From high above the second Colony City of the Thornveil Dynasty, Achilles stood silent.
Well, his Primordial Avatar, cloaked in violet-gold, burning with the fused might of Draconic assimilations, hovered like a judgment cast by the skies themselves.
Through the keen, merciless sight of his Luminblood Stage Draconic Orc Hybrid, he saw it all.
Another Colony City.
War-torn.
Scarred.
The husks of what once had been Ancient Ones lay strewn across streets drenched in the afterbirth of battle, Draconic Hybrids towering above their broken corpses like sentinels of a new era.
Flames burned.
Smoke curled.
But not a single Hybrid moved in chaos.
They stood in orderly silence, awaiting the next command.
Above it all, Achilles watched.
He said nothing.
He simply observed.
Through his Avatar's eyes, the world always seemed…smaller.
Manageable.
He had once thought power was simply having the strength to protect what he loved, to shield Rose, to defy death.
Now?
