Kael was there within minutes.
The guards held their ground at the gate, shoulders taut, hands close to hilts.
Before them knelt a man with a frayed cloak, cracked boots, and a pack that looked like it had carried him across a continent. His face was streaked with soot, one leg dragged from a half-healed limp.
But what drew Kael’s eyes was the insignia on his collar. Half-burned, nearly erased—yet still clear. A silver triangle wrapped by a coiled lion.
Virelion’s mark. Pride.
The man lifted his head as Kael approached. His voice was hoarse but steady.
“Kael Drayke… the Scourge of Wrath. I came seeking sanctuary.”
Kael’s expression didn’t shift. His tone was level, almost cool. “Most who wear Pride’s mark don’t kneel to Wrath or any other sin for that matter.”
“I’m no longer of Pride,” the man said. His eyes, hollow with exhaustion, flicked to the scorched insignia on his collar. “I escaped it.”
He reached into his pack slowly, carefully, and drew out a scroll case wrapped in waxed cloth.
Kael accepted the scroll and snapped the brittle seal.
Rimuru shimmered into view over his shoulder, her glow rippling gold and blue. “Ooooh. Classified.”
He unrolled the parchment. Elegant ink coiled across the page, boxed in by runic protections. One decree stood out, stark and cold:
“Kael Drayke, entity of dangerous influence and politically impure origin, is hereby marked as a destabilizing threat. All ties to Wrath’s internal disruption are to be monitored and, if possible, extinguished at source.”
Kael’s grip on the parchment tightened. His jaw set.
“They’re labeling me before I’ve even moved,” he muttered.
Rimuru leaned closer, pretending to sniff the ink. “Yep. Definitely real. Smells like pure bureaucratic arrogance—the strongest kind.”
The traveler bowed his head lower. “My name is Rhalin of Corcrest. I designed their upper wards before they purged the urban planners. My family didn’t make it out. I only lived because I escaped through the aqueduct routes.”
He swallowed hard, voice breaking. “Please… I know what they’re planning.”
Kael studied him in silence. The burns on Rhalin’s forearms were half-healed, his satchel crudely slashed where Pride’s emblem had once been stitched.
“Why come here?” Kael asked at last.
“Because you’re the only one who scares them,” Rhalin said.
His voice didn’t rise, but every guard at the gate heard the words and went still.
Kael gave a single nod. “Then stay. But no more kneeling.”
He turned to the guards. “Get him clean clothes, food, and a cot. Quietly.”
Then he glanced at Rimuru. “Call Nanari. And get me a map of every Pride city within reach by nightfall.”
Rhalin stayed bowed, trembling. Kael didn’t look back—he was already striding toward the war tower.
The tower stood at Emberleaf’s eastern edge, its stonework still new but already etched with wards that pulsed faintly in the dusk. As the sun dipped lower, the windows shifted to amber, drinking in the change of mana like glass catching firelight.
Inside, the chamber waited in silence. Kael set his cloak across the scrying dais and placed both hands on the cool stone rim. The runes beneath the surface hummed softly, steady as a heartbeat. He bowed his head, not in weariness, but in focus. Preparing for what came next.
“Close your eyes.”
He obeyed, and the glow of the dais faded. In his thoughts, a map unfolded—mana threads drawn like veins across Velaria’s surface. Emberleaf glowed faintly at the heart of Ira. From there, most threads pulsed blue, reaching toward allied lands.
But one strand bled red. It stretched eastward, cutting across the border into the western edge of Superbia.
“Origin point detected. City of Virelion, western Superbia. Purpose: persistent surveillance of Emberleaf. Frequency: every six hours.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “So Pride is already watching.”
The projection shifted in Kael’s mind. The single red thread split into several, branching like cracks in glass. Each pulsed in rhythm, then shifted, relocating as if cycling in turns.
“Five nodes minimum. Each one re-casting from a separate location. Coordinated rotation ensures uninterrupted coverage.”
Kael focused on one pulse and it expanded—showing a blurred outline of a tower, a carved stone plate, and a lion’s fang etched into its side.
His focus narrowed on the blurred tower projection. “A relay point.”
“Correct. Primary nexus located beneath the city of Virelion. Defensive cloaking stable. Forecasted vulnerability during mana-shift in three days, seven hours, and twenty-two minutes.”
When Great Orion marked the coming weakness, a single thought raced through Kael’s mind, sharp and certain.
“That’s our window.”
Kael opened his eyes. The vision dissolved, leaving only the glow of the war table, its threads humming faintly in the air. His fists rested against the stone rim, the weight of what he’d seen still burning in his mind.
At the far end of the chamber, footsteps echoed—Nanari and the strategy team were arriving.
