The Dragonborn of Raymonds High

The Mayor’s Invitation

The crowd was closing in on Jones.

Several police officers had already drawn their guns, moving swiftly and methodically, their muzzles glinting under the hospital’s fluorescent lights.

The air turned heavy—thick with tension, suffocatingly still.

It felt as if an invisible mountain had settled on everyone’s chest.

Jones lowered his head, silently gathering his strength. His eyes were cold, determined.

He was ready for the worst.

“Put down your guns! He’s a guest of Mayor Raun!”

The commanding voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

The speaker—a man in a well-tailored suit, clearly a senior official—strode quickly toward Jones, bowing respectfully.

“Honored sir,” he said breathlessly, “I am Mayor Raun’s secretary. We’re fully aware of the situation. The Mayor extends his deepest apologies for your earlier mistreatment. Please, rest assured—everything here will be handled appropriately. You need not worry about a thing.”

He gestured sharply to the officers behind him.

Within moments, the hospital returned to order. The armed police lowered their weapons; the tension dissolved.

The obese man who had earlier mocked Jones was trembling uncontrollably, barely able to stand as two officers dragged him toward a waiting patrol car.

“You’ve got the wrong man! He’s the troublemaker!” the fat man howled, pointing a shaking finger at Jones.

But no one paid him any attention.

He was shoved into the back seat, the door slammed shut—and only then did his bluster collapse into desperation.

“I’m sorry! Please, forgive me! Please don’t hurt me!” he cried, but the police car had already pulled away.

Jones turned to the secretary, frowning.

“Mayor Raun?” he asked. “I’ve never contacted him. Why would he intervene?”

The secretary only smiled politely, but before he could answer, Richard stepped forward, speaking in his calm, measured tone.

“My lord, to minimize trouble, I reported our presence to the local government upon arrival. Mayor Raun is a shrewd man—well-connected. He must have uncovered your true identity.”

That explanation made sense, yet Jones didn’t relax.

If the mayor was reaching out this quickly, it meant one thing—he wanted something.

Politics.

A game Jones despised, even if he didn’t fear it.

The secretary bowed slightly. “Yes, indeed. Mayor Raun is on his way as we speak. He wishes to meet both of you personally. If you’d be so kind to follow me?”

Richard glanced at Jones, silently deferring to his judgment.

Jones nodded. “I’ll meet him—but not before I know Bob’s safe.”

“Of course!” The secretary smiled reassuringly. “According to the latest report, Mr. Bob is receiving top-tier treatment. His condition has stabilized—he’s out of danger.”

“That’s good.” Jones’s expression softened.

He followed the secretary out, stepping into a long, sleek Cadillac limousine.

For the first time, Jones met Mayor Raun—a man who, in future histories, would be known as The King’s Left Hand.

And on this night, the first thread of that legend was quietly woven.

*********

Mayor Raun was impeccably dressed. His black tailcoat bore not a single crease.

A sharp aquiline nose, neatly trimmed beard, and narrow face gave him the air of a seasoned statesman.

He looked tired—drained by the endless burdens of office—but still managed a courteous smile as his guests entered.

“Please, take a seat,” Raun said, gesturing politely.

Jones inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I appreciate your intervention.”

“A small gesture,” Raun replied with a wave. His gaze lingered on Jones, studying him keenly.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve completed the Dragonblood Awakening, haven’t you?”

Jones shrugged. “That’s right.”

It was a simple answer, but enough to make the air shift.

By dragonborn standards, awakening at sixteen was nearly unheard of—most dragonblood heirs awakened after thirty-five.

The younger the awakening, the greater the power.

And Jones’s awakening meant unprecedented potential.

“Then allow me to congratulate you,” Raun said with a measured smile. “From what I’ve read, that marks the beginning of an extraordinary ascent.”

Jones leaned back slightly, his tone direct. “Forgive me, Mayor, but today’s been long. I don’t have much patience left. If you’ve got something to say, please get to the point.”

Raun chuckled softly. “Fair enough. I simply wish for your friendship.”

That answer caught even Richard off guard.

“My friendship?” Jones asked, brows raised. “You’re a politician. What good would my friendship do you?”

Raun exhaled slowly. “Let’s just say I admire strength—and I prefer to make allies of those who possess it.”

