Two hours later, the soldiers were ordered to line up.
There was a strange heaviness in the air, as if the wind itself carried the scent of fire.
Noa stood silently among the ranks.
"The Jogan Tribe… the Fire Dragons, one of the three great families of the empire."
Then it began — a deep, thunderous sound of footsteps, rumbling as though the earth itself trembled.
Slowly, a formation appeared on the horizon. The Jogan warriors had arrived.
They were unlike any other dragonfolk.
Each soldier's body was broad and powerful, their skin glimmering faintly with inner heat.
Their eyes burned like living flame; every breath they took released steam.
Even their armor seemed alive — black iron engraved with molten patterns, still holding the warmth of its forge.
At the front walked several young warriors… and one girl.
Her eyes glowed like molten rubies, and her hair shimmered like living fire — yet it did not move with the wind; it flowed by its own will.
She was the Flame Princess of the Jogan Tribe.
The soldiers around Noa stared in awe.
Some stepped back, uneasy before the heat that seemed to melt the very air around them.
But Noa did not flinch. His eyes followed every step, steady and unyielding.
"Behold the Jogan Tribe,"
Zobid's voice rang across the camp.
"From this day on, they are your comrades. Treat them with respect."
The Jogan warriors halted before the ranks.
One of them turned to Noa, smirking with mockery.
"Is this what we're supposed to fight beside? I didn't think they'd send someone this low to stand with our tribe."
Laughter spread among the ranks.
Noa lifted his head and met the warrior's gaze — calm and resolute.
"Very proud," Noa whispered.
"He thinks the Black Dragon cadets are weak," said another.
Noa's voice cut through the noise, quiet but sharp:
"Has the fool who thinks himself strong forgotten that he is just a frog at the bottom of a well?"
Silence fell.
The Flame Princess tilted her head slightly. Her eyes lingered on Noa for a long moment.
"Interesting…" she said softly.
"He is not burning."
"Enough,"
Zobid's voice broke the tension.
"Rest today. Training begins tomorrow. Then we will see your true strength."
Zobid's thoughts churned.
"Interesting… he spoke up before anyone else. No one dares defy the Jogans, yet he did. Has he really changed?"
The Jogan warriors passed through the camp and began settling in.
The air grew heavier and warmer — their presence seemed to bend the wind itself.
Ordinary soldiers instinctively stepped aside.
Noa's chest tightened.
Later, once the Jogan warriors had divided into groups, Noa watched them closely.
Every movement carried weight — every step pulsed with raw power.
"They are not like us… they come from an entirely different world. Did the Jogans send their elites? But why?"
From the left, the same mocking warrior returned.
"Hey, fallen prince," he said loudly,
"Tomorrow you'll stand beside us? Then keep your distance from me."
Noa said nothing.
The warrior laughed and pressed his hand down hard on Noa's shoulder — not gently, but with enough force to crush him.
Heat spread through Noa's body, yet he remained completely still, unyielding.
The warrior's palm burned against his shoulder. The heat scorched his skin.
"Hot," Noa said calmly.
"But this is still too little."
The warrior's smirk vanished.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
Noa replied in a serious tone:
"Do you decide what I do?"
He brushed the hand off his shoulder and continued on his way.
The others fell silent, watching.
Then the Flame Princess stepped forward.
Her movements were calm, yet her presence commanded the air around her.
She glanced at Noa for a brief moment, then turned to Rairon and said:
"Without my permission — you are not even allowed to breathe."
The warrior's jaw tightened, but he obeyed and stepped back.
Noa met his gaze one last time.
His voice was a cold, certain whisper:
"So you've come too."
When the Jogans lined up again, their towering figures cast long shadows.
Noa stood at the edge, thinking to himself:
"Noa was standing among them — yet he was not there."
Zobid stepped forward once more, his tone firm.
"From this day on, the Jogan warriors are your peers. You will train together — and fight together."
A tall youth with crimson hair stepped out.
"My name is Rairon!
We were born of fire!
Strength is life — weakness is death!"
His words struck the ranks like thunder.
Most nodded in fierce agreement.
Only Noa remained silent.
Rairon's eyes fell on him like an invisible dagger.
Noa clenched his fists, his heart pounding — not from anger, but from a strange, cold calm.
The first trial began — the Trial of Fire Stones.
Each soldier had to carry one stone across the field.
The Jogans easily picked the heaviest ones, their muscles taut, expressions serious, and moved forward.
Noa did not choose the smallest.
He picked one of medium weight — heavy enough to hurt, yet light enough to endure.
His hands trembled as he lifted it.
The run began.
The Jogans thundered ahead, scorching the ground with every step.
Noa lagged behind, breathing hard, but one thought repeated in his mind:
"If I control my breathing properly, if I use my strength correctly — I have a chance."
Zobid watched from afar.
"This boy… he has little strength, but his will is like iron."
Noa continued running.
He didn't finish first — but he wasn't last either.
One Jogan stumbled and dropped his stone.
Noa picked it up without hesitation and ran forward.
The entire camp fell into shocked silence.
A smile formed on Rairon's lips — not warm, but full of challenge.
Noa's breathing was fast but steady. He looked at the Jogan warriors and said in a low voice…
Rairon froze in surprise.
He turned away, his eyes glinting with excitement.
"The fallen prince… that will of his — I almost envy it.
"Get stronger," he said quietly.
"Then I will break you myself.
For now… I will let you grow."
Friends, what do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comments. Don't forget to add this novel to your library. Power Stones and Golden Tickets help chapters come out faster and give me great motivation