The bustling city was like a cold, concrete prison.

Lu Chen resided in the tiniest compartment at the very bottom of this prison. His cramped rental room was only ten square meters, forever shielded from the sun by the towering building next door, leaving him with only a sliver of gray, smog-filled sky to gaze upon.

Every morning at 7:30, he would struggle to rise from his creaky single bed, hastily devour a few bites of pre-packaged convenience store food, and then squeeze into the overcrowded subway like a sardine.

The train car was filled with a mix of odors—sweat, cheap perfume, and the pungent stench of stinky tofu—making it hard to breathe.

At work, he faced the grueling 9-9-6 schedule, staring endlessly at a computer screen filled with flickering code and dense spreadsheets. He felt like a pre-programmed machine, repeating the same motions day after day, numb and empty.

The company that employed him was like a benevolent butcher, wielding a gleaming silver knife. Everyone who worked there praised the company's excellent benefits and adherence to an eight-hour workday.

Yet, the reality of life was often far harsher than the dreams one held.

Day after day of work, rent, and living expenses formed an invisible net, trapping Lu Chen in the quagmire of reality.

The dreams buried deep in his heart were like old photographs forgotten in an attic, gradually gathering dust, fading, and becoming indistinct under the relentless pressure of daily life.

He once dreamed of becoming a travel photographer, wandering the world with a camera, capturing every moving moment through his lens. He had bought numerous photography books and even saved up to purchase an entry-level DSLR camera.

He even fantasized about quitting his job one day, traveling to the Sichuan-Tibet highway to photograph snow-capped mountains and grasslands, chasing wild beasts across the African savannah, and exploring the mysterious ruins of the Amazon rainforest.

But the cruel reality was like an invisible fishing net, firmly binding him to the mundane world. Those in power wielded the ultimate scheme—rent, utilities, food, and transportation costs—each expense forcing him to remain tethered to his job, work, and more work.

The dreams once filled with ideals and hope gradually lost their color under the weight of life, becoming dull and seemingly forever out of reach. Only in the depths of midnight dreams would they resurface as vague outlines, reminding him of the beautiful aspirations he once held.

Every night, as Lu Chen stood by the dilapidated window obscured by towering buildings, he would feel a faint unease—as if fate was quietly arranging a sudden upheaval for him.

That evening, as raindrops lightly tapped the wet streetlights, a faint, unusual shadow seemed to flicker in the corner of the street. Lu Chen was walking home, a strange premonition stirring in his heart, as if time had slowed at that very moment.

Just as he felt an indescribable unease, a sharp screech of brakes echoed from afar. Then, like a demon, an out-of-control car charged toward him, shattering the ominous silence.

In that instant, time seemed to freeze. Lu Chen's heart raced, dizziness and fear intertwining. He could only widen his eyes, filled with confusion and helplessness, before losing control of his body amidst the chaos.

Excruciating pain engulfed him, his consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind. The world before him rapidly plunged into darkness.

In that moment, it was as if he stood before a kaleidoscope of his life, all the unfulfilled dreams and buried regrets flashing through his mind like fragments of light.

His breathing grew faint, like a leaking bellows, and his once-warm body gradually turned cold.

As the light of life dimmed, eventually extinguishing completely, he finally understood—this was the end of life, so real, so cruel.

As the last trace of warmth left his body, Lu Chen's consciousness did not vanish. Instead, it drifted aimlessly in an endless void, lonely and unanchored, as if it had lost its place of belonging.

In that boundless darkness, his consciousness wandered, memories fragmented and elusive.

At the edge of this confusion, he felt his soul gently pulled by a warm, misty light. Gradually, he found himself in a small yet warm space.

Surrounding him was a hard, pulsating shell, occasionally emitting faint, rhythmic vibrations.

"Am I... dead?" Lu Chen's consciousness floated in chaos, cold, empty, and filled with disbelief.

Warmth was the only thing he could sense now. His body felt enveloped in warm water, as if cradled in a mother's embrace. Yet, deep within his consciousness, the pain of the car crash and the fear of death lingered.

"Where is this? The underworld? Or... is this complete death?"

Lu Chen's consciousness drifted in chaos, countless questions entangling his confused thoughts like vines.

Gradually, in this warm yet confined space, he began to sense strange changes.

Within him, something seemed to awaken. It was a force that defied description—primitive, wild, and intensifying his confusion.

