There were four human kingdoms, each conspiring against the other, looking for a moment to strike.

There were four kings, and those kings were the ones who had the most power in the human domain.

... Or so normal people believed.

What people didn't know was that there were people who could change the kingdoms with a snap.

They could change the kings, and no one would even bat an eye.

However, they never revealed their existence to the public because that was how it had always been.

Now, a question would arise: Where did they live?

...........................

Far above the clouds—

Above storms and above the range, anyone could fly up to—

A city floated. Invisible to the naked eye, but there, like a monument of ancient times.

It wasn't suspended by chains or magic circles visible to the eye, but by laws rewritten long ago—laws that bent reality to allow such a place to exist.

Its streets were carved from white stone and star-metal, its towers spiraled like spears aimed at the heavens, and its very air pressed upon the soul.

Here, everyone was powerful.

Not talented.

Not promising.

Powerful.

The weakest person walking these streets could flatten cities.

This was Astraea, the floating city where only those who had reached S-rank or higher were permitted to reside.

A place of peace.

A place of restraint.

A place where power was shackled by law.

At its center stood a castle—vast, ancient, and utterly silent.

And inside one of its deepest chambers—

An old man slept.

The chamber he napped in was dim, lit only by floating sigils embedded in the walls.

The old man reclined in a wide chair of rune-carved obsidian, his long, white beard resting against his chest, breath slow and steady.

He was thin.

Fragile-looking.

And responsible for something that had not been activated in over a hundred years.

Then—

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—

A shrill, piercing alarm tore through the chamber.

The old man flinched violently.

His eyes snapped open.

"—Hrk—!" He jolted upright, beard swaying. "Who—Who dares—?!"

The alarm continued.

Unbroken.

Relentless.

His brow furrowed deeply.

"…Which idiot is playing a prank this time?" He groaned, rubbing his temple.

It had been more than three times this month that his juniors had played this type of prank on him.

"I've told those brats—this system isn't a toy," growling, he finally opened his eyes. "Last time it was—"

He paused mid-sentence.

Because the runes on the wall were glowing.

Not playful blue.

Not warning amber.

But deep crimson.

His breath caught.

Slowly, shakily, he turned toward the massive crystal array hovering in the air before him.

Numbers scrolled.

Coordinates locked.

And at the center—

POWER LEVEL: ABOVE S-RANK—CONFIRMED

The old man's blood went cold.

"…No."

His hands trembled.

"That alarm… hasn't rung since that time."

He staggered to his feet, eyes wide.

The device he watched over existed for one reason: To ensure that no one above S-rank engaged in open combat without sanction.

Because such battles didn't end wars.

They erased regions.

Everyone who reached higher than S-rank—or was predicted to surpass the S-rank soon—was either registered here… or watched.

If the alarm rang, there were only two possibilities.

A rogue ranker with the power of SS-rank or higher had emerged.

Or—

Something, or someone from another domain, had crossed a line.

Demihumans.

Demons.

Or maybe someone from the mystic domain.

And if it was the latter—

It meant the old laws, the ones written when dragons ruled the sky, were being tested.

The old man didn't hesitate.

With a flash, he moved, his speed so fast that normal people wouldn't even be able to see him.

...........................

In another tower of the castle, a man sat behind a vast desk of silver-black stone.

Late thirties.

Dark hair tied back.

Eyes sharp enough to cut steel.

He was reading reports—calm, focused—when his chamber's door was knocked.

He frowned, as no one disturbed him at this hour, but he still voiced out, "Come in."

The old man rushed in, breathless.

"Supreme Valerius," he gasped. "The alarm—"

Valerius's eyes sharpened instantly.

"…It rang?"

"Yes."

Silence fell.

Then Valerius stood.

"Pinpoint the location," he said calmly. "Bring the data to the meeting room."

The old man nodded rapidly and turned to leave.

And while he did that—

Click.

Valerius pressed a button on his desk.

Across the floating city—

Eight separate chambers lit up with the same crimson alarm, the meaning of this light known to all those who saw it.

Groans echoed.

Curses followed.

One woke from meditation, eyes glowing gold.

One rose from a bed of silk, annoyed but alert.

One laughed softly, closing a book mid-page.

One sighed, standing on a balcony overlooking the clouds.

One slammed a mug down. "You'd better be worth it."

One cracked his neck.

One closed her eyes, already sensing something wrong.

And one—older than the rest—merely opened his eyes.

But every one of them moved.

Because meetings like this were never called—

Unless something that needed all of their attention had occurred.

And with how they had seen the dark crimson light, they knew that this matter needed their attention, so all eight vanished.

...........................

The meeting room was circular, carved from a single piece of starstone.

