The chambers granted to Seiji were carved into the living stone of Dragon God Mountain, spacious and austere. A balcony overlooked the sprawling, elemental archipelago, a constant, humbling reminder of the power he sought to ally with. His wait was not long before it was interrupted by a familiar, heated presence.
Hardion stood at the entrance, his scales still bearing the faint, shimmering scars from their battle. Smoke curled from his nostrils. "Human," he rumbled, the word a challenge. "Our bout was interrupted by protocol. I demand a rematch! A true test of strength, without your magical tricks!"
Before Seiji could even form a response, a shadow fell over them. Elder Ignis landed on the terrace with a ground-shaking thud. His expression was one of profound disappointment.
"Hardion," Ignis's voice was low, but it carried the heat of a forge. "You disgrace the Crimson Wing. You were defeated in a fair contest of power. To challenge the verdict of combat is to dishonor yourself and the opponent who bested you." He didn't wait for a reply. His tail, swift as a lightning strike, smacked Hardion squarely on the snout. The crack echoed through the chamber. Hardion recoiled with a pained yelp, more shocked than injured.
"You will learn humility," Ignis declared. "And you will learn it by guarding the one who taught you its necessity. You are assigned as Lord Seiji's personal guard for the duration of his stay. His safety is your responsibility. His comfort, your priority. Do you understand?"
Hardion, chastised and grumbling, lowered his head. "Yes, Elder Ignis."
With Ignis's departure, an awkward silence descended. Seiji looked at the sullen Fire Dragon. An idea sparked. "Guard duty is dull," he stated. "And my curiosity is not. You know this island. Show it to me."
Hardion blinked, surprised. But an order was an order. With a grunt of assent, he led Seiji out.
The tour was a breathtaking journey through a world shaped by raw, untamed magic. Hardion, despite his brusqueness, was a surprisingly knowledgeable guide, his pride in his home overcoming his personal grievances.
He took Seiji to the Molten Chasm, a network of islands where the air shimmered with heat and young Fire and Earth Dragons practiced shaping lava flows, their playful roars sounding like collapsing mountains. He showed him the Glacial Spire, where Aquavis's kin swam through rivers of liquid ice and slumbered in caverns of frozen mana, their breath coating everything in a beautiful, deadly frost. They soared past the Tempest Roost, where Aemon's brood danced within perpetual typhoons, learning to weave lightning and command the winds, their forms half-hidden in the raging clouds.
They visited the Terra Vault, a colossal floating island where Terrock's descendants slumbered, their bodies slowly becoming one with the landscape, growing forests and carving canyons on their own backs. They glimpsed the Sunstone Plateau, where Creseline's children basked in concentrated beams of light, their scales shining so brightly it hurt to look at them. And they gave a wide berth to the Umbra Depths, a void-like island where Umbra's lineage moved in absolute silence, practicing shadow-walking and spells of negation that made the very light around them die.
It was a tour of a living pantheon, a display of power so fundamental it was both inspiring and terrifying. Seiji understood now why the dragons considered themselves above the conflicts of the surface world. They were the world, in its most potent and primal form.
High above, at the inaccessible peak of Dragon God Mountain, the three Dragon Kings stood before the presence of their Mother, Lugia, the Primordial Dragon. The details of their conversation were lost to the swirling mists and the profound silence that surrounded her. There were no roaring debates, no fiery declarations. Only a deep, resonant communion of wills that transcended language.
When the three Kings descended the following morning, their expressions were unreadable, a complex tapestry of resolve, caution, and a faint, unsettling awe. They immediately convened the Council of Elders. The great chamber echoed with rumbling debates. Pangaea argued passionately for immediate, full-scale mobilization. Mercphobia counseled for patience and observation. Karmish weighed the scales of fate and risk. Terrock's voice was a slow, tectonic rumble urging caution, while Aemon's crackled with the energy for action.
After hours of deliberation, a consensus was reached. It was a dragon's decision: pragmatic, powerful, and conditional.
The next day, Seiji was summoned back to the audience chamber. The three Dragon Kings regarded him, their earlier curiosity now replaced by a grave formality.
"Was your time on our island enlightening?" Karmish began, his tone polite but distant.
"It was," Seiji replied honestly. "The scale of your power is… humbling."
Mercphobia's fluid voice took over. "We have communed with the Mother. And after much deliberation among the Elders…" She paused, letting the weight of the moment settle.
Pangaea continued, his voice a blunt force. "Our decision is to form a provisional alliance. We will send a wing of our finest young dragons to accompany you back to your stronghold."
Karmish delivered the final term, his platinum gaze piercing. "They will fight alongside you. And they will observe. Should you prove yourself a leader of true merit, a power worthy of standing as an equal… then, and only then, will the full might of Dragon Island be committed to your cause."
It was exactly what Seiji had hoped for. A vanguard, a statement of intent, and a chance to prove Grimgar's worth. He did not hesitate. "I accept your terms. Grimgar will be worthy of your trust."
The selection was swift. The Elders returned with their chosen. A dozen young dragons, each a prodigy of their element, stood in the chamber. Among them, looking considerably more disciplined, was Hardion. He gave Seiji a curt, respectful nod—the lesson in humility had taken root.
As they prepared to depart, Seiji's eyes were drawn to Hardion's back. There, seated comfortably between two spinal ridges, was a girl. She appeared human, perhaps in her late teens, with an ethereal, unearthly beauty. She wore simple, grey robes that seemed to shift and blend with the light. Her most striking feature was her silence. She made no sound, offered no introduction, and her eyes, ancient and calm, simply observed everything.
As the dragon contingent launched into the sky, leaving the sanctum of Dragon God Mountain, Seiji flew alongside Hardion. "Who are you?" he asked the girl.
The girl looked at him but said nothing. She merely nodded once, a slow, deliberate motion.
"Does she not speak?" Seiji pressed.
This time, she shook her head, a faint, almost sad smile touching her lips. Her silence was not one of rudeness, but of something deeper, more profound. It was deeply confusing, a mystery wrapped in the heart of another mystery.
Hardion, for his part, seemed unbothered. "She is with me. That is all you need to know, human."
Back in the now-empty audience chamber, Karmish, Pangaea, and Mercphobia felt a sudden, simultaneous jolt. A presence that had been a constant, comforting pressure at the peak of the mountain for eons was gone. They looked at each other, a dawning realization in their ancient eyes. They thought of the silent girl on Hardion's back, the one who had simply appeared without question or explanation from any Elder.
A slow, wry, and deeply resigned smile spread across Karmish's features. Pangaea let out a grunt that was half laugh, half groan. Mercphobia sighed, a sound like a receding tide.
"You never change," Karmish whispered to the empty air, his voice filled with a mixture of exasperation and boundless affection. "You really never do, Mother."