"A son born of scandal—"
"He dares speak their name—"
"He mocks the sacred Rite—throw him out!"
The fury of nobles cracked, voices rising in judgment, their pride wounded by his presence.
And then—the king stood.
His presence alone halted the chaos. The room fell quiet.
"Nobles," the king spoke, voice firm yet weary. "This boy stands here because I summoned him."
A sharp silence followed.
"He is the son of my brother, Prince Alsin. Conceived in betrayal, yes… but still born of royal blood. And we—above all—know what the dragons demand."
The silence was deep. Heavy. A truth few wished to admit.
"The Dragonrite is sacred," the king continued. "And the Rite recognizes only one thing—blood. The right blood. The royal blood. Whether born in honor… or in shame."
He looked out over the nobles, over the gathered councilors and dragonborns.
"So long as dragons breathe, their fire does not care how a child is born—only what flows within them. He will participate."
There were no cheers. Only silence. Uneasy nods. Faces twisted in distaste. But heads bowed. Slowly. Grudgingly. Hope, as it always did in times of darkness, outweighed pride.
The voice of Head Councillor Arté cut through the tension.
"Then the ceremony will continue."
Gravier stepped quietly into formation, aligning with the others. Their eyes didn't welcome him. Their silence burned more than any insult. But he stood tall.
The king raised his hand high, his voice strong yet laced with the weight of history. The grand hall was silent, all eyes focused on him as he prepared to address his people.
"Long ago," the King began, his voice echoing through the chamber, "thousands of years past, our world was consumed by a war unlike any other. A war among the dragons themselves — born from their pride, from the need to prove who among them was the strongest."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, and then, with deep sorrow, he continued.
"The aftermath was catastrophic. Mountains of dragon corpses littered our lands. Their blood soaked into the earth, poisoning the rivers, tainting the very water we drank. The land withered beneath their remains, and humanity — who once lived in harmony with the dragons — suffered the most."
His voice grew heavier, more somber.
"Famine followed. Crops rotted. Livestock perished. Rivers turned to venom. And one by one, families… families died."
The King's fist clenched at his side, the weight of the past evident in his eyes.
"Those who survived had no choice but to scavenge among the dead dragons. They drank from the sea of blood, they fed on the corrupted flesh, hoping for survival…"
He took a long breath, the air heavy with the memory.
"But there was a price."
The King's tone turned grim, his voice like a whispering wind through the ruins of time.
"A chilling transformation overtook those who partook of the dragon's blood. Their bodies twisted… their forms deformed. They grew larger, monstrous, fueled by an endless hunger and uncontrollable rage. They were no longer human."
"They became the Twisted." He let the words linger, the horror of them sinking into the crowd.
"The Twisted overwhelmed the weakened dragons. And for a time, it seemed the world was lost. But in the darkest hour, a miracle arose."
The King's voice softened, a rare flicker of hope shining through.
"Some among the survivors endured. Their bodies changed, yes, but not into monsters. No. They became something new. They became… Dragonborn."
He stood taller, his chest swelling with pride as he spoke the next words.
"The Dragonborn were born of our desperation, forged in the fires of battle. They wielded the power of dragons, not as beasts, but as champions. With their strength, they fought back. They became the shield between us and the Twisted."
His eyes narrowed, the king's expression darkening again.
"But it was not enough. The Twisted multiplied. And there were too few of us — too few Dragonborn — to stop them."
He turned his gaze outward, as though seeing beyond the walls, beyond the throne room.
"Decades of war wore us thin. The western and northern lands, where the Sea of Blood first poisoned the earth, fell to the enemy. They were overrun. No survivors. The land was lost."
The King's voice faltered slightly. His people had never heard him speak with such emotion.
"And worse… some of our own became part of the enemy. Twisted. The very blood we once drank to survive now tainted everything we held dear."
He took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing.
"We fled. We retreated to the far corners of the world, facing the reality of our destruction. We knew the path ahead would not be easy. We were on the brink of extinction."
There was a long pause. The silence hung thick in the air.
"And so, together with the last of the dragons, we made a choice." His voice was clear now, filled with resolve.
"A pact. A final gamble to preserve what was left of our world."
The King raised his hand, as if presenting the very fate of the realm to his people.
"We forged the Dragonrite. A rite of power. A rite of judgment. And yes... a rite of death."
The room fell deathly silent, the weight of the king's words settling over them all. He let the silence stretch, his gaze unwavering.
"This is our legacy. Our duty. To safeguard what remains. And to ensure that the power of the dragons does not fall into the hands of the weak. Let the Dragonrite be oursalvation, and ourcurse."
His tone grew steady once more, his eyes sweeping across the gathering.
"And today, twenty-two young royal and noble bloodlines stand before us. Chosen. Destined to partake in this sacred rite. May they become our Dragonborn!"
The crowd responded with a thunderous applause, some wiping away tears, their emotions running deep. Knights lifted their swords, saluting the candidates with unwavering pride, while the Dragonborn themselves thumped their fists against their chests in respect.
The candidates stood tall, their chins high, their faces set with determination. They knew the weight of the moment. The future of humanity rested on their shoulders, the power of the dragons now coursing through their veins, if they could survive the Rite.
The King's voice rang out, clear and steady. "May the dragon Tiamat, choose you!"
The crowd's response was instant, a unified cry, strong and filled with hope: "All hail the Dragonborn!"
"All hail the candidates!"
"Hail! Hail! Hail!"
Cheers filled the air, shaking the very walls of the hall.