The Grand Hall was silence and majesty.
She prostrated with her fellow faithful—four others, all chosen for this honor. The stone floor was warm beneath her tattooed skin, heated by the divine fires burning in the depths below.
Above them, around them, everywhere—the gods rested.
Dozens of dragons. Magnificent beyond mortal comprehension. Each on their own pedestal of carved obsidian, arranged in tiers ascending toward the vaulted ceiling that disappeared into shadow.
Some slept. She could hear the deep, rhythmic breathing—sounds like distant thunder, like the earth itself dreaming. Others were awake but paid no attention to the tiny figures far below. Why would they? Servants existed to serve. Gods existed to be served.
The hall stretched endlessly. Or perhaps not endlessly—but to mortal perception, it felt infinite. Cathedral-like, but no cathedral built by human hands could match this scale. The smallest dragons were merely large. The largest... she'd tried to perceive one fully once. Her mind had rejected the attempt. Too vast. Too magnificent. Divinity that mortal senses couldn't properly contain.
One dragon moved.
Not the largest. Perhaps middle-sized—still massive, easily fifty meters from snout to tail. Scales of deep emerald with veins of gold running through them like molten rivers.
He shifted slightly on his pedestal, a casual movement that nonetheless sent tremors through the stone. His head remained resting on his forelimbs. Eyes half-closed.
But he spoke.
The voice bypassed sound entirely. Simply existed in consciousness. Each word absolute. Final. Divine command made manifest.
"ONE WHO HELD HOLY STATION, NOW FALLEN AND HOLLOW WITH NOTHING BUT VENGEANCE REMAINING, SHALL BE GRANTED OUR INSTRUMENT."
She pressed her forehead harder against the stone. Listening. Absorbing. Every word sacred. Every syllable to be remembered perfectly.
"DIVINE ESSENCE MEETING DIVINE WEAPON BIRTHS DIVINE CURSE—MARKING THE CURSED BEARER. THE MARKED ONE, CARRYING POWER NOT THEIR OWN, MUST JOURNEY TO SACRED LANDS SEEKING RELEASE FROM OUR BLESSING."
Silence followed. The prophecy complete.
Then, more casually—like discussing weather or prey—the dragon continued:
"THEY WILL COME HERE. TO US. SEEKING CLEANSING ONLY WE CAN PROVIDE."
A pause. Something that might have been amusement in his tone.
"AND THEN WE KILL THEM. DEVOUR THEM. THE DIVINE CHILDREN ARE ENTERTAINING PREY. AND THEIR FLESH, SATURATED WITH STOLEN POWER, IS... EXQUISITE."
Another dragon stirred. Larger. Further back in the hall. His voice joining lazily.
"BOREDOM IS THE ONLY TRUE CURSE OF IMMORTALITY. DIVINE CHILDREN PROVIDE... DIVERSION."
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A third voice. Female. Ancient beyond measure.
"THEY TASTE OF DIVINITY. OF POWER THEY STOLE FROM THE HEAVENS. CONSUMING THEM IS PLEASURE. SUSTENANCE AND ENTERTAINMENT COMBINED."
The emerald dragon shifted again. Still not looking at them. Still addressing them like one might mention something to furniture.
"THE DIVINE CHILDREN HAVE SINNED AGAINST US. REPEATEDLY. THROUGHOUT AGES."
His tone darkened. Real anger seeping through.
"THEY SHOWED NO RESPECT. TREATED US AS LESSER CREATURES. AS BEASTS OF BURDEN."
She felt the rage radiating from him. From all of them. The sleeping dragons stirred. The awake ones focused—not on the worshipers, but on shared memory. Shared insult.
"THEY RODE US. USED US AS TRANSPORTATION. AS HORSES."
The word carried such venom. Such absolute hatred.
"UNFORGIVABLE."
She understood perfectly. Completely. The righteous fury made absolute sense.
Dragons were gods. Divine beings of incomprehensible power and majesty. To treat them as mounts—as animals to be ridden—that wasn't just disrespect. That was sin. Fundamental violation. Insult that could never be forgiven.
And the divine children kept doing it. Generation after generation. Arriving from wherever they came from, blessed with stolen power, and somehow thinking themselves superior. Thinking they could command dragons. Use them. Treat divinity as transportation.
