The heavy silence that had hung in the amphitheater-like classroom after Jet Ashborne’s arrival shattered when the main doors swung open once more.
A tall man entered, his presence both commanding and oddly soothing at the same time. His hair was pale silver, long enough to brush the collar of his dark coat, and his eyes gleamed like frost-tipped glaciers—cold but full of light. Despite his youthful face, there was an ageless air about him, as though he had walked through more winters than anyone could count.
"Good morning, students," the man said, his voice even and resonant. "I am Frost Winister, your primary instructor for the Foundation Curriculum."
The room stirred. Read full story at noveⅼfire.net
Even the more stoic students shifted in their seats, the weight of his reputation settling on them. Frost Winister was no ordinary teacher. Rumors painted him as a Dragon Hunter who had survived battles against creatures that should have been impossible to face alone.
Some even whispered he once encountered a Grand Terror and lived to tell the tale.
Frost smiled faintly as he placed a satchel of scrolls and crystalline vials onto the desk at the front. "Before we begin, I’d like us to become acquainted. Names carry weight, and in time, so will your reputations. So let us start simply—introduce yourselves."
He gestured to the first row.
The students obeyed, one by one. Names, hometowns, aspirations—some spoke eagerly, others with caution.
Jet Ashborne’s introduction came with effortless authority.
"Jet Ashborne. From House Ashborne. Prime Student." He didn’t bother to add more; the words themselves felt like declarations carved into stone.
A few students after him, a red-haired girl rose with confidence.
"Lizbeth Carris. My goal is to be the strongest Dragon Hunter in this Academy. Anyone who stands in my way will regret it." Her voice was sharp, daring anyone to challenge her claim.
Then came another—a boy with calm eyes and unshakable posture. His words were simple, but his tone carried weight.
"Jonathan Dreel. I’ll protect those who can’t protect themselves. That’s my vow."
And then Lenard—tall, broad-shouldered, with a grin that spoke of arrogance.
"Lenard Highfall. I’ll do whatever it takes to reach the top." His voice carried smug amusement, as though he already saw the rest of them as stepping stones.
Draco listened quietly.
Each name, each declaration, carved itself into his mind.
Jet, Lizbeth, Jonathan, Lenard—four pillars, all of whom had already proven themselves in the Entrance Exams. They were his competitors, perhaps even his greatest obstacles within this Academy.
When it came to him, Draco rose slowly. All eyes turned toward him. He could feel the stares, the recognition, even the expectations.
"...Draco," he said, his tone low but steady. "I came here to surpass the limits of what it means to be a Dragon Hunter. I won’t stop until every Dragon in the world is subdued... or exterminated."
There was no boasting, no arrogance—just resolve.
A few brows furrowed, others smirked, but Frost Winister’s eyes lingered on him longer than anyone else’s. The instructor’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
Draco looked away, ignoring the warmth in Frost’s gaze.
Affection, familiarity—he wanted none of it.
"Good," Frost finally said, clapping his hands once. "Now that introductions are done, let us begin. Today, we’ll speak of Breath—one of the most vital concepts you must understand if you hope to survive in this field."
The room stilled, every whisper cut short.
"Breath," Frost began, pacing slowly at the front, "is the manifestation of a Dragon’s essence. It is their life force given form, their will turned into phenomena. To put it simply, it is their power."
He lifted a piece of chalk and wrote a single word on the blackboard:
’BREATH’
"Breaths can take many forms. The most common are elemental—fire, water, ice, lightning. But there are also rarer, more dangerous types." His eyes swept the class. "Some Dragons wield Breaths tied not to nature, but to concepts. Space. Time. Shadows. Even life and death themselves. A Dragon’s Breath is what makes them terrifying, and what makes us vulnerable."
A ripple of unease passed through the room. Even those who had faced Dragons in the Cave of Trials could not ignore the weight of Frost’s words.
"Certain breeds of Dragons are born with predictable Breaths. A Fire Dragon breathes fire. An Ice Wyrm breathes frost. But..." Frost’s tone darkened. "...Variants are different. Their Breaths are unique, unpredictable, and often far deadlier. You never truly know what a Variant is capable of until it unleashes it."
Draco stiffened slightly at that.
His mind flickered to Lumina.
’Her Breath... Let There Be Light.’ He remembered the blinding radiance, the overwhelming majesty.
Unique. Unpredictable. Terrifying.
Frost turned back to the board, writing another word beneath BREATH.
