HOUSE KESTREL
Garrick, the 3rd son and fourth child was in the middle of his Dailey regimen. At sixteen , he passed a lean, almost wiry frame, built for speed and endurance, and eyes the constantly scanned the horizon like a eagle looking for prey. His focus was not the sword, but the spear.
He stood atop a single, narrow Aerie-pillar, a natural spire of rock worn smooth by centuries of wind, jutting hundreds of feet over a rocky chasm. His training requires him to move across these isolated pillars without the aid of safety lines, using only his natural equilibrium and the knowledge of the Kestrel Sky-drill Spearmanship.
His mother, Lady Serr, a hard featured woman whose skin was perpetually weathered by the high altitudes, observed him from a nearby stone perch.
"The wins is extra strong today, Garrick. It seeks to break your center. Find your Prana-Anchor."
Lady Serra called out, her voice barely audible over the howl of the air currents.
Like his siblings, Garrick had not yet taken the Prana Purifier Pill, so the Anchor was a mental concept if rooting his strength into his dormant spiritual core. He was forced to use sheer physical training and mental discipline to mimic the effect.
A various Crosswind slammed into the pillar. Garrick's body whipped violently, his free leg flying out for balance. His arms, however, remained rigid, holding his pear perfectly steady. He caught his balance just as the gust passed.
"I need speed, Mother. The Sky- Drill is useless if I can't generate the force. Tiberius and Valerious are training to hit hard, I need to hit fast."
Garrick yelled back.
Lady Serra smiled, a rare, wolfish expression.
"They fight on the ground, Garrick. You fight in three dimensions. Hardness is slow, speed is inevitable. Now, transition to the Talon-Strike sequence."
Garrick began the sequence. It involved a series of controlled leaps from his narrow perch to a secondary pillar ten feet away, all while maintaining perfect spearmanship form. The sequence was less about the spear itself and more about kinetic translation, how to transfer the momentum of a dive or a leap into a killing blow. He gathered his strength and leapt mid-air. He executed a perfect Kestrel Roll, drawing his body into a tight coil. Justvas his feet landed silently on the next pillar, he simultaneously delivered a blindingly fast wooden cut, a Talon-Strike, at the spot where an imaginary enemy would be reeling from his sudden descent.
*CLACK*
The wooden spear met nothing but air, but the fire of the strike was immense. The movement was technically perfect, but the landing still required a split-second shuffle to retain balance.
"The Shuffle! The Lindwym warriors shuffle! The Kestrels do not shuffle! You must use the kinetic energy of the impact to redirect your own momentum instantly! Eliminate that wasted 2 seconds!"
She said with her voice cutting v through the wind.
Garrick gritted bis teeth, frustrated. He knew he needed the efficiency to match his brother's brute force. He returned to his perch, his ambition a burning desire to master the sky before the Dragons Den.
"Again,Mother. Again, until I don't shuffle!!"
He Said with his voice raw with effort.
HOUSE ASHEORTH
Cassian Drachmere, The second son, and third child, trained in a subterranean chamber where the ait was perpetually humid and scented with a complex, drizzling array of medicinal and toxic herbs. He was Seventeen, possessed of a cold, analytical demeanor, and his training was unlike any of his siblings. He stood barefoot in the center of the room, his body, though not overtly muscular like Tiberius, was lean and flexible, demonstrating a Terry command over every muscle fiber. His Master and foster mother, Lady Lyra Ashworth, observed him. Lyra was the current matriarch and the Monarchy's chief apothecary, known for her unnerving calm and her unparalleled knowledge of the human body's vulnerabilities.
"The exercise, Cassian."
She commanded, her voice soft but absolute. Cassian nodded. He held his hands out, palms up. He then executed a series of impossibly intricate, slow-slow-motion hand movements, not a sword form, but a focused series of grips, rotations, and presses designed to stimulate the subtle application of toxins or the manipulation of internal pressure points. This was the Ashworth Serpent-Hand Technique, a deadly form of martial arts that required such precise control that the user could disarm, cripple, or kill an enemy simply by the fractional pressure of a hilting contact or a seemingly harmless parry.
