The halls leading to the Elder Council were built to make you feel small. Not metaphorically—like, "Wow, this place is so majestic I feel humbled"—no. Literally. The walls were towering slabs of dragon-forged obsidian, etched with runes that pulsed like veins under skin. The torches hanging from jagged sconces weren't flames. They were bottled stars. Real ones. Probably.
I'd seen intimidating courtrooms in anime. Throne rooms where kings judged traitors, emperors passed sentence, villains monologued. But this? This was different. This was myth.
"This is a terrible idea," I muttered, my soaked sneakers squelching on the ancient floor. "You sure I can't just stay outside and pretend I got vaporized?"
Tharagon gave me a sidelong glance, the kind that made you feel like you'd just embarrassed your entire bloodline. "Try not to speak unless spoken to," he said. "And absolutely do not joke. You are already on the edge of execution."
"Comforting."
The hall opened into a cathedral-sized chamber—the kind where echoes echoed. Seven thrones sat in a wide crescent around a glowing seal etched into the floor. Each throne was made of something different: one of bone, one of twisted roots, another looked like it was forged from living fire. All of them radiated power. Not the figurative kind either. The kind that made your molars buzz and your knees want to apologize.
Seven dragons sat upon them. Or rather, beings who used dragon forms the way I used sarcasm—casually and with dangerous intent.
The moment I stepped into the circle, seven sets of eyes locked onto me.
And I swear to every anime protagonist ever, I have never felt more like a background character about to be erased for ruining the mood.
The Council didn't speak at first.
They just stared.
And when seven dragons stare at you—not like you're prey, but like you're a broken artifact they're trying to decide whether to burn or study—you start seriously reconsidering every life choice that led you here.
The one on the far left was a living mountain. Grey stone skin, moss trailing like a beard, eyes like weathered crystal. He didn't move, didn't blink. Just judged.
Next to him: a narrow, pale being that shimmered like mercury in sunlight. No legs—just mist tapering into shadow, like it had forgotten how to be solid. Its throne hissed softly as if whispering to itself.
Then came the third: fire given flesh. Not metaphor. Actual flames poured from her skin like a waterfall, contained only by willpower and arrogance. Her gaze could have turned planets to ash. She smirked when she saw me.
Why do I feel like she's the one who'd vaporize me just to watch the pattern my soul makes?
Fourth throne—center—sat the one who didn't stare. He simply watched. Eyes closed at first, hands steepled in his lap. But when he opened them, the entire room tensed. Even Tharagon shifted slightly.
His gaze hit me like gravity. Heavy, calm, undeniable.
The Head Elder.
Then came number five—wrapped in chains made of gold and smoke. Literally. The chains looped through his wings and arms like he wore his own restraint. His throne pulsed with sealed runes. Whatever he'd done to deserve that, I did not want to replicate.
Sixth was smaller. Older, maybe. Scales like cracked parchment, eyes too sharp for someone who looked so tired. I could feel her reading me like a book she didn't like but was forced to finish.
And the seventh—
Oh gods.
He was smiling.
That was the worst one. Out of everyone else's power posturing and eternal wrath, the last elder smiled like he knew how I'd die and thought it would be hilarious.
[System.exe: Threat Analysis Complete.]
[Hostility Level: HIGH]
[Chances of Survival Without Intervention: <4%]
[System Tip: Try looking less edible.]
Tharagon stepped forward, voice cold enough to silence a volcano. "He is under my protection."
The chain-bound elder chuckled. "So this is your little... toy."
"She reeks of mortality," said the fire one. "Why bring her here, Tharagon? So she may burn?"
"He," Tharagon corrected flatly. "And no. He is not here to burn. He is here to be tested."
Whispers hissed through the circle, like old wind stirring dead leaves.
"He's a human," snapped the old one. "We should not waste time—"
That's when it hit.
Pressure.
Not heat. Not magic. Just Presence—like a planet waking up.
"Enough," said the Head Elder.
Everyone shut up.
Even Tharagon.
Even my thoughts.
"Approach," said the Head Elder.
It wasn't a request.
