futuristic yet familiar, it allows him to carry everything he needs without the burden of a backpack. With practiced ease, he fastens the ring to his finger and steps onto his hoverboard, feeling its smooth hum beneath his feet as he glides toward the academy.
The ride through the city is filled with whispered judgments. He is known—not for his strength, but for his failure. Born of a dragon's lineage, yet powerless. A disgrace. The weight of his father's legacy shackles him, a constant reminder that he has yet to awaken his bloodline's true potential. The others see him as weak, as nothing.
At the academy, students train, refining their gifts—channeling energy, shaping weapons from their souls. He watches them, longing for the day when he might harness his own strength. But no lesson, no technique can force his bloodline to manifest before its time.
After class, he wanders near the edge of the city, where merchants display relics of old. One stall catches his eye. His gaze locks onto a crimson necklace—its core pulsing faintly as if alive. The merchant watches him carefully.
"This piece… it speaks to you, does it not?" the old man says, his voice low, knowing.
He hesitates, feeling a pull toward the artifact, an instinct beyond logic. He reaches for his coin pouch, negotiating hesitantly with the merchant, his words uncertain yet persistent. After some bargaining, the merchant lets out a knowing chuckle and hands the relic over.
"You don't yet understand," the merchant murmurs. "But soon… soon, you will."
As he walks away, a sudden chill pricks at his spine. A presence looms behind him, familiar and unwelcome.
His bullies.
They watch, waiting, letting the tension build before they strike. His pulse quickens as he turns a corner, hoping to lose them—but they are faster, their footsteps closing in.
He breaks into a sprint.
The chase forces him into an alleyway, his path narrowing to a dead end. Rough hands seize him, shoving him hard against the brick wall. Their fists find their mark—striking, bruising, punishing.
Pain flares, sharp and unforgiving. Blood pools beneath him, the crimson trail gliding toward the necklace resting against his chest.
A single drop lands.
A pulse.
A whisper.
\[System Interface: Host Detected. Dragon Blood Confirmed. Do you wish to activate the Chaos System?]
His fingers, trembling, clasp the relic as his vision dims.
"Yes."
Darkness swallows him.
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