TRAVEL BETWEEN REALMS

Chapter: First Steps in Olympus

As the Winged Horse docked gracefully at the floating Greek Station in the city of Argos, David rose from his seat and stretched. The journey, though swift by cosmic standards, had still taken an hour—a blink compared to the vastness of space, but long enough for him to feel the shift in atmosphere.

Stepping off the ship and onto the marble platform, he was greeted by a new receptionist seated beneath a floating arch inscribed with glowing Greek runes. She wore a laurel circlet and held a bronze staff crackling faintly with divine energy.

"Identification, please," she said in a melodic voice.

David handed her the same crystal tablet he'd used at his departure gate. She took it with professional efficiency, scanning it through a floating glyph.

"For verification, state your full name, your father's name, and your mother's name."

"Arthur," he replied smoothly. "Son of uther and Meena."

She gave a courteous nod and returned the tablet. "Welcome to the Greek World. May the gods watch over your steps."

David smiled politely and continued forward, descending the final steps from the platform and into the streets of grease.

The change was immediate.

Where his homeworld was built upon cosmic geometry and sacred symmetry, the Greek World was carved with bold lines and passionate flourish. Stone buildings gleamed with ivory-white finish, adorned with golden pillars and detailed frescoes depicting great battles and divine dramas. Statues of gods stood on every corner, larger than life and unapologetically grand, each frozen in poses of pride and power.

People bustled through the streets in flowing robes and gilded armor—demigods, adventurers, even minor spirits. Vendors peddled enchanted scrolls and ambrosia beside weapon smiths and temple scribes. Everything pulsed with energy, with ambition.

David took it all in with quiet awe.

"Hey," he said aloud, glancing down at the pendant around his neck. "Where should we go first?"

Albion's voice crackled to life within the gem. "Head to one of Hermes' enclaves first. From there, we can find Iris' temple."

David arched an eyebrow. "Hermes I get—he's the god of travelers. But why Iris?"

"She's the goddess of messages and rainbows," Albion replied. "But more importantly, she's the only one in this entire pantheon who sells information."

"Wait... sells it?"

"Exactly. The Greeks don't just share knowledge—they barter with it. Secrets are currency here, boy. And Iris? She runs the best network in the Greek world. If we want to stay ahead, we pay her a visit."

David mulled over Albion's words as he ventured deeper into the vibrant heart of Argos.

The city was alive in a way no mortal city could ever be. White marble streets shimmered under a golden sun that never seemed to set. Temples loomed like monuments of ambition, and the very air seemed to hum with the egos of gods. Sculptures moved when no one was looking. Shadows whispered prayers. Myths clung to the walls like ivy.

After asking several locals for directions—most of whom were surprisingly helpful, albeit dramatic—David finally arrived at the Hermes Enclave. It was nestled between two ornate columns etched with the winged god's sigil: sandals with feathers, one for speed, one for escape.

He stepped through the archway into the bustling travel lodge, where messengers, merchants, and lone adventurers rested between realms. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged manager with curly bronze hair, a wide grin on his face, and a scroll in his hand.

"How much for one room?" David asked.

"Two drachmas for the whole week," the manager replied cheerfully.

David reached into his pouch and produced the silver coins, enchanted to gleam faintly with magic. The manager took them, examined each under a flickering verification crystal, then nodded with satisfaction.

"This way, sir," he said, motioning David down a side corridor.

The room was modest, but clean. A single bed with firm sheets, a simple wardrobe, a desk made of polished olive wood, and a private bath chamber. Not luxurious, but good enough for one person—and more than enough for a dragon.

Once the manager left, David took a moment to inspect the room more thoroughly. There was no hint of surveillance magic, no illusions, and no concealed traps—just honest stone and craft.

"Solid," he murmured.

He summoned his travel clothes from his inventory, neatly folded and layered with subtle enchantments, and set them on the bed. Then, exhausted from the day, he stepped into the bath chamber to freshen up.

He began undressing—and froze.

His hand reached for his chest out of habit.

The pendant.

The dragon-shaped pendant containing his father's soul—Albion—was gone.

David's breath caught in his throat. He spun around in a panic, scanning the floor, retracing his steps.

"Where is it?" he whispered sharply.

He searched the bathroom, then the bedroom. Every drawer. Under the bed. The corners. He even checked his magical inventory again, hoping he'd somehow misremembered placing it back. But it wasn't there.

Fear twisted in his gut.

"I didn't leave the room. It has to be here."

His mind kicked into overdrive.

