Albion Looked at his Father, and as his Father looked back at him, there was a moment of silence between the father and son; neither knew what to say, as the first to speak was Albion.
"So, um, Father, may I ask why you summoned me". Albion Hoped that sounded respectful and kid-like enough.
Albion the Second cleared his throat his throat as he looked at his son. "Ah yes, since you have reached the Age of 5, which is the rightful age for a Dragons wing to be fully Mature".
Albion looked at his wings as he looked at his Father. "Maybe you explain".
Spellcode then spoke. "What he means Young Prince, is when a Dragon Is Hatched from the eggs, they Wings are hollow and weak, the wings then need a few years before they are properly mature, which takes a year, then a few more from the wings to grow to the size to support a young dragons body, which then allows the Dragon to fly, which happens in the Age of 5, which when the Adult Dragons teach reb Younger Generation to fly and move in the air".
Albion eyes light up as he speaks. "That is Wonderful (Cool), let's get Started".
Albion the Second let out a deep, hearty chuckle. "Eager as always, my son. But before we begin, there are traditions to uphold."
Albion tilted his head. "Traditions?"
Focalor stepped forward from behind the throne, her eyes warm and encouraging. "Your first flight is a rite of passage, Albion. A moment where your wings are recognized by the sky, and your name echoes through the wind."
Albion's eyes sparkled, even if he didn't fully understand what that meant. "Do I get a cool title or something?"
Spellcode chuckled. "Only if you don't crash on your first try."
Chame, who had been standing quietly at the side, looked up from her notebook. "Young Master will do just fine."
Focalor smiled and knelt beside Albion, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't be afraid. Flying is part of you—it's in your blood, in your bones. All dragons take to the sky when the time is right."
Albion looked determined. "Then I'm ready."
They stepped out to the Cliff of Soaring Flame, a high perch on the edge of the Dragon Nation's capital, where all young dragons were first taught the ways of the sky.
Several other young dragons were already present, some nervously flexing their wings, others flapping eagerly.
Spellcode pointed to the edge. "This is where it starts. You jump, you fly—or you fall and get caught by the wind barriers below."
Albion blinked. "Wait, what barriers?"
Albion the Second laughed. "We're not savages, son. The barriers will catch you if you fall… but that doesn't mean you won't feel the fall."
Gulping, Albion stepped forward to the edge.
He took a deep breath, spread his wings—shimmering silver and lined with streaks of royal blue—and stared at the sky.
Albion whispered to himself, "Let's see if I can fly… or if gravity's gonna win."
He jumped.
Chame and Tillroo looked at each other, their eyes filled with determination. Behind them, their mothers/Sister the Chamber DragonMaid and the Kitchen DragonMaid—gave them small, approving nods. No words were needed. The message was clear:
Follow your master.
The two girls spread their wings.
Chame's wings unfurled first—sleek, feathery, and tinted with silver and emerald, giving her more the air of a griffon than a traditional dragon. Beside her, Tillroo let out a giggle and flexed her wings—broad, red with streaks of deep blue running like veins through the thin membrane. Hers were unmistakably draconic.
"Let's go," Chame said, and they both leapt off the cliff.
Meanwhile, Albion was not having a good time.
He flapped once—too hard—his body jerked left.
He flapped again—too soft—and dipped straight down.
He was tumbling through the air like a confused chicken thrown into a tornado.
In his mind, flashes of anime heroes soared across the sky—Goku flying with his aura, Asta riding anti-magic swords, Shoto Todoroki gliding with ice…
Albion screamed. "Where's my plot armor when I need it?!"
He desperately flared his wings again, trying to "feel the wind" like the fantasy novels always said.
"How do these things even work?!"
As he spiralled lower, a gust of wind shot past him—and a hand grabbed his arm.
Chame hovered beside him, straining slightly but keeping pace. "Young Master! You have to glide, not flap like a deranged duck!"
"I don't know what I'm doing!" Albion shouted as his legs flailed in the air.
Then another voice came—this time from below.
"Push forward with your chest and angle your wings!" Tillroo zoomed up like a red blur, stabilizing herself with the elegance of someone born to fly.
Albion tried to do what she said. It took a few seconds, a few flails, and a faceful of wind—but eventually, his wings caught the current.
His descent slowed.
