The sky above the Grand Convocation Arena was a canvas of fire-kissed clouds and brewing thunder. The announcement of a duel between Kael Virelith and King Thalorien, ruler of the First Family, had spread like wildfire. No one could remember the last time a reigning king had personally entered the arena — and certainly not to duel a twenty-year-old half-blood.
But this wasn't just any duel.
This was a dragon duel.
And the rules were simple: first to land a touch — wins.
No killing. No full-on warfare. Just one contact. In front of all the noble bloodlines of the realm.
The Gathering of Thrones
The arena overflowed. Magically extended stands held spectators from every territory. Flags of the First, Second, and Third Families rippled under a charged sky. Enchantments shimmered along the arena's barrier walls — wards that had stood for centuries.
Princess Aeliria Thalorien watched from the golden balcony, flanked by her younger brothers and Queen Thalorien. Her eyes remained fixed on the sky.
Not far from her, Lyra Vaelwyn, daughter of the Third Family's ruling house, stood under the arched observation deck, hands folded and lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
Behind her, Raythe Mireval, heir of the Third Family, leaned forward in his seat, intrigued.
Beside him sat his father, the current King of the Third Family — calm, silent, and keen-eyed.
Then, a ripple passed through the nobles.
The King of the Second Family arrived — late. Clad in dark emerald and silver, he descended the stairs slowly, regal and unreadable. He hadn't witnessed Kael's return, nor his previous duel. But now, his sharp eyes settled on the young man who bore the blood of both families.
He would finally see Kael for himself.
Dragons Ascend
A roar cracked the sky.
Kael Virelith entered from the northern gate, walking first — sword sheathed — before he paused and looked up.
A flash of black lightning split the air, and from the clouds descended his dragon.
Midnight-scaled. Eyes glowing with stormlight. Its wings carved thunder through the sky as it hovered above him.
Gasps echoed through the arena.
Even now, many nobles couldn't believe the rumors — that a half-blood had bonded with a dragon so rare and ancient, not even the purest bloodlines of the First Family could claim such a beast.
Kael mounted his dragon with ease.
From the southern skies came the answer: King Thalorien upon his own dragon — a regal, flame-forged creature with golden horns and ember-lit wings. Its breath left streaks of fire in the air as it descended, matching Kael's dragon eye to eye.
Two dragons.
Two bloodlines.
And thunder in between.
The Duel Begins
King Thalorien raised a hand. His voice, amplified by magic, rang clear.
"The duel shall end with the first touch. No spells that maim. No commands that kill. Let this be a test of bond — not brutality."
Kael smirked as his dragon shifted under him.
"Touch the king, huh?" he muttered to himself. "Well, no pressure."
With a beat of wings, the two dragons took to the sky — circling each other.
Silence gripped the arena. Wind howled around them, tugging at silks and banners. The moment held like a drawn breath.
Kael struck first — a feint of wind, a flicker of fire — nothing to hit, just a signal.
King Thalorien responded with calculated grace. His dragon arced upward in a burst of heat, flames curling but never touching.
This was not battle. This was art.
Sparks flew. Thunder cracked. Trails of lightning and flame danced in the clouds as the duel became an airborne waltz — two masters reading one another's intent.
From below, the nobles watched in silence.
Even the King of the Second Family leaned forward, brow furrowed in something like… surprise?
The Moment
Kael's dragon dove.
The king anticipated it — spun into a vertical climb — but Kael vanished mid-movement, leaving only a whisper of thunder behind.
And then—
A hand.
Just a hand.
Kael appeared behind the king in a blink of black lightning, resting his fingers lightly on Thalorien's shoulder.
The match was over.
A single touch.
The air stilled. Time seemed to hang frozen for a beat.
Then came the sound: the collective intake of breath from thousands.
The Aftershock
Kael stepped back, bowing in midair with a grin.
"Touched by a half-blood," he said loud enough for the arena to hear. "History won't like that one."
For a long time, King Thalorien simply stared at him. Then — slowly — he smiled.
Not the smile of victory or amusement.
But pride.
Genuine, quiet, and old as fire itself.
The dragons descended together, side by side.
Kael dismounted, walking toward the center, his black-scaled beast looming protectively at his back.
The crowd burst into cheers. Even among the noble thrones, some stood.
From her balcony, Aeliria lowered her gaze — expression unreadable.
From across the stands, Lyra's lips parted, her heartbeat oddly fast.
And in the high seat, the King of the Second Family whispered to himself:
"That's not just blood. That's something else."