It had been a while.
A long while since Heinz had ridden Azure like this—not as a companion, not as a symbol of peace, but as a weapon.
The wind tore through his black hair, sending it whipping wildly behind him as he stood atop the blue dragon's back.
The air was sharp, cold, but underneath it all lingered something heavier—something he could taste at the back of his throat.
Death.
The scent of it hung thick in the sky, mixing with the smoke of fire and blood.
The battlefield stretched beneath them, littered with shattered rooftops and burning trees, the remnants of what had once been his kingdom's calm night.
And above it all—facing him—was him.
Charles.
The man smirking at him from the back of the red dragon, his posture infuriatingly casual, his eyes brimming with confidence.
The same kind of confidence that made Heinz's blood boil.
It reminded him of that night.