This training was designed to prepare Cassian for the day he would awaken his Prana, a day when the Blood Dragon Units signature was to infuse toxins into their blades, requiring zero disturbance of the air to prevent premature dispersal. Cassian slowly reached for the specialist training saver at his hip. It was balanced and weighted to mimic a real fighting weapon, but razor-thin. He drew it, the movement was slow, fluid, and utterly silent. He used his entire body, rotating his shoulders and hips minutely to eliminate any sudden rush of air. The crystal hanging a foot from his blade did not move.
Later*
"Good, Cassian. Your control over your deep-layer muscles is nearing perfection. The power of the Blood Dragon is not in brute force, but in invisible causality."
She said as he grabs a sword herself. As she demonstrated the next technique.
"Now, on to the second step. The application. While maintaining the sequence, you will visualize the pressure points of the human body, the three Veins of Life and the Five Springs of Power. Every touch of the blade must not only cut, but deliver localized trauma. Now you do it."
cassuan slowly, and silently drew his sword and start the technique, his movements a terrifying display of control. When he finally completed the fiftieth repetition, the Crystal hung motionless, and Cassian looked ready to kill with a single precise tap over his finger.
"Good. The Dragon's Den entry is near. You have mastered the theory of silence. Now, you must master the silence of politics. Remember , Cassian. While your siblings fight like Dragons, you will strike like a viper. And you will ensure the Ashworth name earns the influence we deserve when you become the Scaled Regent."
Cassian didn't look as happy to hear those words, though.
"You don't seem pleased. Are you still chasing the acknowledgement of Aegon?"
"No, that ship sailed a long time ago."
"Good, feelings like that will make you weak. Have you heard?.....The Patriarch reqursted a dinner with all his heirs tomorrow. "
" All of us?....does that mean "They" will be there? "
"If you're referring to Valerius and Seraphina, then yes. They will."
"So, the proud elder brother and sister finally decides to come play with us."
"It is by the order of the Patriarch. He might be the weakest Patriarch in history, but he is still strong for normal people standards. Going against him is a death wish."
"Does that mean that The "Golden Rose" estate will also come?"
"Yes. Although they have no power, he's still his blood. Now, let's go, Cassian."
"Yes, Ma'am. "
Across the Monarchy.
In the fortified co pounds and elaborate estates of the supporting houses, the decree from Lord Aegon Drachmere, The Fourteenth Patriarch, landed with immediate political weight. The mandatory gathering of all eight heirs, alongside their primary guardians or heads of house, signaled the first, formal stage of the succession struggle for the Scaled Regent.
HOUSE VOLKOV
Lord Volkov sat stiffly in his study when his servant delivered the scroll. He read the terse command. He was alone, but remembered a faint memory.
"He might pull off a stunt, be prepared."
Said Lady Valeria
"Once the fight starts, Tiberius will see the full measure of his rivals. The first political knives will be sharpened soon. The boy must not show weakness, even to his sisters."
HOUSE SYLAS
Melantha sat in silence, her silence was disturbed when she received the message from an agent who materialized from the very wall of stone she was near. She simply incinerated the scroll with a touch of latent heat.
"So, I guess it's time. Morgana will attend."
HOUSE VESPERUS
Lord Vesperus, dressed in his expensive crimson velvet, revived the notice. He quickly dispatched a runner to retrieve Lysandra, his granddaughter, from her studies.
"It looks like you'll meet your siblings earlier than intended. The Patriarch has summoned all of us to a dinner tomorrow. Lysandra must treat the others as distractions, but not as non-entities. She must exude supreme confidence. She is the flame of Drachmere, and she must ensure that the others must learn that."
HOUSE KESTREL
Garricks mother was still at the Aerie-Pillar training grounds when the message arrived via a griffin. She read it and nodded sharply, the wind whipping around her.
"The dinner is the official announcement of the race. Garrick must attend, but he must not engage in the ground-level squabbles. He is the Sjy Dragon."
THE GOLDEN ROSE ESTATE
Lady Sol, was seated in her garden when she received the summons with a mixture of dread and fierce protectiveness. It was delivered by a grand, uniformed messenger from the main Drachmere palace. She took the scroll, her hands trembling slightly as she read the direct, non-negotiable command. She immediately sought out Ignas, who was currently in the courtyard, drilling the simple Lindwym sword art under the watchful eye of Jerek.
"Ignas....your father... your father has requested all the heirs to attend a dinner tomorrow at the capital palace."
Ignas paused his perfect, rhythmic movements. His training had been accelerated, but this was a political trial by fire.
