Rayder frowned, his expression darkening as he surveyed the scene before him. He had marched into Nymph Town with confidence, believing that the dragons he commanded would make conquest little more than a formality. Yet reality, as always, had a cruel way of humbling men.
The people did not welcome him with awe or reverence. They did not kneel before the dragons, trembling in gratitude for the protection of a new master. Instead, their faces were filled with fear, rejection, and something worse—hatred. The residents of Nymph Town had no desire to embrace him as their lord.
That bitter realization gnawed at Rayder.
Before he could speak, the heavy sound of boots echoed from the gate. Count Mouton appeared at the head of a troop of soldiers. His armor gleamed in the sun, his banner snapping proudly in the wind. He looked every bit the picture of authority, but it was the expression on his face that made Rayder's heart sink—a cunning smile, the smile of a man who thought himself already victorious.
"Lord Rayder," Count Mouton called out, voice dripping with feigned warmth. "Welcome to Nymph Town." His eyes, however, were filled with mockery and provocation.
Rayder narrowed his gaze. Something was amiss.
"But," Mouton continued, raising a hand with theatrical emphasis, "you might be disappointed. This isn't the Nymph Town you imagined." He pointed past the walls toward a collection of older buildings in the distance. "That Nymph Town—the one King Jaehaerys promised you—is the old city. This, however, belongs to me."
Rayder's jaw tightened. In that moment, he understood he had been played. Jaehaerys had toyed with him, using clever words to mask treachery. This wasn't a gift of land or loyalty. It was humiliation dressed in false promises.
Count Mouton smirked, clearly relishing his role as the bearer of such a revelation.
Rayder's voice dropped, cold as the grave. "You are playing with fire, Count." His hand tightened on the reins of the dragon beneath him. The beast rumbled, its scales sparking faint arcs of lightning. "Kneel now, admit your mistake, and I might spare your life."
Instead of bowing, Count Mouton laughed—a harsh, mocking sound that carried across the walls.
"Rayder, do you truly think a single man, even with beasts at his side, can bend me to his will? How naive! Nymph Town belongs to House Mouton, and no one—not even a man who calls himself a dragon rider—will take it from me."
The soldiers at his back raised their weapons in defiance, though many looked pale.
Rayder's patience snapped. No more words. No more games. His eyes burned with fury as he raised his hand.
The command came unspoken, yet the dragons understood.
Three monstrous roars split the heavens. Dragonfire and lightning mingled into a storm of destruction that poured down upon the city gate. The world seemed to ignite. Soldiers screamed as fire consumed them; stone blackened and split beneath the force.
Count Mouton's bravado vanished in an instant. His face drained of color. He had not expected Rayder to dare such open violence, not here, not now.
"Defend the gate!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Archers, loose! Hold the line!"
But it was futile. Against the dragons' might, the soldiers were as ants before a flood. Arrows glanced off scales like raindrops on steel. Spears shattered against talons. The flames devoured everything.
From above, Rayder sat astride his dragon with cold detachment, watching the slaughter unfold. His eyes glowed with a merciless certainty. There would be no suspense, no miracle of resistance. Nymph Town would be his—written in fire and sealed with ash.
The city walls crumbled as if made of sand. With another command, Rayder urged his beasts forward.
Two dragons, each stretching over a hundred meters long with wings that blotted out the sun, slammed into the defenses. Masonry exploded. Towers fell. The proud walls of Nymph Town collapsed like paper before the tide.
Rayder's mount carried him high above the chaos. He looked down upon the ruins without pity. His dragons did not even need to seek prey; simply advancing was enough to destroy. Homes cracked and burned beneath their massive weight. The air stank of smoke, blood, and ozone.
Civilians shrieked, scrambling through the streets in blind panic. Mothers clutched children, men dragged what little they could carry, but the fire moved faster than human feet.
Still, Rayder allowed them a reprieve. He commanded his dragons to aim their fury at the soldiers, at the walls, at the symbols of resistance. For the townsfolk, he granted a narrow window of escape. It was mercy, of a kind—but one laced with cruelty. Let them run, let them see the futility of resistance. Let terror sink into their bones.
By the time the dragons reached the inner streets, the will of the city was broken. The proud defiance at the gates had been replaced by silence and submission. The people understood. Rayder was not a man they could defy. He was calamity made flesh.
High in the castle tower, two figures watched in horror. Velys Mouton, eldest son of the house, and his younger brother Manfred listened as a guard breathlessly reported the death of their father, Count Mouton, consumed in dragonfire.
For a long moment, the brothers said nothing. The silence was heavier than the smoke that rolled over the city.
Manfred's voice finally broke. "He… he slaughtered Father. Burned the soldiers like cattle. Gods, will he come for us too?"
Velys clenched his fists, his face pale but composed. Rage burned within him, but years of navigating politics had honed his instincts. He knew the truth even if he hated it.
"Our house cannot win this fight," Velys said at last, his voice low and bitter. "We must bend. We must apologize, and do so sincerely, or our name will vanish from this world."
Manfred stared, aghast. "Apologize? To that butcher? Does he truly dare kill us all?"
"Yes," Velys answered grimly. "And King Jaehaerys… he never intended to protect us. We were pawns to test this dragon rider. If Rayder is this ruthless, then he is far more dangerous than even the king imagined."
The two brothers exchanged a look, fear and resignation written across their faces. They knew the truth: survival now depended on submission.
When Rayder finally landed his dragon before the castle, the devastation of the city was plain. The gate was in ruins, the outer streets reduced to rubble. His beasts towered above the walls like gods of fire and storm.
At the castle steps, Velys and Manfred Mouton knelt with the remnants of their household. Gone was the arrogance of their father. Their heads bowed so low they seemed ready to kiss the ashes at Rayder's feet.
Rayder dismounted slowly, his expression colder than steel. His gaze swept over the gathered nobles, noting their trembling shoulders and lowered eyes. Power radiated from him, the kind that required no crown or scepter—only dragons.
"You must be the one in charge," Rayder said, fixing his eyes on Velys. His voice cut like a blade, leaving no room for argument. "Introduce me to Nymph Town. Obey me in all things, or even if King Jaehaerys himself comes to your aid, I will see you burn."
Velys swallowed hard, the weight of Rayder's killing intent pressing upon him like a mountain. "Yes, my lord," he whispered. He began to speak rapidly, explaining the city's ports, its trade, its mines, its people. Every detail spilled from his lips. Nothing was held back.
Rayder listened in silence, his mind weighing each word. Governance required more than fire—it demanded knowledge, order, hands that could hold the reins of a city. For all their cowardice, the Moutons possessed experience and connections he could use.
When Velys finally finished, Rayder spoke, his tone heavy with authority. "I will not expel your family. You will remain here, as my hands and eyes. Manage Nymph Town for me. Do so well, and you will be rewarded. Fail, or betray me—and I promise you will regret ever being born."
The hall fell silent. Velys bowed until his forehead touched the stone. His heart pounded, both relieved to still breathe and terrified of the noose now fixed around his neck.
Rayder turned his gaze to the city beyond the walls, smoke rising in thick plumes. He felt no remorse. This was the way of the world. With dragons, he was bound by no rules but his own.
Nymph Town had a new master, and its people would never forget the day the sky itself burned.
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