Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Red Emperor Capital, Dragon Court.

Garoth reclaimed the Star-Self Dragon that had been idling for a long time, slowly stretching his body, rising from the previous prone, crouched posture to stand upright.

When he went to Arotala, the Star-Self Dragon had remained in the Dragon Court.

It maintained a basic consciousness and perception while consuming almost no Dragon Qi, and could be taken over at any time.

In an instant, the light in the Star-Self Dragon’s eyes sharpened from hollow to keen, the dragon body trembled slightly, as if awakening from a long slumber.

Garoth moved his neck, his wings unfolding and then folding at his sides to check that everything in his body was normal.

Then he narrowed his eyes, stars lighting in his pupils.

True Eye.

His vision suddenly ascended, piercing the clouds over the Red Emperor Capital, cutting through the skies of Romania.

Mountains, rivers, plains, and forests flashed past his sight like a rapidly flipped map.

He did not linger on these features. Using the coordinates Gordon had given earlier, he cast his gaze farther north.

The far north region, the Permafrost Tundra.

Garoth’s vision fixed on a vast white world of ice and snow.

Winds blew from all directions, scattering fine ice crystals through the air. Sunlight reflected off the snow into an endless white expanse.

Amid the wind and snow, a white figure was soaring.

It was an enormous female White Dragon.

Her form was graceful, her wings broad. Each beat stirred up blizzards, as if the storm itself embraced her. Unlike ordinary white dragons that have a beastly rawness, her shifting gaze carried coolness and intelligence.

Her scales were an almost transparent icy white, refracting faint shards of light even in the snow.

But what drew the most attention was not merely her form or bearing.

Every creature that first saw her would be drawn to the magical runes etched across her scales.

Dense runes covered her entire body without gap.

From her crown to tail tip, from wing membranes to backs of claws.

Each inch of scale bore intricate and complex runes—some scales with a single rune, others layered with multiple runes, tiny as gnats yet with distinct patterning.

These runes were not casually inscribed; they followed a certain order, like a carefully arranged spell array. A single glance conveyed the immense power contained within.

“The rumors were right, she truly is a magic-obsessed dragon...”

Garoth’s mind surfaced memories about magic-obsessed dragons.

These dragons pursue a special modification: carving magical runes into their bodies to gain far greater spellcasting ability than their peers. The modification process is excruciating, requiring lengthy time and unyielding will—like peeling and stitching skin layer by layer.

Yet high risk brings high reward; magic-obsessed dragons often far outclass their peers.

“Magic obsession is weak as a strategy, but it’s said to be the next career path. At root...it’s a kind of draconic mental illness.”

Garoth thought silently.

Dragons are powerful but not perfect beings.

Their brains are complex and advanced; each dragon is innately gifted for understanding and mastering magic. Yet such a brain is also more prone to certain mental illnesses.

Fanatical magic obsession, infinite gluttony, pathological anxiety, extreme narcissism...

The varieties of draconic mental illness are numerous, and the records do not fully catalog them all.

Among them, magic obsession is one of the most common draconic mental disorders. When a dragon’s innate sensitivity to magic, penchant for collecting, and thirst for knowledge combine and shift in unhealthy ways, they can evolve into magic obsession.

Magic-obsessed dragons are generally stronger than normal dragons.

That sounds like a boon.

But since it’s classified as illness rather than a special talent, there must be a reason.

A dragon’s pursuit of magic can reach a fanatical degree, even overwhelming its natural greed for treasure. Normal dragons fight for mountains of gold and gems, whereas a magic-obsessed dragon will go all out for an ancient spellbook or an unknown rune.

In pursuit of magic, such dragons can do wildly irrational things.

For example, some have been driven mad enough to carve spell circuits into their brains or hearts, only to accidentally backfire and kill themselves. The records contain more than a few such cases.

It is not only fanatical magic obsession.

Almost every dragon afflicted with a draconic mental illness becomes stronger than its kin but pays enormous risk.

Take the infamous infinite gluttony disorder.

When a dragon experiences prolonged, extreme hunger and the psychological pain that accompanies it, it may develop infinite gluttony.

A gluttonous dragon becomes frenzied by hunger, continually fighting and hunting. The energy and stamina expended in battle only deepen its hunger, making it angrier and more desperate to fight and feed.

The hungrier it becomes, the more it moves; the more it moves, the hungrier it gets—a vicious cycle.

