Serbia

Dragonheart Empire, Imperial Capital: Servia

Today was perfect.

Sunlight spilled like liquid gold across the city.

The sky stretched endlessly blue,a gentle breeze weaving through the streets.

Nothing could be better for an afternoon nap.

Imagine:lying on soft, green grass,eyes half-lidded,the scent of wildflowers in the air,legs crossed lazily,a deep yawn…then drifting into peaceful slumber.

Pure bliss.

Yet—today, in Servia,

no one was sleeping.

Not the nobles, not the peasants,not the farmers, not the students.

For three months, the entire empire had held its breath—ever since news arrived from the Caribbean Sea:

Her Majesty the Empress and Princess Alicehad slain the Sea Dragon King, Jörmungandr.

The revelation had shaken the Dragonheart Empire to its core.

People of every class, race, and trade erupted in unprecedented joy.

Even in this age of peace,the terror of dragons was etched into humanity’s bones.

Before the expedition, many had feared the worst.

What if the Empress falls?

What if the Dragon King rallies the dragon tribes and descends upon us?

Will we return to the dark age of draconic tyranny?

But today—those shadows vanished.

Because this morning—the gates of Servia swung open,and the Dragon-Slaying Army returned in triumph!

Empress Elizabeth rode at the front,mounted on a snow-white steed,her legendary beauty softened by a rare, gentle smileas she nodded to the roaring crowds.

Behind her, the Dragon-Slaying Guards marched—armor gleaming, spines straight,crimson banners snapping in the wind.

Only a truly victorious army carried such pride!

The city’s celebration raged all morning—and by afternoon, the revelry reached its peak.

Silk streamers draped every street.

Cannon salutes boomed.

Fireworks painted the sky in bursts of sapphire, ruby, and gold.

Shops flung open their doors—potion stalls, weapon forges, arcane scroll vendors—

all ringing bells and slashing prices to 20% off in honor of victory.

Bakery apprentices tossed warm wheat loaves into the crowd.

Roast meat scented the air—free samples for all.

Tavern boys poured foaming ale,spilling it on giggling children’s cheeks,while patrons raised their mugs in toast:

“To the dragon-slayers! To our heroes!”

At a street corner, three bards played an impromptu melody—

lute, harp, and drum weaving a tune both stirring and sweet.

And where there was music, dance followed.

Boys in roughspun tunics leapt with reckless grace.

Girls in floral dresses spun in circles,ankle bells jingling like summer rain.

Someone began to sing—and soon the whole street joined in the Dragon-Slaying Ballad:

“Silver armor, dawn’s first light,
Her blade cuts through the endless night.
The Empress strikes—the dragon falls,
Its reign of terror meets its end!”

Mounted guards trotted past—only to find their horses burdened with so many flowers they looked like steeds in petal skirts.

Blushing maidens thrust rose-scented love letters into their hands—drawing cheers and laughter from the crowd—leaving the stoic warriors flustered and red-faced.

Everywhere—smiles. Laughter. Joy.

A boy gnawed on a roasted turkey leg, eyes wide with awe.

“Ahhh! I wanna be a Dragon-Slaying Guard so bad!”

He turned to his sister, voice trembling with dreamy hope:

“Sis—do you think I’ll ever make it?

I’ll wear that silver armor, ride a warhorse…come home a hero!

And then…” he grinned foolishly, “girls’ll throw me flowers… love letters…

I’ll have to break so many hearts—sigh, what a problem to have~”

His sister, delicate-featured and exasperated,rapped him sharply on the head.

“If you join the Guard just for that,you’ll never make it—not in this life or the next!

Mom and Dad pay a fortune for you to attend Dragonheart Academy—yet you’re last in your class,and still lost in your daydreams!”

“Aww, you’re just like Mom and Dad!

You don’t love me—you probably adopted me from the fish market!”

He sulked, chomping angrily on his turkey leg.

“Oh, fine,” his sister said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, Leán Rosén—you were adopted.

I found you in the old fish market back home.”

“Speaking of home…” Leán mumbled through a mouthful of meat,

“Didn’t Dad say he’d go back to the village?

To bring Uncle’s family to the capital?”

“He did,” his sister—Brenna—said softly.

“But after more than a decade away…so much had changed.”

She paused, her eyes clouding with sorrow.

“Uncle… he died at sea. A fishing accident.”

“And Aunt and the cousins…a local baron tried to force-marry our cousin…so Cousin beat him bloody…and they fled in the night.”

“Dad searched everywhere… but never found them.”

Brenna’s voice trembled.

Tears glistened in her clear eyes.

Leán’s appetite vanished.

He dropped his turkey leg, stomach hollow.

Their family hadn’t always lived in the capital.

They’d come from a tiny fishing village on the empire’s edge—a world away from Servia’s splendor.

Thanks to their father’s business success,they’d risen to wealth and status,even forging ties with nobility—enough to send both children to the empire’s finest academy.

But back in that village, they’d had an uncle—and two cousins they’d adored as children.

Now, after years of silence,their chance to help them… was gone.

Brenna remembered how her father, upon returning,hadn’t spoken for days—haunted by the loss of his only brother.

“I wonder… where are they now?” Leán whispered.

“Do you even remember their names? I’ve forgotten…”

Brenna thought for a long moment.

“Our cousin sister… Ollie Rosén.

As for our cousin brother…”

She searched her memory—then offered a faint, uncertain answer:

“…I think… his name was…

Black Rosén.”