As Hakan opened his eyes, he was met with a sight that defied all logic and reason. It was as if he had stepped into the pages of a legend—a world too majestic, too surreal to be real.
The sky stretched endlessly, not bound by the laws of mortal realms. It was not just blue but an ever-shifting canvas of cosmic hues—deep purples, radiant golds, and endless streaks of shimmering silver. Celestial storms raged in the distance, their arcs of energy illuminating the heavens like divine brushstrokes on a masterpiece.
And then—the dragons.
They soared across the infinite sky, their scales glimmering with an otherworldly brilliance. Red dragons with flames licking at their wings, blue dragons whose bodies shimmered like liquid sapphire, and white dragons that radiated a soft, ethereal glow, their very presence exuding an aura of wisdom.
Some were titanic, their wingspans vast enough to blot out the sky, while others were sleek and agile, weaving effortlessly through the floating islands. Their roars echoed through the realm, resonating with the pulse of the land itself.
Hakan stepped forward, the ground beneath his feet humming with energy. The land was alive. The very stone pulsed in rhythm with an unseen force, as if Drakareth itself was breathing. Some whispered that this world was not merely a realm but a living entity—watching, waiting.
Far below, rivers of starlight cascaded through the air, their luminous waters defying gravity, flowing between floating continents carved from celestial stone. Ancient spires of crystallized energy jutted from the ground, humming softly, whispering forgotten secrets to those who dared to listen.
A sudden gust of wind sent his black cloak billowing, carrying with it the scent of fire, ozone, and something far older—something ancient, beyond time.
Xyvarion stepped beside him, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a reverence, a quiet acknowledgment of where they stood.
"Welcome, my liege," Xyvarion said, his voice solemn. "Welcome to Drakareth."
"It's beautiful..." Hakan exhaled, his gaze fixed on the breathtaking world before him.
Drakareth was beyond anything he had imagined—a land of impossible wonders, where floating continents drifted amidst cascading rivers of starlight, and the sky stretched into infinity, alive with the presence of dragons. Yet, despite its majesty, something felt... off.
"Though not as I expected," he added, stepping forward, his black cloak rippling in the celestial wind.
Veyrath, walking beside him, glanced at his liege with curiosity. "With all due respect, Monarch... what were you expecting?"
Hakan's expression hardened. "A world of chaos."
His voice was firm, unwavering. His entire life, he had known dragons to be powerful, untamed beings—forces of destruction and dominion. He had expected a land torn by battle, ruled by conflict, where only the strongest thrived.
"But this is different," he continued, his golden eyes scanning the land. "It feels... peaceful, as if it is ruled by a singular power."
Xyvarion, silent until now, walked alongside him, his expression unreadable.
Hakan turned to him, his gaze sharp.
"Xyvarion."
"Yes, my liege?" Xyvarion responded immediately, his tone as respectful as ever.
"Tell me everything about Drakareth."
"Drakareth is more than just a realm, my liege. It is the only place in existence that can truly sustain the way of life and survival of our kind. No other world is capable of such a feat," Xyvarion said as they continued their march.
"Is that why there were only 400 dragons on Earth?" Hakan asked, his gaze shifting as he came to a halt. He leaned against a towering tree—five times the size of any tree he had ever seen on Earth. In front of him lay the breathtaking expanse of Drakareth, a realm unlike any other.
"Sit and continue," Hakan instructed, motioning for Xyvarion to take a seat.
The four of them settled on the soft, ethereal ground, the air around them humming with an ancient presence. Now, Xyvarion would reveal everything Hakan needed to know.
"My liege, this land is known as Drakareth—the Celestial Realm of Dragons," Xyvarion began. "As I mentioned before, it is the only world capable of sustaining our kind. Here, our numbers are not in the hundreds or thousands but in the trillions. If counted by Earth's measures, Drakareth is home to over ten trillion dragons."
Hakan's body stiffened. His breath hitched, and his eyes widened in shock. He abruptly stood, his face pale.
He had fought against only 400 dragons back on Earth, and they had nearly annihilated an entire city—even with the combined might of Earth's strongest heroes defending it. Ten trillion? That wasn't a war. That was an apocalypse. Earth wouldn't stand a chance. It would cease to exist.
Seeing his reaction, Veyrath leaned forward with concern. "My liege, are you all right?"
