Waking up with a soft exhale, Petunia blinked her eyes open, brushing strands of hair from her face as sunlight filtered through the gaps in the icy cave ceiling. The furs beneath her were warm and the air carried a pleasant chill — the kind that filled your lungs cleanly, no smoke, no blood, no iron.
Then came the gentle chime of system notifications.
---
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon is watching Petunia Targaryen with interest]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon offers an exclusive sponsorship]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says this partnership could be mutually beneficial]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon notes Petunia's connection to dragons is unusual]
---
Still groggy, Petunia propped herself up on one elbow, squinting at the translucent panels floating quietly in her line of sight. The usual wave of follow requests had trickled in overnight — constellations curious, anonymous eyes hoping to latch onto a rising star. But one stood out.
Abyssal Black Flame Dragon. Again.
She let out a breath and rubbed her temple.
"Hmm... although I appreciate the attention," she muttered, tapping her fingers against the interface, "I'm not the type to get swept up by the first flashy offer."
---
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon assures you that he is one of the strongest constellations remaining. You won't regret becoming his incarnation.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon demands access to the Gold Membership tier of the Doekabe Bag (Shop).]
[10,000 coins have been transferred to your system balance.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says he is one of the few constellations who can invest this heavily in a new incarnation.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon has sent you an item.]
[Ding! S-Rank Item Received: Bloodline Purification Pill]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon urges you to awaken your true worth. He says you will bring the true dragon inside you if you accept him.]
---
Petunia stared at the new item notification. Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
S-rank? That wasn't common. She inspected it quickly — the Bloodline Purification Pill shimmered with dark, molten gold threads, its description suggesting it would cleanse imperfections and amplify latent traits tied to her bloodline.
A gift. Not a bribe, technically — but certainly an incentive.
She sat up fully, folding her arms and tapping the edge of the floating panel thoughtfully.
A part of her was impressed. It wasn't every day a constellation dropped ten thousand coins just to get your attention — let alone top it with an S-rank item.
But she knew better.
In Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, the cost of becoming an incarnation wasn't just the branding. You weren't just borrowing a sponsor's strength — you were signing your freedom over. The stronger the constellation, the tighter the leash.
Even if this Abyssal Black Flame Dragon truly was one of the old ones, one of the giants left in a broken sky, the offer was still... a gilded cage.
She narrowed her eyes, quietly dismissing the item panel to keep it stored in her inventory for now.
The coin balance ticked upward. She didn't touch it.
"I'm flattered," she said softly, speaking to the air as if he were listening — and she knew he was. "But I already have a channel. And I'm not exactly short on coins."
Behind her, the cave stirred — distant noises from Valka preparing breakfast, and Vald probably trying to sneak another bite before it was done.
Petunia leaned her head back against the stone, watching as the notification faded.
She wasn't arrogant enough to throw away potential allies — but she wouldn't be someone's incarnation either.
Not even for ten thousand coins.
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon is dissatisfied with your answer.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon demands the return of the Bloodline Purification Pill.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says you will return to him one way or another.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon is furious.]
---
Petunia blinked at the stream of petulant declarations, half-laughing as she stood and stretched.
"Throwing a tantrum now, are we?" she muttered under her breath, waving the notifications away as easily as a gnat buzzing by her ear.
With a casual bounce on the balls of her feet, she leapt out from the small crevice she'd claimed as her resting place, catching an updraft to glide gently down toward the clearing below.
The cool morning air brushed her face as the smell of fresh firewood and roasting roots reached her nose. Valka and Vald sat near the mouth of the larger cave, a makeshift table laid out with earthen mugs and wooden plates. Petunia landed lightly beside them, pressing a hand to her mouth mid-yawn.
"Good morning," she said plainly, lowering herself onto the flat stone beside them. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned dried meat and fresh fruit from her inventory — thick strips , apples— setting them down in front of the others.
