Red + White = (?)
‘Kraaaaaargh!’
The pink dragon lets out a mighty roar.
The pink dragon is so, so strong—stronger than any other dragon. It defeats gods and demons alike.
Anyway, it roars.
‘The Age of Dragons’ Chapter
“Absolutely not.”
Dragon Lord Alpanic, the gold dragon, slams down his verdict with finality.
“There has never been a marriage between dragons of different scale colors in all our history. For the purity of our race, it’s out of the question!”
In the grand council where all dragons have gathered, Alpanic declares it so.
To dragons, scale color is everything. Red, blue, green, white, black, gold. No other colors exist—or should exist. They take immense pride in the pure, iridescent hues inherited through their untainted bloodlines.
That’s what dragons are.
And so, the two dragons standing before Dragon Lord Alpanic find themselves in a truly awkward predicament.
Red Dragon Volcanic. Even among the hot-tempered reds, he’s the undisputed top troublemaker, the worst problem child imaginable. Thanks to his explosive temper, three mountain ranges have burned to ash, and seven lakes have dried up.
Beside him stands White Dragon Snowin, rumored to be the kindest and wisest of her generation.
When these two, who’d always been at odds, suddenly announced their marriage, every dragon was stunned.
The straight-A student falls for the delinquent? Sure, that happens... but these two!? Had they fallen for each other amid all their bickering?
Alpanic stares at Snowin with utter disbelief.
“My dear, I never imagined you—always so sharp and sensible—would make such an absurd decision.”
Snowin, head bowed low, only hangs it lower at the gold dragon’s words, looking for all the world like she’s committed some grave sin.
Volcanic, glaring daggers at the scene, growls.
“I wanna do it, so why’re you stopping me?”
“Hah... You really don’t get it? We can’t lose the ‘purity of scales’ our ancestors have guarded for generations!”
Volcanic snorts at Alpanic’s retort.
Before the anxious Snowin can interject, he drops a bombshell.
“That ship’s already sailed.”
With those words, Volcanic pulls something from the pouch on his chest.
Alpanic’s eyes bulge wide enough to pop out.
It’s an egg. A pink egg, blazing red like the sun blended with pristine white like fresh-fallen snow!
This monumental egg plunges all the dragons into deep deliberation.
“We can’t hatch that egg.”
Red Dragon elder Magmaphian lays down the law. Half red blood means they can’t destroy it.
“I oppose hatching it too.”
White Dragon elder Ashian chimes in, though without the reds’ fervor. Snowin bows her head in guilt at his reluctant expression.
Then—crack! A tiny fissure appears on the pink egg.
“Baby!”
Snowin rushes to it before anyone can stop her. She cradles the egg and gently taps it open with her claw.
“Oh my god! It’s beautiful!”
Volcanic, standing behind her, gasps in awe. Magmaphian gawks at him—who knew this punk could say something like that? Fatherhood changes a man, it seems.
Anyway.
Out pops a hatchling with radiant pink scales!
From the back, a dragon shouts.
“Who created this abominable hybrid!?”
Black Dragon Necrophilian, an ancient wyrm nearly as old as Alpanic. Trembling with rage, he glares at the newborn.
“Billions of years of scale purity, defiled! If we don’t kill it, hordes of these hideous hybrids will flood us! Next thing you know, rainbow dragons or transparent ones! How could we allow that!?”
“Watch your mouth, old timer.”
Volcanic steps forward, eyes blazing. But dragons grow stronger with age. Fresh 3,000-year-old Volcanic can’t match the 10,000-year Necrophilian.
Still, Volcanic stands firm, unflinching.
“Ugh...”
Alpanic rubs his throbbing temples. He’d love to erase this pink abomination too. But what crime has the child committed? And seeing Snowin’s tender, desperate gaze... he can’t bring himself to say it.
“Exile... the child.”
Exile it is.
“But not in dragon form. Choose a lesser race’s shape.”