Hakan exhaled sharply, steadying himself. "It's nothing… just that the number is beyond what I expected." He took a deep breath and looked at Xyvarion, gesturing for him to continue.
Xyvarion nodded. "Drakareth is vast, and its true strength lies in its structure. It is divided into seven main regions, each ruled by different dragon factions, each with their own unique laws, culture, and purpose…"
"The first—Valtheryon—the capital of our land," Xyvarion began. "It is the heart of Drakareth, where the Dragon Monarch resides alongside his Dragon Lords. Each Dragon Lord governs one of the six great territories I am about to describe."
He continued, his voice steady and authoritative.
"Second—Zephyros Expanse."
(Storm & Skyborn Dragons)
"A realm where the sky is torn by eternal tempests, and islands drift upon currents of raw energy. Lightning-charged storms shape the land, and dragons here weave the winds like threads of fate. The sky itself is alive, and only those who master it can rule the storms."
"Third—Pyrros Abyss."
(Fire & Magma Dragons)
"A land shattered by endless volcanic eruptions, where rivers of molten gold carve through obsidian plains. Here, battle is a way of life, and only the fiercest dragons endure the ever-burning infernos. The land pulses like a living heart, forging both warriors and weapons of unimaginable power."
"Fourth—Cryalis Dominion."
(Ice & Frost Dragons)
"An endless frozen tundra where time slows, and the very air freezes sound into crystal. The glaciers here hold the memories of the past, their depths concealing forgotten legacies. Some say an eternal dragon slumbers beneath the ice, waiting for the day of reckoning."
"Fifth—Tenebral Hollow."
(Shadow & Abyssal Dragons)
"A realm of black stone and shifting voids, where shadows stretch unnaturally, and whispers echo from unseen entities. Even the stars above are swallowed by the abyss, leaving only darkness. It is a domain of secrecy, where the unknown holds dominion."
"Sixth—Sylvaris Vale."
(Nature & Life Dragons)
"A boundless, glowing forest where colossal trees pulse with celestial energy, their roots stretching into realms beyond our own. The rivers shimmer with liquid starlight, healing any who touch them. It is said that all life in Drakareth is connected through the Vale, and its guardians ensure balance remains unbroken."
Xyvarion took a breath before continuing. His next words would shake Hakan's understanding of dragonkind itself.
"Seventh—Astralis Rift."
(Primordial & True Dragons)
"A realm beyond comprehension, where the sky is an endless cosmic ocean, and dragons shape the very fabric of the stars. The beings here are the oldest and most powerful of our kind, existing beyond time itself. They do not meddle in our affairs, yet their power eclipses even that of the Dragon Monarch."
Hakan's eyes narrowed. "More powerful than the Monarch?" His voice was laced with disbelief.
"Yes, my liege," Xyvarion affirmed. "Far more powerful. However, they rarely descend from the Astralis Rift. The last time they did… a millennium has passed."
Hakan fell silent, the weight of this revelation pressing down on him. The idea that beings even stronger than the ruler of dragons existed made him uneasy. What kind of power did they wield? And why did they remain distant, watching from the cosmic abyss?
Drakareth was more than just a realm—it was a world far beyond anything he had imagined.
"My liege, we should move toward Sylvaris Vale. It would be the safest choice to start," Vealthor suggested. His voice softened as he added, "It's also my home."
Hakan smiled. "Then that's where we'll go."
"We await your command, my liege," Veyrath declared.
With that, they set off toward Sylvaris Vale.
As the group traveled through the vast expanse of Sylvaris Vale, the night sky stretched endlessly above them, shimmering with the glow of distant celestial bodies. The air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of dragon wings as they soared through the heavens.
Hakan walked slightly ahead, his hands resting at his sides, eyes focused on the path ahead. Beside him, Xyvarion moved in silence, his imposing form blending into the night. It was only after a few moments that Hakan finally spoke.
"Xyvarion," he said, his voice calm but firm. "I've been wondering… why did you choose to follow me?"
Xyvarion's steps slowed for a moment before he answered. "You could have killed me." His deep voice carried no resentment, only certainty. "If you had aimed for my heart, I would not be standing here."
Hakan glanced at him, waiting.
"But you didn't," Xyvarion continued. "You chose to spare me. I have lived long enough to know mercy is often mistaken for weakness. But in you, I saw something different. A choice made not out of hesitation, but of conviction."
He turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, as if seeing something beyond what lay before them. "Back on Earth, those 400 dragons that Vealzaryon brought with him… they respect you. More than that, they admire you. And dragons do not respect those who do not deserve it."
Hakan remained silent, listening.
"Dragons bow only to those who earn their place," Xyvarion went on. "Not to power alone, but to strength of will, to wisdom, to leadership. You did not just defeat Vealzaryon; you took the impossible and made it reality. That is why they follow you. That is why I follow you."
He met Hakan's gaze then, eyes burning with conviction. "Your leadership inspires me. The way you treat your subordinates, the way you carry yourself—not as a conqueror, but as a ruler who values those under him."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Hakan's lips. "You make it sound like I planned all this," he said with a slight chuckle.
Xyvarion shook his head. "Perhaps not. But that is what makes it all the more real."
The two walked in silence for a while, the night wind whispering through the trees of Sylvaris Vale. Ahead of the other two who were unaware of the words exchanged between the two warriors.
For the first time in a long while, Hakan felt something stir within him—not the weight of battle, not the expectation of proving himself, but the quiet acknowledgment that his path was not one he walked alone.
And that, perhaps, was enough.
As the first rays of the sun pierced the horizon, their golden light bathed the landscape before them. The sky was painted in hues of amber and violet, stretching over a land untouched by time. The moment Hakan laid eyes on Sylvaris Vale, he felt his breath catch.
Before them lay a valley unlike anything he had ever seen. Towering trees, ancient and sprawling, stood as silent sentinels, their roots weaving through the land like veins carrying the essence of life itself. Their branches stretched high, forming a vast, emerald canopy where beams of sunlight filtered through like golden rivers. The air shimmered with the energy of the land itself, thick with the scent of wildflowers and the crisp, clean aroma of ancient wood.
But it wasn't just nature's untouched beauty that stunned him.
The dwellings—if they could even be called that—were enormous. Majestic structures, seamlessly built into the landscape, their designs harmonizing with the towering trees and crystalline rivers. Vast halls of stone, enchanted wood, and translucent crystal stood proudly, built to accommodate dragons of all sizes. These were not mere dens or caves but the remnants of a once-thriving civilization.
Hakan turned to Xyvarion, his brows furrowing. "How?" he asked. "I thought dragons did not build."
Xyvarion gazed upon the vast valley and its towering structures. "My liege, we do not know when or how we first learned to build these," he said, his voice filled with reverence. "But this knowledge has been with us for longer than we can remember."
"Hmmm…" Hakan hummed in thought, his brow furrowed in curiosity. Before he could say anything, Vealthor suddenly shifted into his draconic form. With a powerful beat of his wings, he soared toward the grand residences ahead. As he landed, he released a deep, resounding roar—not one of aggression, but of something else. A call.
"What is he doing?" Hakan asked, glancing between Xyvarion and Veyrath.
Veyrath's expression softened. "He has returned home… to where his family is."
Xyvarion nodded. "It has been a long time. He must be overjoyed to be back."
Hakan watched as Vealthor stood proudly, his gaze scanning the valley with something close to nostalgia. A small smile tugged at Hakan's lips. He said nothing, but the warmth in his eyes spoke of quiet happiness.
As Vealthor's powerful roar echoed through Sylvaris Vale, the once-still valley came to life. From the grand structures nestled among the towering trees, dragons of all sizes emerged, their scales gleaming under the sunlight. Their eyes, filled with curiosity and recognition, locked onto Vealthor as they stepped forward. Murmurs of disbelief and joy rippled through the crowd.
Then, breaking the silence, two small figures darted from the group. Tiny wings flapping awkwardly, their steps still unsteady, they raced toward the massive dragon with boundless energy.
"Papa! Papa!" their voices rang out, filled with excitement and longing.
Vealthor turned sharply at the sound, his eyes widening in shock. The two younglings, barely past their first years, reached him, pressing their small heads against his massive claws. Overwhelmed, he lowered his head, nuzzling them gently.
Behind them, a larger figure stepped forward with graceful poise. A dragoness, her scales shimmering in deep shades of emerald and gold, gazed at Vealthor with eyes that held years of waiting, of longing, of unwavering hope. And now, that hope had finally been rewarded.
"You've returned…" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Vealthor, usually a warrior of unwavering resolve, found himself unable to speak. Instead, he stepped forward, lowering his head to hers in a gesture of affection and apology.
The other dragons watched, some smiling, some wiping away the mist of emotion from their eyes.
