Dragon Genesis: I Can Create Dragons - Chapter 548: So we assume the worst.
Chapter 548: So we assume the worst.
“He says… if one of his breaks a rule, he will punish.”
Zakaar translated Gruumak’s words and for the next few seconds, silence fell over the place.
“Good.”
Finally, Morvain nodded, pulling the rest of the Council Elders out of their reveries. Then she leaned back and let her eyes close for half a second.
When she opened them again, she spoke the next topic.
“The water incident.”
The table tightened immediately.
Even after a long day, that word still carried a… sharp edge.
After all, something happened.
Something that almost broke the fragile peace between the two sides and while Kael did intervene, the Council members… they still needed more, clearer details about the matter.
Morvain looked at Kael, expecting an answer.
But…
“It was taken care of.”
Kael spoke without any change in his expression.
No stories.
No details.
No blame.
Just a simple statement that made it clear he had no intention of explaining anything. And honestly, that was the best way to handle this.
After all, Kael had gone against the rules they had established. If this topic was discussed more thoroughly…
It would cause… problems.
Tarevian’s mouth opened as if he wanted to ask more but seeing the look on Kael’s face, he closed his mouth again.
Morvain stared at Kael as well. At this point, she could tell what he was thinking just by looking at his face, and for now, she decided to trust him, again.
“Then we move on.”
The Matriarch nodded.
And that was when Korvath shifted forward and cleared his throat with an… uneasy look on his face.
“There was no movement today.”
He spoke solemnly, and in an instant, the rest frowned.
“Nothing?”
Nymeris repeated.
“At all?”
The same question every single person present in the room wanted to ask. After all, the past few days have been… extremely chaotic.
Be it the tribes killing their scouts and hunters, or burning the wood. Every single day, something small or major had happened.
There had always been… movements.
And for all of it to… suddenly stop, right when Stonefangs joined them…
This did not release any pressure from the Elders. In fact, it only increased it. The silence became… heavier, more uncertain.
“Nothing.”
Korvath shook his head slowly.
Aelindra’s fingers tightened around her notes.
“That’s not normal,”
She said quietly.
“They must be planning something.”
Tarevian spoke with a grim look on his face.
“What?”
Nymeris asked and the elders…
They did not have an answer.
They looked at each other, looking for… something in each other’s eyes, but they only saw… confusion, uncertainty and… suspicion.
Gruumak too, after Zakaar translated everything for him, had a grim look on his face. He too did not have any answers.
Maybe they were recruiting more tribes.
Maybe they were preparing an attack.
There were countless possibilities, so many that Gruumak decided it was better not to think about it at all.
In the end, he, along with all the elders, turned towards one man to get the answers.
Kael.
It wasn’t planned or something they had practiced.
It had just become… a habit.
When in confusion, turn towards Kael.
Morvain noticed it too. She noticed how all elders, even Gruumak, had become reliant on Kael. She noticed how the young man held most of the power in this council where the strongest people of this region sat. She noticed how much power she had lost ever since this young man had come, and the worst part?
She was no different.
She too had already turned towards Kael, waiting for him to say something. But this time—
“Don’t look at me like that.
In this situation, I know as much as you do.
I am not omniscient.”
Kael shook his head and in an instant, the Council turned silent. Some elders turned away from Kael, somewhat ashamed of their reliance.
Kael on the other hand, took a deep breath and—
“But still, the silence is threatening. No one here can deny that.”
He began with a solemn look on his face.
“So we assume the worst,”
Kael looked at all the elders present in the Council,
“And we prepare.”
He declared.
No one argued with that.
Morvain let out a slow breath and nodded.
“Tomorrow, we continue the assimilation, more carefully this time.”
She glanced at each elder, one by one.
“And no one leaves the Wall unless the Council approves it.”
The Elders nodded, even Gruumak was no different.
“That is enough.”
Morvain declared as she stood up, the chair she was sitting on scraped, and one by one, others stood up as well.
With heavy shoulders, the elders walked out into the snow.
The meeting had ended.
…
At night, after people working the day shifts had returned to their rooms to rest, a few did not sleep.
Even late at night, when most doors were shut tight, there was one place that still gathered people quietly.
The Faith Tree.
The Faith Tree wasn’t ancient.
That was the strange part.
When the elders spoke about “old blessings” and “old miracles,” the Faith Tree never belonged in those stories. It hadn’t stood through a thousand winters. It hadn’t watched twelve hundred years of Velmourn survival.
It was new.
Something Lord Kael brought back.
But even then—
The Faith Tree’s power was impossible to ignore.
It could store Faith Energy.
Faith Energy, by nature, was unstable. One day people believed with full hearts. The next day fear shook them, rumors spread, death happened and Faith…
Faith cracked.
And when faith cracked, the energy cracked too.
That instability used to be dangerous, because Lord Kael’s ability to produce food depended on faith being strong enough.
But the tree changed that.
The tree became… a reservoir.
When belief was high, when the city felt safe for even a few hours, the Faith Tree drank that energy in and held it. And when belief weakened—when panic rose, when the walls felt too thin, when people started doubting—the tree still had stored Faith Energy inside it.
Enough to help Lord Kael keep producing the Divine Rations and feed the city.
That was why the Dawn of the Dragon gathered under it.
They didn’t just come to “pray” because it felt comforting.
They believed their prayers did something.
They believed that praying under the Faith Tree fed it.
That their words, their devotion, their gratitude, every time they whispered their Lord’s name—turned into Faith Energy and stored inside it for future use.
And in the Heights, where that very Faith Energy gave food, food that could decide who lived and who died…
That belief became… a kind of duty.
A duty only the Dawn of the Dragon could fulfil.
And late at night, as these people gathered under the Faith Tree, they couldn’t help but… marvel at its beauty.
The snow covered the ground in a smooth, silent blanket. The wind was softer near the city center, as if the wind itself respected the tree and moved carefully around it.
Since it was an open area, the gemstones were fewer and the darkness felt thicker.
But the tree didn’t vanish into that darkness.
It stood out.
Its trunk was massive—so wide that three men with arms outstretched couldn’t wrap around it. The bark was rough, old-looking. Snow clung to its grooves and ridges, filling the cracks like white ash.
Two great bodies of wood rose close together, leaning toward each other like they shared one breath.
Between them, a thick vine stretched like a bridge—heavy and ancient-looking, sagging slightly in the middle under the weight of snow.
On one side of the trunk, warm light gathered.
A cluster of soft and pale mushrooms glowed faint gold even under the snow, like small lanterns trapped inside living flesh.
On the other side, the wood looked darker.
Snow rested there too, but it looked colder against that side, like the white couldn’t soften it.
And at the base…
The roots didn’t spread like normal roots.
They curled.
They coiled.
They wrapped around each other in a slow spiral, thick as pillars, until they formed something that made people stop every time they noticed it.
A dragon’s head.
Not perfectly carved.
Not polished.
Just a shape the roots naturally became—horns suggested in wood, a long jaw half-buried in earth, as if the dragon was sleeping under the tree and the tree had grown from its breath.
In the night, with snow dusting its brow and lashes, it looked less like wood and more like a guardian that could wake up at any moment.
That was why the Dawn of the Dragon loved this place.
The tree didn’t feel like a normal tree.
It felt like a promise.
A promise that their faith would not be wasted.
A promise that even if the city trembled, even if there was a War tomorrow, their prayers would stay here—stored, held, saved—so Lord Kael could keep feeding them when they needed it the most.
So late at night, they came quietly.
And they prayed.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
