The chamber burned like a furnace, flames eating at the walls, the ceiling trembling with each clash. Dust rained down, the once-grand throne room now a crater-riddled battlefield.
Lucian stood in the smoke, cloak torn, blood staining his side. His chest rose and fell, but his golden eyes burned hotter than the inferno around him. Space cracked faintly with every breath he took, reality groaning under the strain of his will.
Across from him, Taragon's mane blazed like a sun. His claws glowed molten gold, his breath heavy but still rumbling like a storm in his chest. The Lion King's amber eyes narrowed, his lips curling back to bare fangs.
"You should be ash by now," he growled. "And yet you stand."
Lucian smirked, his voice low but steady. "That's the difference between me and you. You burn out." He lifted his hand, light bending around his fingers like warped glass. "I don't."