Xyvarion folded his arms, watching the reunion with a small smirk. "A warrior. And a father," he mused.
Veyrath let out a low chuckle. "It seems he had a greater treasure waiting for him here than we ever knew."
Hakan, standing among them, observed in silence. There was something profoundly moving about this moment. A hardened warrior, finding solace in family. The weight of battle lifting, even if just for a while.
But the joyous reunion was short-lived.
A shadow stretched across the sky, swallowing the light as a massive dragon descended. His presence alone sent tremors through the earth, his aura so overwhelming that even the eldest dragons turned their heads in acknowledgment. The very air felt heavier, thick with unspoken authority.
Then came the roar—thunderous, primal, shaking the heavens. It tore through the landscape, rattling the spires of distant mountains, a challenge and a declaration in one.
Baby dragons cried out in fear, scrambling behind their parents for shelter.
"Stop it! You're scaring the hatchlings!" Vealthor shouted, stepping forward without hesitation. His golden eyes burned with anger as he spread his wings, shielding the younger dragons from the oppressive force of the newcomer's presence.
A deep, rumbling growl followed, the kind that made bones tremble. "You dare speak before me?"
The voice belonged to none other than Vaelthorin, second-in-command to Eryndor, the Guardian of Life's Flame. He was a name whispered with dread, a dragon whose power and cruelty made him feared across Drakareth. Not respected—only feared.
Vealthor's lips curled. "And I'll say it again. Keep your roars to yourself and let the children enjoy their time."
Silence.
Every dragon within earshot froze. Eyes widened. Vealthor had just challenged Vaelthorin, a beast who crushed opposition without mercy.
The quiet shattered as Vaelthorin let out a snarl. "You insolent wretch!"
He moved like a storm, his wings carving through the wind as he lunged, claws wreathed in flame. The impact was instant—Vealthor was sent hurtling backward, his massive frame crashing through the earth, his children flung into the air like leaves in a tempest.
"Xyvarion !! Veyrath !! now!!!" Hakan's voice rang out like a war cry.
Everything blurred into motion.
Hakan's body moved before thought—his hands grasped one of Vealthor's children midair, securing them in a firm but gentle hold. Veyrath, still in his humanoid form, caught the second hatchling, landing gracefully on his feet. Xyvarion, a blur of dark scales, intercepted Vealthor before his battered form could slam into the ground.
Gasps echoed.
"A child of Adam?!"
The dragons left in the wake of the chaos stared at Hakan, their shock palpable. A human. Here. Among them. A human standing in Drakareth as if it were his own.
Vaelthorin's gaze snapped toward Vealthor, his golden eyes burning with contempt. "You dare bring a human into our land? You filth—"
His words never finished.
Xyvarion was already upon him.
One swift motion. A whisper of steel and claw.
Vaelthorin's body jerked, his throat torn open before he even realized what had happened. His eyes, once filled with rage, now reflected only disbelief.
Blood poured from the gaping wound, staining the earth beneath him. His mighty form trembled before collapsing in a heap, the flames that once wreathed his body flickering out like a dying ember.
Xyvarion stood over him, his eyes gleaming like twin stars swallowed by darkness. His voice rumbled with the weight of thunder.
"You insolent dragon—learn respect when speaking to the Dragon Monarch."
Hakan and the gathered dragons watched in stunned silence as Xyvarion ended Vaelthorin with a single, decisive strike. Fear crept into the hearts of those who bore witness—not just fear of Xyvarion, the infamous rival of Vealzaryon, but an even greater fear of the man who commanded him.
Hakan.
A human.
Yet Xyvarion, a being of immeasurable power, obeyed him without question.
None of the dragons dared to move. The weight of realization settled over them like an unshakable force. This wasn't just an anomaly—it was a shift in power they had never seen before.
But amidst the suffocating silence, a pair of frantic eyes darted toward Hakan's hands. Antaria, Vealthor's mate, trembled as she gazed at her child cradled in the arms of a human. A baby dragon, so small, so delicate—held by a being foreign to their kind.
Her mind raced with fear. What if he harmed the child? What if this human saw dragons as mere creatures to be tamed?
She opened her mouth, desperate to speak, but before she could utter a word—
"You! Whatever you are!"
A voice cut through the tension.
A young dragon stepped forward. His stance was firm, yet his trembling claws betrayed his fear. His scales glistened with sweat under the dim glow of Drakareth's ethereal sky.