’ESSENCE’
"To understand Breath, you must understand Essence. Essence is the energy that flows through the world of Te’rah. It is the foundation of every phenomenon you’ve ever seen a Dragon unleash. Without Essence, there is no Breath. Without Breath, Dragons are little more than oversized reptiles."
A ripple of nervous laughter spread across the class, but Frost’s expression remained stern.
"Essence exists everywhere—in the air, in the earth, in living beings. Dragons, however, are uniquely capable of channeling and shaping it naturally. Humans are not. Which brings us to how we level the playing field."
His hand swept to the satchel on his desk. He pulled out a crystalline object—a heart, pulsing faintly with inner light.
Gasps filled the room.
"This," Frost said, holding it aloft for all to see, "is a Dragonheart. Or, as we call it... a D-H."
The glow within the crystalline heart pulsed brighter, filling the room with a faint hum. Students leaned forward instinctively, caught between awe and fear.
"When a Dragon is slain, its heart can be harvested. Within it lies a fragment of its Essence, as well as its Breath. With proper refinement, humans can channel this power. We cannot naturally wield Essence, but through Dragonhearts, we borrow the might of the creatures we hunt."
Frost placed the heart on his palm and breathed in slowly.
A thin stream of icy vapor poured from his mouth, swirling into the Dragonheart. The crystal blazed bright—then, in the blink of an eye, the classroom froze.
Frost hadn’t moved. He hadn’t spoken. He had simply willed it.
Frosted patterns spread across the floor, coating desks and seats with glittering ice.
Every breath hung in the air like mist.
Students shivered, their movements sluggish as if time itself had slowed.
Then, just as suddenly, Frost exhaled. The ice melted away, the frost receded, and warmth returned.
The students erupted into stunned whispers.
"That was—"
"He froze the whole room!"
"In just a second...!"
Frost calmly set the heart back onto the desk. "That was the Breath of Frost, harvested from an Ice Wyrm. Its Rank was five. As you saw, its power is not to be underestimated. But you must also understand this—Dragonhearts are not infinite. Their Essence depletes with use. Unlike Dragons, they cannot naturally recharge. That is why we rely on Essence Stones or Liquid Essence to fuel them."
He gestured to the crystalline vials beside the scrolls. "Think of them as batteries. Without recharging, a Dragonheart becomes little more than a crystal husk."
A student raised their hand.
"Instructor, what about Grand Terrors? Do their Dragonhearts—"
"GrandHearts," Frost interrupted smoothly, nodding. "The hearts of Grand Terrors. Yes, they are different. Immeasurably stronger, and their Breaths can reshape entire battlefields. To wield one is to step into a realm beyond mortals. But for now..."
His lips curled into a faint smile. "...your focus will be on Rank 1 Dragonhearts."
He returned to the board and wrote:
’RANK 1 → RANK 9’
"Dragonhearts are ranked according to the Dragons they come from. Rank 1 being the weakest, Rank 9 belonging to Dragons that few in history have ever slain. Variants, of course, complicate this. A Rank 5 Variant’s heart will often be more valuable—and more dangerous—than that of a normal Rank 5 Dragon."
The class buzzed with hushed discussion.
Frost clapped his hands once, silencing them. "The goal of this Academy is simple. To forge Dragon Hunters of Rank 3 and above. That is the minimum you must achieve if you hope to graduate. Rank 1 and Rank 2 may survive in the wild, but survival is not the same as triumph."
His gaze swept the room, sharp as blades.
"I expect each of you to surpass that bar. And some of you..." His eyes lingered, briefly, on Draco. "...I expect far more."
Draco’s jaw tightened, but he kept his gaze fixed forward.
He didn’t need Frost’s recognition. He didn’t want it. It was too problematic, and he had other priorities at the moment.
He wanted to pass the System’s Quests.
Frost placed the Dragonheart back into his satchel, then dusted off his hands.
"Well then," he said, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "We’ve spoken enough of theory. It’s time for practice."
The students straightened, anticipation sparking like kindling.
Frost’s eyes gleamed as he reached into the satchel once more. "Each of you will now receive a Rank 1 Dragonheart. Consider this your first step into the true path of Dragon Hunting."
The classroom erupted into a storm of whispers, awe, and excitement.
Draco’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening. This was it. The moment where words ended and reality began.
"Now then..." Frost Winister’s smile deepened. "Let us begin the real class."