Dragons afflicted by infinite gluttony fall deep into this loop, tirelessly seeking food until death. Yet because of this disorder, they become extremely bellicose and possess terrifying stamina. As long as they survive, their growth under the disease’s influence outpaces their peers.

As Garoth reflected, many pieces of inherited knowledge about draconic mental illness surfaced in his mind.

A final conclusion left him slightly unsettled.

“When I was a hatchling I often felt unease. I thought it would vanish as I grew stronger, but now I can rival some Mandate existences, and it still lingers.”

“Hmm...could I have fallen ill without realizing it?”

Garoth shook his head, rejecting the thought.

“Impossible. I’m completely normal—just born a bit lacking in security, not to the extent of draconic mental illness.”

He reined in the wandering thoughts and focused his gaze on the magic-obsessed White Dragon.

At that moment, one rune among the many on her neck suddenly lit up.

The rune was shaped like an open eye. Light flowed within its pattern, then quickly spread to neighboring runes.

The triggered runes ignited like a chain reaction, one after another, forming a complex rune array.

The White Dragon paused slightly.

She seemed to sense something. Her head tilted and her eyes turned toward Garoth’s line of sight.

She had ice-blue pupils with vertical slits and a faint gold ring at the edges, the wind and snow reflected within.

Then she withdrew her gaze.

“She saw me?”

Garoth’s heart tightened.

The glance was brief—under a second—but he could feel that she had indeed noticed him and perceived his observation.

The White Dragon then arrived at the convergence lands.

As if spotting something else, her flight posture changed.

She stopped maintaining her previous altitude and straight course. Wings folded, body tilted, and with a steady, unhurried speed she banked downward toward the surface.

Meanwhile.

White Dragon Trixie was strolling leisurely in the Dragon Academy courtyard.

This was the convergence lands, located between the Permafrost Tundra and the Ser Wilderness, and the birthplace of the Aola Kingdom. It was here the Red Emperor amassed his initial power and influence.

Trixie walked at an unhurried pace, her tail gently swaying behind her.

As the academy’s dean and the only legendary giant dragon there, she held an exalted status in the academy and across the convergence lands. She didn’t need to train like young dragons nor fuss over duties like the guards.

Her responsibilities were simple.

Appear occasionally so the hatchlings knew who was in charge, offer a few pointers when necessary, then spend the rest of her time rolling in snow for fun or daydreaming.

Trixie passed through the central plaza, her gaze lazily sweeping around.

The Convergence Lands Dragon Academy sat amid wind and snow, unshielded, with the elements constantly battering young dragons. They were used to it.

Many young dragons were doing physical training.

Some were flying with weights, some practiced stoops and dives, others simulated aerial combat while chasing each other.

Their sizes ranged from a few meters to over ten meters; ages from hatchling to young adult. Scale colors varied—red, blue, green, black, white—nearly covering all the Five-Colored Dragons.

“You with the blue scales over there!”

Trixie stopped and called to a blue hatchling lazing about, “Do you think I didn’t see you slacking? Others flew twenty rounds and you collapse after ten? Do you want me to make you fly fifty rounds on your own to make up for it?”

The blue hatchling had been lying in a snowdrift, lazily sweeping snow with its tail.

At Trixie’s voice it shuddered and scrambled up, then tumbled into the sky. It flew much faster, wings flapping furiously, afraid the dean would single it out for extra training.

Trixie snorted and continued on.

Soon she passed a group of young dragons resting in a circle. Several stood up immediately, straightened their backs, head-low in salute.

“Hail, Dean!”

“Dean, your scales are even more vibrant!”

“No storm can hide your strength and beauty!”

“With you overseeing the academy, we feel much more at ease during training.”

Compared to hatchlings, these young dragons were more composed and politically astute.

They knew Trixie was one of the most senior dragons in Aola, a long-time follower of the great emperor, witnessing the kingdom’s rise. Almost every Aolan dragon had been taught by her.

They lavished praise on her.

Trixie accepted the flattery inwardly, but showed little outward emotion, only nodding gently.

“My majesty still holds strong.”

“Heh, Garoth is the emperor of Aola, and I, Trixie, am the ‘emperor’ of this academy—really not much different.”

She nodded with satisfaction.

She continued walking.

Passing the training ground, she watched a few young dragons doing strength training, competent in form but flawed in detail.

She paused to observe.

“You, the red one, your hindleg force is off.”

“When pushing against the ground, the hindlegs shouldn’t push outward; they push downward. The power comes from the ground. If you push outward, the force scatters.”

The red dragon paused, then tried again following Trixie’s advice.

