Two hours later, the soldiers were ordered to line up—they were to welcome the newcomers.
There was a strange heaviness in the air, as if the wind itself carried the scent of fire.
Something tense was approaching.
Noa stood silently among the ranks.
With every breath, his heart beat faster.
"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.
She was different.
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 cold 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 allies. Treat them with respect."
The fiery warriors halted before the ranks.
One of them turned to Noa, smirking.
> "Is this what we're fighting beside? I didn't think they'd throw someone this low to the ground in 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:
"The fool who thinks himself strong should remember—I am not weaker than you."
Silence fell.
The Flame Princess tilted her head slightly, a faint smile curving her lips.
She had seen something in Noa—something the others could not.
> "Enough,"
Zobid's voice broke the tension.
"You rest today. Training begins tomorrow. Then we'll see your true strength."
Zobid's thoughts churned.
"Interesting… he spoke up before anyone else did. No one dares defy a Jogan—here, no one from the Black Dragon clan holds equal rank to them—yet this boy did. He is not the same as before."
The Jogan warriors passed through the camp, settling in.
The air grew heavier, warmer—their presence seemed to bend the wind itself.
Ordinary soldiers stepped aside instinctively.
Noa's chest tightened.
"Something has changed in me these past six months…
His eyes softened, but there was steel behind them.
Later, as the Jogan warriors divided into groups, Noa watched closely.
Each movement carried weight—every step pulsed with raw power.
"They are not like us… born of another world. Did the Jogans send their elites? But why?"
Then the mocking warrior returned.
> "Hey, fallen prince," he said loudly, making sure everyone could hear.
"Tomorrow you'll stand beside us? Be careful—we might burn you alive."
Noa said nothing.
The warrior laughed, pressing 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 still, unyielding.
> "Hot," Noa said quietly. "Thank you for that."
The warrior's smirk faltered.
"What—are you insane?" he said.
Noa, in a serious tone:
"Whatever happens to me, it won't weigh on you. Don't worry too much," he said, brushing the hand off and continuing on his way.
The others fell silent, watching.
Then the Flame Princess stepped forward.
Her movements were calm—but her presence commanded the air.
She looked at Noa for a brief moment, then said softly:
> "Enough."
The warrior's jaw tightened, but he obeyed and stepped back.
Noa met his gaze one last time.
His voice was a whisper, cold and certain:
> "I will not fall before them.
Not even before her.
I will not show my weakness."
When the Jogans lined up again, their towering figures cast long shadows.
Their eyes blazed with inner fire—the Fire Dragons, as they were called.
Not only for their strength, but for the molten blood that ran through their veins.
Standing at the edge, Noa thought to himself:
"So these are my new rivals. They mock me now… but soon, they will have no choice but to see me as their equal."
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. His eyes burned with flame.
> "My name is Rairon!
We were born of fire!
Strength is life—weakness is death!"
The words struck the ranks like thunder.
Most nodded in fierce agreement.
Only Noa remained silent.
Rairon's eyes found him.
> "You… worthless fragment—not even a dragon, just leftover scraps.
How are you still alive?"
Laughter rippled again.
Noa clenched his fists, his heart pounding—not from anger, but from a strange, cold calm.
> "How am I alive?" he said quietly.
"By breathing. By eating.
Do you think living requires permission?"
> "Silence!" Zobid barked.
"If you want to prove yourself, do it on the field."
The first trial began—the Trial of Fire Stones.
Each soldier had to carry one across the field.
The Jogans picked the heaviest with ease, muscles taut, faces set.
Noa did not choose the smallest.
Had he done so, they would have mocked him.
He picked one of medium weight—heavy enough to hurt, light enough to endure.
His hands trembled as he lifted it.
The run began.
The Jogans thundered ahead, scorching the ground with each step.
Noa lagged behind, breathing fast—but one thought repeated in his mind:
> "I am not weak. I am not the fragment they think I am.
If I pace my breath right, if I use my strength right—I have a chance."
From afar, Zobid watched.
"This boy… little strength, but iron will.
Will the Jogans break him—or awaken something far greater?"
Noa kept running.
He didn't reach first—but he wasn't last either.
One Jogan stumbled, dropping his stone.
Noa lifted it without hesitation and ran forward.
The camp fell silent in shock.
Rairon's lips curved into a smile—not warm, but challenging.
> "So, you're not just a fragment after all.
Good. Then I'll enjoy breaking you."
Noa's breath came fast but steady, his voice low yet burning:
> "Break me?
If you think you can,
then do it!"
Rairon froze—surprised.
Then, slowly, he laughed.
> "Prepare yourself, Noa. This won't be easy."
He turned away, his eyes glinting with excitement.
"The fallen prince… that will of his—I almost envy it.
Get stronger, Noa.
When you are… I will challenge you myself."
After all, you are our princess's favorite.
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