It was truly laughable. And it wasn't difficult to understand why that kid had looked at him as though he'd suddenly grown two heads.
Then again, what did that fledgling know?
A worn-out core.
As small as a measly coin and as weathered as an old glass bead.
That was what truly remained of the being referred to as the Wyvern King. It was the only thing he could truly lay claim to when the shell he donned, the organs that filled it, and even the blood flowing in his body had long since ceased to be his.
Perhaps some would call it magnificent that he'd managed to survive for this long despite everything that had happened. Maybe there were even those who would look upon his current body and consider it the culmination of everything his people had sacrificed to keep their King alive.
But could it really still be called survival when he could barely even remember his own name?
Surely, he couldn't have always been the Wyvern King.
