The memory simulation shifted for the final time. The jump was jarring, moving from the cold, industrial steel of the Demon Capital to a world of blinding, opulent light.
The Dragon Realm.
It was a dimension composed entirely of crystallized Mana. Floating islands of white marble and gold drifted in a sky that was a perpetual aurora borealis. Cities built from spun diamond gleamed under three suns. The air was so pure it would burn the lungs of a Lesser Demon.
It was paradise. And it was about to die.
I stood on the highest floating continent, the seat of the Dragon Court. Around me, the sky was dark. Not from night, but from ships.
The Demon armada hung in the atmosphere—thousands of dreadnoughts, their hulls scarred with Miasma, blotting out the three suns. They didn't fire. They just hovered, a silent, industrialized threat against a world of high fantasy.
Below, on the crystalline plains, the Dragon Host had gathered.