Polymorph. The ultra-high magic to transform into another race.
A massive roulette wheel spins.
Rrrumble... It slows...
The red arrow teases goblin... then lands on:
<Human>
“No... a human? My baby, forced into such a lowly form...”
Snowin clutches the child and collapses, tears flowing.
“Damn it. Ogre would’ve been big and sturdy at least...”
Volcanic grumbles, arms crossed. Black Dragon Necrophilian watches with disdain.
Snowin names the child Cliche.
She’s always been the model student, never once defying her parents.
Troublemaker Volcanic vanishes right after the exile verdict.
Now it’s just Snowin and Cliche.
“Baby, I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”
White tears splash down.
Cliche, oblivious or not, giggles up at her endlessly.
Snowin grits her teeth, eyes fierce.
“Mommy... Mommy will come find you. I promise.”
Her gift: thousands of books. Human world tomes in the continental tongue, each worth a city.
Sword manuals, grimoires, strategy tomes, economics, medicine, kingship, epics of great rulers—everything to forge a leader.
“Learn them all. Become the best in the human world. Then Mommy can find you easily.”
She whispers to Cliche’s forehead. The child nods wide-eyed.
No words yet, but it senses her sorrow and resolve.
“Inventory!”
Subspace storage opened. Books transferred. Owner: Cliche.
She deposits them all via subspace magic, labeling the vast library for Cliche.
Then, deep in the mountains, she sets Cliche down.
“You’re on your own now. But remember—Mommy will find you someday.”
Cliche just beams toothlessly.
Heart tearing, Snowin turns away.
A massive gust—and she soars into the sky, vanishing like a star.
“...”
Alone now: Pink Dragon Cliche.
The poor child gazes at the night sky where Mommy disappeared.
Then.
Someone emerges from the forest shadows: Black Dragon Olga. Young, scarred over one eye.
His long shadow falls over Cliche.
Cliche turns.
“Hm...”
Olga stares down quietly.
Snowin, once his greatest love. For her to speed-run with a red punk...
“That Volcanic bastard... got guts.”
The wall of scale color he couldn’t surmount reignites old flames.
Olga sighs.
Their eyes meet.
“...”
“...”
“What’re you staring at?”
Olga gruffs. Cliche shyly looks away.
Olga ponders, gazing down.
“Lord said kill it, but...”
He rubs his brow.
Those innocent eyes snuff out his scant killer instinct.
But Lord’s command is absolute!
Olga draws a long, sharp claw. Quick and painless.
Then—poot!
Cliche farts for the first time, butt wiggling.
Sniffing around, it lifts its tail, then pat-pat! smacks its pink heart-shaped butt with tiny palms.
‘See? Came from here!’
Looking up at Olga, it grins sheepishly—beam!
Olga groans again.
“Whatever. Can’t kill a brat like you.”
He lowers the claw.
But commands are absolute. Instead, he twists open Cliche’s subspace.
“Whew, spicy girl packed the good stuff.”
He whistles at the books. Master them, and you could unify continents, slay dragons—even as a human hatchling.
9th-circle mage, supreme Sword Master, spirit king summoner... even necromancy.
“Gotta torch this.”
Olga incinerates them all. Gone in under a second.
“...”
He glances aside. Cliche sucks its thumb, staring up.
“Sigh...”
Another sigh at those eyes. He pats Cliche’s head—Polymorph and 9th-circle mind control activate.
You are a filthy hybrid, exiled from dragonkind. Forget all prior memories. Live as a human forever.
Memories of meeting Olga, parents, even being a dragon—wiped.
“Bye then. Was cute hanging out—don’t meet again.”
Olga spreads black wings and flies off, leaving ambiguous mercy.
Meanwhile.
Human-form Cliche sits blankly by the lake, staring skyward.
“...”
Pink-haired boy.
He stands.
Gazing at vanishing Olga, he mutters coldly.
“My name is Cliche. Pink dragon. I’ll return someday.”