He straightened as Nanari entered, her glaive slung across her back, followed by two Flame Scouts carrying fresh reports. They paused at the sight of Kael’s expression—focused, unreadable, but heavier than before.
“Something new?” Nanari asked.
Kael nodded. “Pride’s scrying ring. There’s a weakness coming—three days from now.”
He raised a hand over the dais. Light gathered at his fingertips, shaped by Great Orion’s quiet guidance. Threads of brilliance unfurled, weaving themselves into a map that shimmered above the stone table.
Emberleaf glowed at the center. To the east, the borderlands stretched out in pale lines until one flare of crimson marked Virelion at the edge of western Superbia.
“Here,” Kael said, pointing to the red pulse. “They’ve built a scrying network—five relay points at minimum, rotating in sequence. In three days, this one slips during a mana shift. That’s our window.”
The Flame Scouts leaned closer, eyes wide at the clarity of the map. Even Nanari’s gaze lingered longer than usual.
Nanari’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be certain? This isn’t the kind of intel you pick up from a wandering refugee.”
Kael smirked faintly. “Simple. I’ve got clones of myself flying around at a quarter of light speed thanks to flaming wings.”
The Flame Scouts blinked, half-convinced, half-bewildered. Nanari just sighed.
Kael kept the smirk, but his thoughts shifted. “A clone skill… wings of fire… could I actually make that real?”
“Great Orion,” he asked inwardly, “is it possible to develop such abilities?”
“Affirmative. Both constructs—self-replication and flame propulsion—fall within your potential development. Research and integration can begin following this meeting.”
Kael’s hand tightened on the edge of the dais. The thought lingered, but he pushed it aside for now.
“Back to the point,” he said, turning the map with a flick of light. “We have three ways to strike when the window opens—silent, surgical, and loud.”
The glowing projection shifted as he spoke, each option taking form in the air.
“But first,” Kael added, his tone sharpening, “get me that time shift breakdown. I want to know what kind of response they’ll mount if we disrupt one relay. And I want the options we just talked about—surgical, silent, and loud.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
One of the Flame Scouts saluted sharply, then hurried from the room—his task clear: fetch Rhalin.
Another remained to start compiling the mana logs, while Nanari stayed steady at Kael’s side, her eyes fixed on the glowing map.
Meanwhile, in another chamber of Emberleaf Hall, Rimuru had wedged herself into an empty supply crate, attempting to balance three quills like juggling pins. Ink splattered across her slime surface in messy star-shapes.
“Diplomatic training,” she whispered proudly to no one, just as the crate tipped and dumped her onto the floor with a splat.
A guard peered around the corner, confused. Rimuru waved a dripping pseudopod. “Official business. Don’t question it.”
Moments later, Rimuru drifted into the war chamber—smudged with ink, glowing cheerfully, as if nothing had happened.
Kael stared at her. He didn’t say a word. Just fixed her with a steady glare, holding it for a long, unbroken five seconds.
Rimuru’s glow dimmed slightly. “What? It was practice diplomacy.”
Before Kael could respond, the doors creaked open again.
The Ember Guard returned, guiding a weary but steady Rhalin into the chamber. The planner carried the weight of exhaustion in his eyes, but his hands were steady as he clutched a stylus and fresh parchment.
Kael gave him a single nod toward the oak table. “Show us what Pride built.”
Rhalin lowered himself into the seat, spreading the parchment flat with careful fingers. He dipped the stylus into ink, his movements practiced, almost instinctual, as if he had drawn these lines a hundred times before.
“The city of Virelion was designed on a tiered curve,” he murmured, sketching the first circles with smooth, sure strokes.
Rimuru started to drift closer, her glow already pulsing in that I have a comment rhythm.
Kael didn’t even look up. “Great Orion, mute her for a minute.”
“Confirmed.”
Rimuru’s glow flickered like a sputtering lantern, her voice cut off mid-babble. She wriggled indignantly in the air, mouthing silent pew-pews before crossing her slimey arms.
Kael let her stew and turned his full attention back to the parchment.
“Three concentric walls, each higher than the last, all layered with mana-sensing wards. They called it the Spiral Doctrine.”
Rhalin’s stylus moved quickly, the lines flowing into the shape of gates and spiraling towers. The map’s structure unfolded under his hand—precise, layered, and suffocating in its order.
His hand didn’t slow. He traced the outer ring, then the inner, marking wardlines with sharp strokes that bled ink into the parchment like veins. Roads followed, spiraling inward toward the central dome, each one narrower than the last.
“There,” he said at last, tapping the sketch of the eastern rise.
“That’s where most of the relay lines pulse out. Buried in the aqueduct tower beneath the public fountain. No one questions water systems.”
Kael leaned forward, studying the inked lines with sharp focus. “What’s beneath it?”