Then—
He was gliding.
Not fast. Not elegant.
But flying.
Albion blinked, wide-eyed. "I'm… I'm doing it?"
Chame grinned. "Barely."
Tillroo gave a thumbs up mid-air. "Now let's try to go up!"
Albion: "Wait, what—?"
The two DragonMaids shot up gracefully, dancing through the clouds like they were born in the sky—because they were.
Albion, on the other hand, tried to follow.
He leaned forward, flapped hard, tried to gain altitude—and immediately rammed his face into a sharp rock spike sticking out from the cliff wall.
THUNK.
He froze for a second, eyes wide with betrayal.
"…Why is it always a wall…" he muttered, his face sliding down the rock slowly before gravity took over.
Then—whistle-whoosh—
He plummeted like a cartoon character off a mountain cliff, arms and legs flailing in every direction.
"AAAAAAAAA—"
With a gentle pulse, a wind barrier slowed his descent, like a magical trampoline catching him mid-fall. He bounced once, twice—and flopped onto the ground in a dazed heap.
Chame and Tillroo landed beside him, barely holding back their giggles. The moment they saw his face—comically smushed, dirt on his cheeks, a little rock still stuck in his hair—they couldn't hold it in anymore.
They burst out laughing.
Chame: "Are you okay, Young Master?"
Tillroo: "You looked like a flying potato!"
Albion groaned, his soul halfway out of his body. "Am I even the main character…?"
He sighed as he lay on the ground, wings twitching.
"I swear this is not how Luffy or Kirito learned to fly."
Albion sat up with a groan, dusting himself off as Chame plucked the tiny rock from his hair.
"You know, Young Master," Chame said, still giggling, "maybe we should try again… from a lower height?"
Tillroo nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Like from the training hill! That's where we started learning!"
Albion sighed, defeated but not broken. "Fine… Training Hill it is."
They moved to a grassy hill with a gentle slope. It wasn't too high—perfect for rookies who didn't want to crack their horns or break their pride.
Spellcode arrived a few minutes later, floating on a lazy wind gust like some wizard from a kid's storybook. He held a scroll in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.
"Progress?" he asked.
Albion scowled. "Let's just say… the wall won."
Spellcode chuckled. "Even the greatest dragons once fell face-first. It is how you rise that matters."
Albion muttered, "Easy for you to say, old man… you probably learned to fly before you learned to crawl."
Taking a deep breath, he opened his wings again.
This time, he followed the rhythm Chame showed him—lift, pulse, spread. The wind swirled beneath his wings like it was ready to catch him.
He leapt forward—
And actually glided.
Only a few seconds. But it was real. He stayed in the air just long enough to clear the slope and land on his feet, tumbling once on the grass.
He looked up. "Did I…?"
Chame clapped. "You did it!"
Tillroo jumped in place, wings fluttering. "You glided! You actually glided!"
Spellcode nodded sagely. "And thus begins the journey. Tomorrow—we teach you how to soar."
Albion grinned, for the first time feeling something like pride. Not inherited pride, not royal pride—but his own.
He looked up at the sky, still bruised and tired, but hopeful.
"I'll be flying for real soon."
Then he turned to the girls and added with a cocky smirk, "Next time, I'll race you."
At the top of the cliffs overlooking the training grounds, a group of regal dragons stood gathered. Some in their full draconic forms, others in humanoid shapes with wings neatly folded behind them. Parents, mentors, older siblings—watching the next generation take their first flight.
Among them stood Albion the Second, his arms crossed, eyes focused on the tiny figure of his son tumbling down the training hill.
He didn't look disappointed. In fact, he smiled—warm, yet proud.
"He is learning," he said aloud, loud enough for those around to hear. "Well… maybe not as smoothly as we thought, but still."
A few of the older dragons chuckled in amusement. One of them, a silver-scaled matron with a pearl-studded staff, replied, "At least he didn't crash into the tree like your cousin did."
Another muttered, "Better a rock than a river."
Albion the Second chuckled under his breath. "He has his mother's stubbornness."
Focalor, standing beside him, narrowed her eyes. "And your recklessness. It's a dangerous mix."
"Dangerous," Albion the Second said with a faint smirk, "but full of potential."