Hakan blinked, looking at him in confusion. "Me?"
The young dragon swallowed hard. "Leave... leave the baby!"
All eyes locked onto Hakan.
The baby dragon, however, showed no fear.
Instead, it nuzzled against Hakan's chest, then let out a small, contented chirp before licking him. The gentle warmth of its tongue pressed against Hakan's skin, a clear and instinctive sign of trust.
The watching dragons gasped.
A baby dragon, trusting a human?
They had no idea what Hakan would do. No dragon had ever formed such an immediate bond with a human before. It defied everything they knew.
"Hey... Stop... Stop it," Hakan muttered, his voice clumsy yet firm as he tried to handle the affectionate creature.
Antaria, unable to hold back any longer, finally spoke.
"Please don't hurt him!"
Her voice cracked, trembling with the raw emotion of a mother's desperate plea.
But Vealthor, standing beside her, remained still. His expression was calm—unwavering. He had seen something she had not.
"He's not going to hurt him. Don't be ridiculous."
Antaria turned to him in shock. "Vealthor—"
Vealthor stepped closer, placing a reassuring wing around her. His next words cut through the air, sending another wave of shock through the gathered dragons.
"After all, he is the Dragon Monarch. And the child is under him."
Silence.
The weight of Vealthor's words sank in.
A human, standing as the Dragon Monarch.
This had never happened before. This should not have happened before.
The dragons stood frozen, their gazes shifting between Vealthor, Antaria, and Hakan. The revelation had settled over them like a storm cloud, heavy and undeniable.
Hakan, however, remained unfazed. He looked down at the baby dragon, who was still content in his arms, and let out a quiet sigh. He wasn't sure how to navigate this situation, but he knew one thing—he had no intention of harming a child.
He carefully lowered the baby dragon to the ground, watching as it stumbled slightly before trotting back toward Antaria. The mother dragon immediately wrapped her massive wings around her child, her fear giving way to relief.
But just as the tension was beginning to ease, another voice rose.
"This is blasphemy."
A deep, guttural growl echoed across the gathering.
An elder dragon, his scales as dark as the void, stepped forward. His horns were twisted like ancient roots, and his golden eyes burned with barely restrained rage.
"A human. A Monarch? Have you all lost your senses?"
Murmurs of uncertainty spread through the crowd. Some dragons nodded in agreement, while others remained silent, unwilling to speak against what they had just witnessed.
Hakan exhaled sharply. He had been expecting this.
Xyvarion, still standing at his side, let out a low, dangerous snarl.
"Are you questioning the will of the Monarch?" Xyvarion's voice was a sharp blade cutting through the murmurs.
The elder dragon's nostrils flared. "I question the very existence of this absurdity. A Monarch must be a dragon. It has always been that way." His gaze locked onto Hakan. "You are not one of us."
Hakan met his gaze, unflinching. "No, I'm not."
A beat of silence.
Then, he took a single step forward, his presence alone making the ground beneath him feel heavier.
"And yet, I hold the title. That means something, doesn't it?"
The elder dragon let out a deep snarl but did not answer.
Hakan continued. "You all respect power, don't you? That's what matters in Drakareth. Power." His eyes flickered toward the gathered dragons. "If I were weak, I wouldn't be standing here. If I didn't deserve this title, I wouldn't have it."
Another wave of silence.
Then, Vealthor let out a deep chuckle. "He's right, you know."
The elder dragon's glare shifted to Vealthor. "You would side with a human?"
Vealthor smirked. "I would side with the one who killed Vealzaryon."
The words hit like a hammer.
Even those who had been questioning Hakan felt their doubts waver.
Vealzaryon—the Dragon King, the undisputed ruler of their kind—had fallen by this human's hands.
What argument could they possibly make against that?
The elder dragon bared his fangs but said nothing. He knew the truth as well as anyone. Power dictated leadership—and Hakan had more than proven himself.
Still, the resentment in his eyes did not fade.
Hakan watched him carefully. He knew this wasn't the end of the resistance. There would be others who opposed him. Others who would challenge him.
But that was fine.
If they wanted to test him, he'd be ready.
A shift in the air. A pulse of ancient energy.
The towering trees of Sylvaris Vale trembled as Eryndor, the Guardian of Life's Flame, descended upon the gathering. His emerald scales shimmered with celestial light, his golden antlers crackled with energy drawn from the very essence of the Vale. With each step he took, the ground flourished—flowers bloomed, vines coiled, and the wind itself carried whispers of his arrival.