Vald didn't wait for an invitation. He immediately snatched an apple and bit into it with a crunch, his face lit with childish excitement. Valka, though polite, couldn't keep her curiosity at bay much longer. She had too many questions, and now that they were seated calmly, she decided to speak plainly.
"Þórný," she began carefully, "how old are you, truly? You seem no older than twelve winters."
Petunia looked up from her food, briefly confused before realizing that the name still hadn't sunk in as her own. She chewed slowly, swallowed, and replied with a mild shrug, "Hmm? I suppose I look around that age."
Valka tilted her head. "What do you mean by 'look'?"
With a wry little smile, Petunia pointed at her own face. "I'm fifty-two."
Vald choked on a piece of apple, coughing dramatically as his eyes widened like saucers. "Fifty-two?!"
Valka's brows furrowed. She wasn't the type to take things at face value — even in a world of dragons, there were limits to what she was willing to believe without proof. "That's... more than twice my age. You don't speak or move like an old woman."
Petunia wiped her hands clean and tossed a small stone at Vald to get his attention off his own amazement. "It's not the years that weigh a person — it's the miles," she said, echoing a line from a world neither of them would know. "Let's just say time doesn't work the same where I'm from."
Vald, undeterred and now brimming with awe, leaned forward eagerly. "Is it because you're a Drekamær? Do all dragonfolk live that long?"
"Something like that," Petunia replied vaguely, neither confirming nor denying the tale that had already begun weaving itself in their minds.
Valka narrowed her eyes, not out of malice, but caution. "Then... where are you from, truly? What village? What clan?"
Petunia's gaze flicked to her, eyes sharp but not cold. "A place too far for you to walk to. Even if you sailed for years and flew for days, you'd never reach it."
The silence after that was a heavy one, and though Valka said nothing at first, the tension was clear. Suspicion hung in the air like early fog.
Sensing it, Petunia stood with an apple in hand, biting into it as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Look here, Valka," she said, voice calm but firm, "I'm not here to challenge you or take over anything. I've only come for one reason — to protect what remains of the Bewilderbeasts. If you're not against that goal, then you've got nothing to worry about from me."
Her tone carried the authority of someone who didn't ask for permission — and didn't need it.
She raised two fingers to her lips and gave a sharp whistle. A rush of wind signaled Zephros's arrival, the mighty dragon descending with the grace of a bird of prey and landing beside her like a summoned shadow.
Vald shot to his feet, stuffing one last bite into his mouth. "Wait! Where're you going? Can I come with you?"
Petunia turned to him, meeting his hopeful eyes with a cool expression. "I'm going to deal with some dragon hunters. Villages. Raids. Steel and fire."
Zephros lowered his body slightly, readying for flight.
"It's dangerous," she continued. "And I don't need burdens at my side."
Vald opened his mouth to argue, but the look Petunia gave him froze him in place. It wasn't anger — just certainty. She was already decided.
She leapt onto Zephros's back as a gust of wind spiraled upward from beneath his wings. The dragon's muscles tensed, and with one powerful stroke, they were airborne, the girl and her mount disappearing into the sky through a crack in the cliffs — a sudden flash of movement against the rising morning sun.
Vald stood there, apple in hand, feeling both rejected and oddly inspired.
Valka said nothing, but her gaze lingered on the sky long after Petunia vanished into it.
-----------------——————-------------
The moment Petunia landed on a high ledge overlooking a windswept valley, the interface lit up again, crisp and functional in the corner of her vision like a floating scroll inked in sharp, efficient script.