In one breath, David activated all of his draconic senses. Magic rippled across his body like a storm rolling beneath his skin. His pupils narrowed to slits. His hearing sharpened until he could detect the heartbeat of a lizard in the ceiling. His nose flared. Every scent, every lingering trace of sweat, dust, and aura became distinct.

He was no longer just looking.

He was hunting.

David lowered himself to the floor, sniffing, moving with calculated slowness. The scent of sandalwood, soap, fresh linens… and something else.

A faint trail of silver and scale. Albion's scent.

It was here. Faint, but unmistakable.

He growled under his breath, eyes glowing faintly.

"You're still close…"

---

Outskirts of the City

"I really need to remind David to hone his senses," Albion muttered to himself, his voice laced with quiet irritation. "For someone born of dragons, letting a thief walk off with me without noticing for a few minutes? That's shameful."

Suspended in the air, trapped within the silver dragon-shaped pendant, Albion observed his surroundings with keen awareness. The thief who had stolen him from David—unaware of what, or who, she had taken—was now crouched beside a campfire in the outskirts of Argos, far from the watching eyes of the city guards.

The she was dressed like a common wanderer—worn boots, tattered cloak, a dagger sheathed at her hip. But there was nothing common about her arrogance. She turned the pendant over in her fingers, inspecting it like a merchant would a stolen gem.

"Hey," Albion spoke suddenly, his voice echoing slightly from within the pendant. "You should return me now. You do realize you just stole from a dragon, don't you?"

The thief paused, eyes narrowing in confusion, then surprise.

"So, you can talk," she muttered, lips curling into a greedy grin. "That's perfect. You'll fetch a fortune at the enchanted artifact market."

Albion sighed.

"Ignoring a dragon's warning. Bold move. But when my son finds you—and he will find you—you'll be begging for mercy."

The thief only laughed. "Your 'son'? That kid? Please. If he wants to catch me, he'll have to match my speed. And from what I saw, he looked barely 20 years into his dragonhood. No way he can keep up with—"

A thunderous roar ripped through the night.

The thief froze mid-sentence. The wind around them stilled, and the campfire's flames flickered violently in response to the pressure that suddenly filled the air.

Slowly, the thief turned her head toward the sound—and what she saw drained the color from her face.

A figure stood at the edge of the clearing.

David.

But this was not the boyish traveler the thief had seen in the city. This was something else. Something primordial.

Thick black mist billowed from David's back as a pair of jagged, ethereal wings extended, curling with restrained violence. His arms had morphed—now ending in obsidian claws sharp enough to rip through stone. Three onyx horns protruded from his head like a crown of wrath. His once-human eyes now burned with molten gold.

He hadn't fully transformed into a dragon… but he didn't need to.

He looked like a beast on the verge of losing control—something ancient, something built for war.

And his gaze?

It was fixed on the thief.

"Return. My. Father." David's voice was low, guttural, distorted by the draconic power vibrating through his chest. Each word landed like a seismic tremor.

Without saying a word, the thief stared at David for a few seconds. Her gaze was unreadable—calm, calculating, and eerily silent. Then, without warning, she tossed the pendant toward him.

Instinctively, David moved to catch it.

But the moment his hands rose, her foot struck his face with a force that shattered the sound barrier. The air cracked like thunder. The sheer impact created a shockwave that tore through the clearing, launching David through the forest like a ragdoll. Trees splintered as he crashed through them, leaving a path of ruin in his wake.

The thief snatched the pendant midair before it could fall and bolted—no, exploded—into motion. She ran with such speed that stars and defensive barriers shattered as she passed, her movement leaving behind a blazing trail of destruction that tore through space like an untamed comet.

It took David a few seconds to regain his bearings. His face throbbed with pain, the kick hadn't broken any bones, but it had nearly given him a concussion. Dazed but not defeated, he forced himself upright.

As soon as he cleared his mind, he focused. The scent she left behind was faint but still there, hidden within the chaos of broken terrain and scorched air. He followed it without hesitation, weaving through the forest where her destructive path suddenly ended.

He crouched low, sniffing the air, tracking her subtle scent like a predator.

Then—whoosh!

A kick came from nowhere, aiming straight for his head. He barely managed to raise his arm in time, the impact reverberating through his bones as it blocked the blow. The sheer force launched him backward, dragging his feet across the dirt until he came to a grinding halt several meters away.

By the time he looked up, she was gone.

Vanished.

No trace of scent, no hint of presence—not even his father's. Whoever she was, and whoever she came with, they had disappeared as if swallowed by the void.

David stood alone in the silence, heart pounding.