The memory shifted one last time. The jump was hard, out of the cold industrial steel of the Demon capital and into a world of blinding light.
The Dragon Realm.
It was a dimension built of crystallised mana. Floating islands of white marble and gold drifted in a sky that was one endless aurora. Cities of spun diamond shone under three suns. The air was so pure it would have burned the lungs of a lesser demon.
It was paradise. And it was about to die.
I stood on the highest of the floating continents, the seat of the Dragon Court. Around me, the sky was dark. Not with night. With ships.
The demon armada hung in the upper air, thousands of dreadnoughts with Miasma-scarred hulls, blotting out all three suns. They didn't fire. They just hung there, an industrial threat parked over a world out of a legend.
Below, on the crystal plains, the Dragon Host had gathered.
