The runes above the All Seeing Stone still glowed, numbers flickering and climbing at a terrifying speed. The eyes of nobles, generals, knights even Drakovitch and Morgant followed, rolling with the shifting figures. Morgant’s own eyes flickered in disbelief. He whispered,
"Six dragon traits... not bad... but power is asured by the numbers of Magic and Might. The highest ever recorded is fifty million and that can grow with battle..."
Then the numbers locked into place and so did everyone’s gaze.
A hush fell over the hall. Even the act of breathing seed forbidden. Drakovitch’s eyes widened, Morgant’s jaw hung slack.
Floating above, radiant like the heart of a sun, were the numbers:
[Magic: 100,000,000 | Might: 100,000,000]
Morgant’s voice stamred, trembling,
"O-O-ONE H-HUNDRED MILLION... EACH!?"
The Elder of Goldensight sank to his knees, his staff clattering to the floor.
"One hundred million... Oh Dragon God... He is not just a Prince... he is another Dragon reborn."
The hall erupted into chaos.
Noblewon gasped so sharply so nearly fainted. A few clutched their chests.
"ONE HUNDRED MILLION?!"
"That’s double the highest record!"
"No... it’s beyond records!"
Generals who had fought wars for decades suddenly dropped to one knee without thinking, their armor clanking against the stone.
Percieval whispered hoarsely,
"He is stronger than his father ever was when first awakened as Dragonborn... Oh, Dragon God, the future is... bright! I am truly grateful I live to see this day..."
Across the hall, the Seven House warriors execptiuonal ones reacted in their own ways.
Hank of House Crimsonscales burst into booming laughter, slamming a fist against his chestplate.
"HA! I knew that monster wasn’t normal!"
Sairant of House Silverspine tilted his head slowly, his smile twitching.
"Do you an... we fought that? One hundred million... What a terrifying being."
Forsha of House Goldensight looked completely dazed, her heart shaped pupils shining brighter than ever.
"Oh my..."
She clasped her hands against her chest.
"He’s perfect... He’s absolutely perfect..."
Killian stood stiffly with his jaw clenched, staring at the numbers as if they were personally insulting him.
"Tch. So that’s the gap... I must train harder. Faster! WHOOO!"
Beside him, Cassandra’s eyes glead with wild excitent instead of fear. Her lips curled into a sharp grin.
"One hundred million... ooooh, even better! I want to taste the strength behind every drop counted in that hundred million..."
But the quietest reaction ca from Arteè of House Citrineclaw. His broken glasses reflected the blazing numbers floating in the air.
"I already knew we never truly had a chance, but I had to... make him notice. I hope I did, because I want to always be on the strongest side."
On the stage, Drakovitch stood frozen for several long seconds.
Then slowly...
A deep, proud laugh escaped his chest.
"HAHAHAHA!"
The Dragonborn King spread his arms wide, his voice booming across the silent hall.
"Behold!"
His silver slit eyes burned with triumph as he looked upon the nobles, warriors, and councilors kneeling before the stage.
"My son! The future of our race! The Dragonborn who will bring back the age of dragons!"
Drakovitch slowly raised one hand, and the roaring hall gradually quieted.
"You see it now. For generations, you argued about blood. Half blood. Full white blood. Which womb is worthy. Which child is pure."
His gaze swept across the kneeling nobles.
"You asured Tiamat’s blessing like rchants weighing grain. But tonight... the truth stands before you."
He gestured toward Draculeus.
"Whether half or full, White Blood is rely the vessel of Tiamat. The blood of Tiamat cannot be asured by percentages. What matters... is whether the one who carries that blood can command it."
He placed a firm hand on Draculeus’s shoulder.
"Whether they can awaken it... control it... and beco a Dragonborn."
The nobles erupted.
"ALL HAIL THE DRAGONBORN PRINCE!"
"THE AGE OF DRAGONS RETURNS!"
Dozens of them dropped fully to their knees, heads bowing so low their foreheads touched the marble floor. So nobles even raised their hands like worshippers at a shrine.
"Praise be to the blood of Tiamat!"
"Long live the Dragonborn King!"
"Long live the Dragonborn Prince!"
Even hardened warriors bent the knee. Generals bowed their heads. Councilors whispered prayers. For the first ti since the restoration plan began... the nobles were not whispering doubts.
They were cheering.
Praying.
Worshipping.
Across the hall, Morgant slowly lowered himself to one knee. His expression was rigid, his face carved from stone.
"You... Drakovitch... you are truly the one who always shatters the norm... that is why..."
His gaze lingered on Draculeus, heavy with asured thought. For a long mont, he said nothing. Then, with a slow, reluctant motion, he bowed his head—an acknowledgnt. Recognition of reality.
But when Morgant’s eyes rose again... They did not et Draculeus. They fixed themselves on Drakovitch. The hatred in them had not softened. If anything, it had only grown sharper, colder.
"I hated you."
Drakovitch laughed—not at Morgant, but a deep, amused rumble born from the recognition of the nobles, aware of the weight of the mont. He lifted his goblet of crimson wine high.
"Tonight is not for the old days... Tonight we celebrate the dawn of a new age!"
Servants weaved through the hall, filling goblets and raising trays of wine and honeyed liquor. Among them, Morgant’s cup was filled more slowly, his eyes tracing the different won pouring libations for the King, the Prince, and Percieval.
Drakovitch raised his goblet higher, his voice ringing clear:
"A toast!"
The entire hall followed. Goblets lifted. Crystal clinked.
"To the first Dragonborn of the New Age!"
The crowd roared.
"TO DRACULEUS!"
Wine flowed like rivers as they drank. Morgant’s eyes lingered on Drakovitch’s cup, following each sip with a glint of dangerous curiosity in their depths.
Nearby, the Asulfang Wyrmutt began to growl, its snout wrinkling as it sniffed at a passing servant. The house leader reached out, his hand steady as he cald the beast.
Drakovitch set his goblet down and turned toward his son, pride blazing like fire in his silver eyes.
"But this night is far from over."
The hall quieted again.
"My firstborn will now take the stage. The warriors of the great houses fought bravely today. They proved themselves worthy of standing before a Dragonborn."
His voice sharpened.
"And so my son will grant a gift. He will choose one warrior. From among the seven houses."
Drakovitch’s smile widened.
"The one he deems the most exceptional."
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