The Monster Capital's great square had not quieted since the wolf war-chief's collapse. His last word—dragon—still hung in the air, carried on the whispers and howls of thousands. The roar of it reached the mountain peak where the King's Hall sat carved into stone, black pillars etched with veins of gold that pulsed faint light.
Inside, the four dukes had gathered already. Their auras filled the hall, heavy and old. The Azure Phoenix's wings curled in tight flame, each breath spilling embers that never touched the floor. The White Tiger prowled along the right dais, his tail slamming against the pillars with every step, teeth bared. The Black Tortoise remained still, half of its massive shell hidden in shadow, eyes steady as deep water. The Vermilion Serpent coiled along the far wall, coils rising higher than towers, tongue flicking as its scales glimmered faint red.
