Kyno
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The gleaming towers along Dragon Isle's frontier cast long shadows, beneath which lies an old district. Its narrow alleys are choked with discarded armor, fractured pipelines, and rusted rails. By day, the clang of hammer on metal mingles with the laborers' chants. By night, showers of sparks from welding torches illuminate faces streaked with grease and soot. Outsiders call it the "Border Junkyard." Those who live here, however, call it the Rivetfire District. This is where Kyno grew up. Unlike other Dragolites, he was born frail. All it took was a short sprint to leave him gasping for air. On Dragon Isle, where bloodline and physical strength define one's worth, he was often ridiculed by his peers. At first, he would crane his neck and fire back, but no amount of defiance could make his body any stronger. Whenever a fight broke out, he was always the first to be knocked to the ground. After enough falls, he learned to laugh off the humiliation. "I'm just checking how hard the ground is for you guys!" he'd quip. Once the laughter faded and everyone had gone, he would slowly struggle back to his feet. That changed after an accident many years ago. That day, the transport rails at the Old Gate malfunctioned, sending mountains of scrap metal hurtling toward the district with a deafening screech. Kyno was knocked to the ground, moments from being buried beneath the wreckage, when a towering figure stepped before the gate and stood his ground—Kregor, a sentinel of Dragon Isle's frontier. Though said to have come from humble origins, he had forged himself into the frontier's strongest bulwark through an extraordinary physique and unwavering discipline. Even as the stone beneath his feet cracked apart inch by inch, he never yielded. When the chaos subsided, Kregor strode past Kyno and, almost absentmindedly, hauled the frail boy to his feet. "Get up." As Kyno watched him walk away, something stirred within him like never before. So you didn't need an illustrious bloodline to become the strongest sentinel after all. If that was true, then perhaps someone born with nothing could carve out a place for himself as well. From that day on, Kyno threw himself into training with almost self-destructive intensity. He wanted to become someone like Kregor—someone who would step forward whenever others were in need. But determination could never overcome the weakness he was born with. When a support frame collapsed in the old mining district, he dove beneath the falling steel girders to shove a child scavenging for scrap out of harm's way. The child survived, but Kyno's leg was crushed beneath the wreckage. For months, he could barely stand, and with each passing day, his resolve slowly faded. The one who finally cursed Kyno out of his sickbed was the district's foulest-tempered mechanic—old Dragolite Mor. Ever since he was a child, Kyno had loved hanging around Mor's workshop, scavenging scrap and borrowing tools. Mor would curse him out, only for the boy to shamelessly sneak back in again. Yet for all his gruffness, the old Dragolite never truly chased him away. Watching Kyno grit his teeth as he struggled to climb out of bed, Mor merely let out a disdainful snort. "Your bones aren't even strong enough yet, and you're already trying to play the hero? If you want to stand on your own two feet, start by learning how not to break yourself every time you fall!" That night, Mor kicked a pile of discarded armor plates and old support braces over to Kyno's bedside. "Your hands still work? Then build it yourself." So, from that heap of unwanted scrap, Kyno pieced together his very first support brace. It was heavy, crude, and rubbed his skin raw along its rough edges. It short-circuited every few days. Yet it was this ungainly contraption that allowed him, for the first time after his injury, to stand on his own without leaning against a wall. As for an old energy conduit he couldn't find a suitable place to install, he simply hung it from his belt and carried it with him wherever he went. From then on, Kyno became Rivetfire District's resident tinkering fanatic. Broken armor became reinforced plating, discarded crystal chips were rewired, and abandoned load-bearing shafts from construction sites were welded into the cores of powerful weapons. What others saw as junk, he saw as treasure. His body didn't grow stronger overnight. But he discovered that if his support gear could bear just a little more weight, then so could he. If its energy flowed just a little more smoothly, he could strike with greater force than ever before. Little by little, the scraps that had once helped him stand became the equipment that carried him into battle. Though Mor never stopped calling him a fool, the next morning a handful of usable rivets would always find their way to a spot within Kyno's reach. The neighborhood children loved gathering around him, watching him turn scrap into little glowing gadgets, or burst into laughter with a face blackened by soot after yet another explosion. One little boy who was always tagging along behind him once asked in all seriousness, "Kyno... can scrap metal really grow stronger too?" Kyno didn't have an answer back then. He simply ruffled the boy's hair and said, "That depends who's doing the fixing." It was around then that Dragon Isle's battle arena took notice of him. There, bloodline meant nothing, and no one cared where you came from. Its owner was a shrewd businessman. The first time he saw Kyno walk in wearing that clanking heap of scrap, he laughed so hard he nearly bit through his pipe. "A weakling in a suit of junk entering the ring? Now that's a spectacle! The crowd's going to love it!" "Then you'd better sell plenty of tickets," Kyno shot back. "You might need the money to fix the arena after I'm done with it." His first match was an ugly loss. The crowd burst into laughter, with jeers telling him to crawl back to the scrap heap. Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the arena floor, Kyno grinned. "Thanks, buddy. That gave me some great stress-test data." Then he dragged his battered armor back to the workshop, tore out the broken rivets, rerouted the wiring, and welded until dawn. In his second match, he weathered the heavy blows. In the third match, he tore his opponent's armor apart. In the fourth match, the arena was roaring his name. But that wasn't enough. Kyno had always been fighting for more than victory in the arena. As Dragon Isle reopened to the world, dwarven engineering arrived with it. Before long, several prestigious workshops sought to incorporate these foreign techniques into Dragon Isle's own craft traditions. To make room for larger proving grounds and assembly halls, they set their sights on Rivetfire District. It was rough, chaotic, and riddled with improvised wiring and ramshackle machinery—neither presentable nor safe. Now that Dragon Isle had opened its gates to the outside world, a "junkyard" like this, they argued, should give way to clean, orderly new workshops. To lend legitimacy to this so-called "cleanup," the elite workshops staged a public exhibition during Rivetfire District's own championship tournament. They entered a fighter equipped with a state-of-the-art prototype mech, determined to prove that only engineering standardized, manufactured, and controlled by the elite workshops represented Dragon Isle's future. As for Rivetfire District's improvised creations, they were nothing more than a heap of scrap. This was the only chance Kyno would ever have. If he won, even the Highborn Dragons who had never spared this district a second glance would finally be forced to hear its voice. Looking at the heavy hammer Kyno had spent the entire night modifying—a weapon that short-circuited with every swing—Mor couldn't help but ask, "Trying to be like Kregor?" Kyno set down his welding torch. His thoughts drifted back to the figure standing before the gate, then to the sounds of the workshops outside, still hard at work deep into the night. He lowered his head with a faint smile. "How could I ever measure up to him...? He protects the borders of Dragon Isle. Me? At best, I can look after this rundown little street of ours." "Hopeless." Mor muttered. Then, without another word, he tossed an old draconic core he'd treasured for years into Kyno's arms. "Take it. And try not to blow yourself up." On the night of the championship, the stands were sharply divided. On one side sat the well-dressed representatives of the elite workshops; on the other, the grease-stained residents of Rivetfire District. Kyno's opponent gave his patchwork gear a contemptuous once-over. "Trash like you belongs in the scrap heap." "Talk's cheap," Kyno said, rolling his neck as fire lit his eyes. "Careful you don't bite your tongue." The fight was far more brutal than anyone had imagined. His opponent's prototype armor radiated an overwhelming aura, while Kyno's improvised gear cracked apart under the relentless onslaught. High-voltage conduits spat showers of sparks, as though crying out in despair. One crushing blow later, he was down on one knee atop the shattered arena floor. The draconic core mounted on his warhammer flickered fitfully, like the last candle guttering in the wind. "Get out of the ring." His opponent looked down coldly. In the deathly silence, a heart-rending cry rang out from beyond the railings. It was the little boy Kyno had come to know, his eyes red with tears. "Kyno! Show them... that even scrap can grow stronger!" Kyno gasped for breath as his fingers found the old energy conduit at his waist—the one that had stayed with him for years, never finding a place in any of his creations. Through the haze, he saw himself again: the frail boy lying beneath the gate so many years ago. Then he heard those words once more. "Get up." "...Yeah." Kyno sprang to his feet. He seized the old energy conduit at his waist and Mor's draconic core, then slammed them both into the warhammer's final auxiliary slot. Click. A perfect fit. It had belonged there all along. The overloaded draconic circuitry surged from the hammer into Kyno's arm, igniting his entire suit of armor in a brilliant blaze. The battered iron plates erupted with dazzling light as superheated steam burst forth, accompanied by the beast-like roar of the engine that thundered across the arena. "Watch closely! Tonight... I will win!" The warhammer crashed down, shattering the arena floor. A devastating shockwave obliterated his opponent's precision defenses in an instant—and ignited the Arena of Heroes, where the crowd's passion had been smoldering for far too long. The people of Rivetfire District were the first to erupt in cheers. Then, one by one, more voices joined in, until the entire Arena of Heroes was shouting Kyno's name. The proprietor stood frozen for a long moment before throwing back his head in laughter and tearing the betting slips in his hand to shreds. Mor turned away with a gruff mutter of, "Brat," but the pride in his eyes was impossible to hide. Beyond the railings, the little boy's face was streaked with tears as he stared at Kyno in stunned silence. Kyno gave him a slight nod. The boy froze for a heartbeat, then nodded back with all his strength, as though he had finally found his answer. From that night on, no one ever dared dismiss Rivetfire District as a scrap heap again. And no one ever dared claim that scrap had no place in the Arena of Heroes. Afterward, Kyno slipped back into his old routine—spending his days at construction sites and repair shops, then disappearing into his workshop each night to refine his gear. He was still the same mechanic who valued spare parts more than the coins in his pocket, who would grumble all the while as he reinforced a friend's armor after they got hurt. The only thing that had changed was his reputation. By then, he had become the face of Dragon Isle's working folk. He didn't become the second Kregor. Kregor was a wall, standing watch over the borders of Dragon Isle. Kyno was a flame, keeping vigil through the long nights of Rivetfire District. This flame was far from noble, but it burned bright and true—bright enough to light the way for every Dragolite who refused to surrender in the mud.
Title
Scrapforge Prodigy
Max ascension
Ascended 5★
How Kyno compares · vs 26 Draconis Heroes
Closest Heroes · nearest on ATK
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