The air was thick with tension in the Dragon Cadet Camp.
Rumors had spread like wildfire—there was to be an official campaign against the Magic Beasts of F'ederan. Every cadet, from the youngest novice to the seasoned seniors, was abuzz with talk of the upcoming war.
Weapons were sharpened, strategies discussed, and alliances solidified.
Neron sat in the corner of the mess hall, his gaze fixed on the briefing tent where the senior commanders had gathered. Despite days of integrating into the camp and earning his place as its leader, he still felt a gnawing unease.
"Why now?" he muttered, swirling a bowl of steaming stew without taking a bite.
"Leader, the briefing is about to begin."
A junior cadet's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He nodded and stood, his movements deliberate. His time among the Dragons had taught him much—not just about combat, but about their pride, their culture, and their unwavering sense of hierarchy.