He had been watching. Listening. Every word spoken in his domain was known to him.
His piercing gaze swept over the dragons present, lingering on the lifeless form of Vaelthorin before settling on the human standing amidst them.
"So it is true."
His voice was like the rustling of leaves in a great storm—calm yet carrying an undeniable weight.
He turned to Vealthor and Veyrath, his eyes narrowing.
"Tell me. What claim does this human have to our throne?"
Vealthor stood firm, his stance unwavering. "Hakan is the one who slew Vealzaryon. He wears the mantle of the Monarch because he earned it."
Veyrath nodded. "The old laws say power defines leadership. Who else has proven themselves worthy?"
Eryndor's gaze hardened. "Killing Vealzaryon does not make him a ruler. It makes him a slayer." His eyes flickered with deep contemplation. "A leader must be more than strength. He must be worthy."
Then, his attention shifted.
Xyvarion.
A being of unmatched power, a rival to Vealzaryon himself—and yet, he followed this human.
Eryndor's voice held an edge of curiosity. "And you, Xyvarion? Why do you stand by him?"
Xyvarion's expression was unreadable, but his voice was firm. "Time will tell you what you need to know."
Eryndor frowned. "That is not an answer."
"It is the only answer you need." Xyvarion's golden eyes gleamed with an unreadable certainty. "But if you must choose now, Guardian of Life's Flame, then make it wisely. Will you accept the Monarch or challenge him?"
Eryndor knew better than to fight Xyvarion outright. Not here. Not now.
So he chose the path of wisdom.
"If he is truly meant to lead, let him be tested."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as Eryndor stepped forward. "The laws of old demand that a ruler be tested. Leadership is not merely strength—it is wisdom, resolve, and the power to unite."
His gaze locked onto Hakan. "You will face four trials. Fail, and you will prove yourself unworthy."
Hakan met his gaze without hesitation. "Then tell me the trials."
Eryndor nodded. "Each trial will test a facet of what it means to rule."
The Trial of Strength – Taming the Wild Colossus
Eryndor raised his claw, summoning a guardian from the depths of the Sylvaris Vale. The ground trembled as vines and bark twisted together, forming a draconic colossus towering over Hakan. Its body pulsed with raw energy, and each step shook the land.
"The might of dragons does not yield to those weaker than them," Eryndor declared. "Subdue the guardian, or be crushed beneath it."
The beast lunged with the force of a falling mountain. Hakan disappeared.
Not through magic. Not through tricks. Phantom Step.
The air blurred with afterimages as Hakan moved so fast the guardian struck only shadows. He reappeared above it, eyes cold, breath steady.
Then came Dragon's Fang.
A single, focused strike—faster than a blink. The piercing impact ripped through the guardian's bark-like armor, leaving a gaping hole in its chest. It staggered, its massive form cracking apart as energy leaked from its core.
Eryndor watched, his expression unreadable. Hakan had not just survived—he had dominated.
The Trial of Will – The Abyss of the Mind
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Hakan stood in a vision of his past. A powerless child, mocked by those stronger than him. Heroes with their flashy abilities belittling him. Friends who laughed at his weakness. His brother, disappointed. His wife, smiling but with a shadow of regret in her eyes.
His mother's words cut the deepest.
"You'll never be more than this. Powerless. Worthless."
The weight of rejection threatened to drown him. The abyss whispered: Give up. You were never meant to stand among them.
Then Hakan smirked.
He clenched his fists. His breath steadied. He did not need magic. He did not need fate.
"I was weak then," he muttered. "But I climbed higher than any of them."
A single step. Phantom Step.
The illusion shattered as Hakan ripped himself free, standing tall as the darkness faded.
Eryndor's gaze narrowed. He had seen many fail here. But Hakan had torn through the abyss like it was nothing.
The Trial of Wisdom – The Impossible Choice
Two paths. Two outcomes.
To his left, dragons under attack, calling for help. To his right, a powerful relic that could safeguard all of Drakareth's future.
A true leader made choices. Hakan did not hesitate.
He moved—both ways.
Phantom Step turned him into a blur. In seconds, the dragons were safe, and the relic was secured.
Eryndor's eyes widened. "Impossible."
Hakan met his gaze. "You never said I had to choose."
