The year is 2011 of the Avalorian Imperial Calendar. I am ten years old, and my time is running out.
Next year, on my eleventh birthday, I am required by ducal tradition and royal decree to enroll in Draconia Academy. For most children of the nobility, this is the beginning of their true lives, a chance to forge alliances and build a reputation. For me, it feels like a countdown to exile. I would be leaving my home, my workshop, my family… my sister.
The thought of Nyxia Black also lingered in the back of my mind. She would have been at the academy for years now. Having departed at eleven, she was now a senior of eighteen, no doubt at the top of her class, her cold ambition sharpened to a razor's edge. The seven years of separation had done nothing to dull the memory of that pathetic, marshmallow-soft slap and the burning crimson promise of rivalry in her eyes. Our reunion was inevitable, and it was not going to be a pleasant one.
To properly prepare, I needed to understand the battlefield.
"Tes," I projected, while physically supervising Kaelus as he attempted to 'help' me by nudging tools off my workbench with curious precision. "Tell me about Draconia Academy. And its guarantors of neutrality."
"Acknowledged, Master," her voice echoed in the quiet of my mind. "Draconia Academy is located in Dragon Valley, a continent-sized landmass that floats in the upper atmosphere, perpetually shrouded in clouds and myth. Its neutrality is absolute, guaranteed by the Council of the Five Dragon Kings."
In my mind's eye, a map of the floating continent materialized, a breathtaking landscape of jagged peaks, verdant forests, and crystalline rivers, all orbiting a central, colossal mountain that housed the academy itself.
"The Headmaster," Tes continued, "holds a unique pact of stewardship with Veridian, the Green Dragon King. Their sworn duty is not to rule, but to nurture the potential of all races, free from the political squabbles of the kingdoms below. This makes the academy the only true neutral ground in the world."
"The Dragon Kings," I mused, picking up a wrench Kaelus had just sent clattering to the floor. "The ones who can make even my father nervous. Run the roster for me."
"Compiling. The Council of Five consists of:
Cygnus, the Azure Tyrant. Master of Water, Air, Lightning, and Azure Flames. Contracted to your father, Duke Kaelen Wight. His public persona is that of an eccentric narcissist, preoccupied with his hoard of blue gemstones and composing epic poems about his own magnificence. This facade conceals a being of immense power who is fiercely loyal to his contracted family.
Pyralis, the Crimson Inferno. A being of pure rage and fire, a living catastrophe. Has never taken a human contractor, viewing them as fundamentally unworthy of his power.
Veridian, the Emerald Heart. Lord of Life, Nature, and the Earth. Ancient, wise, and patient. His primary concern is the balance of the world, a duty he fulfills through his stewardship pact with the academy's headmaster.
Obsidius, the Ebon Maw. A creature of Shadow, Decay, and Silence. He resides in and protects the Obsidian Dominion but is not bound by a formal contract to its people. A rogue element whose motivations are largely unknown.
Aurum, the Golden Sovereign. Embodiment of Light, Order, and Time. The undisputed leader of the council. Holds a sacred contract with the Emperor of the Lumina Imperium, making him the most politically influential of all the Dragon Kings."
The implications hit me with the force of a physical blow. "So, Kaelus isn't just a dragon prince," I thought, my gaze falling on the large, watermelon-sized egg that was currently trying to balance a screwdriver on its apex. "He's the son of one of the five supreme rulers of this world. My presence at the academy won't just be noted, it will be scrutinized. I'll either be given special treatment or have a target painted on my back the size of a mountain." More than likely, both.
This changed my plans. I couldn't rely on the castle's resources while I was away. I needed to bring my workshop with me. All of it.
My main goal was clear: I needed a portable, dimensionally-linked workshop. I envisioned a simple, ornate doorframe that I could carry with me. When activated, it would open a stable portal into a pocket dimension containing a perfect replica of my current setup, powered by its own independent dungeon core.