Rhalin’s stylus hovered for a breath, then dipped again. “Old crystal storage. Pre-Age of Embers era. That’s where they house the inner scrying core now. It has its own defense node—layers of Pride magic, silence veils, one-time alarms. But…”
He glanced up, his face drawn and weary. “…I helped design the inner curve. I know where they cheated.”
Rhalin marked a small triangle along one of the etched lines. “Here. They bypassed the power node conduit. If you overcharge it with compressed flame mana…”
“Overload probability: eighty-seven percent. Chain reaction potential: collapse of the entire external scrying ring.”
Kael’s brow lifted slightly. “And the damage?”
“Localized,” Rhalin answered. His stylus tapped the parchment once, firm. “It’ll burn out their surveillance grid, maybe snap a few wards. But unless someone rushes in blind, no civilians will be harmed.”
Kael leaned back slightly, considering. “Good. We won’t start a war if we don’t have to—just a warning.”
Rimuru squirmed in midair, still muted, waving her tendrils in exaggerated boom gestures.
Kael sighed through his nose. “Great Orion, release her.”
Rimuru’s glow flared instantly. “Boom without the doom! See? That was my line. Totally worth saying out loud.”
Nanari pinched the bridge of her nose, but a faint smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.
Nanari finally spoke, her tone steady but edged. “What about you, Rhalin? If we strike like this, won’t Pride trace it back to you?”
Rhalin’s hand froze above the parchment. His eyes lowered, voice rough. “…They already think I’m dead.”
Kael studied him for a long breath, then gave a single nod. “Then let’s keep it that way.”
He turned toward Nanari. “Prep a strike team. Every member needs stealth. We go in, we get out, and we leave their arrogance in ashes.”
The room shifted with his words. Nanari straightened, already running through names in her head.
The Flame Scouts began gathering the scattered notes, ink still drying on the parchment. Even Rhalin seemed to sit taller, as if passing on his knowledge had lifted some of its weight.
Emberleaf wasn’t just watching anymore.
It was preparing to strike.
Kael stepped into his quarters and let the door click shut behind him. The silence here was different from the rest of Emberleaf—no scouts, no council voices, no Rimuru humming off-key. Just space enough for him to think.
Kael’s chamber sealed with a soundless thrum.
White mana poured from his core, bending into a dome of light that swallowed the room. It wasn’t his hands weaving the threads.
Great Orion guided every strand, shaping the barrier into something absolute. No sound. No ripple of mana. Not even Rimuru’s sharpest push could breach it.
For the first time in weeks, Kael was truly alone.
“Initiating fusion protocol. Synchronize your breathing,”
Kael exhaled slowly, then inhaled again as Great Orion drew deeper on his core. His mana stretched outward, pulled thin, then folded back on itself like molten glass hammered into sharper form.
Three distinct flows rose at once.
Future Sight bent probabilities around him, flickering with half-formed paths. Accelerated Thought caught them, cycling through thousands of calculations in a heartbeat. Mana Manipulation gave form to it all, sculpting raw energy into something beyond Kael’s touch.
The flows converged.
Kael felt a piece of himself peel away—silent, weightless, without signature. His vision blurred, then doubled. Part of him remained in the chamber. The other half slipped outward into the night.
A construct. Invisible. Untouchable. His first creation of the new skill.
Through it, he soared. Emberleaf’s rooftops passed beneath him, torches glowing like scattered embers. Wards shimmered along the outer walls. Patrols marched their routes. The construct drifted above them all, unseen, as though the world itself refused to notice.
“Expanded functions available. Observation. Prediction. Projection. Threading. Combat support.”
Kael tested each in turn. Awareness stretched beyond vision—anticipating soldier movements, sketching false images in the air, tugging mana strands thin enough to unsettle a ward without tripping it.
“This isn’t just seeing,” he thought. “It’s control.”
He pushed the construct east. Past the forests. Past the hills. Until Pride’s ridges rose on the horizon.
Virelion.
From above, the city gleamed like a lattice of fire. Spiraled towers clawed skyward, wards glowing blood-red. Mana relays pulsed through its streets, each heartbeat of power feeding into the noble quarter where the city’s core lay buried.
The construct drifted closer, sliding between detection layers. Not a ripple stirred. Not a guard blinked.
Within a vaulted chamber, nobles lounged with raised goblets, laughter sharp and hollow. Decrees lay scattered, parchment shimmering with pride-born wards. One shone brighter than the rest.
Through the construct’s sight, Kael read the crimson script:
Kael Drayke — Threat to the Doctrine.
Observe & Isolate. Contain if possible. Cleanse if necessary.
His jaw tightened.
“Feed verified. Virelion’s court is active. Four Councilors have reviewed the decree.”
