Washington, White House.
The presidential office was plunged into a tense, almost electric atmosphere. Seated behind his imposing desk, President Jonathan Kendrick stared at the grave and silent faces before him, searching in their gazes for a glimmer of confidence or comfort that he could not find. Around him were gathered his closest military advisors and the most powerful S-rank hunters in the country, forming a tight circle of individuals charged with protecting what remained of free humanity.
General Marcus Hayes stood near the window, his dark gaze lost on the White House gardens, now converted into makeshift camps overflowing with hungry, frightened, and desperate refugees. He sighed deeply, breaking the oppressive silence of the room:
- "Mr. President, we’ve reached our limit. The massive influx of refugees from Canada and Mexico has become impossible to manage. Our food reserves are depleting too quickly. People are beginning to grow dangerously restless. We risk imminent civil war if we don’t do something to ease this tension."
Jonathan Kendrick slowly nodded, his face marked by fatigue and worry. He slowly turned toward Grace Hamilton, one of the most experienced S-rank hunters in the United States. She stood straight, solid as a rock, her clear eyes piercing his with calm but implacable intensity.
- "Grace, where do we stand with border patrols?"
Grace slowly crossed her arms, her face impassive but her eyes reflecting deep inner tension.
- "Our teams are exhausted, sir. Every day, we push back entire waves of desperate people. We can no longer maintain this situation without risking overflow. Some of them have already crossed the borders by force. And to be frank, I don’t blame them."
The president sighed again, nervously running his hand over his face marked by the crushing weight of the situation. He continued in a low but firm voice:
- "We absolutely must maintain order. I know this is painful, but if we give in to anarchy, the dragons won’t even have to attack us to defeat us."
He paused before continuing:
- "Our anti-dragonic propaganda must continue to be broadcast relentlessly. People must understand that we’re all in the same boat. This is not the time to fight among ourselves, it’s the time to stand together against a common enemy."
General Hayes slowly spoke up, advancing toward the center of the room, his face grave and solemn:
- "Mr. President, forgive my frankness, but this will not be enough. Experience and intelligence we’ve had since China’s fall clearly indicate that the final dragonic invasion against us is imminent. The dragons won’t wait for us to be ready. They’re probably already en route to us."
Heavy silence immediately settled, all gazes fixing on him. Kendrick inhaled slowly, then stared intensely at the general, his gaze hard but respectful:
- "Are you certain of this, General?"
Hayes slowly nodded, his gaze charged with implacable certainty:
- "Absolutely, sir. Every day that passes without attack is one more day for them to stabilize their control over already conquered territories. But they know perfectly well that we are their last major obstacle. Now that they’ve stabilized China and Europe, the United States will be their next target."
The president slowly clenched his fists on his desk, jaw tensed:
- "Then we must be ready to receive them like never before."
He slowly raised his eyes toward the S-rank hunters present:
- "We need each of you more than ever. You are our last line of defense."
Grace Hamilton then stepped forward, her gaze as determined as it was intense:
- "We’re ready, Mr. President. But we need to know exactly how we plan to face such a massive threat. Our individual power will be insufficient against their overwhelming numbers."
At that moment, one of the S-rank hunters present, David Powell, slowly stood up. A massive, imposing man with graying hair and a piercing gaze of glacial lucidity:
- "We must stop limiting ourselves to simple defense. We need to organize an immediate and decisive counter-attack. If we simply wait for their arrival, we’ll already be doomed."
Grace slightly frowned, dubious:
- "David, are you suggesting we attack the dragons first?"
David firmly nodded, his voice implacable and cold:
- "Exactly. I propose that we strike the first advance lines as soon as they appear. We must inflict immediate and significant losses on them, clearly show that the United States will not submit so easily."
General Hayes slowly nodded, seriously considering this proposal:
- "This could indeed disrupt their initial strategy. But it also means taking the risk of revealing all our cards from the beginning of the conflict."
Jonathan Kendrick slowly placed his gaze on David Powell, thinking deeply:
- "And if this failed, David? We would have sacrificed our best forces from the first wave."
David stared at the president for a long time, his gaze intense and assured:
- "Sir, if we don’t act right now, we’ll soon have nothing left to defend. We must be bold, even desperate if necessary."
