The citadel was gone.
The roof had caved, walls split and melted, the throne shattered into rubble. Fire ate everything, golden and black, the night sky exposed above where the ceiling had been. Ash fell like snow through the air, glowing faint in the storm of heat.
Lucian stood bloodied in the center, chest split, his side torn open. His shirt was gone, skin burned raw in patches, but his golden eyes still glowed sharp. His mana flared steady, endless, wrapping him in a storm of warped space and twisted time.
Across from him, Taragon loomed in his Beta form. His mane blazed like a crown of suns, his frame doubled in size, his claws molten white, his aura pressing down like the sky itself was falling. His breath came out in clouds of golden fire, each one burning holes in the stone floor.