---
[Status Panel – Updated]
[Name: Petunia Targaryen / Evans]
[Age: 52]
[Constellation Sponsor: NONE]
[Private Attributes:]
— Dragonic Warlock (Myth)
— Doekabe-like (Unique)
[Exclusive Skills:]
— Weather Manipulation → Lv.7
— Transfiguration Magic → Lv.2
— Enchantment Magic → Lv.2
— Potioneering → Lv.2
— Mind Magic → Lv.3
— Mystic Cat Footwork → Lv.2
— Deceitful Mouth → Lv.7
— Axemanship → Lv.6
— Cold Resistance → Lv.3
— Lightning Resistance → Lv.3
[Stigma:] None
[Overall Stats:]
— Stamina: Lv.6
— Strength: Lv.10
— Agility: Lv.6
— Magic Power: Lv.8
[Balance: 10,500 Coins]
---
Petunia leaned against a jagged rock, one leg lifted as she scrolled through the menus like an experienced buyer at a high-end market. Her eyes scanned her skill list. The one that immediately caught her attention — Weather Manipulation — was marked with a faint red lock.
> [System Notice: This skill is under restriction due to an unmet condition.]
[Complete side quests to unlock further upgrades.]
"Tch," she muttered. "Figures."
That narrowed her options. She turned to her other skills and stats. If she couldn't evolve her signature ability yet, she'd build herself into someone fast, durable, and deadly in close-range skirmishes — the kind of power she'd need if she ended up staring down the maw of another Bewilderbeast.
First: mobility.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Mystic Cat Footwork']
[Lv.2 → Lv.5]
> You feel lighter on your feet. Your movements are harder to follow. Critical dodge rate increased.
She rotated her ankles, noticing the change instantly — a subtle ease in her balance, a shift in how her weight transferred with the smallest movement.
Next: survival.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Lightning Resistance']
[Lv.3 → Lv.6]
> Resistance upgraded. Electrical-based attacks will deal significantly reduced damage. Reflex arc improved.
Given how much of her power relied on lightning and storms, this was a no-brainer. Friendly fire was always a possibility when wielding volatile elements.
Third: magical reserves.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Magic Power']
[Lv.8 → Lv.11]
> Mana pool expanded. Spell potency increased. Duration of magical effects extended.
Then came brute force.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Strength']
[Lv.10 → Lv.13]
> Physical output increased. Carrying capacity improved. Melee damage amplified.
She clenched her fists, feeling the latent pressure build in her arms — nothing flashy, just solid, efficient reinforcement.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Agility']
[Lv.6 → Lv.9]
> Reflex speed improved. Sprint velocity enhanced. Jump distance increased.
[1,200 Coins invested into 'Stamina']
[Lv.6 → Lv.9]
> Endurance increased. Longer physical exertion allowed. Recovery time slightly reduced.
With her base now significantly more solid, she navigated to the Doekabe Bag — the quirky, cartoon-faced shop interface that popped open with a jingle like a market bell.
Inside were dozens of bizarrely named goods: Ember Broth, Wyrm Salve, Infinite Towel. But she filtered by essentials.
[Purchased: Recovery Potion ×7 | 500 Coins Each]
[Remaining Balance: 0 Coins]
---
The final tally scrolled neatly in front of her, her profile far more formidable than just minutes before.
---
[Mystic Cat Footwork Lv.5]
[Lightning Resistance Lv.6]
[Magic Power Lv.11]
[Strength Lv.13]
[Agility Lv.9]
[Stamina Lv.9]
[Recovery Potion ×7 – Stored in Inventory]
---
Petunia took a long breath, the cold morning air brushing her face. She felt... solid. Efficient. If a dragon came out of the clouds now — even one of the scenario-level threats — she wouldn't flinch.
---------–––––
Elsewhere, under the lean shadow of a rocky overhang, Valka knelt beside her Stormcutter, calmly feeding it fish from a woven basket. The dragon accepted each offering with a low grunt of contentment, wings folded, eyes half-lidded in lazy satisfaction.
Not far away, Vald sat on a boulder, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. He wasn't watching the sky anymore — Petunia had been gone too long — but the tension in his shoulders hadn't left. He stared at the dirt, dragging a boot slowly back and forth across it.
Valka glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "You've been quiet," she said. "You look like someone who just missed a boat."
Vald shifted but didn't answer right away.
"You wanted to go with her," she added, more a statement than a question.
He finally looked up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I did," he admitted. "Not because I think I belong there or anything. But… I dunno. She's just someone you want to follow."
