Three days after Draemax's birth, the royal court buzzed with speculation.
A thousand-year-old dragon egg had hatched.
Chosen not by ritual, magic, or divine right—but by a five-year-old child.
Even in the hallowed archives of the Council of Celestial Thrones, no such event had ever been recorded.
And yet, as far as Raezion was concerned, the attention was an annoyance.
He didn't want the nobles bowing.
He didn't want the endless questioning.
He didn't even care about the priests who tried to study Draemax, only to be met with snarls and a threatening flicker of fire.
He simply wanted to train. To understand.
Why did the egg respond to him?
What was the strange pulse that surged from within his core?
Why did Draemax feel… familiar?
But before he could begin that search, King Aelorys summoned him once more.
This time, not to offer a gift—but to send him away.
> "You are strong, my son," Aelorys said as he stood in the Starforge Hall, gazing out over the Thalorian spires. "Too strong for your age. And you learn too quickly. That… frightens people."
Raezion tilted his head. "Is that not good?"
The king turned, his amethyst eyes somber. "In war? Yes. In peace? No. Your presence bends expectations. Warps the balance."
He knelt down, eye level with his son.
> "I'm sending you to someone who can teach you what I cannot. Someone who once ruled legions, crossed hellscapes, and crushed rebellions of gods. But more importantly, he will teach you discipline. Duty. And restraint."
Raezion said nothing for a moment. Then asked, "Will Draemax come?"
The king nodded. "Always."
A teleportation circle was drawn. A sigil none had seen in centuries flared across the stone—a mark of an ancient pact between House Phaelory and House Val'Kareth.