Indeed, the power improved.

He felt his claws grip the ground firmly, his weight pressed steadily on his limbs. In resistance, the drifting sensation was gone.

“Thank you for your guidance!” the red dragon called out.

Trixie moved on, until she reached a raised platform on the training ground’s east side, overlooking the academy.

From here the layout was clear: young dragons busy in their positions. Though the environment was harsh, order prevailed.

“How pleasant,” she thought, delighted.

A dragon’s life should be like this.

Stroll the academy, scold unruly hatchlings, accept adoration, correct training technique.

It might not be glamorous, but it had its own charm.

At least, Trixie felt content.

To quietly stay on her turf, do what she liked, bully the little ones—simple and peaceful.

As she mused, she suddenly felt something amiss.

The wind stopped. The snow ceased.

A massive pressure fell from the sky without warning, like a chunk of heaven collapsing and crushing all the dragons beneath it.

Boom!

Trixie’s body sank and her limbs involuntarily bent.

She steadied herself, but the hatchlings were not so lucky. Their bodies seemed pressed flat by an invisible hand; their limbs failed them, spines curved, heads bowed, too weak even to lift their heads. Some had scales trembling with soft grinding noises.

No young dragon could remain standing.

Even the most hot-tempered red hatchlings, normally impossible to control, lay obediently prostrate without snarl or challenge.

Their ecological training taught them humility at moments like this.

If necessary, then reveal teeth and fight back.

Trixie raised her head and looked skyward.

A white silhouette was descending.

At first it was a blur, but as it drew nearer, the outline sharpened into a colossal White Dragon whose size grew until it nearly shaded half the sky.

Trixie was a White Dragon and a legend, but this dragon was even larger—wings spanning the heavens, at least a hundred meters from tip to tip. Her scales seemed woven from countless ice crystals, and the dense runes covering her scales were innumerable.

“This pressure, these runes...”

Trixie’s pupils contracted. “The White Scourge of the Cold Water Ocean—Hitherfell the End of Winter, the Wanfa White Dragon?!”

She recognized the figure.

Ancient White Dragon Hitherfell.

The strongest among all White Dragons on planet Bernardo, a Mandate Giant Dragon, revered and yearned for by every White Dragon.

Her name was legendary among Whites. Nearly every White Dragon dreamt of attaining her level.

Trixie had once imagined being as mighty as Hitherfell—soaring freely, unhindered.

To Trixie, the Wanfa White Dragon had always been an unreachable legend.

She never thought she’d see her in person.

For a moment Trixie froze.

Her heart raced, blood pumping, breath quickening. Her eyes fixed on the white silhouette, verifying that she was not dreaming.

Truly, the Dragon of All Methods.

Powerful, free, unbound—doing as she pleased.

A gentle rumble escaped Trixie’s throat, a sound expressing closeness among White Dragons; she felt delighted to see her idol in person.

Such a rumble is rare among adult Whites, usually reserved for hatchlings to elders or intimate mates, but Trixie couldn’t hold it back.

Then a thought flashed through her mind.

Hitherfell... Scourge...

The darker meanings attached to that title rose from memory.

Capricious.

Cruel and ruthless.

Trixie’s excitement evaporated into fear.

It was said this Mandate White Dragon detested offense or rudeness. Those who showed arrogance or hostility before her did not survive.

If Hitherfell bore enmity, the entire academy combined would not be enough to stop her.

Trixie’s tail tip trembled.

But she did not show fear.

Hitherfell had already landed in the academy’s central clearing, her gaze sweeping across the clustered young dragons before settling on Trixie, another White Dragon.

“Respected Dragon of All Methods, Hitherfell Your Highness.”

Trixie bowed slightly in reverence. “I am Trixie. I’ve long heard of Your Highness’ renown. Every tale I heard stirred my heart—I never thought you would personally come here. Today to see you is my honor and that of all the hatchlings.”

She paused and continued, “I once imagined that if I could witness Your Highness’ presence, what a blessing that would be. I’m unprepared for proper reception—this day came so suddenly.”

She poured out praise after praise, each line elevating the other.

Hitherfell lowered her gaze.

Her expression revealed no clear emotion. Her eyes lingered on Trixie for a few seconds, then swept the surroundings.

In her sight all the hatchlings lay prostrate. Even the brash red hatchlings made no sound; some buried their heads in snow, others pressed wings tight to their bodies, breathing shallowly.

Even now with her Dragon Might retracted—interesting...