(Swarm, this is earlier than anticipated. I was hoping for another week of training before engaging the hierarchy.)
[It is, but, I think he just wants to show off power to the other houses before the official ceremony starts. I say we head over.]
(Yeah, I was thinking so too.)
Ignas nodded to his mother, his expression hardening.
"Please prepare my best clothes. If the Patriarch wants to see his sons and daughters, he shall see all of them. The Golden Rose will attend."
On top of the highest peak of the scared mountain, a spire of jagged black stone that pierced the clouds above the capital. Here sat Aegon Drachmere, the Fourteenth Patriarch. The air was thin and frigid, a relentless test of endurance, yet Aegon was entirely unfazed. He was tanned and lined from a lifetime spent under harsh su , and his most striking feature was his hair. The long, thick ashy dreadlocks, the color of dry brown earth, cascading past his waist. He was the embodiment of raw, primal strength, a testament to the Drachmere lineage despite the political whisperings that called him the "weakest Patriarch in history "
Aegon was in a state of deep meditation. His eyes were closed, his breathing was so slow it was almost imperceptible, a d his massive hands rested lightly on his knees. He was focused on the flow of the land below, subtly sensing the political amd energy currents of the entire Monarchy. Suddenly, Aegon spoke, his voice deep amd resonant, a sound that seemed to travel with the wind, yet never waver.
"Did they all receive their messages?"
The air around him grew thick and cold. In the shadows cast by the setting sun, eight silhouettes materialized without a sound. These were the Patriarch's Shadow Gauards, his personal, elite assassins amd intelligence gatherers, known only to Aegon himself. The eight figures dropped instantly to one knee, their movements fluid and synchronized. They replied in a low, disciplined unison that was barely a breath.
"Yes, Patriarch. All messages were delivered to the heads of the houses and Lady Sol , as commanded."
He slowly opened his eyes. They were the brilliant, deep gold of a dragon's hoard, sharp amd intensely focused. He surveyed the distant valley where the city lights were beginning to twinkle, the same valley where his eight children would soon gather.
"Good. I can't wait to see how far they've grown."
He looked back at his eight loyal Shadows
" The dinner is the final bell. The Dragon's Den will open soon, and a new era will start. Ensure security is absolute, but do not interfere. Let the heirs show me why they are worthy to take over."
"Your will is our command, Patriarch."
"Good. Now, go!"
As quickly as they had arrived, they dissolved back into the surrounding darkness, leaving Aegon alone once more on the mountain peak, ready to descend and meet the progeny he was about to pit against each other.
Meanwhile*
HOUSE CROFT
A man slowly walks into a room, there he finds another one of the eight heirs, a boy who was slim. He was gazing at the orchards in his families beautiful estate.
"Young master, have you heard the news?"
"Yes, it seems like my father wants to see all of his off springs in one room. That's so unlike him."
"Do you not intend to go?"
"I do, my father isn't one to do this type of things. The fact that he did means something big is about to happen."
"I heard that he even invited those of the "Golden Rose" estate."
Valerius stood still for a moment before he smiled.
"That's....interesting. i wonder why he invited them. I don't think I'll be brave enough to do that if I was in his shoes . But, I know that, umm, what's the eighth name again?"
"Ignas. Sir That is the name of the eighth young master."
"Yes, Ignas. I can't help but think how he would hold up, he will be surrounded by us seven, ad the heirs of the local lords. He might be a Drachmere, but I don't think anyone will notice. Shame, he has already lost before the fight began, he must hate having an inferior mother...Any news about my little sister?."
"No, the young lady is still in isolated training, my lord."
"I don't like that, Sera isn't one to quiet for this long. Just what is she up to?'
Meanwhile
HOUSE AZUREAN
Seraphina, the eldest daughter of Monarch Aegon set on the balcony of her room. She had just finished her isolation training. The reason behind this was the humiliating lose she took a year ago in the hands of Valerius.
"Just you wait, Valerius. I'll be sure to pay you back tenfold for the humiliation I suffered. this scare you came me aches every time I hear your name or even think about that ugly face of yours. I'll be sure to have you on your knees in front of everyone this time tomorrow, just you wait!!!!"
As the day ends, all the heirs had each other on their minds. but, they thought nothing of Ignas, to them he was an after thought. They say him as no threat, but they were not ready for what was about to happen at the dinner. A incident that got known as "The Sleeping Dragon's Awakening"."