Valka raised a brow, half-curious. "Why?"
Vald took a moment, letting the question settle before answering. "She's different. Not like the people we grew up around. She knows things — old things. She does things I thought only existed in stories. But she's not flashy about it, either. She just… moves like she's already survived everything that would break the rest of us."
Valka tossed another fish to her dragon and listened.
"I don't think she likes people much," Vald went on. "She doesn't ask for help, and she doesn't wait around. But even if she doesn't say it, you can tell she's looking out for others. That matters, doesn't it?"
Valka gave a thoughtful hum. "It does."
"I don't think I could keep up with her," Vald said, honest and a bit self-conscious. "She probably sees that too. Left me here on purpose."
"And do you resent her for it?" Valka asked, tilting her head.
"No," he said without hesitation. "She made the right call. I'm not ready for whatever she's doing out there."
Valka looked at him for a moment longer, then turned back to her dragon. "You've got a good head for a boy your age. Not many are willing to say that about themselves.
especially not my brute of a husband, he's.... too prideful to change his ways or listen to other opinions. ".
Vald gave a small, awkward shrug.
"Still," she added, "if you're serious about not being left behind again… perhaps you should learn to ride."
He blinked. "What?"
She stood, brushing fish scales from her hands. "You heard me. If you want the chance to follow, even from a distance, you'll need more than your feet. Would you like me to teach you?"
Vald's expression lit up, though he tried to temper it with a nod. "Yes. I'd like that."
Valka gave a quiet chuckle. "Then we begin tomorrow. Dragon riding isn't something you do just to impress someone. It's a bond, not a badge. Understand?"
"I think so."
"Good." She returned to her basket. "Be ready at first light. The dragons don't wait, and neither do I."
----------
Above the crashing tide and howling wind, Petunia narrowed her eyes from atop Zephros. The Viking flotilla below wasn't a scattered rabble this time — it was a hardened fleet. Ships lined in tight formation, men armored in leather and steel, their siege tools raised and ready. Arrows glinted under the pale sun, and on a nearby island, dragon cages groaned under the weight of their living cargo. The air smelled of oil, wood, iron — and fear.
[DING! Hidden Quest: Free the dragons captured and demolish all Viking boats.]
— Time limit: 4 hours
— Reward: +1000 Coins | -4% Restriction
The system window disappeared in the corner of her vision. Petunia clicked her tongue.
"About time," she muttered, fingers tightening around her axe. "Zephros — split up. Scatter them."
He let out a low growl of affirmation, his black-and-silver wings flexing wide before tilting into a steep dive. Petunia, meanwhile, stood up on his back — balancing like a tightrope walker — then leapt into the air.
FWHOOOM!
The wind magic burst from beneath her boots, cushioning her fall in sharp jets. WHUP–WHUP–WHUP! She landed soundlessly on the island, crouching between twisted roots and brittle rocks.
Without hesitation, she dashed into motion — her footfalls barely audible thanks to Mystic Cat Footwork Lv.5. She weaved like smoke, slipping past shadows and cages until she reached the first lock. Her axe rose.
KLANG!
The metal cleaved diagonally. The bar split like butter, the dragon within — a sickly orange-scaled creature — shrunk back at first, then blinked in disbelief. Petunia didn't stay for thanks.
CLANG. SHNK. KRAK.
One after another, cages fell open beneath her swift strikes. Each time, a dragon hesitated — then bolted skyward as instinct took over.
Meanwhile, across the sea, Zephros became a nightmare in the sky.
FWWOOOOOM!
A column of blue fire engulfed an entire ship, the dry timber shrieking as it cracked and split. SPLASHH! Men screamed, leaping into the waves as others fired ballista bolts and arrows in desperation.
Back on the island, Petunia's work had drawn attention.
"There! The girl!"
Steel boots pounded toward her.
A Viking lunged from behind with a grunt — "Raaah!" — his sword gleaming.