Each faint heartbeat drew the surrounding warmth into his limbs; each instinctive breath seemed to restore a fragment of his senses.

He struggled to recall his past life, but his memories shattered like a mirror, impossible to piece together.

"Lu Chen... who is that? Photography... the subway... smog..." The once-familiar things now felt distant and blurred, like fleeting illusions.

In their place, a new, unfamiliar sensation began to dominate his consciousness. He felt his fingertips grow sharp, his back sprouting bones. A primal urge for fire and flight stirred deep within his soul.

Deep inside, a faint light grew stronger, restless and agitated.

Then, a violent, primal force collided with his consciousness.

His mind was instantly torn into countless fragments, swept up by this force, spinning, colliding, and shaking wildly in the dark void. The pain was like countless needles piercing his brain.

A wave of dizziness, like a tsunami, overwhelmed him, and fear, like icy water, consumed all his rationality and ability to think.

He felt as if he could be utterly destroyed at any moment, his consciousness dissipating with it.

As time passed, the inherited power flowed into his body like a gentle stream. He felt the surging energy within him, merging and converging, eventually becoming part of his very being.

During this process of inheritance, his consciousness was constantly torn by this inexplicable force. A deep-seated greed emerged—a desire to dominate and conquer lesser beings, to plunder their wealth.

In his memories, different lights flickered, the most intense being the Blood of Flames—the fire of the Red Dragon, burning with endless passion, destruction, and rebirth.

Though the memories in his mind were chaotic and indistinct, a fierce flame always burned in his heart. It was warm yet ferocious—what was it? Chaos.

As the inherited power continued to flow into him, he could feel every inch of his skin, every scale, awakening.

The surging power seemed to whisper, recounting ancient vows: "I am the embodiment of fire. I shall inherit the glory of my ancestors, cleanse the world with flames, and restore the order of old."

At that moment, he seemed to hear the deep, distant chants of the ancient dragons, echoing through the ends of time. The chants not only bore witness to a glorious past but also foretold the legend he was about to forge.

As the power within him gradually converged, a low, rhythmic vibration suddenly came from outside the shell.

At that moment, he felt his claws touch the shell, attempting to break through. But the shell was tougher than he expected, and his sharp claws only left shallow marks.

He gathered all his strength once more, his heartbeat quickening, his rapid breaths echoing in the confined space, bringing an indescribable sense of suffocation.

"No... if this continues, I'll be trapped here!"

He clenched his teeth, curled his body, and then slammed against the shell. Finally, a crack appeared. In that instant, he keenly sensed a low growl from outside, distant yet threatening, as if some dangerous predator was lurking nearby.

His heart raced even faster. There was no time to delay—he had to break free now.

This time, he didn't hesitate. Every muscle in his body tensed as he focused all his strength into his claws and head, slamming against the crack—

"Crack!" The shell finally shattered, and he stumbled out, taking his first breath of fresh air, which carried a faint, scorching scent.

The moment he emerged, the world suddenly brightened. A warm light fell on his shimmering scales, and he knew—he had officially been born into this otherworldly realm. As the power within him surged, he felt a vibration in his throat, a primal, unstoppable instinct urging him to open his mouth and declare his identity as a dragon.

He took a deep breath and roared with a low, firm voice:

"Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron!"

Though the voice was still young, it carried the raw power of a newborn dragon.

Just as he was awakening to his identity, a deep, gentle dragon's roar came from afar. A majestic, mature red dragon descended, its massive body radiating a golden aura. Her fiery yet loving gaze locked onto Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron, and she nodded slightly, saying softly:

"Well done, my child."

At that moment, the flames within Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron seemed to receive final approval. He knew he had been accepted by the Dragon Mother—this marked the beginning of his new life.

Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron stood firmly, looking around, realizing he was not alone. Before him were five dragon eggs neatly arranged: three of them trembled faintly, their vitality dimming, while the other two emitted a warm glow, as if harboring resilient life.

Though his siblings had yet to hatch, he could faintly sense their presence—a connection of blood and power.

Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron's thoughts were complex: there was anticipation for the future and the hope of coexisting harmoniously with his siblings.

But at that moment, hunger surged through him like a tidal wave, as if he urgently needed energy to sustain this surging power. He looked down at the eggshell fragments and the remaining fluid, struggling internally before hunger ultimately drove him closer.

