The air was thick with ash and silence as Darian staggered out of the collapsing tower, his cloak torn, his armor scorched, and blood crusted down the side of his face. The Citadel of Talen'dor was no more—reduced to charred ruins beneath the weight of the dragon's final breath and Darian's refusal to surrender.
But it wasn't victory that etched itself on his face. It was loss.
Petra was gone.
He had seen her fall—engulfed in the dragonfire as she struck the killing blow into the beast's eye with the last of her enchanted arrows. A warrior's death. A sister's sacrifice. And now, the only warmth that remained in him was grief.
Darian dropped to one knee, the ground trembling beneath him. Not from aftershocks, but from something older… something awakening.
He looked up.