SSSHHKK—CRACK!
Petunia spun mid-step, her axe cleaving into his helmet with a hollow THWONK, sending him spiraling into the mud. Another came swinging. She ducked, vaulted over a crate, and came down hard — axe burying into another lock as sparks flew.
KRRRANK!
Another cage fell open. Another dragon roared and flapped into the sky.
The island turned into chaos. Vikings surrounded her — five, then ten, closing the circle.
But Petunia was already in motion. Her body twisted with speed and grace, cutting through gaps like a scythe through reeds. Her axe blurred.
WHACK! THUNK! KSHNK!
She struck helmets, knees, armor seams. Bones cracked. Metal groaned. Arrows whipped past her — THWIP! THWIP! THWIP! — missing by inches. She skidded under one, rammed her shoulder into a man's gut with her D-rank shield (THUMP!), then used the bounce to leap and deliver a downward swing at the next lock.
"She's a demon!" one Viking cried.
"She's not even winded!" another choked.
And they were right. Her boosted stamina let her endure without falter, her footwork so sharp she seemed untouchable.
At one point, she stopped for a heartbeat, panting lightly, surrounded by cages and fallen warriors. Then she grinned — wide and toothy — and slammed her axe down again.
KRAK!
The lock shattered.
Three cages left.
In the distance, one of the warships exploded in fire — BOOM!
Zephros' shriek echoed across the sea, and the black smoke swirled like banners in the sky.
Petunia sprinted toward the last cages.
The sky trembled with fire and fury. Petunia had just freed the last of the caged dragons when a piercing roar ripped through the air.
"ZEPHROS!"
Her eyes snapped upward . Thick ropes, weighted and barbed, had ensnared one of his hind legs. Multiple ships had launched harpoons that tethered him like prey to the earth. The majestic dragon flailed, wings struggling to maintain altitude, blue fire sputtering as he roared in rage and pain.
"Tch. I need to hurry."
She gritted her teeth, sprinting through the battlefield. Her axe carved one last path through the scattered, panic-stricken Vikings trying to regroup. CLANG! THWACK! SHNK! Metal met flesh, shields splintered under her strength, and cries of alarm echoed in her wake.
Then came a voice from the sky — sharp, excited, familiar.
"THÓRNÝ!"
Petunia looked up as the clouds parted. A Stormcutter soared through the air, its four wings cutting elegant shapes against the light. Upon it rode Valka, calm and fierce. Beside her, a lean dragon with a sharp, spiky head and glowing patterns blazed through the sky, Vald riding its back with wild enthusiasm.
[Dramillion — Mystery Class]
Flames of mimicry danced from its mouth, trailing across the air in vibrant hues of blue and red. Its long wings flashed through the storm-light as it dove, joining the assault on the ships anchoring Zephros.
Petunia smirked. "About time."
Now free to unleash her full force, Petunia opened her sub-dimensional pocket with a simple thought. two Skrill dragons — raw lightning incarnate — burst forth.
Their eyes crackled with energy. They chirped low and deep, recognizing their summoner.
She raised her hand and said in fluent Valyrian, "Time to pay rent."
The dragons hissed gleefully and ascended into the building storm clouds above, their wings slicing through the thickening fog. Petunia followed, leaping onto one Skrill and launching skyward, carried by surges of wind from her diminished but functional Weather Manipulation Lv.7.
Atop the skies, thunder began to boom — slow and ominous.
She rose higher and higher, climbing into the eye of her summoned storm. Electricity threaded between clouds, illuminating the battlefield with strobes of white and violet. The two Skrills circled her — crackling arcs of power began dancing along their spines.
Then she let go — floating mid-air, balanced by tiny wind currents around her feet, arms outstretched.
Below, Vald gasped, nudging his dragon.
"Told you she could fly," he breathed.
Valka said nothing — her jaw clenched as she watched with eyes narrowed in disbelief and awe.
Above, the Skrill dragons extended their wings.
ZZZKRRRAAAAACKK!!