A slight twitch curved Hitherfell’s mouth—not quite a smile, but not blank either.

“What is this place?” she said, her voice like ice melting in the wind.

Trixie answered immediately.

“By our Emperor’s decree, this is the Aola Kingdom’s Dragon Academy in the convergence lands.”

“It trains hatchlings to resist instinctual desires so they can one day stand on their own as Aolan dragons. We teach combat techniques, situational judgment, and emotional control.”

She watched Hitherfell’s face for any impatience and, finding none, continued.

“The core lesson we teach is understanding one’s ecological niche—learning to respect the strong and to know when to bow and when to raise your head. That lesson runs through all education here.”

“These youngsters are still learning, but at least they’ve grasped this lesson.”

Hitherfell listened and smiled with relish.

“A gathering of the Five-Colored Dragons—so they don’t practice their natural wicked duties but instead gather to learn how to bind their nature and put chains on themselves. How laughable.”

She scanned the hatchlings prostrate in the snow and continued, “Red Dragons should burn everything with flame, Blue Dragons should reign amid storms, Green Dragons should torment prey with toxins and guile, Black Dragons should rot life in swamps, White Dragons should hunt in ice and snow... these are instincts granted by the Creator, engraved in your bloodlines.”

“What you’re doing now is resisting your bloodlines, denying your essence.”

At her words, Trixie’s face broke into sudden understanding.

She nodded earnestly. “Truly the wisest Dragon of All Methods. Your words are illuminating! Your Highness, you speak the truth. We have remained too long in the academy and forgotten the fundamentals. The Five-Colored Dragons’ nature is wicked and free; yet we instruct them to restrain and obey—this might be harming them.”

She sighed and continued, “I never viewed it this way. I thought teaching restraint was for their good, but hearing Your Highness, I realize it could be damaging. I will remonstrate with His Majesty and propose changes to the kingdom’s education.”

She looked at Hitherfell with sincere eyes. “If possible, I hope to invite Your Highness to speak to these hatchlings and point them to the true path. With Your Highness’ guidance, they would truly understand how Five-Colored Dragons should exist in this world.”

Hitherfell’s mouth curved more.

She lowered her head to reconsider Trixie.

At that moment.

The wind and snow halted. Space tore.

Like a clean stroke, a pitch-black rift opened above the academy.

A giant dragon burst through.

Iron-red scales, a massive, solemn posture, a dull sheen flowing over its plates.

He spread a pair of huge wings that blotted out the sky; wind and snow could not penetrate. As the wings unfolded, the airstream swept up surrounding snow into a white wave spreading outward.

The Red Iron Dragon, Garoth Ignas.

The Aola Emperor descended.

His body size rivaled or exceeded that of Mandate giants; muscles rolled beneath scales, wings unfurled behind him, wing tips slightly drooped like a freshly unsheathed colossal blade.

From the moment he emerged from the rift, his gaze locked on Hitherfell.

At the same time, at the sight of this figure, all the hatchlings that had been prostrate seemed to receive new strength.

They scrambled up, shook off snow, straightened their spines and raised their heads.

“His Majesty the Emperor!”

“The great Scarlet Emperor Cangxing!”

“Aola! Aola! Aola!”

Their voices rose like a tide. Those who had just been trembling now looked transformed: tails high, wings slightly spread, pupils aflame with inner fire.

In the Aola Kingdom, the emperor is everything.

As long as he stands, there is little to fear.

This idea is instilled in every Aolan dragon from hatchlinghood and proven repeatedly by the Red Emperor’s victories.

From founding the kingdom to expanding its borders, from battling foes to subduing factions, the emperor stands at the forefront of every crisis.

Although these hatchlings did not personally experience those wars, their elders’ tales and academy history classes have engraved trust in their bones.

At the same time, Trixie felt her own ecological niche quietly rise.

Her spine straightened, tail uncurled, and her head lifted to a less humble angle.

She had proposed the ecological niche theory and practiced it. Previously she was the strongest here, but compared to Hitherfell she was many tiers lower and had to assume a subservient posture, flattering and fawning to protect herself.

Those compliments were partly sincere and partly survival strategy.

Now the emperor had arrived.

As a senior under Garoth, dean of the Aola Dragon Academy, her niche elevated. She no longer needed to grovel as before because her emperor was present.

She could stand tall and speak with dignity.

Still, she remained timid overall and showed no intention of challenging Hitherfell.

The emperor’s arrival improved her relative standing, but that did not mean she could stand toe-to-toe with a Mandate Dragon.

