The Dragonborn of Raymonds High

The Crisis

Richard, ever efficient, had already begun searching on his tablet.

“As you command, my lord. Let me check… The nearest facility is Lighthouse Hospital. A private clinic—famous for its advanced medicine and excellent surgeons. However…”

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a lower voice.

“My apologies, sir. This might sound untimely, but our time is limited. The family’s succession ceremony has already begun. The sooner we return, the greater your chance of claiming the patriarch’s seat.”

The Dragonborn family’s succession was no election—it was a blood-soaked contest.

Every heir could compete, but only one would live to become patriarch.

The rest would either die… or be enslaved, their lives bound to the victor’s will.

For Jones, who had spent his life among humans, this was a harsh truth.

He might possess the purest dragon blood, but he had started far too late.

His talents surpassed many of his kin—but in resources, wealth, and influence, he lagged behind them all.

“I understand,” Jones replied quietly.

“But… my lord, we should—” Richard began, only to be cut off.

“I said, I understand.”

Jones turned to him, his golden eyes blazing with a power that made Richard’s breath hitch.

For a moment, he saw in Jones the reflection of the strongest Dragonborn in the family’s history—a king reborn.

“As you command,” Richard bowed, his tone filled with deference.

The Ferrari roared like thunder, surging toward Lighthouse Hospital.

Inside, Jones pressed down on Bob’s chest again and again, trying to keep his heart beating.

But Bob’s breathing grew weaker with every mile.

“Hold on, Bob,” Jones muttered between clenched teeth. “If you die… I swear, they’ll all die with you.”

The Ferrari screeched to a halt less than seven minutes later.

Jones leapt out, carrying Bob in his arms, and burst through the hospital doors.

“Doctor! Emergency! He needs immediate treatment!”

The receptionist—a pretty nurse with faint freckles—hurried over, her tone kind but professional. She quickly called for a stretcher and a team of medics.

But as they rushed Bob to the ER, she hesitated, looking apologetic.

“Sir… I’m very sorry, but as a private hospital, we must require a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars before we can proceed with full treatment. Until then, we can only maintain his basic vital signs. If payment isn’t made soon… we may have to limit care.”

Limited care—a polite way to say they would let him die slowly.

Jones’s jaw tightened. He would never allow that.

“I understand. Whatever it costs—one hundred thousand, a million, ten million—I’ll pay it. Richard, make the payment.”

Every Dragonborn carried a black gold card with a two-million-dollar limit for use in the human world. Jones had learned that on the way here—and now, it would finally serve its purpose.

But just as Richard handed over the card, an unwelcome voice cut through the hall.

“Don’t let them pay! They’re enemies of young master Henry!”

Jones turned.

A fat man on crutches was limping toward them, rage twisting his face. Jones recognized him instantly—one of Henry’s cronies from earlier that day, the one who had kicked Bob while he was down.

The man’s eyes burned with malice. “You! You’re the reason my leg’s broken! Don’t let this bastard pay a dime, miss! Kick them out!”

The nurse looked uneasy. “Sir, hospital policy states that as long as a client can pay, we are obligated to provide—”

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” the man snapped, his jowls shaking with fury. “To hell with policy! If you admit them, young master Henry will have you fired! His family owns shares in this hospital! If you want to keep your job, throw these people out! Let that half-dead fool die where he belongs!”

Tears welled in the nurse’s eyes. She trembled, caught between morality and survival.

For a young woman barely out of medical school, it was an impossible choice.

Jones, however, had no patience for hesitation. His friend was dying, and every second counted.

He strode forward, grabbed the fat man by the collar, and with one hand lifted him clear off the ground.

“If you don’t want your other leg in a cast,” Jones said coldly, “get out of my way.”

The sheer power in his grip made the man wheeze and choke. Terror replaced arrogance.

“I—I’m sorry!” he gasped, collapsing as Jones released him.

“Richard. Pay.”

Richard obeyed immediately—but the moment he swiped the card, the machine beeped sharply.

Transaction declined.

Richard’s expression darkened. “Damn it. The card’s been frozen. Those bastards from the family must’ve done this!”

The fat man broke into raucous laughter. “Ha! So that’s it—they’ve got no money! Throw them out!”

By now, several hospital security guards had gathered, forming a loose circle around Jones.

“Sir, please calm down,” one said cautiously. “We don’t want any trouble here.”

“Trouble?” Jones gave a low, dangerous laugh. “I only want to save my friend. That thing over there is the one causing trouble!”

He pointed at the fat man—then kicked him across the hall.

The man screamed, tumbling backward, clutching his stomach.

“He’s trying to kill me!” the man shrieked. “You can’t let this maniac’s friend stay here!”

The nurse wiped her tears, her voice trembling. “We… we can start emergency care for Mr. Bob, but please, you must pay within thirty minutes or we’ll be forced to stop. I’m… I’m sorry.”

It was clear she had done all she could.

“Shut your mouth, bitch!” the fat man roared suddenly, staggering back to his feet. He swung a meaty hand and slapped her hard across the face. “You’re fired! You hear me? Fired!”

The blow left her dazed, her cheek red and swollen. She stood frozen, tears streaming down.

Without this job, how would she pay her student loans? Her rent? Her life would crumble.

“Please… don’t,” she whispered weakly.

The man grinned vilely, his gaze crawling over her body. “That’s what you get for talking back.”

He never finished the sentence.

Jones was already in front of him—so fast the air seemed to crack. His fist slammed into the man’s gut like a hammer.

The fat man folded in two, vomiting and collapsing onto the floor.

“You—” he wheezed, unable to rise.

The guards rushed in again.

Jones’s eyes burned with a deadly light. “No one touches him. Bob must live.”

He swung his arm once—and the guards fell like dominos, thrown back by the shockwave of his strength.

Jones turned to grab a doctor, ready to force treatment if he had to—but then came the sound of sirens.

Dozens of vehicles pulled up outside the hospital. Armed officers poured out like a tide, rifles gleaming under the flashing red lights.

They weren’t here for a random disturbance.

They were here for him.

Jones’s brows furrowed. Time was slipping away—Bob couldn’t wait.

Behind him, the fat man, clutching his stomach, forced out a hoarse laugh.

“What’s wrong? Scared now? You’ll both be in prison before the night’s over!”