Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 531: Caelum on Alert

Strax stood for a brief moment in the doorway, his eyes scanning every face, every detail of the room that housed much more than a gathering of warriors—it was his family, dysfunctional and chaotic, but real.

He let out a sigh. A heavy one, coming from the depths of his soul.

"I’ll come back alive," he said, with the firmness of someone who doesn’t beg, but simply states.

There was a murmur of acceptance, of silent agreement. Beatrice nodded with a stern look. Frieren smiled slightly, as if she saw the future blurred by fog. Cassandra raised her glass, toasting silently. Rogue looked away with an expression that was almost concern, but she would never admit it. Monica just shook her head, exhausted but confident. Scarlet smiled. Tiamat closed her eyes. And Ouroboros—for the first time in a long time—bowed his head slightly.

"Go," said Samira, her voice as low as it was warm. "But come back. Or I’ll come and get you myself in hell."

Strax smiled sidelong.

Then, in a single leap that shook the air around him, his body transmuted in midflight—bones cracking, flesh contorting, and flames exploding around him—until, where once there had been a man, there now stood a huge serpentine dragon. Ruby-red scales covered his body like living armor. His eyes, golden and piercing, cut through the sky like silent lightning. His long, elegant tail snaked through the air as he gained altitude.

Without hesitation, Ouroboros advanced. His body contorted in an almost sensual movement until the transformation was complete — scales black as the void, violet eyes sparkling with silent fury. A black serpentine dragon, slender and menacing, now flew alongside Strax, its trail distorting the air like a living shadow.

Then Tiamat took two steps out of the mansion and raised her arms. The ground shook. The sky briefly turned golden, as if recognizing her presence. In a flash of pure energy, she transformed—a colossal golden dragon with five heads, each with a distinct expression: wisdom, anger, hunger, silence, and command. Her enormous wings spread like walls of power, and her muffled roar echoed through the distant valleys.

Scarlet was the last. Without fanfare, without words, she simply smiled at Monica as if leaving the house to go to the market. Then she leaped—her body bursting into fire and light. Where once there had been an elegant woman, there now stood an immense scarlet dragon with flaming scales, powerful claws, and eyes like embers. Her wings spread with an impact that scattered leaves and pollen across the garden.

The four figures took flight in perfect synchrony, each tracing a flaming line, dark, golden, and red, across the evening sky.

On the ground, Monica sighed loudly.

"Well, at least this time he didn’t say he was bringing anyone else home..."

"He still might," Frieren murmured.

"Don’t curse," Beatrice replied, already going to lock the cellar.

High above, flying toward Caelum, Strax’s roar cut through the skies like a promise.

"Let’s go!" he shouted, his draconic voice reverberating like thunder among the mountains. The hunt had begun....

...

[Caelum]

A continent forged in the bowels of the earth and the breath of the gods. There, the sky is at war with the mountains, and the clouds bow to the constant roar of volcanoes. The Mountains of Fire, as old as time itself, spew embers and sulfuric vapors as if breathing the very wrath of the titans. The ground is black, cracked by veins of lava that glow like the arteries of a raging heart.

But amid this mineral chaos, there is order. Beauty. Civilization.

On the slopes of the mountains, balancing between chasms and cliffs, stand cities carved from white marble and pure gold. Tall towers and golden domes shine like beacons amid the scorching mists. They are architectural masterpieces, where mortals and demigods coexist, surrounded by walls adorned with runes that protect against the fury of the elements themselves. Rivers of lava flow by, diverted by ancient enchantments.

In one of these cities—Tharazal, the Throne of Heights—the echoes of an argument spread through the galleries of the central palace. The floor is polished obsidian, reflecting the figure of a woman walking in circles like a storm about to break.

She stops. She turns on her heels. She sighs. And then she starts again.

Her presence is overwhelming. Her body, carved with the precision of a goddess sculptor, exudes strength and grace. Her long golden hair flows like a river of light, dancing in the air with her every movement. A pearl gray dress envelops her curves, clinging to her body as if it had been molded directly onto her skin, divided into slits that reveal her strong, slender legs. Black straps reinforce the silhouette of her bust, where black and blue lines—like frozen lightning bolts—winding across her skin.

Her sword, stuck in the ground next to the empty throne, pulses with blue energy. Cracks of light run across its blade as if reflecting the tension that consumes its bearer.

She is Elyssar, the Guardian of the Silent Flames, and at that moment, she is furious.

"Why the hell did he do that?" she growls through clenched teeth, her blue eyes sparkling like sapphires under pressure. "Why would stupid Ignisar attack a human city? Without provocation. Without declaration. Without warning?"

Her voice echoes through the columns of the hall like thunder from a storm brewing over the peaks. The flames of the torches flicker in response, as if afraid of her fury. Soldiers and servants in the distance pretend not to hear. No one dares interrupt the Guardian when she is like this.

She approaches a balcony that opens onto the fiery horizon. From there, she can see the active volcanoes in the distance, like sleeping gods about to awaken. Elyssar clenches her fists.

The light from the lava reflects off her skin, highlighting the ethereal patterns that run across her arms and thighs—arcane markings, draconic seals that only those connected to the ancestral lineage of the Order of the Primeval carried. She was more than a warrior. She was a living link to the ancient pact between humans and dragons. A pact now threatened.