When humility was required, she would remain humble; when respect was due, she would show it—only now she could keep a measure of dignity.

Trixie silently stepped back, leaving space for the two titans.

Garoth looked at Hitherfell, his eyes sweeping over the runes covering her body, then he spoke directly.

“Hitherfell the End of Winter, Dragon of All Methods... Lady Hitherfell, you come onto Aolan territory, onto my domain. What is your purpose?”

Hitherfell did not answer immediately.

She tilted her head, appraising Garoth from head to tail, from wing tips to horns, muscles and wingspan, finally returning to his eyes.

“This body of yours is more massive and stately than rumor described.”

“Like a work of art—magnificent to the extreme.”

She did not skimp on praise.

But a moment later, a rune flashed across her eye and her tone shifted.

“However, this is merely an avatar, a Star-Self condensed form. When meeting a Mandate peer out of respect, shouldn’t the true body come in person?”

Garoth’s gaze was steady.

“My true body cannot come at the moment.”

His Hand-Tearing Spatial Teleportation had not reached absolute effortless mastery.

Within the same world, greater distances required more stable anchors—when he went to Arotala, he used a bloodline connection as anchor; crossing planes needed familiarity and anchors in the target plane.

Garoth’s true body was in another pocket world.

Traveling here by tethering only to sight would be cumbersome. The Star-Self Dragon was much closer and easier to send; besides, its strength was not weak. If battle broke out, the true body’s arrival could be delayed until necessary.

“This avatar carries my consciousness; if your matter can be addressed without my true body, speak. If you insist on the true body’s presence, we can talk when I return.”

“If you mind that this is only an avatar, we can speak another day.”

Garoth said calmly.

Hitherfell’s eyes narrowed. “I hear strong confidence in your words—you seem unafraid of Mandate beings. Stories that you, crowned in rank, bent Mandate-level dragons seem true.”

“Mandates also vary. Compared to dragons like you, I still have far to go.”

Garoth responded calmly.

“This is not a place to speak. To the sky.”

Hitherfell said, then opened her wings.

She surged upward with dazzling speed, vanishing into snow-lit air.

Garoth spread his wings and followed closely.

They stopped in the high air.

Below spread a continuous white cloud; above was deep blue sky. Between heaven and earth, it seemed only the two of them remained—one red, one white—hovering amid the storm.

Hitherfell hovered midair.

“Long ago I heard that in lands south of the Cold Water Ocean, a kingdom named Aola rose under a dragon emperor and developed swiftly like a comet.”

She continued, “At first I paid no mind.”

“New powers rise and old ones fall every day on planet Bernardo. I have seen many—most are ephemeral and soon forgotten.”

“Until later, after some time, I heard that the emperor who became a legend only two hundred years ago has already reached a level comparable to Mandate.”

Hitherfell’s dragon lips curved in a half-smile.

“Do you understand that feeling?”

“Like an ant you never noticed growing into a beast. You wonder whether, to prevent it from growing horns, you should preemptively hunt it.”

Garoth did not flinch.

“That sounds like a threat.”

He looked Hitherfell in the eyes. “But just a threat. I know you did not come here to make me an enemy.”

Hitherfell tilted her head and gave a dry chuckle.

“Oh? You’re barely a fraction of my age.”

“Young dragons like you—overconfident, which is not always good.”

Garoth’s expression remained composed. “I have seen many Five-Colored Dragons forced to cloak themselves in dangerous wickedness because of harsh growth environments and racial prejudice. Regardless of their true nature, they put on that guise.”

He paused, eyes on Hitherfell.

“As time passes and they grow strong, they no longer need that cloak.”

“Yet they still curl within it, baring sharp teeth and claws against the world, perpetually hostile and malicious.”

“Especially... White Dragons.”

At these words, the Dragon of All Methods’ smile vanished. Her pupils narrowed to thin slits, her demeanor colder and more perilous.

Garoth met her calmly.

Seconds later Hitherfell spoke slowly. “I once thought you rose by strength and might, but you also speak in a devilish whisper; your words earlier struck a chord with me.”

Her mind flicked to memories.

In youth she studied the world with suspicion and malice. She was not strong enough then and could become prey, so she kept sharp fangs and constant vigilance. She learned to hide and quietly sharpen claws, accumulating power.

After meeting someone, her malice eased. But with their passing and her increasing strength, she again showed fangs and habitually kept the world at bay.

“You’re correct—I have no intention of making you my enemy.”

