Southern Territories of the Draconoids
Citadel of the Ulman Clan — Tower of Light
Through the long corridors of the manor, a tall, broad-shouldered young man walked at an unhurried pace.
The dim light of the wall crystals slid across the dark fabric of his clothing, caught on the silver embroidery, and reflected in his copper-colored eyes. His footsteps were quiet—almost soundless for someone of his size. Only occasionally did the heavy hem of his coat brush against the perfectly polished stone.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run a hand through it only a few minutes ago, and his skin was a shade darker than most draconoids of the southern territories. His face remained calm and almost cold, as though he had long forgotten how to show fatigue or irritation.
At first glance, Kael would not have stood out from an ordinary human.
Like most draconoids, he retained a fully human form. No horns, no scales, no dragon-like eyes—only a faint, almost imperceptible sense of power that could be felt in his posture, gaze, and overly controlled movements.
He wore the uniform of a servant of House Ulman—strict, expensive, and flawlessly neat.
A long black coat fit him perfectly, emphasizing his strong physique and straight posture. A high collar covered his neck almost to the chin, while silver embroidery along the chest and cuffs shimmered faintly in the crystal light. The pattern resembled dragon scales, through which thin lines of light flowed—a symbol of the Tower of Light and the Ulman clan itself.
Under the coat, a white shirt with a stiff collar could be seen. Too clean for someone who constantly accompanied clan heirs, attended training sessions, trials, and political meetings.
Dark gloves tightly covered his hands, hiding old burns on his fingers and palms.
This was Kael Ulmeyn.
He was born into a family that served the Ulman clan and had been raised from early childhood to become a servant of the house. He was taught to speak correctly, stand correctly, look heirs in the eyes correctly—and never, under any circumstances, show his own emotions.
The surname Ulmeyn was not just an honor.
For it, many draconoid families served the clan for decades, hoping that at least their children would be allowed to carry the name.
Ulmeyn meant loyalty, recognition, and special status.
Even the heads of minor houses had no right to give orders to a bearer of this surname. The Ulmeyn obeyed only those who carried the blood of Ulman.
Along the way, Kael encountered servants.
They stopped, bowed their heads, and followed him with respectful gazes. Some tried to appear sincere, others merely cautious.
Kael did not look at them.
He knew too well what lay behind those bows.
This manor was a place of exile. Here were sent those who were inconvenient, guilty, or simply unnecessary. There were almost no guards, no clan meetings, no important decisions discussed here.
The manor was located on the eighth level of the Tower of Light—one floor below the main Ulman residence.
Close enough to power to remember it.
And far enough to understand one's place.
Tall windows along the corridors revealed the inner cities of the citadel.
The Tower of Light was not a single tower in the human sense. It was an entire vertical world—a massive structure of physical light stretching far into the clouds.
Inside it were streets, bridges, gardens, markets, training arenas, and hundreds of residential districts. Between floors moved light platforms, and in the center of each section rose giant pillars of physical light.
Even now, early in the morning, the cities inside the Tower were already alive.
Along the wide streets moved streams of draconoids and servants. In the distance, the sound of forges could be heard. Cargo platforms floated above the bridges, and transport lines shimmered between towers.
After several minutes, Kael stopped in front of a tall door made of black wood.
On its surface, dragon eyes were carved in silver—the symbol of the clan leader's family.
Kael quietly opened the door and stepped inside.
The room greeted him with twilight and silence.
Heavy curtains blocked the morning light, and the air still held the warmth of night and a faint scent of incense. Somewhere, a heating crystal quietly crackled.
Kael approached the window and gently pulled the curtains apart.
The room was instantly filled with the silver-golden glow of the Tower of Light.
The light slid across the floor, the furniture, and stopped on the bed.
A girl lay there.
By draconoid standards, Seraina looked too fragile. Her long dark hair spilled across the pillow, shimmering silver under the Tower's light. Her pale skin looked almost porcelain, and her breathing remained slow and even.
This was Seraina Ulman—the youngest daughter of the clan leader.
Because of her weak Gift, she was almost ignored by her own brothers. In a clan where strength defined a person's value, weakness was worse than disgrace.
If not for the clan leader's love for his youngest daughter, she would have long been discarded or married off for political alliance.
Instead, Seraina was simply removed from the center of power.
Exiled here.
To the manor of the forgotten.
A few moments later, the light made her frown.
She slowly opened her eyes—dark amber, almost honey-colored in the Tower's glow.
For a few seconds, Seraina simply stared at the ceiling, as if gathering strength for the new day.
Then she looked at Kael.
"Good morning, Kael," she said softly, still drowsy.
"Good morning, my lady," he replied calmly, slightly bowing his head.
Seraina slowly sat up.
The thin fabric of her night clothes slid across her shoulders as she moved to the dresser. She sat in front of the mirror, closing her eyes tiredly.
Kael stood behind her and took a silver comb.
He carefully ran it through Seraina's long hair.
Dark strands slipped softly between his fingers.
"What's for breakfast?" she asked, still sleepy.
"Fried mountain bird with smoky spices. Bread from the upper ovens. Tea from lightleaf," Kael replied evenly. "And cream with southern honey. The cook is likely trying to lift your mood before the trial."
At the word "trial," silence briefly filled the room.
Seraina averted her gaze slightly.
"Will Father come?"
Kael paused briefly.
"He intended to. But due to the conflict between Balanar and the Corvein clan, he was forced to urgently meet their leader."
Seraina's expression barely changed.
Only her fingers tightened slightly on the fabric of her dress.
