Is it Just a Dream?

The laboratories hum with cold efficiency, believing they command the future, their sterile corridors lit by the relentless glow of progress. A miracle, they called it—stitching together creatures torn from legend and nightmare, two extinct beasts merged into a single entity through genetic alchemy. DNA of long-dead beasts resurrected into new life—their ultimate creation: a dragon’s body, a serpent’s mind. Scales dark as forgotten caverns, wings vast enough to blot out the heavens, eyes that held the emptiness of time itself. But they had not accounted for the dream. A child, who had long glimpsed the monster in sleep, whose slumber had conjured this chimera before the scientists ever birthed it, awakens to find the waking world bent to his visions. The serpent-dragon did not rampage—not at first. It slithered through nations, silent, omnipresent, embedding itself into the hearts of those who feared and worshiped alike. Fire did not consume the cities; the people offered them willingly. The child stood at its heart, unmoved, untouched, watching as civilization knelt before him, before the beast that answered only to his will. No scholar, no leader, no holy man could resist the tide. They did not name him, for names meant power, and they had none. But with voiceless moving lips, beneath shattered temples and burning towers, the fearful called him forerunner. The herald of the end. the sky burns red all bow before the dreamer none rise again take heed that no man or thing deceive you