He slowly consumed the eggshell, each bite savoring the crisp, energy-rich texture. The energy from the shell alleviated his hunger, making the flames within him burn brighter and purer.

The eggshell fragments crunched between his teeth, slightly bitter with a mineral taste. After finishing the remnants, he slowly raised his head, his gaze traversing the surroundings, landing on this strange and awe-inspiring world.

Standing amidst the shattered eggshell remains, Lu Chen's heart was filled with both disgust at the absurd scene and a painful sigh at the merciless hand of fate.

"Is this really my destiny?" he whispered in his heart.

Yet, at that moment, a faint strength seemed to awaken the long-buried memories deep within him. Each bite seemed to ask him: Is this what I truly want?

He began to doubt: Is this my destiny? But amidst the fear and confusion, a sliver of determination quietly rose, making him realize that each bite was awakening the long-dormant power and memories of his bloodline.

He recalled descriptions from reincarnation novels, where eggshells were often portrayed as delicious. But as he held a piece in his claws, examining it, he wondered where the appeal lay.

It looked like an eggshell—what was so appetizing about it? If not for the gnawing hunger, he wouldn't want to eat it, but it was the only source of energy available.

After replenishing his energy, he began to survey his surroundings.

What? This was the interior of an active volcano! Looking up, the cavern's dome soared high, like the gaping maw of a giant beast, ready to devour everything around it.

Above, only a few faint rays of light filtered down, barely illuminating the jagged walls.

The walls were covered with twisted, solidified lava, now forming cold, menacing scars.

The air was thick with the suffocating stench of sulfur, like the rotting corpse of a beast, pungent and foul.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven, occasionally emitting a grating, cracking sound. In the distance, he could see a few dark red pools, their surfaces boiling like blood, emitting waves of heat that seemed even more eerie in the dim light.

Only the dark red moss growing tenaciously in the crevices of the walls emitted a faint glow, adding a strange touch of life to this desolate place.

Shortly after Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron was born, the nearby dragon eggs began to tremble, cracking open one by one as the hatchlings emerged. The sound of shells breaking echoed, each crack heralding the arrival of new life.

In the chaos, the hatchlings gradually awakened. The first dragon poked its head out, calling in a weak, tender voice: "Agnus Draville Brighton Clay!"

Then, another hatchling emerged, trembling as it weakly declared: "Catalia Victorian Safina Ray!"

Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron heard the names clearly. Though the voices were young, they carried the stubborn strength of newborns.

Soon, the hatchlings seemed guided by instinct, lowering their heads to gnaw on the eggshell fragments—a dragon ritual to absorb life essence and enhance their strength and wisdom.

After consuming the shell remnants, their eyes grew brighter, as if they had gained a mysterious inheritance and preliminary intelligence.

Ceratus Fernando Grant Ron watched his companions, his heart filled with complex emotions: joy at the new life, but also a faint premonition of future challenges.

At that moment, slight disputes arose among the hatchlings. The once-gentle atmosphere began to shift as they started to compete for the energy within and the temptations outside.

One female, one male.

After eating the eggshells, they sized each other up, getting acquainted.

As newborns, they sought to establish dominance, determining who would be the leader, the second, and the third. The strong ruled—this was their combative nature.

The hatchlings waved their tender claws, occasionally spitting small flames, testing the boundaries of their power.

The sounds of their scuffles and the flickering flames seemed both childish and thrilling in the early morning light.

The noise of the hatchlings' quarrels gradually drew the attention of the red dragon above the nest.

It had been lazily lying on a pile of gold coins, but now it slowly raised its head, its crimson eyes flashing with displeasure.

"Foolish hatchlings!" a deep, authoritative roar came, carrying the scorching pressure of molten lava.

The fighting ceased abruptly. The hatchlings stopped, looking up at the red dragon that loomed over them from its gold-filled nest. Its scales shimmered with ancient crimson hues in the morning light, its eyes cold and malevolent.

"You hatchlings must not disturb my peace with your greed and ignorance!" the Dragon Mother scolded, her tone brooking no argument. Her broad wings twitched slightly, as if wanting to protect the hatchlings while asserting her dominance. The hatchlings fell silent, bowing their heads.

"The pile of gold coins emitted an alluring golden glow, like the sweetest honey, instantly capturing the hatchlings' attention.