The Trial of Dominion – Commanding Without Force
A vast assembly of dragons stretched before Hakan—beasts of different sizes, elements, and lineage. Some were young, their scales still bearing the shine of inexperience, while others were ancient, their eyes deep with wisdom. Their gazes bore into him, skeptical and wary. A human stood before them, daring to claim the title of Dragon Monarch.
They expected him to speak. To roar. To declare his authority.
Hakan said nothing.
Instead, he stood.
It was not arrogance. It was not defiance. It was certainty.
The weight of his presence thickened the air, an unseen force pressing down upon them. Dragons, creatures of instinct, felt it first—not in their minds, but in their very bones. Their scales tingled, their wings stiffened, their breathing grew labored. An unseen dominance crashed down upon them like an unrelenting tide.
Some of the younger dragons fought against it, snarling lowly, unwilling to submit.
Then Hakan moved.
Not an attack. Not a threat. Just a single step forward.
Yet, in that instant, Phantom Step activated.
The world blurred. The air twisted. His afterimages flickered into existence around the gathering—countless reflections of him, watching from every direction. The dragons, even the most battle-hardened, tensed. Their eyes darted from one figure to another, struggling to track the real one.
Then he was gone again.
Appearing in front of a massive elder dragon, staring directly into its eyes.
The elder snarled, refusing to lower its head, but its body betrayed it.
Its breath hitched. Its claws dug into the ground. Its heart raced.
The ancient instincts of dragonkind screamed at it. This was not an ordinary being before them.
This was the apex.
This was a ruler.
The elder dragon's chest rumbled as it exhaled heavily, then bowed its head.
A ripple effect followed. The younger dragons trembled, their bodies moving before their minds could react. First, a few bent their heads. Then dozens. Then hundreds.
The storm of resistance broke, replaced by a sea of bowed heads.
Hakan remained silent. A ruler did not need to demand respect. He took it.
Eryndor gazed at him for a long moment.
Then, he did something no one expected.
He stepped forward, bowed his head, and spoke.
"You have passed the trials. But now, one final test remains."
His eyes gleamed with ancient fire.
"You will fight me, Hakan. Prove, without doubt, that you are the Dragon Monarch."
The air was thick with anticipation, a crushing silence settling over the land as Hakan and Eryndor faced each other. The dragons of Sylvaris Vale, once watching with skepticism, now stood in uneasy awe.
Eryndor, the Guardian of Life's Flame, had ruled these lands for millennia. His body was a testament to his power—towering over Hakan in his draconic form, his scales gleaming like molten emeralds, his wings like great banners that rippled with pure life energy. His eyes, burning with golden fire, locked onto the human standing before him.
"This is your final test," Eryndor rumbled, his voice shaking the very ground. "If you are to be the Dragon Monarch, then prove it. Defeat me."
Hakan said nothing.
He simply raised his fist.
A Storm Breaks Loose
Eryndor moved first.
The dragon lord vanished. A being of his size should have been impossible to miss, yet he blurred through the air, his speed defying logic. His massive claw shot toward Hakan with the force of a mountain descending from the heavens.
Hakan vanished.
Phantom Step activated. The moment Eryndor's strike should have connected, Hakan wasn't there—only an afterimage remained. The very next instant, he reappeared at the dragon's exposed side.
Heaven's Breaker.
A single punch exploded against Eryndor's ribs. The force rippled through the Guardian's body, the shockwave shattering the ground beneath them. Trees in the distance snapped in half from the sheer impact.
Eryndor gritted his teeth. He had not been hit like that in centuries.
Yet, the battle was far from over.
With a roar, he unleashed a torrent of golden flames, a fire not meant to burn but to consume. It surged toward Hakan, an all-encompassing inferno that twisted reality itself.
But Hakan did not retreat.
He spun. Iron Tempest.
His body became a whirlwind of motion, his limbs cutting through the flames with precision, dispersing the fire before it could consume him. The heat licked at his skin, but his momentum never faltered. He surged forward.
Eryndor swung his tail, aiming to crush Hakan in a single blow. But the human vanished again.
Hakan reappeared above him, his leg descending like a guillotine.
Sky Rend.
The kick tore through the air itself, leaving a visible shockwave in its wake. It slammed against Eryndor's head, sending the colossal dragon crashing into the ground below. The Vale trembled. Mountains quaked in the distance.