Eight thrones stood evenly spaced.

Within a minute—

They were filled.

Four looked young—early twenties at most—faces unlined, expressions sharp.

Four looked older.

One appeared in his late thirties—Valerius.

One in his forties, scarred and broad.

One in his fifties, calm and unreadable.

And one—

An old man.

Sixty at least.

White hair.

Eyes heavy with authority.

The most respected among them.

Supreme Caelum.

"So," said one of the younger ones, leaning back lazily. "Which idiot broke the peace?"

Another scoffed. "Better not be a demihuman."

Valerius folded his arms. "If it is, it won't stay one for long."

Before more could be said—

The room went quiet.

They all felt it.

A presence approaching.

The doors opened.

The old man from the alarm room entered, bowing deeply.

"Greetings, Supremes."

"Speak," Caelum said.

The old man waved his hand, projecting a holographic map before them.

Red light pulsed.

Coordinates locked.

"The signal was detected here," he said.

The room stilled.

Recognition hit them all at once.

"…Rugarda Forest," someone muttered.

Valerius frowned. "A neutral zone."

"And within detection range of the demihuman domain," another added.

Caelum's eyes narrowed. "Which means they felt it too."

The old man, on the other hand, bowed again. "Excuse me, my lords."

He knew that he wasn't needed anymore, so he left, moving at the fastest speed possible.

After his departure, silence hung heavy.

Then—

"We need to move," Valerius said.

"Fast," the scarred man added. "Before the other side does."

A younger Supreme smiled thinly. "If this is a rogue…"

"…We recruit or erase," Caelum finished.

"And if it's not human?" another asked quietly.

Caelum leaned back.

Then—

"We prepare for negotiations," he said gravely. "Or war."

Outside the meeting room, the floating city shifted.

Because far below—

In a forest with a part of it erased—

A dragon had breathed.

And the world had no other choice but to notice his presence finally.

...........................

Back in Kael's village, some time had passed.

Not much, but enough.

Enough for Kael to explain.

Enough for breathing to return to the town.

Enough for fear to stop screaming and start whispering.

By the time silence truly reclaimed the square, Kael's massive dragon body no longer looked like it had crawled out of an apocalypse.

Shattered bones had sealed. The torn muscle had woven itself whole. Scales—still incomplete in places—were regrowing in slow, molten patterns, faintly glowing as mana flowed through them.

He was still healing.

But he was stable.

Close enough.

The invisible pressure around him eased, and the telekinetic barrier that kept everyone at bay dissolved.

Evethra didn't hesitate.

She rushed forward, stopping only a few steps away, hands clenched tightly at her chest, red eyes scanning him from horn to claw.

Alenia followed more carefully, analytical gaze sharp despite lingering shock. Selene inched behind her, still pale. Darian stood straight, jaw tight, relief and worry warring on his face.

Vaelen… wisely stayed back.

"So," Alenia said quietly, breaking the heavy air, "you tested your breath… and nearly erased a region."

Kael's golden eyes softened. "That's the short version."

Evethra exhaled shakily. "You never do things by halves."

"That's unfair," Kael replied lazily. "I did stop halfway."

No one laughed.

From the edge of the square came raised voices—hunters and fighters organizing patrols, calming civilians, and keeping panic from igniting again.

The strong were doing what they could because the weak couldn't even process what they'd survived.

Then—

A familiar presence pushed through the crowd.

"Kael."

Heads turned.

Lyra strode forward, boots scuffed, hair wild, and eyes sharp and burning with restrained emotion. She took in the ruined sky, the lingering heat, the dragon before her—

And clicked her tongue.

"…I leave you alone for one evening."

Her gaze snapped back to Kael. "What happened?"

Before he could answer, Evethra spoke, voice tight.

"My lord… please. Change back."

Lyra blinked. "Huh?"

"You've healed enough," Evethra continued, eyes never leaving Kael. "And this form… makes it hard for me to hold you."

Darian nodded once. Firm. Silent agreement.

Kael looked at them.

Then sighed.

"Alright."

Before transforming, he lifted one massive claw—and gently set something down on the stone.

A man.

Human.

Bound in scorched restraints, trembling violently despite being unconscious, breath shallow, face twisted in terror even in sleep.

Lyra stiffened. "That's—"

"One of the assassins," Kael said calmly. "Only survivor."

Evethra's eyes narrowed.

Alenia's expression hardened.

Darian's aura sharpened like a blade.

Kael smiled faintly. "Couldn't let all my problems evaporate."

Then light rippled.

Scales folded inward. Wings dissolved into mana. The towering dragon shrank, compressed, reshaped—

Until Kael stood there again.

Human.

Still faintly steaming.

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