My legs, finally catching up to the plot, decided to ignore the whole "fear" thing and started moving. One step. Then another. Sloshing in damp sneakers, hoodie clinging to me like trauma, I walked across what might as well have been the floor of a god's courtroom.
The others watched. Silent. Unblinking.
[System.exe: Environment Detected – Elders' Trial Circle]
[New Debuff Applied: Anxiety Aura (Passive)]
Effect: Reduces Charisma by 50%. Increases awkward internal monologue by 200%.
I stopped in the center of the stone ring. Something pulsed beneath my feet—a glyph, ancient and angular, glowing like it remembered wars.
The Head Elder leaned forward slightly, his voice low but vast. "Name."
"Han Jihoon," I said. Then added, because sarcasm is my only life skill, "Freshly imported."
A pause. No one laughed.
Tharagon's eye twitched.
Cool. So sarcasm was still on cooldown.
"Human," the Head Elder murmured. "Unbound by pact. Unsworn to realm. Foreign to flame, bone, or fate. And yet…"
He stood.
And the world adjusted.
[System.exe: Warning – Power Concentration Reaching Critical Proximity]
[Health Risk: Extreme. Suggestion: Don't sneeze.]
He raised a hand. Just a gesture. No theatrics. But the moment he did, the glyph beneath me ignited.
Pain sliced through me—not physical. It was like someone had cracked open my code and was running a virus scan directly on my soul.
I fell to one knee, gasping. Not dramatic, just—real.
"What are you?" he asked.
I tried to speak. Failed.
Not because I didn't know.
Because the glyph didn't want me to answer wrong.
"I'm…" I wheezed. "Just… a guy. With a cursed subway ticket."
He stared into me. Not just eyes—his will pressed down, searching for truth like a cosmic lie detector test.
"What dwells in your chest?" he asked.
I blinked. "Uh. Ribs? Anxiety?"
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The glyph surged again.
Flashes lit behind my eyes—memories that didn't belong to me. Images of stars, a throne of bone and storm, a sigil I hadn't seen but felt branded in my veins.
"I don't know," I gasped.
"That," said the elder, "is true."
The pressure stopped. My lungs worked again. I hadn't realized they'd quit.
He turned to the other elders. "He is unformed. Touched, but not chosen. Yet he carries… a seed."
Seed? Of what? Trauma? Bad luck? Ancient metaphysical code rot?
"Then we kill him now," snapped the fire elder.
"No," the Head Elder said, gaze steady. "We watch."
Chain-boy shifted. "You gamble with more than your throne, Jaryon."
"So did those who let you live," the Head Elder said, and for a flicker of a second, the room went cold.
He looked back at me.
"You will be marked. Hidden. Watched."
"Cool," I croaked. "So like... probation with cosmic oversight?"
He ignored that.
"Tharagon. You vouch for him?"
Tharagon nodded once.
"Then so be it."
The glyph dimmed.
"Leave us," he said, already turning back to his throne. "We will speak again when the skies shift."
No one argued.
Even fire-lady scowled but said nothing.
[System.exe: Trial Passed – Elder Verdict: Conditional Tolerance]
[New Title Acquired: Provisional Entity of Interest]
[Note: Basically, you're the magical equivalent of a weird houseguest.]
Tharagon walked to my side.
"Let us go," he said. "You did not explode. That is considered a strong start."
The moon outside the Council Fortress looked different. Bigger. Hung lower in the sky, like it was eavesdropping.
I sat on a balcony that felt like it was carved out of night itself. Cold wind. Star-strewn silence. A billion things I didn't understand behind me—and one terrifyingly calm dragon demigod beside me.
"So," I said, legs dangling over the abyss. "That went… okay?"
Tharagon didn't answer immediately. He stood beside me, arms behind his back, cloak shifting in the wind like it was alive.
"You did not combust," he said at last. "That was the minimum requirement."
"High standards," I muttered. "Next time I'll bring fireworks."
He glanced at me. "Some of the Council would still prefer your death."
"Noted. I'll avoid team-building exercises with them."
He stepped closer, reaching into some hidden fold of space—or maybe just his robe—and pulled something out.
A necklace.
Simple chain. One stone at its center, dull and gray… until it caught the moonlight.
Then it shimmered—like someone had compressed a thunderstorm into a marble.