“Show me the fourth,” Kael thought.
The construct obeyed, slipping deeper into shadowed halls until it reached a private chamber. There, alone at a blackstone table, sat a man in violet and bone-white silk. Rune lenses glowed across his eyes. Before him lay a board of glass and ash.
He slid a carved piece across it. Not a knight or a queen, but a flame.
“High Minister Valthorne. Architect of Doctrine Culling.”
Kael’s fists curled. They had already written his death. Not for what he’d done, but for the idea of him.
“I’ll make the idea louder,” he thought.
White mana flickered faintly over his skin.
“Fusion complete. Assign designation?”
Kael opened his eyes. The barrier hummed around him, silent and unbreakable.
“Aether Dominion,” he whispered.
The skill flickered at the edge of his awareness, as if testing the weight of the name.
Then it steadied, the title locking into place like a star fixed in orbit.
The construct stabilized fully, vast and obedient, its presence no longer forming but complete.
Kael exhaled slowly.
Observation was secured.
But presence was control.
“Great Orion,” he said inwardly, voice calm. “About the clones.”
“Clarify.”
“You said self-replication falls within my potential development.”
“Affirmative.”
Kael folded his arms. “If I create them, what’s the cost?”
“Power distribution required. Optimal maximum: seven units. Each will operate at approximately one-seventh of your peak output.”
“Why seven?”
“Your mana stabilizes in seven-fold symmetry. An eighth would reduce structural cohesion and increase cognitive strain beyond acceptable parameters.”
Kael nodded once.
“Shared awareness?”
“Yes. All units remain synchronized. Independent movement. Shared cognition. Termination of a unit will not destabilize the primary core.”
“And concealment?”
“Encapsulate each clone in a micro-barrier equivalent to your current seal. External mana flow will be nullified. Detection will be effectively impossible.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “So I really could have clones flying around.”
“Affirmative.”
“With flaming wings.”
“Flame propulsion integration is viable.”
Kael drew in a slow breath.
“Then initiate it. Skill designation: Clone. Maximum count: seven. Allocate one-seventh power to each unit.”
He almost smirked at how much he sounded like Orion.
“Confirmed. Beginning construction.”
White mana rose from his core and divided cleanly into seven luminous strands. They hovered for a heartbeat before folding inward, compressing into form.
One stepped forward from the light.
Then another.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Seven Kaels stood in the chamber.
They weren't illusions or projections. Each clone carried a smaller, stable core—exactly one-seventh of his strength.
Kael extended his awareness—
—and the room multiplied.
Through one clone, he felt the subtle hum of the barrier’s inner edge.
Through another, the shift of air as white mana circulated along the ceiling.
Through a third, the steady rhythm of his own divided core, echoing back at him from a different body.
Ordered. Aligned.
“Synchronization stable.”
One clone unfurled pale wings of flame and lifted effortlessly. Another flexed his fingers, white mana coiling tight and sharp.
Kael gave a small nod.
“Return.”
The seven forms dissolved into streaks of white fire, phasing through the ceiling without disturbing stone or ward. They scattered across the night sky, each taking a different path toward Virelion’s relay points.
Only the original remained.
A faint pressure settled at the back of his mind—seven distant stars, steady and alive.
Outside the barrier, panic flared.
Rimuru’s mana struck the dome again and again.
Nyaro’s presence sparked in anxious bursts.
Nanari’s aura was controlled but tense.
Zelganna’s felt steady—and dangerous.
They couldn’t sense him at all.
Kael let the silence linger one second longer.
“Release.”
The barrier collapsed without sound.
The door burst open instantly.
Rimuru stumbled in first. “KAEL! What did you do?! We couldn’t feel you!”
Nyaro rushed in behind her, paws silent against the stone. His ears were flat, tail rigid, blue eyes scanning Kael from head to toe as if expecting him to disappear again.
Nanari followed, eyes narrowed. “Your signature vanished completely. Even the residual threads were gone.”
Zelganna crossed the room in two strides and gripped his shoulders, searching his face.
Kael looked at them.
Worried. Angry. Relieved.
Seven distant pulses flickered quietly in his awareness.
He smiled, softer now.
“I love you guys.”
Dragon Keeper: And the Eternal Quest for Rent Money
by Wyatt_Wriots
Stuck out of place.
Stuck out of time.
You really f’d yourself now, Ike.
Alone.
Forgotten.
Dragons-eye. Just beneath its silver surface, an ancient being slept—now awakened by a portal leading to another world.
? What to Expect ?
- [+] Weak → Strong → VERY STRONG!
- [+] Portal-hopping to different worlds.
- [+] Powers, powers, and more powers.
- [+] A S*** talking Dragon.