Jones didn’t respond. His golden eyes gleamed faintly.

Seeing that, Raun pressed on, voice low and steady. “I know your awakening comes with… certain needs. The Dragonborn require vast resources—research facilities, rare materials, biochemical serums to accelerate the blood’s evolution. All of it takes money—more than even noble families can easily amass.”

He reached into his coat and produced a black metal card, placing it gently on the table.

“This is a small token of goodwill—two billion dollars. A congratulatory gift for your awakening. No strings attached. I only ask for friendship, nothing more.”

Jones glanced at the card but didn’t take it.

He knew too well how dangerous it was to be entangled in politics.

Powerful men never offered anything for free.

Raun seemed to understand. He smiled faintly and leaned back, lighting a cigar.

“Caution is good. I’d be suspicious too. But perhaps… you’ll understand better if I tell you a story—my story, and this city’s.”

He drew deeply on the cigar, exhaling a slow spiral of smoke before beginning.

“As you know,” he said, voice soft but steady, “this is the City of Water—one of the top ten economic hubs in the country. But twenty years ago, it was nothing more than a poor fishing town. Barely any hospitals. Almost no jobs. People left their homes to find work elsewhere.”

His eyes grew distant.

“I grew up in the slums. I had to ride two hours every morning just to reach the nearest school. Two hours, on a rusted old bike.”

He paused, then looked toward the window.

Outside, the neon skyline gleamed like a sea of stars.

“But look at it now,” Raun said, his tone lifting with pride. “The high-rises, the lights, the bustling ports—this city shines. People can make a living without leaving home. Families travel together five times a year. We turned despair into prosperity.”

Jones nodded. “Yes… education here is much more accessible now.”

“Exactly,” Raun said, smiling. “Every child can go to school. They may not all like studying, but they can. They have opportunities we never had—and that’s something I will never allow to be destroyed.”

Then, his voice hardened.

His fist slammed against the armrest.

“I will not let anyone ruin this city—or undo the work I’ve devoted my life to!”

Jones’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s trying to destroy it?”

“Julian,” Raun spat the name like venom. “He’s behind everything. He sabotaged my campaign—and soon, he’ll ruin this city.”

“Ruin?” Jones repeated.

Raun nodded grimly. “They plan to demolish every factory, convert the shipping ports into tourist docks, and replace our industries with office towers. They want to turn this city into a playground for financiers—a hollow shell of what it was.”

“That would cause mass unemployment,” Jones murmured.

“Over fifty percent,” Raun confirmed darkly. “Half the population will lose their livelihoods. Families will collapse.”

Jones frowned. “The national government won’t intervene?”

Raun gave a bitter laugh. “They won’t. Julian has friends in high places.”

A silence hung between them. Then Jones asked quietly, “So what do you want from me?”

Raun smiled faintly. “For now? Nothing. I’m not as fragile as I look. I still have power here. This meeting is just… insurance. A precaution.”

He slid the black card closer.

“Take it. My money’s clean. And my respect is genuine.”

Jones studied him for a moment, then finally picked up the card.

“Very well,” he said. “Then I’ll consider it friendship.”

Raun raised his glass. “To our cooperation.”

Their glasses clinked softly, sealing a quiet accord.

When Jones and Richard finally departed, Raun remained seated, staring at the rippling surface of his champagne.

The warmth in his smile slowly faded.

The politician returned.

“Do you think he’ll actually help us?” his secretary asked cautiously. “From what I’ve read, the dragonborn see themselves as… superior to humans.”

Raun chuckled, extinguishing his cigar. “He will. He’s not a dragon, not yet—he’s a fox. And a clever one.”

The secretary stiffened. “You mean—he saw through—?”

“Of course he did,” Raun interrupted softly. “He saw right through my performance. But wise men don’t expose what they see. They act on shared interest, not sentiment.”

Raun glanced down at the folder on his desk—Jones’s background report.

He tore it to shreds.

“This report is worthless,” he said coldly. “We underestimated him.”

He poured another glass of champagne, staring into its pale gold surface.

“Jones isn’t some reckless, arrogant dragonblood. He’s something far more dangerous—

a strong man who keeps his mind clear, even after awakening.”