At the same time, a new figure took shape in the darkness.
A man.
His upper body was still human, but a teal tail dragged behind him, and his legs had the structure of a dragon. A broken horn jutted from his forehead at a slight angle, and wind spiraled around his body.
Maelor—controlled by Vhalrath—had returned to the battlefield.
Dragons were rare to begin with.
A dragon that had already died and could still be repurposed was rarer still.
Even if they weren't of the same bloodline, as long as they belonged to the same race, Vhalrath only needed a little "processing" to make Maelor stand back up and fight again.
Staring at their own shadows, the group instead loosened their grip on restraint and let their power breathe.
They were just fake versions of themselves.
What was there to be afraid of?
Feylora stood at the very back of the circle, both hands spread outward.
