The green energy that had been radiating from the dragon’s form intensified, swirling around the massive body like a living thing. The transformation began in reverse—the enormous size diminishing, the draconic features retracting and the fur-skin changing back to normal flesh.
The process was surprisingly smooth, almost elegant in its execution, the massive creature compressing down into human proportions while the Beast King Aura continued to swirl protectively around the shifting form.
Within monts, Jolthar stood there in his human shape once again, though his clothes were torn and battle-damaged from the earlier fighting. The green aura faded to barely perceptible levels, and he looked like just a young man standing amid the carnage—except for the eyes, which still carried the intensity of sothing far more dangerous than appearances suggested.
The soldiers who had accompanied Remin and Wymar were staring openly, their military discipline barely containing their shock at witnessing such a transformation. Even veteran warriors who had seen strange things in their careers had never witnessed anything quite like a dragon reverting to human form as casually as soone changing clothes.
Remin’s expression showed surprise but also a growing understanding of why this young baron had beco such a significant concern for the imperial administration.
Wymar looked simultaneously relieved to have soone human-sized to talk to and completely overwheld by the implications of what he had just witnessed.
"Jolthar," Wymar said, his voice carrying the weight of soone trying to process too much information at once, "just how many secrets do you have? How many abilities, how many transformations, how many impossible things can you do that completely overturn conventional understanding of what’s achievable?"
"Plenty enough to keep things interesting," Jolthar replied with a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the casualness of his tone at odds with the devastation surrounding them.
"So what’s the matter that brought you here specifically? Did that minister send you to clean up his ss, or is this sothing else entirely?"
"Jolthar!" Wymar’s voice sharpened with reproach.
"Show so respect to the Great General, who has more authority and capability than you seem to appreciate. The reason we’re here is not at the behest of any minister but by direct imperial command. We’ve been sent to restrain you and escort you to an audience with His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor himself."
The declaration fell like a stone into still water, sending ripples of shock through everyone present.
Milan’s face went pale, understanding imdiately what this ant—the Emperor himself was getting involved, which ant the situation had escalated beyond ministerial politics into matters of imperial stability and authority.
Andrion, standing beside his brother, actually took a step back, his earlier amusent completely gone, replaced by genuine concern for what might happen next.
Jolthar’s expression shifted from casual indifference to a frown, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information and its implications.
His voice, when he spoke, carried an edge that suggested he was not particularly pleased with this developnt.
"The Emperor wants to see ? Personally? That’s either a very good sign or an extrely bad one, and given recent events, I’m not optimistic about which it is."
Wymar pursed his lips and just told Jolthar to co. Though they were said to restrain Jolthar, Remin didn’t do that. They asked Jolthar to co and Jolthar who respected Remin obliged and didn’t oppose the general. It was also the reason why Wymar had brought General Remin.
*
Jolthar was escorted by Remin and Wymar through the capital’s streets, their small contingent of elite soldiers forming a protective periter rather than a prisoner’s guard.
The distinction was subtle but important—this wasn’t an arrest in the conventional sense but a summons that carried the full weight of imperial authority.
Remin wanted to show that Jolthar had his support. He knew that those ministers were trying to eliminate the young baron and didn’t want such a promising individual to end up hating the empire.
Milan and Andrion followed closely behind in their own carriage, refusing to abandon Jolthar despite the potential political consequences. Their presence was noted by everyone they passed—two princes standing with a man who had just defeated an imperial army.
The journey took them through increasingly grand districts until they reached the heart of the capital—the Imperial Quarter, where the seat of power itself resided. The road leading to the Imperial Hall was a marvel of construction, a long, wide avenue paved entirely in white marble that seed to glow in the torchlight. Carved into the stone at regular intervals were scenes depicting the empire’s history, its victories and its divine mandate.
As they approached the massive structure that served as the Emperor’s public seat of power, Remin gestured for the group to stop. He turned to Jolthar, his weathered face serious but not hostile.
"Walk with for a mont," the Great General said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t a request.
"The rest of you, co after a few minutes."
Wymar looked like he wanted to object but held his tongue.
Milan’s expression showed concern but also understanding—Remin wanted a private conversation before they entered the hall.
Jolthar nodded and walked alongside the general, the two of them moving a short distance away from the others. For a mont, they walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps against the marble.
Finally, Remin spoke, his voice carrying the weight of decades of experience and the directness of soone who had earned the right to speak plainly.
"You’ve reached Tier 9," he observed, not as a question but as a statent of fact.
"At your age, that’s remarkable. Most warriors spend their entire lives trying to reach that level and die having never achieved it. You should take pride in that accomplishnt, even amid all this chaos."
"Thank you, General," Jolthar replied, genuinely appreciating the recognition from soone of Remin’s caliber.
"I rember when you fought under my command during the border campaigns," Remin continued, his eyes focused on the path ahead.
"You were younger then, less refined, but even at that ti I could see the potential. You had the kind of instinct that can’t be taught—the ability to read a battlefield, to make split-second decisions that turned impossible situations into victories. I recomnded you for comndation after the Naemar’s incursion, though I suspect you never knew that."
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