Councilor Arté raised his voice:
"Presenting Johnquis—of royal blood!"
A moment of stunned silence—then the nobles erupted.
"This is a disgrace!"
"He bears the shame of betrayal—he should not stand among our sons!"
"Will we let a bastard of scandal drink the blood of our deity?!"
"This Rite is sacred! He'll taint it with his cursed blood!"
"Throw him out before he brings ruin upon us all!"
One noblewoman spat on the floor. Another noble pointed, red-faced and shaking.
"If he is allowed, then we mock every royal and noble line that bled to uphold this Rite!"
Then—the King stood.
His presence alone silenced the room. The chaos stopped cold.
"Nobles," the King said, "enough."
He let the silence stretch. Let their shame settle.
"Yes, he was conceived in betrayal… but he is still born of royal blood. And we—above all—know what the dragons demand. The Dragonrite is sacred and recognizes only one thing: blood. The right blood. The royal blood. Whether born in honor… or in shame."
He looked out over the nobles, the councilors, and the Dragonborn.
"So long as dragons breathe, their blood does not care how a child is born—only what flows within them. He will participate."
There were no cheers. Only silence. Uneasy nods. Faces twisted with distaste. But heads bowed, slowly. Grudgingly.
The voice of Head Councilor Arté cut through the tension:
"Then the ceremony will continue."
Johnquis stepped quietly into formation, aligning with the others. Their eyes didn't welcome him. Their silence said enough. It burned hotter than any insult. But still—he stood tall.
At his side, Prince Savier leaned toward him.
"Don't you ever let your skin touch mine, you filthy son of sin! How dare Father let you participate. I'll make you regret ever stepping in here!"
Johnquis didn't reply.
The King raised his hand high, his voice strong, yet heavy with history. The grand hall fell into complete silence.
"Long ago," the King began, "thousands of years past, our world was consumed by a war unlike any other. A war among the dragons themselves—born of pride, a need to prove who among them was strongest."
He paused, letting the weight of the story build.
"The aftermath was catastrophic. Mountains of dragon corpses littered the land. Their blood soaked into the earth, poisoning rivers, tainting the very water we drank. The land withered. And humanity—once in harmony with dragons—suffered most."
His voice grew heavier.
"Famine followed. Crops rotted. Livestock died. Rivers turned to venom. And one by one, families… perished."
His fist clenched at his side.
"Those who survived scavenged the dragon corpses. They drank the blood. They ate the flesh. Just to survive…"
He took a breath.
"But there was a price."
"A horrific transformation overtook them. Their bodies twisted. Their minds broke. They grew larger… monstrous… consumed by rage and hunger. No longer human."
"They became the Twisted."
He let the words hang in the air.
"The Twisted overwhelmed the weakened dragons. The world stood on the edge of ruin. But in our darkest hour, a miracle appeared."
His voice softened.
"Some who drank endured. Their bodies changed, but not into monsters. They became something new. They became… Dragonborn."
He stood taller.
"They wielded the power of dragons. They fought back. They became our shield."
Then his tone darkened again.
"But it wasn't enough. The Twisted multiplied. And there were too few Dragonborn."
He looked out a high window.
"Decades of war wore us down. The western and northern lands, where the Sea of Blood first poisoned the earth, fell. No survivors. The land was lost."
His voice faltered, heavy with sorrow.
"And worse… some of our own became Twisted."
He drew in a breath.
"We fled. We hid in the last corners of the world. We were nearly extinct."
A long pause.
"So, with the last of the dragons, we made a choice. A final gamble."
"We forged the System. The Dragonrite. A rite of power. A rite of judgment. And yes… a rite of death."
The hall was utterly silent.
"This is our legacy. Our duty. To keep the dragon's power from falling into the hands of the unworthy. The Dragonrite is our salvation… and our curse."
He looked at the candidates.
"Today, twenty-two sons and daughters of royal and noble blood stand before us. They have come of age—chosen by fate, bound by legacy. Today, they face a Rite as old as the kingdom itself. A sacred trial, born of our dragon deity and the legacy of the first Dragonborn."
He raised his voice.
"They will drink the blood of Tiamat. If they are worthy… they shall rise as Dragonborn—protectors of our realm!"
The crowd erupted in applause. Some wiped away tears. Knights lifted their swords in salute. Dragonborn beat their fists to their chests in respect.
The candidates stood tall, their chins high. They knew the weight of this moment. The future of their people now rested on their shoulders.
"May the dragon Tiamat choose you!" the King declared.
And the crowd answered with a cry full of hope:
"All hail the Dragonborn!"
"All hail the candidates!"
"Hail! Hail! Hail!"
The cheers filled the hall, echoing through stone and steel.