TWENTY-TWO CANDIDATES – HEROES—OR MONSTERS.

Inside the Grand Chamber.

Above the throne, embedded in the wall, was a statue of a six-headed dragon—their deity, Tiamat. Its stone eyes seemed to watch over them all.

At the throne, the King sat straight-backed, draped in gold and blue. At his side sat the Queen, her eyes cold, ready to judge every candidate.

The Seven Councillors stood at attention—among them, two Dragonborn. One, retired and weathered by age, still held a commanding presence. The other, the King's right hand and head of the council, watched with sharp eyes. Both silent. Both observing.

The Eighteen Dragonborn stood near the front. They all equip with the same black armor the one dragonborn wearing in the village of Johnquis. They also have different weapon on their hand, it was like it has own life… 

All around them, the great houses waited. Lords, ladies, and knights in their finest armor stood with banners raised high. Each house had sent a candidate—or more—twenty-two in total.

All waiting. All watching. Each seeking the blood of dragons. Each prepared to rise as heroes… or fall as monsters.

The chamber's high doors creaked open slowly, allowing morning light to spill inside. It touched the candidates' armor, making each plate glow with brilliant gleam.

First to step forward were the candidates from House Asulfangs—two young teens, tall, strong, and handsome.

Whispers spread through the chamber:

"They say those two were trained by Councilor Thorne himself…"

"Yes, they're his great-grandsons. Dragonborn blood runs in their veins…"

Head Councillor Arté announced,

"Lord Killian, heir to House Asulfangs, and his brother, Lord Hunter."

Second came a candidate from House Goldenwings. Slight in build, with a lazy posture, he looked like he was forcing his feet to move forward.

"That's Arté's younger brother."

"A genius, they say. Tactics, war history—all memorized."

"But he's always… napping?"

He yawned as he walked, drawing quiet chuckles.

Arté spoke again, with pride:

"From House Goldenwings—Lord Eligant!"

Third was a boy from House Crimsonscales—the opposite of Eligant. Energetic, reckless, and smiling wide. He was built like a mountain: tall and muscular.

"That boy once ran headfirst into a boulder."

"The boulder cracked."

He waved at the crowd like it was a festival.

"Lord Hank of House Crimsonscales!"

Fourth came three boys from the lesser House Silverspine. Murmurs followed.

"They're desperate this time, sending three."

"They're on the brink—if they fail to produce a Dragonborn again, they'll lose their title."

The first two boys smiled and waved, but their eyes betrayed unease. Their smiles were hollow.

But the third…

He trembled as he stepped forward, his armor clinking with each uneven step. Halfway through the hall, he stumbled—crashing to one knee.

Laughter erupted.

"He's just a boy. How old is he?"

"They should rename them House Shiverspine!"

"Haha!"

The boy said nothing. He rose, shoulders shaking, head down—and kept walking.

"Lord Jack, heir of House Silverspine—and his brothers, Lord James and Lord Kai!"

More candidates followed—some confident, others barely holding it together. But each wore their house's colors. Each carried their own fate.

One by one, they took their places. Nineteen stood. Only three remained.

The chamber quieted. All eyes turned to the entrance. The final candidates were not just nobles—they were of royal blood.

First to arrive was what the kingdom once called its first omen.

Arté raised his voice:

"Presenting Her Highness, Princess Eira of House Sestet—firstborn of King Kris and Queen Madelaine!"

Her appearance drew murmurs from nobles and councillors alike. Some couldn't hide their disdain. Others, regret.

"A shame she was born royal," someone whispered.

"She wasn't destined for the dragon's blood."

"No girl survives the Rite," another said.

"She'll twist like the rest. All that promise… wasted."

But Eira only smiled.

History had already judged her. The firstborn. A girl. And no princess in recorded history had survived the Dragon Rite. That's why no one dared to hope for her. Not for her strength, beauty, skills—or even the heirs she could have given.

Yet still, she walked with poise.

The male candidates couldn't hide their awe. But she didn't falter under their stares.

As Eira took her position, the air in the chamber seemed to shift.

This was the moment the people had truly waited for—the kingdom's miracle.

"Presenting the Crown Prince, His Highness Savier of House Sestet—firstborn son of King Kris and Queen Madelaine!"

Cheers filled the chamber. Eyes lit with hope.

He stepped into the light. His blond hair shone like gold, his pale skin almost glowing. His green eyes burned with purpose—the kind of fire the kingdom thought was gone.

"The promised prince," someone whispered.

"His presence alone brings peace."

"He'll defeat the Twisted."

"He's our savior."

He took his place before the throne. His father sat tall, chin lifted, pride in his eyes. The queen's smile met his gaze.

"Take the dragon power."

Savier answered with his eyes, full of resolve.

"Of course I will, Mother."

He stepped into the candidate line.

Arté was about to end the call for candidates—when the doors opened again.

A hush fell. Everyone turned. Breath caught.

The last candidate walked in.

No one knew who he was.

No name. No title. No fine armor. Just smelly, worn clothes and tired eyes.

He walked slowly, confused, crushed by a hundred stares. Unsure where to look—until he saw Luc near the Dragonborn.

Luc mouthed, "Just keep going. Almost there."

Whispers swirled.

"Disgusting."

"Who let him in?"

The nobles snapped. Their pride couldn't bear his presence.

As Johnquis reached the King, the Queen's eyes locked on his.

Her face was full of anger.

Councilor Arté stepped forward and raised his voice. "State your name and house."

Johnquis hesitated.

Luc whispered from the side, "Oh no, I forgot to ask his name. What did the girl call him again?"

"I—I am Johnquis," he said, stepping forward. "No house. Not noble or royal. I don't know why I'm here. Why did you take me? My mother just died, she twist! I need to go home. My village needs me."

Gasps filled the room.

"This is a disgrace!"

"Look at him!"

"Who let him in?"

"He shouldn't stand with our sons!"

"Throw him out before he brings ruin on us all!"

A noblewoman spat on the floor. Another pointed at him, red-faced and shaking.

"If he is allowed, then we mock every noble and royal line that bled for this Rite!"

Then—the King stood.