"I see…"
There was still a faint sadness in her voice.
Kael continued slowly combing her hair.
He did not try to comfort her.
Servants do not comfort heirs.
Even if they have known them for too long.
When Kael finished, he gently released the last strands of her hair. They fell onto her shoulders like a silver wave, reflecting the Tower's light.
For a few seconds, the room remained in its usual morning silence.
Seraina looked at her reflection but seemed not to see it. Her gaze was distant and tired.
Today was the trial.
Even in the Ulman clan, where strength was considered natural, trials were feared—especially by those with weak Gifts.
Kael stepped back slightly.
"Breakfast is ready, my lady."
Seraina exhaled quietly and stood up.
"Let's go."
They left the room and headed toward the dining hall.
The corridors of the manor were slowly coming to life. Servants moved faster than usual, trying not to make noise. Some carried trays of food, others replaced light crystals in wall sconces, and some simply hurried out of Kael and Seraina's path.
The manor remained quiet, but it was a tense silence.
Everyone knew about the trial today.
When they entered the dining hall, four servants were already waiting by the long wooden table. Huge windows along the wall were open, letting in cool morning air and distant sounds of the Tower's inner city.
Seraina took her seat at the head of the table.
Kael stood behind her chair as usual.
The other servants immediately lowered their gaze.
At that moment, the doors opened again.
Two more servants entered, pushing a heavy serving cart.
The room was instantly filled with the rich aroma of fried meat and smoky spices.
On large silver plates lay a mountain bird with a dark crispy crust. Heat still rose from the meat, and thin streaks of fat crackled softly on the skin.
Beside it was bread from the upper ovens—round, warm, with a thin golden crust. It smelled of smoke, hot stone, and fresh dough.
Last, a servant placed a tall cup of lightleaf tea in front of Seraina.
The silvery drink glowed faintly in the dim dining hall.
A thin steam rose from it with the scent of herbs, wet stone, and cool air after rain.
Kael stepped forward and placed the plate of bird in front of Seraina.
"Enjoy your meal, my lady."
Seraina gave a faint nod.
She took a knife and carefully cut through the crispy skin.
A soft crack immediately filled the silence.
A thick aroma of heat, spices, and hot oil escaped the meat.
She cut off a small piece and brought it to her mouth.
The skin crackled pleasantly between her teeth.
First came the taste of smoke.
Then the burning sharpness of southern spices.
And finally, the rich flavor of the meat itself—dense, juicy, and unusually hot, as if it still carried the warmth of the southern cliffs even after cooking.
She chewed slowly.
Warmth spread through her body, slightly driving away morning fatigue.
Kael watched her quietly.
He had long learned to notice such things.
Seraina was eating more slowly than usual today.
She was nervous.
Even if she tried not to show it.
She reached for the lightleaf tea.
The thin silver steam touched her face.
She took a small sip.
The tea was almost scalding—just as draconoids preferred. Its flavor was soft and herbal, but afterward a steady warmth remained in the chest.
Seraina closed her eyes for a few seconds.
Then she reached for the bread.
The crust cracked softly in her fingers.
Inside, it was soft and dense, smelling of smoke, hot stone from the Tower of Light, and something slightly sweet.
She dipped it into the dark sauce and took a bite.
Despite the taste of food, tension did not disappear.
It lingered in the air.
Servants moved more quietly than usual.
No one spoke.
Even the sound of dishes seemed too loud.
When the main dish was finished, Kael handed Seraina a small bowl of cream made from southern milk and amber honey.
She scooped some with a silver spoon.
The cream was cool and surprisingly delicate.
It melted on her tongue, leaving a creamy sweetness and the rich taste of southern honey.
After the smoky, spicy bird, the sweetness felt especially bright.
She finished the cream in silence.
When breakfast ended, servants immediately began clearing the table.
Kael leaned slightly toward Seraina.
"It is time to prepare, my lady."
She nodded and stood up.
Together they returned to her room.
While attendants prepared her clothing, Seraina stood by the window, silently watching the inner city of the Tower of Light.
From here, one could see light bridges, moving platforms, and endless streams of draconoids.
High above, transport structures slowly passed, leaving thin trails of light behind.
The Tower was alive.
And it did not care whether one weak heir would survive today's trial.
After some time, the attendants helped Seraina change.
She wore a dark outfit of House Ulman, created specifically for clan heirs.
The dense fabric fit loosely enough not to restrict movement, yet still emphasized her slender figure.
The main color was deep black with a faint silver sheen, as if the fabric had absorbed the Tower's light.
A short cloak was fastened on one shoulder with a silver clasp shaped like a dragon's eye. It moved gently behind her like a folded wing.
A high collar almost completely covered her neck.
On the narrow sleeves, silver embroidery ran in intertwined lines of light and dragon scales.
At her waist hung the heir's seal and a small knife.
High boots of soft dark leather reached almost to her knees and were resistant to heat and damage.
When Seraina stepped out of the room, Kael was already waiting in the corridor.
Beside him stood two more servants sent by the Ulman family for escort.
Kael held one servant's hand, and that servant held the other, forming a chain for the transition.
Seraina paused briefly in front of them.
Her gaze lingered on Kael's hands.
Calm. Steady. Reliable.
"Are you ready, my lady?" he asked quietly.
Seraina was silent for a few seconds.
Then she slowly nodded and took Kael's hand.
At that moment, the world trembled.
The air grew heavier.
The light in the corridor dimmed.
And then, in the silence, a foreign voice sounded:
"Prove that you are worthy of power."