Dragon Game: All My Dragons Are Ranked 'SSS'

Drahon's lips parted before the weight of the man's last words could fully settle. It was an unconscious act, one that he didn't actually intend to do.

"And… who exactly are the Dragon Worshippers?" he asked.

The horned man's gaze shifted to him, unblinking (very much like some animated character). It was the kind of stare that felt less like looking at someone and more like looking through them, sifting through thoughts, weighing intent, deciding how much truth could be given. Then, with the same measured calmness that had marked all his movements, he began to speak.

"They are… people unlike any others you've likely met," he said slowly, as though the words themselves had edges that could choke him to death if he wasn't careful. "Their lands are far from here, kingdoms tucked away beyond rivers that glow at night and mountains shaped like the spines of sleeping beasts. They are not wanderers, nor traders, nor fighters in the way you understand it. They are believers."

Believers?

That startled Drahon so much. To be honest, he wasn't so sure believers would be in this world. It was something he didn't know would be evident.

From what he knew, a believer was someone who held firm faith in a higher being— be it God, the gods, or something divine beyond mortal understanding. Most humans back on Earth were believers in some form, especially those raised with teachings about gods, spirits, or sacred truths. But here, in this strange new world, Drahon hadn't expected that concept to follow through.

He didn't think faith would still linger in a place so detached from his reality. It startled him, not because the idea was foreign, but because it was familiar.

Tension now swept across the room. Even Devon, lounging on the bed, sat up a little straighter.

"The Dragon Worshippers," the man continued, "see dragons not as beasts to be tamed, nor as allies, nor even as enemies. To them, a dragon is a god. They kneel before them, offer to them, live for them. Every decision they make is in service to the dragons they revere. It is their law, their creed, and their reason to exist."

The words contained… so much possibility.

Drahon tilted his head slightly. "So… they have dragons? Real ones?"

"Yes," the man replied, his voice steady, "but not as you imagine. The dragons in their lands are… small. Smaller even than a wyrmling. Their wings could be mistaken for a bird's if seen from afar. They cannot topple buildings, nor scorch armies with flame. Weak in size, yes…" His eyes narrowed slightly, "…but unmatched in the hold they have over the human heart."

Devon's eyebrows rose. "That doesn't sound like much of a threat."

The horned man's lips twitched, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Strength does not always show in tooth and claw. The Dragon Worshippers have something else, unity, purpose, and a kind of devotion that cannot be bought or broken. When an entire people believes a creature is divine, they will fight, bleed, and die for it without hesitation. And in the eyes of a worshipper, size means nothing. The presence of a dragon, no matter how small, is enough to command kings and silence armies."

Drahon let the words sink in. His thoughts pulled at the details, turning them over. "Then… why 'worship'? Why not treat them as partners or leaders?"

The man's eyes drifted briefly toward the wall, as if glancing at something beyond sight. "Because they believe dragons are the creators. That the world was once only sky and flame, until dragons shaped it with their breath and blood. They believe every hill is a dragon's spine buried in the earth, every river a shed tear, every star a spark from their wings."

He paused for the first time, as though debating whether to say more. When he spoke again, his tone was lowered, and the words carried a subtle gravity.

"They have a myth, an old one, older than their cities. It speaks of a time when dragons were not small, but vast enough to block the sun. The myth says one day, they will return to that size, and the Dragon Worshippers will rise with them to rule the world."

Ayvira leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "And you believe any of that?"

"To be frank, that's none of my business," the man said evenly, adding a smile. "Belief itself can shape the history of this world. Whether the story is true or not matters little if enough people live and die by it."

Devon leaned back again, unimpressed. "So they've got small dragons, a big story, and a lot of loyalty. Still doesn't explain why anyone would care unless they're… I dunno… actively causing trouble."

The horned man studied him for a moment. "You will understand soon enough. They have something… I can't tell, perhaps something you are looking for, and that thing is very… very powerful."

Drahon opened his mouth to press further, but the man lifted a hand, just slightly, but enough to silence the question before it left his lips.

"This place is filled with records, history, and books older than you could imagine. Rest first. Tomorrow, you will learn more."

The dismissal was soft but final.

They have something they were looking for?

Drahon wanted to ask so badly what that was.

Ayvira broke the pause with a faint sigh. "So, time to lead me to my room."

The man inclined his head. "Sure, let me take you to your own quarters. The rooms are plentiful, and I believe you will find one to your liking."

"Good." She stepped toward him, already moving past without waiting for further directions.

Devon, meanwhile, had already flopped back onto the bed, boots and all. "Let's get some shut-eye," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "Been a long time since I slept somewhere this comfy."

Drahon didn't respond. His gaze followed Ayvira as she left with the horned man, their footsteps growing fainter in the corridor until silence reclaimed the room.

Devon's breathing began to slow, edging toward sleep. The steady sound of it filled the space, along with the faint hum of magic that seemed to bleed in from the walls.

Drahon sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His mind refused to still.

The man's descriptions replayed over and over— the small dragons, the endless devotion, the myth of creatures large enough to blot out the sun. He tried to picture it: crowds bowing in streets of stone, tiny dragons perched on carved thrones, human eyes alight with absolute faith. It was an image that felt both ridiculous and… unsettling.

If what the man said was true, it meant these people had built entire kingdoms around creatures most others would call fragile. And yet… they'd lasted. Survived. Perhaps even thrived.

The thought nagged at him. He'd seen what a wyrmling could do, how much destruction even a small dragon was capable of in the right hands. And if those creatures commanded loyalty instead of fear…

His jaw tightened as the weight of the idea pressed deeper.

It didn't make sense.

He turned toward the faint glow spilling from the crystal fixtures, his eyes narrowing slightly as if the light itself might offer answers. But none came.

Only the man's calm voice, echoing in his memory— They kneel before them. Live for them.

Drahon's fingers curled against his knees.

How can people worship dragons?