Zaber stepped outside and lted into the chaotic flow of people. The streets teed with life—rchants haggling at the top of their lungs, travelers shoving past one another, children shrieking as they darted through the crowd. The air was thick with the mingled scents of dust, sweat, and hot iron.
His thoughts were a tangled storm. His steps remained steady, but his inner world churned with unrest.
When I accepted the Soul Chain, my false aura vanished. The fusion of rage, hatred, and the intent to kill left only the intent to kill. I was anxious before, but now my existence grows through souls—there is no longer any need for an aura, he reflected.
The thought brought no peace. Instead, a cold void opened inside him.
He allowed himself a faint smile.
As he walked, he spotted two young guards in front of an inn. Their helts were off, belt straps loose. They leaned on each other, faces lit with easy smiles and quiet enjoynt. They seed to have forgotten their duty entirely, content simply in each other’s presence.
Zaber paused for a mont, watching them. The surrounding clamor faded. Ti itself seed to slow.
One guard looked at his friend and said, "You’re the best friend in the world. Standing up for in front of the commander gave boundless confidence."
The other smiled shyly. "It was nothing."
Trust burned in their eyes. The words were simple, yet they carried profound weight. "I’d go to the edge of death for you."
The first gripped his friend’s shoulder firmly, smiling. "And I’d go there for you."
It was not an oath. Yet it felt stronger than any oath.
Zaber observed them in silence. His gaze was cold, but deep. Then, without a word, he entered the inn.
Friendship? The question echoed in his mind.
What is it, really...
There was once a dragon who considered a friend... mories surfaced—tis spent with Rion, eating together, laughing, playing.
...but I drove him away...
Each step up the stairs felt heavier. The wooden steps creaked, their echoes ringing through the empty inn. As he approached his room, his heart was strangely calm.
So I was never his friend...
At that sa mont, in a distant land...
In the central palace of the Nuxtar Empire, a grand assembly was taking place in the emperor’s throne hall. The chamber was vast—high ceilings, pillars carved with dragon motifs. The air carried a pressure that no ordinary person could endure for long.
Black dragons, fla dragons, and water dragons had gathered in the throne hall. Each took a different form, yet all were equally terrifying. Wings folded, but their power remained undisguised.
Ten ters from the throne, on a crimson carpet, two black-clad soldiers wearing dragon masks held a boy on his knees. Their hands did not move; their breathing was perfectly even.
The boy’s hands were bound behind his back with magical shackles. The chains were colorless, yet a powerful magical current flowed within them. He remained motionless, head unraised. There was no trace of fear.
Only silence.
And in that silence, everyone in the throne hall waited.
The massive, heavy doors of the throne hall began to open slowly, with nacing creaks. Thick tal reinforced with ancient magic produced a low, oppressive sound as they moved. It was not the sound of ordinary doors—it was the empire’s own heavy breath of authority.
The dragons conversing in the hall fell instantly silent at the noise. Each straightened, shedding the last traces of draconic form, returning to a more human appearance. Wings vanished, claws shortened, the flas in their eyes retreated inward.
Yet their presence still dominated the hall.
All eyes turned toward the doors.
Heavy yet graceful footsteps approached together. Azel—the Emperor of Nuxtar—entered. His pace was neither hurried nor slow. Every step was asured, every one a decree.
He wore majestic garnts of black and silver. His cloak was long but not excessive—befitting an emperor. The inner lining was cold silver, the outer absolute black. As he moved, the silver seed to reflect light, making the outer black appear even deeper.
One step behind on his right walked the First Elder, Marius. His attire was white with golden lines, ornate yet restrained.
The mont Azel stepped into the hall...
Every dragon bowed.
It was not commanded. It was instinct.
Azel and the First Elder advanced along the crimson carpet. The path led to the throne, but it often ended not in rcy, but in judgnt.
On the carpet stood the prisoner, bound in magical shackles.
It was Rion.
He stared directly at Azel. Infinite rage burned in his eyes. If unbound, he would have attacked. At the very least, he wished to strike with words.
