The Ryan household was a sprawling estate nestled at the edge of Avanmoor Village, known for its prestige, wealth, and mystery. Tonight, it groaned under the weight of a storm that seemed almost sentient—wind lashing at the shutters, rain clawing at the roof, thunder booming like the roars of ancient beasts.
Inside, the halls trembled with urgency.
Footsteps pounded down the polished stone corridors as Agatha, the head maid, darted from room to room. Her apron, stained with the labors of the day, flapped behind her like a battle standard. Upstairs, in the master chamber, chaos reigned. Mrs. Ryan, gritting her teeth through waves of pain, was in labor. Her long hair clung to her face with sweat. Candles flickered wildly, casting monstrous shadows across the room.
"Push, milady," urged the midwife. "One more!"
A scream tore through the air—then, silence.
And then… a sound.
A cry. High-pitched. Powerful. Alive.
The baby was born.
But not just any baby.
Gasps filled the room, overtaking even the thunder. Whispers flew like daggers through the air. Even the midwife stepped back, clutching her shawl tighter.
The child had green hair.
Not olive. Not moss. But a vivid, unnatural emerald that shimmered even in the dim light. It crowned his small head like living flame.
Agatha, a woman not prone to superstition or fear, felt a chill run down her spine. She approached cautiously, eyes fixed on the child.
"It's not dyed," she murmured, brushing a trembling hand against the boy's soft curls. "It's real…"
The storm howled louder, as if answering.
Mrs. Ryan, half-delirious, looked down at her newborn, a strange serenity on her face. In her arms, the child no longer cried—he merely stared back at her with wide, unsettling eyes. Not fearful. Not confused. Just… present.
"Jade," she whispered. "His name is Jade."
And as she said it, a bolt of lightning struck a nearby temple on the hill. Flames erupted instantly, visible from the estate windows. Agatha gasped. The temple burned bright against the night, silhouetted by the storm. A bad omen.
Within days, rumors began to spread like rot.
First, quiet murmurings in the tavern. Then louder voices at the market. And soon, even the children were whispering stories of the green-haired boy born under thunder, fire, and storm.
They said Jade was cursed. That his hair was the mark of a demon. That his birth had ignited the temple blaze. Some claimed the village seer, long since dead, had foretold the coming of a child with hair like poison and a heart like winter, destined to bring ruin.
The worst part? No one knew how to fight superstition, not even the powerful. The Ryans, once loved and respected, became prisoners within their own home.
Doors that once opened with warmth now slammed shut in their faces. Invitations ceased. Letters returned unopened.
And the boy… grew.
Jade was a curious child. Even as a toddler, he showed an uncanny alertness. His green hair refused to fade, instead glowing faintly under moonlight. His eyes were sharp, inquisitive, yet distant, as if he saw the world not as it was, but as it could be.
Mrs. Ryan adored him, fiercely protective. She kept him home, sheltered from the villagers' eyes, and read him stories of beasts, warriors, and fallen kings. Mr. Ryan—absent for years on an expedition no one spoke of—remained a distant myth in the boy's life.
Jade didn't ask questions. He just… waited.
On the eve of Jade's thirteenth birthday, the front gates creaked open.
A lone figure stepped through, soaked in rain, face weathered and lined from years abroad. Mr. Ryan had returned.
The reunion was awkward at first. But then the man locked eyes with his son, and something unspoken passed between them. Recognition. Bond. Legacy.
"You've got my stubborn chin," Mr. Ryan muttered with a crooked smile.
"And your hairline," Jade replied, deadpan.
The man barked a laugh. "That's my boy."
That night, under the dim light of the fireplace, Mr. Ryan watched his son closely.
"He's different," he said to his wife. "You can feel it in the air around him."
Mrs. Ryan nodded slowly. "He's special."
Mr. Ryan leaned forward. "Then it's time we find out how special."
---
The Inner Beast Test was not common. Most took it only during academy initiation. But the Ryans had their own way—old scrolls, ancient techniques passed through bloodlines.
It wasn't painless.
Over the next seven days, Jade was subjected to ritual after ritual—soaking in cold, rune-infused baths; fasting; meditating under falling water; facing illusions of his worst fears. At times, he screamed. At times, he cried. But never once did he quit.
On the eighth day, he stood before the Council of Elders—five masked judges in an underground chamber. Each bore a torch. Jade knelt in the center of the circle, hands steady, heartbeat hammering in his chest.
The eldest elder stepped forward, staff raised.
"The beast inside this boy…" he began, eyes glowing faintly under his mask. "Is no ordinary creature."
A pause.
"It is a dragon."
Even the other elders stirred.
Dragons were ancient beings—more myth than reality. To possess one as an inner beast was unheard of. Dangerous. Political suicide.
The Ryans knew instantly what this meant.
"He must be hidden," Mr. Ryan said, voice low and sharp. "If this gets out…"
"They'll fear him even more," Mrs. Ryan added. "And fear turns to hate."
So a cover story was created.
Jade, it was declared, bore the spirit of a Wyvern—a rare but believable beast. Impressive, but not alarming. The villagers, ever eager to update their gossip, seized the story and ran with it.
"The third child bears a Wyvern? Remarkable."
"The eldest has the Basilisk. The daughter, the Minotaur. And now this?"
"The Ryans truly are blessed…"
---
But peace was temporary.
The Admission Tournament for the Orienna Academy was in five months. And while the world thought Jade was training with a Wyvern spirit, his father knew the truth.
"There's no time to waste," Mr. Ryan declared. "He has a dragon inside him. That power needs to be controlled—or it will control him."
From that day on, training became ruthless.
Jade rose before dawn and trained until his fingers bled. Sword forms, channeling exercises, breath control, beast-mind communion. Every step was agony. Every lesson a mountain. But the boy never stopped.
"You'll break him," Mrs. Ryan warned more than once.
"No," her husband said, watching his son collapse in the courtyard. "I'll forge him."
Jade would not be allowed to enter the world unprepared. Not with what he carried. Not with what he could become.
And in the distance, far beyond the village, forces were already beginning to stir.
News of a "green-haired boy" had traveled. Whispers reached ears that should have stayed deaf. Eyes opened in distant towers. And from the shadows, something ancient began to watch.
Not with hatred.
Not with fear.
But with interest.