Two hours later, the soldiers were ordered to line up.
Noa stood silently among the ranks.
Then it all began — deep, thunderous footsteps rumbled as if the earth itself was trembling.
On the horizon, a formation slowly appeared. The Jogan warriors had arrived.
They were unlike any other dragonfolk.
Each soldier's body was broad and powerful, their skin faintly shimmering with inner heat. Their eyes burned like living flames, and steam escaped with every breath they took. Even their armor seemed alive — black iron engraved with molten patterns.
At the front walked several young warriors… and one girl.
The girl's eyes glowed like molten rubies, and her hair shimmered like living fire, flowing with its own will, untouched by the wind.
The soldiers around Noa watched in awe and whispered:
— One of the three great families has come...
— With their princess...
Some stepped back, uneasy before the heat that seemed to melt the very air around them.
But Noa did not flinch. His eyes followed every step steadily and with unyielding resolve.
"Behold the Jogan Tribe," Zobid's voice rang across the entire camp.
"From this day on, they are your comrades. Treat them with respect."
The Jogan warriors halted before the ranks.
One of them turned to Noa, smirking with mockery.
"Are we really supposed to fight alongside this? I never thought they'd send such a low-grade dragon to stand with our tribe."
Laughter spread through the ranks.
Noa lifted his head and met the warrior's gaze — calm and resolute.
"Very proud," Noa whispered.
"He thinks the Black Dragon cadets are weak," said another.
Noa's voice cut through the noise, quiet but sharp:
"Has the dragon who thinks himself strong forgotten that he is merely a frog at the bottom of a well?"
Silence fell.
The Flame Princess tilted her head slightly. Her eyes lingered on Noa for a long moment.
"Interesting…" she said softly.
"He is not burning."
"Enough," Zobid's voice broke the tension.
"Rest today. Training begins tomorrow. Then we will see your true strength."
Zobid's thoughts churned.
"Interesting… he spoke up before anyone else. No one dares defy the Jogans. Has he really changed?"
The Jogan warriors moved through the camp and began settling in.
The air grew heavier and warmer — their presence seemed to bend the wind itself.
Ordinary soldiers instinctively stepped aside.
Later, once the Jogan warriors had divided into groups, Noa watched them closely.
From the left, the same mocking warrior returned.
"Hey, fallen prince," he said loudly,
"Tomorrow you'll stand beside us? Then keep your distance from me."
Noa said nothing.
The warrior laughed and pressed his hand down hard on Noa's shoulder — not gently, but with enough force to crush him.
Heat spread through Noa's body, yet he remained completely still and unyielding.
The warrior's palm scorched his shoulder.
"Hot," Noa said calmly.
"But this is still too little."
The warrior's smirk vanished.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
Noa replied in a serious tone:
"Do you decide what I do?"
He brushed the hand off his shoulder and continued on his way.
The others fell silent, watching.
Then the Flame Princess stepped forward.
Her movements were calm, yet her presence commanded the air around her.
She glanced at Noa for a brief moment, then turned to Rairon and said:
"Without my permission — you are not even allowed to breathe."
The warrior's jaw tightened, but he obeyed and stepped back.
Noa met his gaze one last time.
His voice was a cold, certain whisper:
"So you've come too."
When the Jogans lined up again, their towering figures cast long shadows.
"Noa was standing among them — yet he was not there."
Zobid stepped forward once more, his tone firm.
"From this day on, the Jogan warriors are your peers. You will train together — and fight together."
A tall youth with crimson hair stepped forward.
"My name is Rairon!
We were born of fire!
Strength is life — weakness is death!"
His words struck the ranks like thunder.
Most nodded in fierce agreement.
Only Noa remained silent.
Rairon's eyes fell on him like an invisible dagger.
Noa clenched his fists, his heart pounding — not from anger, but from a strange, cold calm.
The first trial began — the Trial of Fire Stones.
Each soldier had to carry one stone across the field.
The Jogans easily picked the heaviest ones, their muscles taut and expressions serious, and moved forward.
Noa did not choose the smallest.
He picked one of medium weight — heavy enough to cause pain, yet light enough to endure.
His hands trembled as he lifted it.
The run began.
The Jogans thundered ahead, scorching the ground with every step.
Noa lagged behind, breathing hard, but one thought repeated in his mind:
"If I control my breathing properly and use my strength correctly — I have a chance."
Noa continued running.
He didn't finish first — but he wasn't last either.
One Jogan stumbled and dropped his stone.
Noa picked it up without hesitation and ran forward.
The entire camp fell into shocked silence.
A smile formed on Rairon's lips — not warm, but full of challenge.
Noa's breathing was fast but steady. He looked at the Jogan warriors and said in a low voice…
Rairon froze in surprise.
He turned away, his eyes glinting with excitement.
"The fallen prince… that will of his — I almost envy it.
Get stronger," he said quietly.
"Then I will break you myself.
For now… I will let you grow."