The Flight That Chased Gold

Sometimes, to move forward, you gotta swallow your pride and just do what needs to be done.

That's exactly what Tyron did.

Since there was no immediate threat to worry about from the army anymore, Tyron had his mind set on something else—getting the gold out of the mountains. The mines in Drakholme were massive, filled with untapped resources, but the problem was, he didn't have the money or the tools to get things going.

The only real option for funding was to apply for a loan, and the best shot he had was from the powerful and wealthy nations across the continent of Dravonthar.

But here's the kicker—Drakholme had been blacklisted from getting any sort of financial aid for years. Their poor economic history and instability made other nations avoid them like the plague. And now, after the whole mess with Syroc, the chances of getting help were basically zero.

"Why do you even need so much gold, Tyron?" one of his advisors asked.

"We need ships," Tyron answered, half annoyed. "Did you see how fast Syroc reached Drakholme yesterday with their fleet?"

Before he could finish his thought, Dravakos—his dragon—suddenly let out a deep, pissed-off roar. The moment Tyron mentioned Syroc, Dravakos got tense and furious.

It was almost like Dravakos had developed a special kind of hate for that name.

Tyron couldn't help but laugh. "Sensitive, aren't we?" he said jokingly. Then he ordered a full calf to be brought for the dragon. Dravakos had grown massive—like, whale-sized massive. At this point, he was big enough to ride. Actually, he'd grown so much in such a short time that soon he wouldn't even be able to fit through the castle gates.

That alone was already a political issue for the surrounding nations. A dragon that size? That wasn't just a pet anymore. It was a full-blown threat.

Meanwhile, the King of Velmoria was on his way to Sylmira. Syroc still hadn't recovered. The guy was seething with rage, filled with hate and bitterness. All he wanted was revenge—for getting humiliated twice.

Right now, things weren't looking too good for Drakholme. After what Tyron did to Syroc and how he went back on his word, the majority of the continent had turned their backs on him.

But Tyron didn't seem to care. He'd grown up with a "me vs. the world" mindset, and to be fair, he wasn't entirely alone anymore—he had a wife, and a dragon. That was enough.

He was still determined to start mining that gold. He had a bit of it already, just enough to maybe reinvest into getting the mining started. But considering the sheer size of Drakholme's mountains, that tiny stash was basically useless.

That's when Tyron made up his mind—he was gonna put his ego aside and head to the city of Oz, hoping maybe they'd be willing to offer a loan.

The only problem? He still hadn't figured out how to ride a dragon properly.

But he didn't let that stop him. With confidence , he strapped a saddle on Dravakos like he would on a horse and just jumped on top. He grabbed the dragon's horns like reins. When he moved Dravakos's head, the dragon would change direction. Tyron lifted the horns up—and just like that, they were off into the sky.

The sky was thick with clouds, and Dravakos shot between the mountains like thunder itself, slicing through the air like a living lightning bolt. Tyron felt powerful. Proud. Invincible.

Whether he liked it or not, he was the father of dragons now. That wasn't something anyone could ignore.

Oz was far—at least three kingdoms away. The flight would take around two hours, but since this was Tyron's first time flying, and literally the first flight anyone had taken in over 2000 years, he got tired pretty fast. So he brought Dravakos down for a break.

That's when they realized they had landed near Velmoria.

The moment Tyron noticed, he panicked and tried to take off again—but Dravakos wouldn't budge. No matter how much Tyron pushed, yelled, or begged, the dragon just sat there like a giant rock.

Then it happened.

Border soldiers spotted them.

"That's the bastard who hurt King Syroc! Kill them both!" they screamed.

Tyron had no clue what to do. He froze.

But Dravakos didn't.

Suddenly, the massive dragon stood up on his hind legs, let out a ground-shaking roar, and started blasting fire at the soldiers. Chaos exploded. Screams. Flames. Smoke. Everything was burning.

Dravakos took off.

"Shit!! SHITTTTT!!! We're so screwed!! Forget the loan, we'll be lucky to survive this!" Tyron screamed in his head.

He immediately turned the dragon's horns toward Drakholme—they had to get home, fast.

"This is it," he muttered. "Either two kingdoms come for war, or the whole damn continent burns me alive."

"Or…" a quiet voice whispered into his ear, "they all die and no one ever finds out."

"…What?!" Tyron's eyes widened mid-flight.

"Who said that?! Someone's there?!"

But the voice was gone. Nothing. Just the wind.

Eventually, Tyron made it back to Drakholme and landed.

"How'd it go, my King?" one of his advisors asked eagerly.

Tyron didn't say a word. He was exhausted, mentally destroyed. He walked straight into the castle. Dravakos collapsed nearby and fell asleep instantly. The whole thing had drained them both.

Meanwhile, in Sylmira, the King of Velmoria finally arrived. He walked through the kingdom's golden gates and made his way toward the palace. But something was off.

The city was too quiet.

People in Sylmira were leaving. Slowly, quietly, they were packing up and fleeing to other countries for safety. There was no faith left. Syroc, for all his hate, couldn't fix this.

But the King of Velmoria? He had a plan…

Back in Drakholme, after a bit of sleep, Tyron met with his advisors. His head still pounded.

"So, what now? Are we still focused on the gold mines?" Tyron asked, clearly frustrated and tired.

"But… didn't you go to Oz for the loan?" one of the advisors asked, confused.

"No. I didn't make it," Tyron answered, disappointed.

"Can I ask what happened?" another advisor said carefully.

What none of them knew was that spies were listening in on the entire conversation.

"Enough talking," Tyron suddenly snapped. "We'll do what we can with the little money we've got. We're making this work—loan or no loan."

And over in Sylmira, people were drawing up plans.

Plans against Tyron.