Catalia's amethyst eyes sparkled with greed, her small nostrils flaring as she caught the intoxicating scent of the coins.

Agnus was more direct, his amber eyes fixed on the gold pile, a low growl of desire escaping his throat. His tender claws twitched, as if ready to pounce and claim the treasure for himself.

But reason still prevailed. They remembered the Dragon Mother's warning and the consequences of theft. Greed and fear warred within their hearts, desire growing like wild vines, but reverence acted as an invisible shackle, restraining their actions."

Ceratus stood to the side, watching. Beyond the inherited memories, something else stirred within him.

At that moment, his pupils contracted into thin slits—a sign of his bloodline awakening. The inherited dragon's hoarding instinct clashed with his innate greed, the sound of clinking coins echoing like a heartbeat. As his claws touched the edge of the treasure pile, the memory of the eggshell burned his nerves—a reminder that hatchlings who stole would be injured by the Dragon Mother and cast out of the volcano to perish.

Looking at the gold, he thought how nice it would be to have his own share. But this wasn't his, and he dared not risk taking even a single coin. The Dragon Mother would surely notice if anything went missing, and losing it would mean being exiled to the wilderness.

"Agnus, the younger brother, was the first to lose patience. He toddled toward the gold pile, his amber eyes shining with naive greed, a trickle of drool escaping his mouth.

Catalia, the sister, followed, though she was far more hesitant than her brother. Her amethyst eyes, beautiful yet filled with uncertainty, darted between the gold and the Dragon Mother.

She cautiously extended her pink claws, lightly touching the edge of the gold pile before quickly retracting them, as if the Dragon Mother's warning still loomed large.

She lowered her head, her tail sweeping the ground nervously, her expression a mix of longing and fear, both pitiful and amusing."

The younger brother reached out to touch the gold, while the sister hesitated, torn between desire and fear. She knew the allure of the gold but also the dangers that came with it.

Ceratus lay with his jaw against the rock, seemingly asleep, but the sound of the gold pile being disturbed roused him. Catalia's tail brushed against the coins, her breathing quickening, until the Dragon Mother's tail slammed the ground, sending a shower of sparks like a warning meteor shower.

Agnus recoiled in fright, a gold coin stuck between his claws. The hatchlings froze, time seeming to stand still in the volcano. Through half-closed eyes, Ceratus saw a flash of icy blue in the depths of the Dragon Mother's golden pupils, the killing intent fading slightly before her eyes returned to their deep, molten crimson.

The Dragon Mother's gaze swept over the trembling hatchlings, her authority undiminished, but a hint of resignation flickered in her crimson eyes.

She exhaled a breath of scorching air, not to ignite Agnus but as a natural instinct of dragon intimidation. "Even the worms that feed on rock marrow know more respect than you," she said, her tone tinged with disappointment and frustration.

The gold coins in her massive claws melted silently, the liquid gold dripping to the ground with a sizzle, leaving scorched marks like a brand on her heart.

When would these hatchlings truly understand that respect was not just submission to power but adherence to rules and responsibility to the clan?"

Ceratus felt the pressure of an invisible force pressing his spine into the rock. He heard Catalia's whimper as the Dragon Mother's claws hovered three inches above her head, light dancing on the claw tips.

The silver coin between Agnus's claws vaporized, turning into a wisp of smoke that circled the Dragon Mother's pupils, forming a thorny manifestation of killing intent.

"Mother!" Ceratus pressed his forehead to the ground, the inherited memories driving him to recite an ancient plea for forgiveness. "When the crimson scales are tarnished, may starlight cleanse the sins." His tail hooked around his siblings' tails, forcing them to submit and curl up. The volcanic rock cracked.

Catalia's scales were scraped, drawing blood as she cried out, "Glory to the forge!" Agnus lost half of his tail fin, the blood droplets rising into a mist—a dragon ritual of humiliation and atonement, offering flesh and blood to the spirit of the volcano.

The Dragon Mother's gaze lingered on the hatchlings for a moment, her authority tinged with a hint of resignation.

"Now, all of you, crawl to the lava pool and lick the sulfur crystals," she said, her tone softening slightly but still firm. "If there's a next time... there will be no mercy." With that, the Dragon Mother's massive tail swept the ground, shattering a protruding rock pillar into rubble, piling it before the hatchlings like a warning boundary. She turned slowly, her steps steady, and returned to her throne of gold coins.