"Mmmmmmmm..."
Muffled sounds escaped his mouth. But the magic prevented speech. An ancient seal suppressed his tongue, his voice, even the tone carried in his breath.
Two black-clad, dragon-masked soldiers gripped Rion’s shoulders firmly. Even one hand from each seed sufficient to restrain him.
Azel reached the throne.
With a sharp flick of his cloak, he seated himself upon the majestic throne. Carved from black stone, its back resembled dragon wings.
Marius stopped at the right side of the throne.
Stepping forward one pace, he raised his voice—clear yet stern.
"Today, the trial of Rion D. Dragon—son of the Jogan clan patriarch, half supre dragon, half mid-tier dragon—shall comnce."
Silence deepened in the hall.
Azel leaned back on the throne, resting one hand on his jaw. His eyes were cold. He made a slight gesture with his fingers.
It was the signal to remove the magic silencing Rion.
The spell gradually withdrew.
Everyone waited in silence.
Behind Rion stood the Jogan clan patriarch. Red hair, red beard, fiery eyes. Splendidly dressed, yet the splendor carried weight and pride.
Marius continued.
"The accused, Rion D. Dragon, first betrayed the Shadow clan, then the entire empire. He murdered cadets and disobeyed orders. He was the closest friend of Noa S. Dragon, who is also charged with treason."
Several dragons in the hall furrowed their brows.
"So ti ago, they were exiled to the forest to be executed. Yet one survived and managed to return."
Marius turned his gaze to the Jogan patriarch.
"The leader of the Jogan clan demands a fair judgnt through trial to prove his son’s innocence. The great Emperor Azel S. Dragon has not ignored this request."
He lowered his voice slightly, yet the tone deepened.
"Therefore, to acquit the accused..."
"Patriarch of the Jogan clan," he said with authority. "Naho—present your evidence."
Naho stepped forward. His steps were heavy, but without tremor. His face was grave, almost cold; he held his head high.
"My son is no traitor," he declared firmly. His voice was not loud, yet it reached every corner of the throne hall. "The one you call a traitor—the forr prince Noa—has nothing to do with ."
He paused briefly, then continued.
"But Rion would never betray , his clan, or his empire."
Whispers began in the hall. So dragons exchanged glances; others sighed heavily at Naho’s words.
"Many dragons know my son well," Naho said, raising his voice slightly. "And there is no valid reason to sentence him to death."
He cast a brief glance at Rion. Rion gritted his teeth, barely containing the rage blazing in his eyes. Though bound by magic, Naho was using his own mana to prevent his son from speaking.
"He may have joined Noa," Naho continued. "But he did not walk the sa path."
At once, a cold pressure descended from the throne. Azel fixed his icy gaze on Naho. Even ancient dragons instinctively straightened under that stare.
"If you were not one of the three great families of the empire..." Azel said quietly, voice laced with venom, "I would kill you too."
He sighed inwardly.
Damn politics, Azel continued, resting his palm on the throne’s armrest. This is why I must endure such formalities.
Marius stepped forward. His movent was disciplined; his voice cold as law. He looked at Rion.
"Rion aided Noa’s escape from the exile fortress," he stated clearly and smoothly. "They were close friends. How do you justify this, Patriarch Naho?"
The question cut like a blade.
Naho clenched his fists tightly. His nails dug into his palms, but he betrayed no sign.
"In the end, isn’t the result what matters?" he said in a low yet resolute voice. "Noa is dead."
He lowered his head briefly, then raised it again.
"I am certain you have seen Rion’s mories."
Several dragons involuntarily furrowed their brows. Viewing mories was undeniable evidence. Yet it violated draconic law to view the mories of an underage mber of a great family without clan participation.
"Rion did nothing wrong," Naho said. "He is simple. He only wished to help his friend. That... is natural."
With those words, the hall sank into profound silence.
The dragons did not speak. They did not argue. Even hatred was not openly displayed. It was the dangerous silence before judgnt.
Rion held his head high. In his eyes now burned not only rage, but an erging inner resolve.
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