[System.exe: Relic Identified – Veil of the Elseborne]
Effect: Conceals origin, race, and aura.
Drawback: Occasional personality glitch. Mild risk of dramatic flair addiction.
He held it out to me.
"This will mask your humanity," he said. "Wear it. Always."
I took it. The stone pulsed against my skin like a second heartbeat.
"And this is safe?" I asked.
"No," he said flatly. "But neither is your face."
"Fair point."
I looped it around my neck. The moment it clicked, I felt my whole body hum—like reality had momentarily forgotten who I was.
My reflection in the obsidian glass shifted slightly. Not different. Just… blurred around the edges. Like I'd been re-categorized under "don't worry about it."
Tharagon sat beside me.
"You are not the Chosen," he said.
"Story of my life."
"But you are something—and I would rather hold the blade than be surprised by its cut."
"Thanks?" I offered. "For… not letting them incinerate me."
He didn't respond for a moment.
"You will attend the academy," he said. "Blend. Observe. Learn. There are forces moving beneath the Realm, and I would know what wakes."
"Cool, cool," I said. "So magical high school, political intrigue, and the looming threat of cosmic annihilation. That's a solid semester plan."
He rose.
"Do not die, Jihoon."
I blinked.
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me."
He didn't smile. But his aura rippled with a hint of warmth—like a volcano considering a hug.
Then he was gone.
Just me, the wind, and a sky full of questions.
[System.exe: New Objective Added – Attend the Academy Without Exploding]
[Reminder: You still don't have pants with pockets. Fix that.]
Morning came with all the subtlety of a divine slap.
The sky was some impossible shade of gold, and the clouds moved like they were late for something important. I stood at the edge of a cliffside path, packed and definitely not emotionally ready, staring at what could only be described as a school designed by someone who thought Hogwarts wasn't ambitious enough.
The Academia Draconis Arkanum.
A city-sized sprawl of towers, domes, and floating platforms chained to the earth by glowing runes. Dragon statues watched from every rooftop—some blinked. A waterfall of stardust flowed sideways across the east wing. And somewhere in the sky, a serpentine shape looped lazily through the clouds like a bored teacher patrolling office hours.
"Subtle," I muttered. "Just your average cursed Ivy League."
[System.exe: New Area Unlocked – Dragonspire Academy Grounds]
Threat Level: Academically Fatal
Suggested Action: Smile. Blend. Avoid duels before breakfast.
A transport platform hovered behind me, gently pulsing under my boots. Tharagon stood beside it, silent in that looming-omen way he always was. He didn't say goodbye.
He just nodded once.
I stepped onto the platform.
And dropped.
Not falling—just descending. Smooth. Silent. Through layers of wind and magic and raw atmosphere. I think I passed a cloud with a diploma.
The gates of the Academy loomed up to meet me—ornate, rune-carved, and smug about it.
There were students everywhere, just kind of drifting around like they had nowhere better to be, none of them were human.
Then—
A massive stone sign greeted me:
WELCOME INITIATES
KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. POWER IS SURVIVAL.
OFFEND NEITHER.
Behind it, a quad opened like the center of a spellbook—floating classrooms, dueling rings, even a literal garden of singing knives (label: DO NOT FEED THE FLORA).
I stepped forward.
[System.exe: New Quest Initialized – Survive Orientation]
Main Objective: Make it through Day One
Bonus Objective: Don't get dissected, insulted, or incinerated
Secret Objective: Find the Snack Hall
I took a deep breath.
Time to be the weird transfer student with a cursed necklace, zero stats, and a cosmic sugar daddy.
What could possibly go wrong?
Author's Note:
Jihoon passed his first big test without dying (barely), got magical bling, and is now heading into the dragon version of anime high school. There will be zero chill, maximum anxiety, and probably more sentient furniture. Pray harder.
Poll:
If you were hiding as a human in a dragon academy, what's your game plan?
1. Fake it 'til you flame it.
2. Try to become the teacher's favorite via baked goods.
3. Befriend the weirdest, scariest student and ride that chaos train.
4. Start a secret underground club for anxious isekai survivors.
5. Write everything in a diary and hope someone turns it into a light novel.