They all looked down as Albion the Young stood up again, wings flared and pride gleaming in his eyes. Not perfection. But persistence.
Focalor folded her arms, her expression softening. "The skies will be his. In time."
Back with the kids.
As the maids finished brushing dust off his clothes, Albion laughed, the sting of his crash already forgotten. Chame and Tillroo giggled too, their wings flapping with excitement.
But then Albion's eyes caught movement.
Two groups of kids, maybe around his age or slightly older, stood a distance away. They weren't playing. They just stare at each other. One group had sleek white dragon wings, streaked with elegant blue markings. The other, more rugged, had black dragon wings etched with crimson lines.
They stood apart. Silent. A noticeable line of tension hung between them like an invisible barrier.
Albion tilted his head and looked at Spellcode. "Master, why are those two groups of kids just looking at each other?"
He already had a feeling—he'd played Yu-Gi-Oh! in his past life, after all. But he wanted confirmation.
Spellcode narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. He muttered a few runes and scanned the aura around the kids. His expression flattened with understanding.
"That's because…" he began, tone growing a bit more serious, "the children with white-blue wings are from the Blue-Eyes White Dragon Faction, and the ones with black-red wings belong to the Red-Eyes Black Dragon Faction."
Albion blinked. "They have factions?"
Spellcode nodded. "Two of the oldest and most competitive lineages in Dragon history. They've had disagreements stretching back for centuries… since the time of the Dragon Lords. The Blue Eyes prize power and legacy. The Red Eyes value growth and evolution."
He adjusted his glasses. "They don't hate each other… but let's say they don't exactly exchange lunch invitations."
Albion looked back at them. One of the kids from each side flared their wings slightly as if sizing each other up. The tension wasn't hostile… yet. But it was there.
He squinted, whispering to himself, "Why does this feel like a school rivalry anime about to go off the rails?"
Chame leaned in, confused. "Anime?"
Albion quickly waved it off. "Nothing. Never mind."
Tillroo tilted her head. "Should we… go say hi?"
Albion paused. He could leave it alone. Or… maybe this was his chance.
A chance to change something—maybe even unify the factions.
He straightened his back.
"…Let's go say hi."
Albion flapped his wings—still a little wobbly but steadier now—and marched toward the two groups. Chame and Tillroo followed, slightly nervous but trusting their Young Master's instincts.
The moment Albion stepped into the invisible divide between the factions, all eyes turned toward him.
One of the Blue-Eyes kids, a tall boy with pristine white horns and a proud stance, narrowed his glowing blue eyes. "Who are you?"
Before Albion could answer, a Red-Eyes girl with wild black hair and fierce red irises stepped forward. "Hey, White Wings, don't go barking just because someone new showed up."
Blue-Eyes Boy flared his wings. "I'm not barking. I'm just asking."
Albion raised his hands before either side escalated. "Whoa, easy there. I'm not here to pick sides. I just wanted to talk."
The tension didn't drop immediately, but it eased enough for Albion to continue.
"I'm Albion. Son of Albion the Second," he added. That got their attention. Several kids whispered among themselves.
"The prince?" one Red-Eyes whispered.
Chame stepped forward, puffing her chest a little. "Yes, and he's going to be the best dragon flier of our generation."
Albion coughed. "W-Well, let's not rush that part…"
The Red-Eyes girl raised an eyebrow. "So what, are you trying to play diplomat?"
"I just noticed something," Albion said. "You're all dragons. You're all five. You could be friends… or at least, you could race."
That caught their attention.
"Race?" Blue-Eyes Boy asked, interested now.
"Yeah!" Albion grinned. "Set a course. First team to the peak and back wins. Losers owe the winners… I dunno, a round of gemstone candy?"
The two groups exchanged glances. The rivalry was real—but so was the competitive fire.
"…Fine," said the Red-Eyes girl. "I'm in. Name's Scarla."
"Count me in too," said the Blue-Eyes boy. "I'm Asterion."
Albion beamed. "Great! Then let's fly."
Spellcode and the DragonMaid caretakers watched from a distance. Chamber DragonMaid chuckled. "He's already shifting the balance."
Spellcode smiled. "It begins, doesn't it? The child of prophecy… and his first step to unifying dragons… starts with a race."
To be continued
Hope people like this Ch and give me power stones and enjoy