Greenwich, England.
Inside a nondescript yet dignified building, an assembly of scholars, mystics, mages, clergy, and aristocrats had gathered.
Men and women of varying ages, each possessing unique expertise in the arcane or spiritual arts. Despite their differences, they shared one crucial trait: all of them were deeply entangled with the world of the supernatural, possessing an academic curiosity—or dread—towards its mysteries.
This organization was known as the Witenagemot.
Their primary purpose: to collect and analyze supernatural phenomena to safeguard the security of the Queen and the kingdom.
Unlike clandestine mage associations, the Witenagemot began as little more than a scholarly circle—an academic forum for the exchange of esoteric knowledge. Over time, it grew into a formal organization dedicated to confronting threats of a mystical nature.
But now, in the council's chambers, an oppressive silence reigned.
Everyone present wore grim expressions, their collective worry palpable.
The cause of this somber atmosphere?
The council had received grave news.
"Is Britannia truly doomed to destruction?"
An elderly council member, his hair silver with age, sighed despondently.
"A divine beast… and a Heretic God… have both descended upon our lands simultaneously. And not just any divine beast—the Red Dragon of Britannia itself…"
The Heretic Gods—errant deities who defy the myths that bound them to their roles—are calamities walking the earth.
In ages past, gods had no names. They were limitless, untamed forces of nature. Humanity, fearful of their overwhelming power, crafted myths to confine these beings, bestowing upon them names, roles, and identities.
This act of myth-making created order, granting humans some measure of safety.
But when a Heretic God emerges—one who has rejected the role prescribed by human myth—they become an unshackled force of destruction, trampling through the world as they please.
If the Sun God descends, their light might incinerate the earth.
If the Sea God rises, tidal waves could swallow entire continents.
And if the God of Death walks the land, pestilence and despair would reduce civilizations to necropolises.
For the Witenagemot, the arrival of such a god was already disastrous. But their fears lay elsewhere—focused on the divine beast accompanying the Heretic God.
Dragons and serpents, embodiments of leylines themselves, were unparalleled forces tied to the life force of the land they inhabited.
The Red Dragon, in particular, held extraordinary significance to the people of Britannia.
In ancient Celtic belief, the Red Dragon symbolized the land itself, a guardian spirit protecting its people. This imagery was further immortalized through Arthurian legend, where the Red Dragon represented King Arthur and the White Dragon symbolized Vortigern, his nemesis. Their conflict symbolized the struggle between the native Britons and invading Saxons.
Though centuries of invasions and colonization diluted these origins, the Red Dragon endured as a national emblem—a symbol of Britain's indomitable spirit.
And yet, this guardian now rampaged as a crazed beast, corrupted by malevolence.
If this dragon, the living embodiment of Britannia's lifeblood, were to perish, the consequences would be catastrophic.
The land would wither and crack, its leylines drained of power. Volcanic eruptions would mar its surface, transforming fertile plains into desolate wastelands. Britannia would become uninhabitable.
Normally, as a manifestation of the earth's vitality, dragons were near-immortal. Even when defeated, they would simply return to the leylines to regenerate.
But this time, the Council had reason to believe that the Heretic God accompanying the dragon was one aligned with Steel—a divine enemy of dragons and serpents.
The gods of Steel and the dragons of the earth were natural adversaries. Unlike mortals or other gods, a god of Steel had the power to truly kill a dragon, severing its connection to the land forever.
"This must not happen!" a younger council member cried, slamming the table in frustration. "If the Red Dragon dies, Britannia dies with it!"
The room fell into uneasy murmurs. The gravity of the situation was undeniable.
"…Do we have any other options?"
"No," came the grim reply. "There's no other way."
Decisions born of desperation are rarely easy ones.
"We must summon a Godslayer."
The Council resolved to contact the nearest Campione, a mortal who had slain a god and usurped their divine authority. Only a Godslayer had the strength to subdue the Red Dragon without utterly destroying it.
But just as their message was dispatched, another report arrived—one that drained the room of all hope.
The contents of the report:
A mage from a smaller magical association had been conducting fieldwork, gathering intelligence on the Heretic God.
This mage's investigation led them to the doors of an ancient church.
Inside the church, through a series of rituals, they identified the god's identity.
The god possessing the Red Dragon was none other than Saint George—the patron saint of dragon slayers.
A second Heretic God.
Moreover, this was another god of [Steel], one renowned for their dragon-slaying prowess.
"Two Heretic Gods…" an elderly sage whispered, clutching the report with trembling hands.
"And both are Steel."
No Campione could face such overwhelming odds.
"…Is this it?" The old man collapsed into his chair, staring vacantly at the table. "Has the heavens themselves decided to end Britannia?"
---
As the sun dipped below the horizon, twilight bathed the land in hues of gold and crimson.
Over the countryside, the sky began to shift, clouds folding in on themselves, turning into brilliant layers of fiery red and gold. The formation stretched out, layer by layer, taking on a distinct and ominous shape.
From the gathered clouds emerged massive membranous wings, jagged horns, and a towering serpentine form.
It was a dragon.
A creature of myth, long absent from the physical world, had taken form once more.
And it was fleeing.
From the east, a radiant silver light surged into view.
It wasn't the sun or the moon, but its brilliance rivaled both. The gleaming aura tore through the sky with a velocity unmatched by mortal comprehension.
This light bore the unmistakable presence of [Steel].
A voice rang out, booming across the heavens like the roar of a hurricane.
"Dragon! Enemy of mine! Rejoice, for your head shall adorn the blade of my sword!"
The silver light hurtled forward, crossing the distance in an instant.
The Red Dragon roared, a sound that shook the heavens and earth, as the radiant force nearly cleaved it in two.
---
T/N: im not sure if Witenmagoajotartjo is the right name! let me knwo!
...
Huh. You really stuck it out all the way to the end.
Didn't think you had the patience. Guess I was wrong.
WiseTL's the one who actually made all this come together. I'm just here putting a bow on it... or, well, shoving it in a backpack and calling it a day. Same thing.
If you had fun, you know what to do:
👉 [patreon.com/WiseTL]
And if you're the social type, there's a Discord too. Pretty decent spot to hang out—no battles required.
👉 [discord.gg/wisetl]
Alright. That's enough standing around. Go on—before you make it weird.
—Leaf