The marketplace was alive with sound and color—bustling streets packed with wandering cultivators, traveling merchants, and curious onlookers. Exotic beasts roared in the distance, spirit fruits floated mid-air in display cases, and rare treasures shimmered from beneath enchanted glass. But none of it held the crowd's attention the way two particular figures did.
They walked side by side, a presence that made the street part before them—not out of fear, but instinctual awe.
He stood tall, draped in flowing robes of midnight silk lined with silver veins, the emblem of a celestial dragon faintly etched across his chest. His hair was stark white, flowing like moonlight, but his most striking feature were his blood-red eyes, glowing faintly with a dangerous, otherworldly light. The very air around him seemed heavier, charged with a quiet pressure—as if reality itself adjusted to make room for him.
They called him Young Dragon now. A name whispered with both reverence and fear.
