The forest enveloped them in a dense silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind and the distant echo of creatures roaring in the wild heart of Danthelion. The air was heavy, charged with ancient energy, as if each tree had witnessed eons of blood and glory. The thick roots, emerging from the soil, resembled sleeping serpents; the ground was covered in moss and exotic flowers that glowed faintly in the diffuse sunlight filtering through the canopy.
Strax kept his draconic, colossal form, his wings folded and his flaming eyes fixed on Scarlet. His presence filled the clearing with an unquestionable authority. The others—his wives and daughters—were scattered throughout the space, each reacting differently to the weight of the moment. Some kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, assessing dangers. Others, like Cassandra and Bellatrix, still had their focus fixed on Scarlet, awaiting explanations that seemed to come in drops, never in streams.