Dragons watching from afar could not believe their eyes.
Eryndor, one of the greatest beings in Drakareth, was being overwhelmed.
But Eryndor was not finished. He emerged from the crater with a snarl, his wings flaring wide. His form shifted, condensing into a more humanoid shape—his draconic features merging into a warrior's form, his body clad in living flame and emerald scales. His speed tripled.
He vanished.
Hakan barely had a second to react before Eryndor's fist crashed into him, sending him hurtling through the air. The impact sent him through three massive trees before he managed to stop himself, his boots digging into the ground, leaving a deep trench.
For the first time in the battle, Hakan grinned.
Eryndor was strong. But he was not invincible.
Hakan cracked his knuckles. "Not bad."
Then, he disappeared.
What followed next was beyond comprehension.
A battle of pure dominance.
Hakan's Phantom Step and Iron Tempest turned him into an untouchable storm of force. Every attack Eryndor threw was redirected, absorbed, or dodged with impossible precision. Eclipse Palm turned Eryndor's own power against him. The Guardian's strikes came faster, harder, but each one only fueled Hakan further.
And then, Hakan ended it.
He feinted left. Eryndor followed.
A mistake.
In that split second, Hakan's Dragon's Fang erupted forward—his fist moving so fast that even light seemed to bend around it. It pierced through Eryndor's final defense, striking the Guardian's core with such focused pressure that an invisible shockwave rippled outward.
Eryndor staggered.
His breath hitched.
His body collapsed.
The fight was over.
The Monarch Stands Alone
The Guardian of Life's Flame lay on one knee, his chest heaving. His fire had dimmed, his power flickering. He raised his head, his golden eyes meeting Hakan's.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, slowly… Eryndor lowered his head.
"I fought with all I had," the Guardian said, his voice steady but filled with reverence. "And yet, I could not overcome you."
He kneeled in front of him.
"You are no pretender. You are the Dragon Monarch."
A wave of silence followed.
Then, one by one, the dragons of Sylvaris Vale bowed.
The trial was over. The first of many.
"My liege!"
Xyvarion knelt before Hakan, his sharp eyes gleaming with unwavering loyalty. "Should we pursue the other regions?"
Hakan remained silent for a moment, surveying the vast expanse of Sylvaris Vale. The wind carried the distant roars of dragons, their uncertainty lingering in the air.
"No, not now," Hakan finally replied. "For the time being, we stay here."
Eryndor stepped forward, his towering presence still commanding, despite his earlier defeat. "Monarch, if you please, I extend my invitation to the castle of Sylvaris Vale. It would be an honor to host you."
Hakan turned to him, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "I will… when I've finished something important."
Eryndor bowed deeply. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Hakan's eyes swept over the dragons gathered before him. Though they knelt in submission, he could feel it—uncertainty. Fear. They were bound by tradition, by the result of the trial, yet deep down, they hesitated.
They feared him. A human, their ruler.
Hakan took a single step forward.
"Fear me not," his voice carried through the air, steady and resolute.
The dragons flinched slightly, instinctively lowering their heads.
"I am your ruler, and it is my duty to protect you," he declared.
His words were not a demand. They were a promise.
Silence hung over the vale, thick with tension. The dragons struggled to comprehend the weight of what had happened. Eryndor's defeat… a human standing as their Monarch… It had all happened too fast.
Then, a shift.
A deep rumble echoed through the valley.
One by one, the dragons raised their heads and unleashed a thunderous roar. It was an overwhelming sound, a chorus of raw, ancient power that shook the heavens.
Hakan's eyes widened. "What are they—?"
Before he could finish, two more figures stepped forward—Veyrath and Veathor. Without hesitation, they, too, lifted their heads and roared, their voices merging with the others.
Hakan turned to Xyvarion, who smirked knowingly.
"Monarch, do not be surprised. This is tradition."
Hakan furrowed his brow. "A tradition?"
Xyvarion nodded. "Yes, my liege. This is their way of offering respect and loyalty. They do not merely kneel to a ruler—they proclaim their devotion with their very essence."
Hakan was silent for a moment, absorbing the gravity of it.
Then, slowly, he smirked.
He raised his fist.
"From this day forward, I am yours— and you are mine!"
His voice rang out like a war cry, firm and unyielding.
A moment passed.
Then, as if compelled by something beyond reason, the dragons roared once more.
A declaration of unity. Of loyalty. Of a new era.