Then ca a stark contrast. A figure with a vibrant, green earth colored cape strode forward, posture flawless, movents smooth, every gesture deliberate. Calm and poised, he faced the line of warriors with an aura of absolute control.
"Prince Draculeus, I am Luavier of House Verdantwings. We are the Sovereigns of the Sky. My House is known for mastering the winds. You bear the wings of a Dragon, and I am the greatest Wyrmwing rider of this generation. Together, we will command the skies and dominate them. I am the partner who will ensure you truly own the heavens."
Sairant’s wide, silver eyes followed him, a whisper escaping his lips:
"Oh... to be confident like him... I bet he would be chosen by His Majesty..."
As the house of the Verdantwings candidates finished their introduction, a chilling laugh cut through the arena. A striking woman stepped forward, her voluminous golden hair flowing like sunlight, but a jagged scar ran across her cheek, making her beauty look dangerous. Her eyes glittered with bloodlust, wide and unrelenting.
"Cassandra of House Blackheart! We are the Reapers. My House is known for one thing: cruelty. I don’t care about shields or strategy. I want to see the world bleed in your na. Pick , and I will turn your path into a river of red. Isn’t that wonderful?"
Her laughter was hysterical, echoing across the Training Grounds and sending a shiver down every spine. Her house cheered along, reveling in the madness she displayed. From the Verdantwings, a quiet whisper floated:
"Oh... this bloodlust house... their na fits their personalities perfectly!"
Then the girl from before, eyes shaped like hearts, clutched her staff so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her voice trembled, but her resolve was clear:
"F-Forsha... of House Goldensight. As the na suggests, Your Majesty, we are the all seeing. Our sight pierces illusions, asures strength, and detects even hidden magic."
Her mind scread internally, unable to contain her awe:
"Oh gods... he’s blinding! Look at those waves of magic and might! To appraise a Dragonborn in secret is a sin... but just seeing this... I can feel the weight of his power. Oh... he’s so strong... so handso... I’m going to faint!"
Finally, the figure who had made Percieval grit his teeth with embarrassnt stepped forward. He was the earlier perfu obsessed warrior, he adjusted his glasses with supre arrogance.
"I am Arteè of House Citrineclaw! The house of legends, the sa house as the one standing beside you, Your Highness! The greatest, most refined warriors known to Drakaria!"
His voice thundered through the arena, making many cringe, yet he pressed on with unshakable pride:
"My House is the apex of refinent, building empires and winning duels with a single, flawless move. A Dragonborn needs soone who can wield both politics and the blade with equal elegance. I am the only logical choice."
As everyone finished their introductions, Draculeus didn’t rely listen to their words. He paid no mind to their boasts or their fears. His blue-slit eyes were fixed on their auras. To him, the arena was filled with flickering lights, most dim, like candles in the wind. He muttered,
"Even among these hundreds of candidates, I can see only a few with true potential... I might say these seven—they are different: Killian of House Asulfang, Hank of House Crimsonscales, Luavier of House Verdantwings, Cassandra of House Blackheart, Arteè of House Citrineclaws, and even that shivering boy... Sairant of House Silverspines."
He looked at these Seven. These were the exceptional ones. The ones whose magic and might didn’t just flicker... it roared.
Percieval stepped forward.
"Introductions are finished! You’ve been given the chance to speak so the Prince could see your nas and the houses you represent... But do you think you ca here just to talk? Do you think a Dragonborn chooses his shadow based on a pretty speech and a family na?"
He swept his gaze across the hundred warriors.
"We are standing in the Training Grounds for a reason! We are not in a ballroom! We are not in a garden! We are on a cliff because in this kingdom, truth is found in the clash of steel and the heat of mana!"
The air in the arena shifted. The candidates reached for their weapons. Percieval continued,
"Bragging ti is over! A Dragonguard must be seen in action! You want to be his right arm? Then show us you have the strength to carry the weight of a God!"
A heavy silence fell over the arena as the hundred candidates gripped their weapons. Only their hearts pumped with a mix of excitent and nervousness.
Then Killian of Asulfang adjusted his stance, his wild eyes darting to Draculeus before he spoke to Percieval.
"Lord Percieval! What is the test? Do we fight until only one of us can stand? Or do the Great Houses face each other in a tournant? Tell us the rules of this selection!"
Percieval turned toward Draculeus, bowing his head slightly.
"The boy is right, Your Highness. Usually, the Dragonborn sits upon the high chair and watches the candidates bleed until the strongest remains. That is the tradition. Shall I start the duels?"
Draculeus shifted. His massive wings gave a slow, powerful flap that sent a gust of wind across the arena floor. A dark, mischievous grin spread across his face—the sa grin that always made Percieval’s heart skip a beat.
"Tradition?"
Draculeus rumbled, his voice vibrating in the chests of every warrior.
"I didn’t climb that mountain and burn in dragon blood just to sit in a chair like an old man."
He stepped off the ledge, descending slowly, his talons clicking against the stone as he landed.
"I have only been a Dragonborn for a day. I have this power, this hunger, and these wings... and I haven’t even tested them yet. Watching you kids fight each other for my favor sounds... boring."
The candidates gasped. Arteè of Citrineclaw adjusted his glasses, his face pale.
"Boring? But Your Highness, this is the sacred way of—"
"I don’t care about the way."
Draculeus interrupted, his blue eyes glowing with a sudden, fierce light.
"If I am going to choose soone to stand beside in hell, I want to feel their strength myself. I want to see if your ’magic’ and ’might’ can actually touch my ’scales.’"
Percieval blinked, his jaw dropping.
"Wait... you an you want to fight them? One by one? Your Highness—that will take all night!"
"No, Percieval... I want all of them. At the sa ti."
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