“This would be meaningless to me.”

Hitherfell steadied herself. “I’ve heard that Garoth the Scarlet Emperor has claws that can seize all things, even tear open space.”

“The way you arrived just now proves the rumor true.”

Her gaze lingered on Garoth’s foreclaws for a long time.

“Legends love exaggeration,” Garoth said. “But I can tear space with my claws; that is not a secret. My enemies mostly know that.”

Hitherfell’s eyes brightened a touch.

“I also heard you fought a crowned one who wielded time and defeated him.”

“Tell me... can you grasp time?”

Garoth shook his head. “Maybe in the future, but not now.”

Hitherfell fell silent.

Runes across half her body simultaneously glowed.

The dense magical inscriptions shone brilliantly against the snow. The runes lit not randomly but along deliberate lines, spreading from neck toward limbs and tail like a fuse ignited. Colors interwove—ice-blue and silver-white—painting her body like a starry sky.

Seeing this, Garoth’s scales tightened, muscles taut—prepared for battle.

Then in the next second, all the runes snuffed out and Hitherfell returned to normal, as if nothing had occurred.

It seemed she had tested something, and a shadow of disappointment crossed her gaze.

“You did not lie to me...” her voice softened. “One more question—when do you think you can seize time?”

This seemed crucial to her.

Could it be she came because she believed he might hold potential to grasp time?

Garoth thought and replied, “For uncertain things I won’t give a concrete time. But I can say clearly: at crowned level I cannot touch time.”

He recalled the fight with Sodrian and continued, “Maybe a Mandate level or Immortal level would be required.”

Hitherfell slightly shook her head and murmured, “I should have realized: time potency is not so easily approached.”

“Heh, Odhos that old fellow—though he had an Immortal form, because of time potency he ended stuck at Mandate, unable to breakthrough.”

“This thing is either possible or not—hard to force.”

At the name, Garoth glanced.

Odhos Vellaperion.

Within dragonkind this name circulated; outside dragons, he was even more famous.

The Golden Dragon King, Everbright Saint Dragon, Sky-Shrouding Wings...

He was the strongest among the Metal Dragons, a Mandate Golden Dragon nearest Immortal—ruler of the Everbright Dragon Domain.

“A Golden Dragon King tried to craft time potency?”

Golden Dragon King... time... Garoth felt a fragment of non-existent memory begin to surface.

He recalled meeting a sick humanoid-form dragon in the Everbright Domain and discussing time’s mysteries, then forgetting the matter.

Not exactly forgetting—it had been veiled.

He had adapted to that veil, but a buried memory now returned.

“I once met the Golden Dragon King.”

“From Hitherfell’s words, it seems his attempts to craft time potency are why he couldn’t breakthrough?”

Garoth thought to himself.

Time potency... Sodrian the Crowned Time Warden of Lothrian wielded only minor time power yet almost prevented Garoth’s counterattack. Thanks to several resurrections and evolution traits, Garoth finally struck a decisive blow.

If Sodrian’s control of time had been even slightly stronger, the outcome could have been very different.

That battle taught Garoth the sheer power of time.

A Golden Dragon that masters time potency to reach Immortal would become Bernardo’s strongest.

An Immortal Golden Dragon with time potency would find almost no rival in the Material Plane.

But if that Golden Dragon failed to breakthrough long ago, then perhaps his chance was lost.

As Hitherfell said, time potency cannot be obtained by force; it needs special circumstances or innate gift.

Now Hitherfell turned to Garoth and spoke again.

“I find the Aola Kingdom intriguing.”

“Bring me to take a look; we can talk along the way. I have lived long—I might answer some of your questions.”

Garoth lowered his brow slightly.

“Agreed.”

“But a rule: on my territory do not act wantonly. If you obey, I will show you any part of the Aola Kingdom.”

His tone was calm but non-negotiable.

“Rest assured, I may need favors from you later; for now I won’t provoke you.”

Hitherfell smiled playfully.

Garoth read her dragon heart—she too was an adept at disguise.

Young Hitherfell had been more deceitful than any green dragon; now as a Mandate she no longer disguised herself. From brief interaction and her deeds, Hitherfell deduced Garoth’s temperament: not the capricious malice of ordinary evil dragons, and not one who yields to force.

Threats and pressure would fail; equal communication would bear better fruit.

Garoth said no more and turned to fly.

Snow swirled as the Dragon of Day followed. Their silhouettes drifted away from the convergence lands into the storms.