Silence fell again on the room. Kendrick, aware of the gravity of the decision he had to make, finally slowly nodded:
- "Very well. General Hayes, Grace, David... Immediately organize an initial counter-offensive plan. I want every available hunter, every soldier ready to react instantly at the first signs of their arrival."
Hayes gravely nodded:
- "Understood, Mr. President. We’ll get to work immediately."
The president slowly stood up, looking each of them in the eyes, his voice charged with fierce determination:
- "Listen to me all very carefully. We are the last bastion of free humanity. Every decision we make today will determine our future for all of us. We no longer have the right to error, nor to hesitation. If we must die fighting, then we will die. But we will not fall without fighting to the end."
The hunters present nodded with solemn gravity, aware of the immense weight resting on their shoulders. Grace slowly spoke up, soberly concluding the meeting:
- "Then let’s prepare to fight like never before. For our families, for our country, and for all humanity."
The members present approved in silence, aware of the heaviness of the responsibilities awaiting them. As he left the room, General Hayes briefly stopped before President Kendrick:
- "Sir, if we fail..."
Jonathan Kendrick slowly raised his eyes, his gaze charged with implacable determination:
- "Then, General, we will have at least failed while fighting for something worthwhile."
The general slowly nodded, impressed by the president’s calm resilience:
The general slowly left the room, leaving Kendrick alone facing the window. He observed for a long time the gardens filled with refugees, his heart heavy with the immense weight of his decision.
In his mind, a terrible truth resonated clearly: the time of respite was over. The dragon invasion was imminent. Their survival would now depend entirely on their determination, their courage, and their ability to unite against an unimaginable threat.
The president slowly closed his eyes, murmuring a silent prayer before turning again toward his desk, resolved to face what would come soon.
The distant clinking of chains and the murmurs of panting breaths accompanied Mordred’s heavy footsteps in the dark tunnel. His body dripping with sweat, dust mixed with earth stuck to his clothes, he was returning from another segment dug well beyond the initial plan. Every centimeter gained on the rock was an invisible victory, a thread of freedom woven in the bowels of the dragonic world.
When he finally emerged into the underground training room, the echo of ragged breathing and rhythmic strikes welcomed him like a familiar ritual. Livia was directing the exercises, standing at the center of the circle formed by the slaves. Her sharp gaze and dry voice cut through the air like a whip.
- "Again! We don’t get up by blinking our eyes, we get up by biting the pain!"
The bloodless bodies obeyed, but in this organized chaos, some stood out.
Mordred approached silently, observing the movements, the level of strikes, the posture of legs. Livia noticed his presence without interrupting her instruction. A simple look was enough to communicate.
He stopped a few steps away, crossing his arms, his breath still marked by the effort of digging. His voice finally broke the mechanical rhythm of training:
- "How are they doing?"
Livia turned her head, wiped with the back of her wrist the sweat that beaded on her forehead and answered without detour:
- "Some stagnate. Others advance... then there are those who run."
She indicated with a chin movement three precise figures. Three younger slaves, with more alert gazes, more reactive bodies. Among them, Adrien.
Mordred remained silent, then took a few steps toward the group, the shadow of his gaze lingering long on the boy.
Adrien was chaining dodges and counter-strikes with astonishing fluidity. His breathing was controlled, his coordination remarkable for someone his age. But it wasn’t just technique. It wasn’t rage or despair either.
Drier, more refined, more reactive than those of the adults surrounding him. And yet, he came from the same hell. The same camp. The same misery.
Mordred narrowed his eyes, analyzing each line of muscular tension, each visible contraction under the taut skin. Adrien was progressing too fast. He was recovering better. He was assimilating the training loads with abnormal efficiency.
Only one factor explained this.
Energy. The vital substrate. Food.
His face remained neutral, but internally, the alarm went off.
He approached Livia, lowered his voice, almost to her ear:
- "Are you feeding him more than the others?"
She frowned, shook her head.
- "No. They all eat the same. Why?"
Mordred didn’t answer right away. His orange pupils slowly slid toward Adrien, still absorbed in his movements. Then he looked away, jaw slightly contracted.
His tone had darkened.