"We have confirmed the existence of Dragons, Your Majesty."
Static crackled through the magical communication device.
No answer came at first.
The officer holding the crystal swallowed as he stared across the ruined sea. Behind him, sailors limped across the fractured deck, dragging wounded men away from broken railings while engineers desperately reinforced the ship's leaning mast.
Half the fleet was gone.
Several surviving vessels burned in the distance, their hulls split by waves created from a battle they had never joined. Others floated without sails or engines, carried helplessly by currents still disturbed from Leviathan's death.
The officer pressed the crystal closer to his mouth.
"Your Majesty?"
A deep voice finally answered.
"How many?"
The officer glanced toward the coast again.
Smoke covered Grigor.
