Starting out as a Dragon Slave

The building rose with imperious elegance at the heart of a spacious and verdant complex, isolated from the rest of the district by a series of geometric gardens and fountains with shimmering waters. The main tower, a structure of glass and steel with bluish reflections, stretched up twelve stories, each floor slightly offset from the previous in a subtle spiral evoking a perpetual upward motion. The façades were not just glass panes but composed of intelligent polarized material that changed hue depending on the angle of the light, creating the illusion that the building was breathing in rhythm with the day.

At the top, overlooking the city with commanding presence, sat the guild’s emblem, a spiral-shaped star whose branches seemed to stretch into infinity, inlaid with mana crystals that captured the light and transformed it into a phosphorescent halo. Even in full daylight, the bluish glow remained visible.

Isaac felt the atmosphere change as they approached. The very air seemed denser, charged with mana particles that lightly tingled against his skin. The outer walls, which an untrained eye might mistake for mere decorative elements, were actually embedded with protective runes, visible only to trained eyes or under magical light. These ancient symbols formed a complex defense network, making this building one of the most secure places in the city.

The car entered a private lane that led to the main entrance. Guild members moved across the esplanade, some in combat gear, others in more formal uniforms. Isaac instantly recognized the telltale signs of intermediate-ranked hunters, the way they moved, their carefully maintained gear, that confidence that was not yet arrogance but well beyond the self-assurance of novices.

When the car stopped in front of the main doors, a sudden silence fell over the nearest group. Conversations halted, and eyes turned toward the vehicle. Isaac understood then that the arrival of Lazare Korr was not an everyday occurrence, even here, within his own domain.

The engraved glass doors parted with a silent glide. Lazare stepped forward, his movement fluid yet purposeful, creating around him an invisible zone of respect. Isaac followed, fully aware of the eyes now fixed on him, curiosity, suspicion, assessment. He held his head high, his face impassive, but his senses were alert, cataloging every face, every reaction, every murmur.

— That’s him? whispered a short-haired young woman with a fighter’s posture, speaking to her companion without bothering to lower her voice.

— The dungeon survivor? replied the man next to her, a stocky hunter with rune-covered arms.

The young woman frowned slightly, looking Isaac up and down.

— He doesn’t look that tough...

Her partner gave her a small nudge with his elbow, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

— Shh. He’s with the Guild Master. If Lazare brought him in personally, there’s a reason.

Isaac let the comments roll off him, he was used to being underestimated. It had often worked to his advantage; opponents who dismiss you rarely take the time to study you properly.

The main hall of the StarSky Guild opened before them, a vast space both functional and impressive. The ceiling, nearly ten meters high, was crisscrossed with beams of light that followed invisible circuits, like the bloodstream of a living organism. The floor, deep black and polished to a glass-like sheen, reflected these shifting lights, giving the illusion of walking on a starry night sky.

Holographic displays floated in various strategic locations, showing a multitude of real-time information: internal hunter rankings, available missions and their difficulty levels, danger reports from recently detected portals, market values of resources extracted from dungeons. The overall effect was that of a high-tech hive, buzzing with controlled activity.

At the center of the hall stood a futuristic fountain, a spiraling structure from which flowed not ordinary water, but a translucent liquid with iridescent highlights. Isaac immediately recognized the distinctive energy signature of mana-enriched water, a costly luxury reserved for the most prosperous guilds, used as much for its regenerative properties as a display of power.

Several guild members bowed slightly as Lazare passed, some murmuring respectful greetings, others offering only a nod. The Guild Master responded with brief nods or measured smiles but did not stop, maintaining his unwavering path toward the back of the hall.

They reached an elevator whose doors, unlike the others scattered throughout the hall, were made of a metallic alloy with silvery reflections. There was no visible call button, only a sophisticated security device, a retinal scanner embedded in what appeared to be a decorative panel.

Lazare stepped in front of the scanner, which emitted a blue beam that swiftly scanned his eye.

— Identification confirmed: Lazare Korr, Guild Master, Omega-level clearance, announced a synthetic voice in a neutral tone. Welcome, sir.

The scanner then pivoted toward Isaac, who felt the invisible pressure of a much more thorough biometric scan than a simple retinal read.

— Unregistered subject detected. Threat level: assessment in progress...

An imperceptible tension rippled across Isaac’s shoulders.

— Special authorization: personal guest, Lazare intervened calmly but firmly. Override code: Stellaris-7-9-3.

A pause, then the mechanical voice resumed:

— Override accepted. Temporary access granted to guest. Validity: 24 hours.

The elevator doors slid open in a smooth motion, revealing a cabin with immaculate white walls, softly illuminated by a light that seemed to emanate from the surfaces themselves rather than any visible source.

