The sun rose from the east, and a new day began.
The weather still had that sweet spring feel to it—fresh, breezy, with the kind of scent that said "plant now, harvest before winter hits hard."
Axel and his son Zayden, both just regular folks from Drakholme, were out in the Silvaran Fields, tending to their flock of sheep like they did most days.
Zayden was sitting under a tree with his legs crossed, nose buried deep in a thick history book, while Axel stood nearby, always alert—his eyes not on the sheep, but scanning the skies for dragons.
Everything was peaceful.
The rain had started to fall gently, more like a mist than a storm, and the way the droplets kissed the blooming wildflowers and freshly budded trees gave the whole landscape this soft, dreamy glow.
But then…
Then he came.
Dravakos descended from the mountain peak like a moving storm. His massive wings blocked out the sun and cast a long, terrifying shadow across the field.
The area where Axel and Zayden stood went from light to dark in a heartbeat, the entire field drowning in his enormous silhouette.
Then came the roar.
A guttural, ancient scream that shook the earth beneath their feet.
In seconds, the beast dove and snapped up half of Axel's sheep in one ferocious, flaming gulp.
Axel grabbed Zayden and didn't even look back. They just ran—ran straight to Tryon's Castle, hoping, praying that Drakholme's ruler might have the power to help them.
⸻
"My lord," Axel said, panting and heartbroken, standing in front of the throne with his son behind him. "I'm just a single father, trying my best to raise my boy with what little I can earn… but your dragon swallowed everything I had."
His voice cracked, filled with pain and frustration.
Tryon, sitting upright with a calm expression, leaned forward a bit. A faint smile curved his lips as he answered, "Axel… I'm truly sorry for what happened. I'll make it up to you. I'll give you back double the number of sheep you lost."
Axel's eyes widened with surprise, and after a moment, he bowed low. "Thank you, my lord." Then he turned and quietly exited the castle with Zayden.
Tryon leaned back in his seat, looking slightly disturbed now. He pressed a hand against his forehead and mumbled to himself,
"Maybe… maybe this is why they hunted the dragons to extinction back in the old days…"
⸻
Just then, Klyne barged into the throne room, holding a dusty parchment scroll in one hand and grinning from ear to ear.
"My lord!" he called out, voice echoing off the stone walls. "Another seventy kilos of gold have been extracted! Actually, my math might be off—we might be looking at even more!"
One of the royal advisors, who had been standing quietly in the room, stepped forward and asked, "My lord, don't you think it might be wiser to use that gold to prepare for the coming winter?"
"Indeed," added another. "The northern kingdoms are warning of a very harsh winter—some say it could last two whole years."
Tryon stayed silent for a moment, thinking. Then he turned toward Klyne.
"Klyne says we've got seventy kilos already, and more coming. When the numbers are higher, we'll start stocking food. But for now, we need this investment to keep the mines running."
Then he turned to a smaller figure near the window. "Kaelric, write letters to any nations you think might be open to a barter deal. Goods for gold."
Kaelric nodded sharply.
He wasn't just some diplomat—he was Tryon's spy chief, and he knew more about the political state of the world than most kings did.
⸻
Kaelric was a dwarf, barely 135 centimeters tall, with a long scar that ran down the left side of his face like a crack in old stone.
He was quiet, methodical, always thinking two steps ahead.
He never spoke without weighing every word, and he never acted before he'd analyzed all outcomes.
Loyal. Smart. Dangerous in the right ways.
"Understood, my lord," Kaelric said and gave a sharp nod before walking off with purpose.
⸻
Meanwhile, deep in the Dermvok mines, workers were sweating through their shirts as they dug, chipped, and hauled gold from the earth.
Klyne was there, of course—buzzing like a kid in a candy shop every time he saw a new nugget of gold come up from the ground.
The piles were growing. Fast.
Each nation across the continent had once been known for something before the Age of Ruin—Drakholme for its mighty dragons and chosen warriors…
…Rhyzmeron, though, had been a land of forbidden sorcery and gates to other realms.
Rhyzmeron was huge—rich soil, lush forests—but poor in trade and money.
Tucked away in the southwest, it was often forgotten by the more powerful northern empires.
Still, its king, Revalic, was a kind and patient man, and because of the kingdom's constant need for gold, he was more than willing to trade just about anything in exchange.
After weeks of subtle research, Kaelric uncovered everything:
Rhyzmeron needed four times as much wheat, barley, fruits, and meats—including sheep and rabbit—as they currently had.
And just like always… Syroc had already sniffed the situation out. That snake always had a way of being one step ahead.
Apparently, Syroc was planning to secure his own winter supplies from Rhyzmeron.
So Kaelric had to act fast.
⸻
He rushed back to the main hall of Tryon's castle. The throne loomed at the end, with Tryon sitting upright, fingers steepled.
Kaelric walked in, dropped to one knee in respect, and said, "My lord, I found a kingdom desperate for gold and rich in food. There's just one problem…"
Tryon's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"That bastard Syroc's planning to get his supplies from the same place this year," Kaelric said, his voice low but urgent. "We've gotta move fast, my lord, or he's gonna beat us to it."
"Sh*t…" Tryon muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. The news hit like a punch to the gut.
"Someone go get Klyne," he ordered sharply. "I want to know exactly how much gold we've collected."
Two guards nodded and immediately rushed out of the throne room, their boots echoing against the stone floor as they sprinted down the hallway in search of Klyne.
Moments later, Klyne walked in, still wiping dirt off his gloves, clearly pulled straight from the mines.
"Yes, my lord? Something happen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the urgency in the air.
Tryon didn't waste a second.
"How's the mine looking, Klyne?"
Klyne exhaled, brushing his hands together, the tension in the room pressing on him now.
"I've got two pieces of news, my lord," he said, straightening up. "One good… and one bad."
He paused for a second, just enough to let the weight of his words settle.
Tryon leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "Alright. Start with the good."