A bolt of lightning tore down from the heavens, lancing into Petunia's chest — and then a second — and a third — until she hovered amidst a web of lightning.
Her hair turned silver-white, fluttering wildly. Her eyes glowed with focused electricity. She clenched her fists — crackling arcs danced between her fingertips.
Then she roared — not in pain, not in rage, but in command.
"NOW!"
BZZZTT-KRAK-KRAK-KRA-KRAAAMMM!!
Lightning scattered like divine spears from her body, guided by instinct and rage. Each bolt sought a target — a mast, a hull, a weapon.
BOOM!
One ship exploded in a halo of splinters.
THUD–CRACK!
Another's center mast was split clean down the middle, catching fire before toppling.
SSSKRRRKKK—CRASH!
Every ship — every last one — was pierced through.
Sailors screamed and fled. Ships cracked like eggshells, tilting into the waves as lightning continued to rain down in jagged spirals.
And then, silence — except the sizzle of burning wood and the groan of drowning fleets.
Petunia, now exhausted, descended slowly. She landed atop Zephros, whose leg still bled but was no longer bound. The freed dragons above circled like storm-born sentinels.
GULP. GULP. GULP.
She drank three recovery potions in succession. The warmth of their effect eased the tight burn in her limbs.
and splashed a one more recovery Potion at Zephros's wound before laying down at his back .
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon is slightly impressed by the show.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says he's still angry at you.]
She gave the notification a flat look and muttered, "Tell him to get in line."
"That was awesome!"
Vald zipped over on the back of his Dramillion, eyes shining. He was flushed with adrenaline and awe. "You were like... a storm spirit!"
Petunia gave a tired smirk, barely responding, and turned Zephros toward the skies.
Below, ships burned. Above, freed dragons roared.
Trailing behind like loyal sentries, the two Skrill dragons hovered silently — waiting for her to return them .
Petunia only gave them a glance and nodded.
Their bodies shimmered — and in a blink they were gone.
Returned to their dimension.
Now, she set course back to the Bewilderbeast base.
–‐–‐–‐–‐
unwittingly to her, every swing of her axe, every dragon she freed, every village she left smoking behind her—wove another thread into a growing legend.
It began small. Whispers on the wind. A story told in a smoky longhouse, passed from one mead-stained mouth to the next.
"She came down like a storm. Silver hair. Eyes like lightning. Spoke to dragons as if they were kin."
Fishermen who survived the shipwrecks told tales of a woman who rode a black dragon with wings that split the clouds. Children of raiders whispered to each other about a figure who flew from the sky and burned warships with bolts of light. Some said she was not a woman at all—but a spirit of vengeance, born of frost and storm, clad in bones and thunder.
The names varied by tongue and territory.
Drekamær. The Dragon Witch.
Winter Witch. For the cold that followed her.
Storm Bringer. For the clouds that gathered at her call.
Dragon Warden. For the beasts she freed from cages.
Mother of Monsters. In frightened towns where her actions were twisted in fear.
The side missions—freeing imprisoned dragons, punishing raiding fleets, dismantling poaching networks—seemed like isolated acts of necessity to her. She didn't seek fame, nor did she dwell on her name or legacy. But the world had eyes, and those eyes had tongues.
Every mission left behind witnesses. Some broken, some in awe, but always with stories.
In northern isles, people started carving wooden figures of her—white hair, blue cloak, riding a horned dragon. In southern markets, peddlers sold charms to "ward off the lightning lady", while others whispered about a protector who only attacked the wicked.
Her legend didn't travel by parchment or messenger. It rode the backs of sailors, drifted with refugees, echoed from dragon roars in the night..
It traveled farther than she knew.
And it was still growing..
Because the world didn't forget the day a woman flew through a lightning storm, split a fleet in half, and vanished into the clouds with dragons at her side.
And children would soon grow up hearing of her.
Some would fear her.
And some would dream of meeting her.
Unbeknownst to her, her first fable was already in progress