"The Council of Jhar’Vael has already sent ravens. They are demanding answers, or there will be war." She turns, speaking to the void, as if expecting Ignisar himself to appear there to answer.

But Ignisar would not appear.

The Elder Dragon had disappeared after the attack.

She stares at the throne—the seat forged from the very bone of a basilisk, where Ignisar sat when he appeared in human form. The throne, now empty, seemed to mock her.

Elyssar approaches her sword and holds it firmly, pulling it from the ground with a metallic roar. The blade’s energy explodes into blue sparks, dancing around her body like tiny lightning bolts.

She stands, her eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the mountains, beyond the mist.

"If he has gone mad... if Ignisar has broken the pact out of desire or insanity... then Caelum will be at war. And this time... there will be no winners."

She turns, her dress billowing around her like living silk, and begins to walk toward the war chamber. With each step, the ground shakes slightly. Her bare feet tread firmly on the cold marble. Soldiers make way, kneeling in reverence.

Elyssar was halfway to the war room when she heard the hurried footsteps. The sound of bare feet running across the polished marble echoed through the hallway like the gallop of a miniature storm.

She stopped. She frowned. And turned quickly, her hand still firmly gripping the hilt of her sword, whose blue blade pulsed in response to her unease.

Then the doors burst open with an almost comical crash, and a girl stumbled in, her hair tangled, her face sweaty, her chest heaving for air.

"Lady Elyssar! Elyssar! They—I—the guards told me to wait, but it’s urgent and the heavens—I saw it, I swear I saw it! They’re coming! And they’re not like the others, they’re huge and there was fire, and shadows, and light, and—and—and..."

"Stop." Elyssar’s voice cut through like cold steel. But the girl couldn’t. The words tumbled over each other, as if her tongue were trying to run ahead of her own thoughts.

"Four dragons! Four! They came from the west, no, from the southwest—I don’t know! But they were coming, and they’re different, they’re like legends! They have colors and presences that — I felt in my soul! The others felt it too, even the watchmen began to cry, and..."

Elyssar advanced in a single step, her imposing silhouette eclipsing the girl. Her blue eyes flashed, and the energy contained in her sword vibrated, as if reflecting her growing impatience.

"Girl!" she roared, her voice reverberating like thunder through the marble columns. "Breathe. Speak. Slowly. Or I swear by the Old Gods that I will make you swallow every slurred word from your agitated mouth."

The girl’s eyes widened, and she fell silent immediately. She swallowed hard. She took a deep breath, as if trying not to collapse right there.

"Four dragons..." she said now in a lower, more controlled tone "...are heading toward Caelum. None of them are known. None respond to signals. And all... all are immensely more powerful than any of the draconic elite."

Elyssar felt a lump form in her throat.

"Are you saying they’re Elders?"

"No..." The girl shook her head. Her eyes were filled with a raw fear that was not even seen on the battlefield. "Two of them... for sure... are from the Divine Age."

Silence.

Total silence.

Elyssar didn’t breathe. The hall didn’t breathe. The world seemed to freeze for a moment.

Dragons of the Divine Age.

The words echoed in his mind like funeral bells.

Above the Elders. Above the greatest living draconic leaders. Above even Ignisar, the ruler of Caelum himself. They were entities as close to divinity as a dragon could get—direct descendants of the Primeval Ones, molded in the cradle of starlight, forged before the ruin of the ages, when the heavens still spoke in flames.

It was the pinnacle of the race. An almost mythical threshold. One step before divinity.

Elyssar felt the sword in his hand tremble slightly, as if even the sacred weapon understood the gravity of those words.

"Are you sure of what you saw?" His voice was now low, but as tense as a string about to snap.

"It wasn’t just me," said the girl, more firmly now, as if Elyssar’s presence anchored her. "The sentinels at Zafir Post, the harpies of the Cutting Winds, even the watchful specters felt it. One of them reported that just the gaze of one of the dragons brought him to his knees."

Elyssar brought his hand to his temple. His mind was spinning.

Four dragons.

Unknown.

Two from the Divine Age.

And they were coming to Caelum.

"Did they... say anything? Did they signal? Did they show hostility?"

"No. They just... fly. Toward the heart of the continent. One of them... the red one... let out a roar. The mountains shook all the way here."

The woman stood motionless for a long moment. Her chest rose and fell slowly. A bluish glow ran through her veins for an instant, as if her own draconic lineage was reacting to the approaching presence.

Dragons of the Divine Age did not fly by chance.

If they were coming, it was for a reason. And if they were coming right after Ignisar disappeared—and after he attacked a human city without justification—then something huge was at stake. Something that could break the pact. Something that could end everything.

She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. She opened them again, steadier than steel.

"Prepare for War Vigil. All Generals. All Clans. The gates will be sealed. No flights in or out without my direct order. Ring the silver bells. And gather the Council. Now."

The girl nodded and ran to carry out the orders, fear still clinging to her skin.

Elyssar walked to the center of the hall. He stopped under the flaming coat of arms of the Order of the First Ones. He stared at the sky through the large open dome, where the first shadows of twilight were forming.

Four unknown dragons.

"Tell me this isn’t your fault... tell me you didn’t attack two Divine Dragons..."