(Meanwhile On Planet Tithia, Fourth Elder's Private Training Courtyard)
Just a few months ago, the fourth elders private training courtyard, was a serene place covered with beautiful trees and small bushes that kept one's mind calm while training, however, just a couple months after Aegon Veyr started to train here, there was not but a single blade of grass left alive.
He stood shirtless at the center of the arena, arms loose by his side, his breathing steady but deep, as though his body had calmed but his blood was still boiling beneath the skin.
He had just unleashed one of his most powerful attacks, and the air around him was still hot from the residual heat, as faint embers still curled upward from the ground around him, dancing and dying before they could reach his ankles.
"My Lord…. My Lord…."
A lone attendant approached slowly, each step reluctant, as if unsure whether delivering his message would be worth the risk of getting torn apart for it or not.
He held a scroll tightly in both hands, his robes clinging to him from the sweat that had formed not from heat, but from fear.
"Lord Veyr," the attendant said, trying his best to sound composed though his voice cracked just slightly, "the Fourth Elder has issued new orders."
Veyr didn't look at him, not right away, as he turned his head lazily toward the far edge of the courtyard where one of the older training pillars had crumbled into two and still hadn't been cleaned up.
The attendant took that as permission to continue.
"He has hired a mannerisms instructor to begin etiquette training with you, starting from tomorrow morning, first light," the man finished, bowing his head low and bracing for a blow that didn't come.
For a few seconds, silence reigned.
Then Veyr's lips parted, curling into a faint smile—not the kind that brought ease, but the kind that made your heart thump for the wrong reasons.
"A mannerisms instructor..." he repeated, slowly turning to face the attendant with that same half-lidded, unreadable stare. "To teach me how to sit and smile and sip soup properly?"
The attendant opened his mouth but said nothing, and Veyr took a step forward, then another, closing the distance as his voice dropped lower.
"Listen carefully," he said, tilting his head just slightly, his gaze sharp and his tone calm, almost pleasant. "If that instructor sets foot in this courtyard… if he even dares breathe the same air I'm standing in—"
His hand twitched slightly, as if reaching for the blade that wasn't there.
"—I will cut his legs off at the knees, teach him about posture, and mount his jawbone over the gate so that the next fool sent to 'polish' me remembers who I am before he knocks."
The scroll slipped from the attendant's hands, falling to the floor without a sound.
He dropped to his knees right after it, face pale, forehead pressed against the blackened stone as he began to mutter apologies without structure.
But just before Veyr could take another step forward, another voice entered the courtyard—firm, tired, and utterly humorless.
"You will do no such thing, Veyr," the Fourth Elder said, his shadow stretching across the courtyard as he walked in from the southern corridor, his robes trailing dust behind him with every slow step.
"You will do exactly as I ask you to," he continued, not pausing in his stride as he walked straight into Veyr's space and stopped only when they were standing face to face.
Veyr didn't flinch. He didn't look away.
"What for?" he asked, not defiantly, but genuinely confused. "My mannerisms are fine as they are…. I am a warrior, remember? Not a politician like you—"
He folded his arms, voice warming with disdain as his gaze turned colder.
"I'm not going to change who I am so that my demeanor pleases the appetite of old fools like your self, or the general populace who still mourn over the death of their previous dragon Noah"
The elder exhaled, not loudly, but with the weight of a man who had lost the energy to argue even before the conversation began.
He simply lifted his hand and pressed it to his forehead, rubbing slow circles above his brow as though trying to keep the headache from splitting his skull.
"I've just received news that the righteous faction has launched a coordinated assault on Juxta," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slowly as his fingers lingered on his temple. "Barely a few hours ago, they sent dozens of ships that were destroyed by our mana shield… and I've already had to take several meetings today before I even finished my evening tea."
He lowered his hand and fixed his gaze on Veyr again.
"I am not in the mood for arguments, not today."
There was a long pause, and for a moment, it almost seemed like the elder would walk away—but then his tone shifted and became far more serious.
"You are no longer the only candidate for the Dragon's title," he said flatly, as Veyr's head tilted to the side, not out of disbelief, but curiosity.
"...What?"
"You heard me," the elder replied, his voice quieter now, as though testing how deep the statement would cut. "You have competition. And not just any competition. A real one."
Veyr's jaw tightened, though the rest of his body remained still.
"Don't make me laugh," he said, scoffing. "I have no competition. I'm Aegon Veyr. I was born unrivaled."
"You do have competition," the elder insisted, unfazed. "His name is Leo Skyshard."
And with that, Veyr's posture shifted ever so slightly, not out of fear, but recognition.
"...Leo Skyshard?" he repeated, voice softer now. "The breakout star from this year's Circuits? The golden boy from the righteous side?"
The elder nodded once.
"Apparently, he's being raised by the Twelfth Elder. They say he's always been an asset of the Cult, and I am hearing his name being whispered in the same breath as Noah's by some Elder's….."
Veyr narrowed his eyes slightly, not in anger, but in consideration, as the Fourth Elder stepped in even closer, his expression hard.
"You are no longer the only choice we have, and those elders that used to tolerate your arrogance because they had no alternatives… won't be so forgiving now."
He turned away and began walking.
"We need to clean up your act, Veyr. Make you presentable, at least on the surface. The last Dragon, Noah, carried himself with poise and restraint, even when he was burning cities to the ground."
He stopped at the edge of the platform.
"The elders and the people want someone who reminds them of him. So you will take those classes. No questions. No refusals."
Veyr said nothing at first. The wind moved through the courtyard like a whisper, lifting the edges of his trousers, carrying with it the scent of ash and heat.
Finally, after a long pause, he ran a hand through his damp hair and let out a sharp exhale.
"...Fine."
He said the word like it tasted bitter.
"I'll let the instructor come. Let him try to teach me how to act like a puppet in a silk robe."
He picked up the blade he had discarded earlier, spinning it once between his fingers.
"But do send a message to the elders who doubt me…"
His voice was calm now. Cold.
"...I don't care how many tournaments Leo Skyshard has won. If you place him in a deathmatch against me…. He won't survive five moves."