The wing bones creaked under pressure. The drake struggled, muscles straining, heat flaring along its throat.
Ikenga growled. A warning, his eyes locked onto the drake's burning gaze, his intention clear, submit.
This was a hunt but it was not slaughter. Ikenga had no desire to spill blood today.
There was a natural order to his realm. Predators hunted prey. Strength rose and fell. Death came when it must. He would not disrupt that balance with his own hands not for sport, not for nostalgia.
Today was not about killing. It was about running beside his son. The drake snarled, smoke billowing from its nostrils, but its movements slowed. It felt the weight on its wing. It felt the precision of the bite at its neck strong enough to crush, restrained enough not to.
Maul pressed down slightly harder.
The earth beneath them groaned. For a moment, the forest held its breath.