And there was the rub. My current core was a strategic asset, woven into the very fabric of the castle's defense systems. It powered the primary shields, the internal security wards, and, most importantly, the quantum-entangled pendants worn by my mother and Lyra. Taking it was not an option. I needed another one.
Just as I was beginning to draft a new proposal for my parents, the massive workshop doors rumbled open. A maid walked in, followed closely by a small, silver-haired girl with brilliant sapphire eyes, who immediately broke into a run.
"Bwother!" Lyra, now three, yelled, her pigtails bouncing as she charged toward me.
She skidded to a halt in front of my workbench, her eyes immediately locking onto my latest creation, the Plasma Katana, which rested on a velvet-lined charging cradle. Her eyes widened with a familiar, terrifying glint of pyromaniacal glee that I was beginning to suspect I had personally nurtured in her. She pointed a chubby finger at the inert weapon.
"Bwother," she said with the solemn gravity only a three-year-old can muster. "Make boom."
I scooped her up into a hug, a wave of affection washing over me. Did my influence make my sister a pyromaniac? Almost certainly. And I was strangely proud of it. "Not today, little spark," I said, ruffling her hair. "But I do need your help with something."
I grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, a quill, and marched out of the workshop with Lyra perched on my hip. It was time to bargain.
I found my parents in my father's study. My mother was sipping tea by the window, while my father was hunched over a large tactical map of the northern territories. I made a beeline for my mother, the path of least resistance.
"Mama…" I began, holding out the list.
A large, calloused hand intercepted the parchment before it could reach her. "No," my father said, his voice a low rumble. He didn't even look up from his map. "You won't be using her. She is far too soft on you. Give it here."
I handed the list over. He took it, his stormy grey eyes scanning the contents. They moved past the requests for refined orichalcum and soul-forged crystals without a flicker. Then, they landed on the last line item, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch violently.
"A second dungeon core." He said the words as if they were a curse. He finally looked up at me, his face a mask of weary exasperation. "Alarion, do you have any idea the political firestorm you're asking me to ignite? House Black is still causing trouble in the capital because their last territorial allotment only yielded two viable cores instead of the three they were promised. The kingdom's supply is finite. They are strategic assets, not toys for a ten-year-old's school project."
"I'm not a ten-year-old," I stated calmly. "And it's not a toy. I will be away from home, father. In a foreign place, surrounded by strangers and rivals. This isn't just a project, it's my protection. It will allow me to continue my work without putting myself or the academy at risk." I lowered my voice, letting the carefully practiced sincerity seep into my tone. "Think of it as an academy gift. To ensure your son is safe while he's away from his family."
I saw his resolve begin to crumble. The appeal to his protective instincts was a low blow, but a necessary one. He was wavering. That's when my mother entered the fray. She said nothing, but I saw her set her teacup down with a delicate clink and fix my father with a glare of pure, concentrated maternal expectation. It was a look that could melt glaciers and make Dragon Kings reconsider their life choices.
That was the nail in the coffin. The final, devastating blow, however, came from an unexpected quarter.
Lyra, who had been listening to the entire exchange without understanding a word, slid down from my arms and toddled over to my father. She tugged on the leg of his trousers, forcing the grim-faced Duke of Wight, the Shield of the Kingdom, to look down.
"Please, Dad," she said, her voice a perfect imitation of the pleading tone she'd heard me use. "Give bwother. He made me such a beautiful pendent." She paused, then delivered the line that sealed my victory. "And he makes things go boom."
My father stared down at his three-year-old daughter, who was advocating for her brother to be given a weapon of mass destruction because he was good at creating explosions. He looked from her innocent, hopeful face to my mother's unwavering glare, then back to the list in his hand.
He let out a long, defeated sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom. "Fine," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. "One more dungeon core. But if you blow up any part of that floating continent, I am personally flying up there to ground you for a century."
I smiled. Victory was sweet. And, apparently, it smelled like ozone and my sister's unshakeable faith in my ability to make things go boom.