The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 18: Festivities
We spent the entire evening chatting animatedly. Laughter came easily, stories flowed without restraint, and for once the weight on my shoulders felt lighter. When the night grew deeper, Light leaned in and gave me a gentle peck on the cheek before stepping back.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said softly, and then she vanished in a shimmer of light.
After she left, I escorted the three girls and the two boys to the guest house where they were staying for the time being. The girls smiled shyly, each giving me a peck on the cheek before disappearing into their rooms to spend the night with their parents. The boys bowed respectfully and followed suit.
For some reason, I didn’t feel like sleeping. Nor did I feel like meditating. My mind was restless, my thoughts too alive to be caged in stillness. So instead, I wandered.
I walked through the village under the quiet night sky, past softly lit homes and resting streets, until my feet carried me toward the area where the dragonkin were temporarily settled.
The night guards noticed me immediately. They straightened and bowed, acknowledging my presence with disciplined ease. One of the dragonkin stepped forward, placing a fist over his chest.
“My lord,” he said respectfully, “what is it that you desire?”
I shook my head lightly.
“Nothing, my brother. I was just wandering. I realized I never asked if you all are adjusting well.”
At my words, he inhaled sharply, as if I had placed something heavy and precious upon his shoulders.
“My lord,” he said after a moment, voice steady but filled with weight, “you called me your brother. That alone is a reward beyond measure. Forgive my bluntness, but please do not call me—or any of us—your brother again unless you truly mean it.”
I didn’t answer with words.
Instead, I placed my fist over my heart and bowed my head slightly.
“All dragonkin are my brothers and sisters.”
Then, in a playful tone, trying to ease the sudden tension, I added with a grin,
“Except the girl who catches my eye and becomes my wife.”
I was still smiling when the ground seemed to vibrate.
The five guards behind him lifted their heads and roared.
Their roar wasn’t as overwhelming as that of the true dragons—but it was powerful enough to stir the air and send a shiver through the camp. Instinctively, dragonkin emerged from nearby tents and resting areas, drawn by the sound.
Within moments, the camp was alive.
Twelve dragonkin stepped forward—one from each clan. They knelt as one, fists to their hearts, heads bowed.
“We swear,” they said in unison, voices firm and unwavering, “to serve the kingdom, to protect it, and to give our lives for it if needed.”
They rose together and looked to me expectantly.
“How may we be of service, my lord?”
I paused, genuinely taken aback. Then I smiled—softly this time.
“I was just thinking,” I said after a moment, “that I have a gift for the children. I only wish I could give it to them right now.”
No one spoke.
But the request didn’t need words.
Almost instantly, the dragonkin moved. On one side of the camp, twelve neat rows were formed. Each row held ten children, standing shoulder to shoulder. Every row represented a clan.
One hundred and twenty young faces looked toward me with curiosity, excitement, and trust.
And in that moment, standing beneath the night sky, surrounded by dragonkin and children alike, I realized something profound—
This wasn’t just a kingdom taking shape.
It was a family being born.
“Children,” I said gently, letting my voice carry to every corner of the gathering, “the gift I am about to give you is neither precious nor powerful. It is not worth more than your lives.”
They listened with absolute focus.
“It is a symbol of the kingdom,” I continued. “I am giving it to you because I trust you—and because I know you will cherish it. But swear this to me: never place your life in danger just to protect it.”
Without hesitation, without a single wavering voice, they replied in unison,
“We swear we will cherish it, but we will never place our lives at stake to protect it.”
Satisfied, I nodded.
“Then raise your hands.”
One hundred and twenty hands lifted at once.
For a brief moment, it felt like I was looking at a perfectly trained company of soldiers—but these were not soldiers. They were children. Children who believed.
I closed my eyes.
In my inner space, the one hundred and twenty rings rested quietly, waiting. With a single thought, I stripped away the silver coating from each one, revealing the MIVSI beneath in its full, radiant glory. Then, in the same instant, I placed a ring into every child’s hand—simultaneously, deliberately—so that no jealousy, no rivalry, no sense of order or hierarchy could be born.
When I opened my eyes, what I saw made my chest tighten.
Pride.
Pure, untainted pride shone in their eyes.
Then the sky changed.
Tiny dragons poured down like living constellations, filling the air with motion and light. They descended in graceful arcs and gentle spirals, each one finding a child—resting upon heads, shoulders, or hovering protectively nearby.
The adults gasped.
Some covered their mouths. Others fell to their knees as tears streamed freely down their faces.
Only then did I truly understand.
For dragonkin, dragons were not merely revered—they were gods. And for a dragon to claim a child was not a blessing of power, but of identity.
A claimed child was a god’s child.
The clans roared as one.
The sound was deep, thunderous, and overflowing with emotion. It echoed across the village, tearing sleep from the night and drawing villagers and guests alike from their homes. Dragons stirred and took to the skies, answering the call instinctively.
As the echoes faded, I spoke with the twelve clan heads. I told them they were free to remain here as long as they wished. That the borders of their land would be clearly defined within three days. After that, they could begin their work—if they so chose.
Their response was immediate.
Animals were brought forth—livestock, beasts, and creatures both mundane and rare. Fires were lit. Food was prepared. Laughter rose into the night.
They told me this day would be remembered.
Every year, on this night, they would celebrate their Freedom Day—the day the dragonkin were accepted not as enemies, not as threats, but as kin.
I told them to enjoy their feast.
And then I wandered away.
As I left, a few villagers approached me hesitantly, asking if they were allowed to join the celebration, to speak with the dragonkin.
I smiled and shook my head.
“Ask them,” I said. “Not me. You don’t need my permission.”
Because in that moment, this wasn’t a kingdom ruled by command.
It was a kingdom learning how to live together.
This time, my wandering led me to Edrin Kael.
He was seated atop the altar, his posture straight and focused. In front of him sat several people, deep in discussion—among them Kael Stonewright, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. From the looks of it, they were already knee-deep in planning and logistics.
I approached quietly and gestured for them to continue.
“Don’t mind me,” I said. “I’ll just meditate for a moment.”
I settled onto the altar and slipped into meditation.
The moment I entered my inner space, the island was there—waiting.
Its presence was restless, almost vibrating. Through our connection, it conveyed its complaint clearly: it had been holding itself back for far too long. The capital envoy had already crossed our boundaries, and the island no longer wished to restrain itself.
I considered teasing it—just a little—but it read my intent instantly.
Bully, it accused, sulking.
Before I could even give proper instructions, it began.
Roads unfurled across the land like veins forming beneath skin. Pathways aligned themselves with perfect precision. Trees were uprooted—not destroyed, but carefully lifted and stored within the void. The terrain compressed and reshaped itself, stones vanishing from storage only to reappear exactly where they were needed.
This time, the island didn’t ask.
It didn’t need to.
It multitasked effortlessly, construction unfolding at a speed that left me momentarily stunned.
Seeing its enthusiasm, I relented.
“You can create pillars and platforms for the dragons,” I told it.
Its response was immediate—almost gleeful.
Next, I shared the blueprints for the mansion.
The island began with the circular tower and its foundation platform. As soon as the platform formed, something unexpected happened. The stone beneath began to shift—its texture changing, its glow deepening.
Pure stone was transforming into mana stone.
The island panicked.
It tried to halt the process, but the conversion continued regardless. I stopped it gently and explained the reason—that mana stone formation was no longer optional in areas of high concentration.
It didn’t like the explanation.
But it accepted it.
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