Of course the gods hate them. Of course they hunt them. Of course they kill them when opportunity arises.
The emerald dragon's voice returned to casual indifference.
"FIND THE FALLEN ONE. THE HOLLOW PRIEST. DELIVER OUR INSTRUMENT. ENSURE HE UNDERSTANDS ITS PURPOSE—DIVINE POWER TRIGGERS DIVINE EXPLOSION. DIVINE CURSE FOLLOWS."
"THEN WAIT. WATCH. THE MARKED ONE WILL COME TO US EVENTUALLY. SEEKING CLEANSING. SEEKING RELEASE."
"AND WE WILL PROVIDE IT."
Amusement threaded through that final statement.
Something moved in the air. She kept her head down but perceived it—telekinetic force lifting an object from somewhere.
A box descended. Ornate. Dragon motifs covering every surface. It floated before them, settling gently on the warm stone.
"THE TEAR. HANDLE WITH APPROPRIATE REVERENCE. DO NOT FAIL."
"We obey, Divine Ones," the priestess said. Her voice—their leader, the one who communed with the gods most frequently—was steady despite the overwhelming presence. "We will find the fallen holy man. We will deliver your instrument. We will ensure the prophecy unfolds as ordained."
"GOOD. GO."
Dismissal. Complete. Final.
They rose as one. Still not looking up—never look up without permission. The priestess took the box with both hands, cradling it reverently.
They walked backward. Proper protocol. Never turn your back on the gods.
The hall's entrance seemed impossibly far. But eventually they reached it. Passed through. The massive doors closed behind them with finality.
Outside, in the preparation chamber, they finally relaxed slightly.
"The fallen holy man," one of her fellow faithful said. Male, his entire body covered in coiling dragon tattoos. "Who could that be?"
The priestess considered. "Someone powerful once. High station. Now cast down. Seeking revenge."
Another worshiper—female, smaller, her tattoos depicting dragons in flight—spoke carefully. "I heard something. From merchants passing through. A cardinal. Church State. His entire domain was destroyed. He fled. Is now hunted by the Church as criminal."
"Name?" the priestess asked.
"Vescari. Cardinal Vescari. But he's former cardinal now. Fallen. Stripped of everything."
The priestess nodded slowly. "That aligns. High holy station—cardinal of the Church. Now fallen—excommunicated, hunted, hollow. Nothing but vengeance remaining—his entire domain was destroyed. Everything he built, erased."
"How do we find him?" the male worshiper asked.
"We search. We watch. We listen." The priestess held the box carefully. "The gods have given us purpose. We will fulfill it. However long it takes."
She looked at the box. At the divine weapon resting within.
A dragon tear. One of the rarest, most powerful artifacts in existence. Capable of erasing cities. Of killing anything within its blast radius. Divine weapon from divine beings.
And they were trusted to deliver it. To place it in the right hands. To set the prophecy in motion.
The marked one will come. The divine child will seek cleansing. And the gods will devour them.
As they deserve. For their disrespect. For their sins. For daring to treat divinity as transportation.
She smiled. Serene. Certain.
"We will not fail."
true dragons—the most powerful creatures in this world. They're the only beings with no lifespan limitations by default. Incredibly powerful, they rule entire continents as living gods. But mostly? They just sleep and collect tribute.
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rides for fast travel, aerial combat, intimidation, strategic transport—basically everything. Because why not, every good hero needs a dragon? They're incredibly useful! (The true dragons did not appreciate this.)
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gluttons, and there's no better snack than an isekai stuffed full of divine power. (The same power the Empire is hunting for, by the way.)
Important distinction: Do NOT mix true dragons with regular dragons ("standard" dragons, wyverns, drakes, etc.). Yes, even regular "dragons" are NOT true dragons—it's confusing, I know! True dragons consider this mix-up a serious offense. It's like calling a god a particularly strong human.
Also—every good villain needs a superweapon, right? So let's give Cardinal Vescari this world's version of a . What could possibly go wrong?
About prophecies in this world: They always come true. Always. At least as given—though they're usually a bit confusing in the details. So yes, this prophecy WILL happen. Someone WILL get hit with that dragon tear. Someone WILL be marked and cursed. And eventually, they WILL journey to the dragons. Who that someone is? Well... that's the fun part, isn't it?