Once inside, Isaac noticed the complete absence of buttons or floor indicators. The doors closed silently, and the elevator began its ascent without any apparent command.

— The security system is... thorough, Isaac remarked, cautiously testing the boundaries of conversation.

— Necessary, Lazare replied simply. In our world, trust is a luxury we can rarely afford.

Isaac nodded slightly. He understood that truth better than most.

The sensation of acceleration was almost imperceptible — the elevator ascended at a speed that conventional technology couldn’t achieve without discomfort. Another subtle yet effective manifestation of how magic had been integrated into modern technology, a StarSky specialty.

When the doors opened again, they emerged into a corridor of elegant austerity, in stark contrast to the technological buzz of the main hall. Here, the deep midnight-blue walls were adorned with paintings depicting historical battles involving S-rank hunters, not fantastical illustrations, but precise reconstructions of real events, painted with striking realism that seemed to capture the very essence of the power unleashed during those legendary confrontations.

Isaac slowed imperceptibly in front of one such piece, involuntarily drawn to a depiction of a battle he recognized, the famous Battle of the Azureth Gate, where three S-rank hunters had sacrificed their lives to close a rank-S portal. Only five of these had ever been sealed in the world; four remained. The artist had captured, with uncanny accuracy, the moment when the group’s leader, a silver-haired woman — channeled such pure mana that it appeared as a column of white light piercing the darkness.

Lazare noticed his interest and paused briefly.

— Helena Silverlight, he said softly. My mentor. She taught me that power is nothing without sacrifice.

For the first time, Isaac detected a different tone in the guild master’s voice — not the usual composed precision, but a reverence tinged with old pain. That brief glimpse of humanity disappeared as quickly as it had come, Lazare resuming his pace toward the end of the corridor.

They stopped before a door that stood apart from the others due to its material, real, old, precious wood, carved with subtle stellar motifs that curled around the guild’s central emblem. The wrought-metal handle felt almost warm to the touch, as though it retained the energetic imprint of all who had turned it over the years.

Without ceremony, Lazare opened the door, revealing the private space beyond.

— Come in, he said. We can speak in peace here.

Isaac crossed the threshold and halted for a moment, struck by the contrast between the building’s technological opulence and the almost timeless atmosphere of this room. A guild master’s office he had imagined as cold, intimidating, and impersonal turned out to be a space of warm, scholarly elegance.

The room was spacious, bathed in natural light filtering through a panoramic window that offered a dizzying view of the entire city, stretching out to the shimmering marine horizon in the distance. The walls were lined with dark wood bookshelves, filled not with ostentatious decorations, but true treasures of knowledge, ancient grimoires with worn bindings, meticulously preserved manuscripts, technical reports sorted with methodical precision.

At the center of the room stood a massive wooden desk, drawing the eye not through excessive ornamentation, but through the natural nobility of its material and the functional simplicity of its design. Its surface was partially covered in documents, annotated maps, and an old artifact that served as a paperweight, a crystalline sphere within which filaments of blue light swirled.

In front of the desk, two worn leather armchairs offered comfort without pretension. Between them, a low table supported several unfolded maps and what appeared to be hand-annotated dungeon plans.

The atmosphere was infused with the subtle scent of old paper, ink, and that distinctive perfume found in places where time flows differently, a mix of polished wood, aging leather, and a more esoteric note that Isaac identified as the lingering presence of concentrated mana.

Lazare removed his coat with a fluid motion, revealing a simpler yet impeccably tailored outfit a deep blue fitted jacket over a charcoal-grey shirt, without a single superfluous ornament. He hung the garment on a discreet coat rack, then walked toward the desk with quiet familiarity.

Isaac noticed that despite the guild master’s apparent ease, he had chosen a position that allowed him to keep an eye on both the door and the window simultaneously a survivor’s reflex that Isaac shared himself.

— Take a seat, Lazare invited, indicating one of the armchairs facing the desk.

As Isaac sat down, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in days an unexpected sense of inner calm. Not the numbness of resignation or dissociation, but rather the paradoxical peace of finally stepping onto a defined path, no matter how perilous.

The feeling was almost unsettling in its novelty. As if, after drifting endlessly through a sea of chaos, he could finally make out the silhouette of a shoreline on the horizon uncertain, perhaps hostile, but tangible.

Lazare placed his hands on the polished surface of the desk, fingers slightly spread, palms flat. A gesture of calculated openness, Isaac noted a posture meant to appear transparent while maintaining clear authority. The guild master’s hands bore the marks worn only by true combatants fine white scars across the knuckles, calluses in all the right places, and that subtle, almost invisible tension of muscles always ready to act.

— Isaac. Welcome to StarSky, Lazare declared, his gaze locked directly onto Isaac’s.

— ...Thank you, Isaac replied simply.