The night cracked open.
Kaelis descended.
His wings spread wider than the towers, blotting lantern-light, his scales glowing molten like rivers dragged across black stone. With each beat of his wings the air shook, embers scattering like meteors. Then he opened his jaws.
Flame poured out in a torrent.
The sky turned white. Streets lit like forges, rooftops melted, soldiers screamed as their armor welded to their skin. The wards that should have flared up were gone—snapped with the fall of the obelisk—and the city was naked beneath his fire.
"DRAGON!" voices roared. The cry raced through the capital faster than his flames. Panic tore through the districts. Wolves bolted into alleys, serpents coiled and thrashed, boars bellowed prayers to the King. None of it mattered. Kaelis flew low, his laughter rolling like thunder as he burned entire rows of houses in a single breath.
Above him the Nova Sanctum struck.
