The dying dragon's last cry had barely echoed when Strax consumed it, leaving nothing but dust and a silence so thick it seemed to weigh on the shoulders of the living.
His body pulsed with stolen energy—not just from the dragons, but from the earth itself. The sky was dead. The ground dared not move.
That's when she appeared.
A red beam cut through the air amid the chaos, advancing against the wind, against fear, against the very weight of the world. Scarlet.
Her wings glowed like heavenly embers. The wings, even stained with blood and soot, sparkled with authority and tenderness. Her figure seemed small before Strax's colossal draconic form — but she did not stop.
She flew toward him. Straight. Without hesitation.
"Strax!" she shouted, her voice clear as a blade cutting through the darkness.
The Black Dragon turned his head slowly, his eyes still glowing, still angry—but there was something else there. A glimpse of something forgotten.
