The DRAGONRITE — THE TRIAL OF COMBAT had finally come to an end.
Injured candidates were quickly tended to as the dust of the battlefield settled. At Head Councilor Arté's command, the remaining candidates gathered in the center of the arena, their bodies aching, their minds still trapped in the horrors they had just survived.
For many, it was the first time they'd truly felt fear. A grim reminder that their land was far from peace—that monsters, larger and more terrifying than they had ever imagined, waited for them beyond the borders.
Head Councilor Arté raised his voice, addressing the crowd:
"Those you have witnessed... the monsters these candidates have slain—know this: more, thousands more, infest the edges of our motherland. The land our ancestors once called home. A thousand years ago, we fled from it to this foreign land. But these candidates… they are our future. They may be the ones to reclaim what we have lost."
The crowd stirred. Whispers turned to murmurs. Some bowed their heads in prayer.
"This concludes the Trial of Combat. But understand—this was more than just slaying a Twisted. It was a test of heart, of spirit, of strength. Each of them has faced that test in their own way.
"Only those worthy of the dragon's blood may proceed. One candidate has fallen—James of House Silverspine. He was not worthy."
At that, Jack and Kai stood hollow-eyed. No tears, no screams—just silence, depleted and numb.
Arté continued:
"In six months, these candidates will train endlessly. They will fight together, eat together, bleed together. May they all survive the training before the Dragonrite."
The crowd erupted in applause, a thunder of hope and expectation.
Among the candidates—Johnquis, Gravier, Eira, and others—eyes met, bearing deep emotion. Compassion. Will. Determination.
Some of the less impressive candidates stood, clenched their jaws in shame, stung by their poor performance and the gaze of nobles who now viewed them as unworthy. Others, who had performed exceptionally, basked in the praise, their confidence swelling. New stars in the eyes of the people.
They bowed to the spectators—especially the royal family—as the day drew to a close and night took over.
That Night.
The grand dining hall was filled with the clatter of plates and the hum of voices, but it felt different tonight. A feast had been prepared for them: roasted meats, baked fruits, buttered bread, and rich wines. But it didn't feel like a reward. Not tonight.
The candidates sat in silence, the brutality of the Trial of Combat still fresh in their minds. The food, a lavish spread, only reminded them of the blood, bone, and flesh they had seen torn apart. They couldn't escape the vivid images of the monsters they had killed—and the ones they had nearly become.
Many stared blankly, unable to lift a hand.
Until one finally did.
Gravier.
He reached for the meat without hesitation. He tore into it, teeth sinking deep, juices dripping down his chin and staining his hands. He ate like he hadn't eaten in weeks—like he'd fought not a monster, but hunger itself.
Kai, watching him, looked as though he might collapse. His face drained of color as he stared at Gravier's frenzied consumption. The food, the very act of eating, felt foreign to him now—something he couldn't partake in after witnessing such violence.
But then a soft voice broke through his dazed thoughts."Here," said Johnquis, offering a steaming cup. "Tea leaves from the elven village. It will help."
Kai blinked, surprised, before accepting the cup with a trembling hand.
"You… you are very kind, Your Highness. Thank you."
A loud burp broke the moment.
"BUUUURP! This is good, Your Highness!" Hank grinned. "My muscles feel better already!"
Eira chuckled. "Glad you survived, Hank."
"If we hadn't pulled him back after he rushed to save that girl—'Help me!'" Eligant mocked the cry in a falsetto.
"Hey!" Hank barked, but laughter filled the hall.
"We deserve this feast!" Hunter shouted. "It tastes better after nearly dying!"
His older brother, Hunter, sneered beside him, eating with perfect posture.
"Act like a noble, Hunter. This is food blessed by gods, not a pig trough."
"You should eat too, Lord Jack," Kai whispered to his brother.
But Jack remained frozen. His face was pale, his mind trapped in the aftermath of the Trial. He muttered to himself, haunted by James's final screams, the sound of his death echoing in his ears.
Across the table, Eira ate with the poise of a princess. Every movement was precise—her posture perfect, her hands steady, her gaze calm. Even the way she swallowed drew lingering stares, both from those who admired her grace and those who wondered if she was simply untouched by the violence they had endured.
Eligant, watching her throat move, swallowed hard himself, uncertain why he felt suddenly nervous.
Gravier stood, his plate clean. He had eaten without hesitation, without conversation, without care for what others thought. His hunger, though sated, was not so easily quelled. He walked away from the table without a word, his presence distant, cold, almost unreachable.
Johnquis's eyes followed him.
Eira met his gaze. They exchanged no words, but something passed between them—a silent understanding about Gravier, and what might lie ahead.
After the feast, the candidates were escorted to their quarters. The weight of the evening hung heavy in the air, the silence pressing in on them as they entered their rooms. Within moments, most of them fell into a deep, dreamless slumber, exhaustion pulling them into oblivion. But not everyone found rest so easily.
Gravier stood by the window, eyes fixed on the starless sky. That emptiness... it reminded him of that night.
That voice.
A blurry mouth dripping with blood, screaming—
"Run… R-run. RUN!!!"
His fist clenched until his knuckles turned white.
The glow of the moon revealed his face—twisted in fury.
A face consumed by vengeance.
Beneath the same pale moon, starless and cold. The king's private room was quiet and still.
Until the door creaked open.
Head Councilor Arté stepped in, his robes whispering against the stone floor. He found the King standing at the balcony, staring into the endless dark.
Without turning, King Krisbolo spoke:
"This year's candidates… they're promising. Stronger than we expected. The kingdom's future may yet be bright."
Arté replied his eyes gleaming with a strange excitement.
"Yes, Your Majesty. This group shows real promise. Johnquis is clearly ahead of the others—his speed, precision, and instinct are unmatched. Even his elven magic proved effective against the Twisted."
He paused, then added, "Princess Eira carries a natural authority. She's inherited your raw strength—perhaps more than anyone expected."
Arté's voice lowered as he hesitated. "And then there's that boy… Gravier."
The King remained still, eyes locked on the stars.
"That boy… Gravier," he echoed, voice quieter now. "Born of my brother Alsin… and the former queen. My first wife…"