A crater now marked the place where Queen Elarya had once stood—charred, cracked, and still smoldering. Wisps of steam rose from the fractured ground, mingling with the last sparks of elemental magic that danced in the air.
High above, on his throne of molten stone and obsidian ash, Vulkris stirred.
The great beast, bound in glowing green chains, lay coiled in restless slumber atop the platform. But something had changed.
Its ears—massive and furred with flickering flame—twitched.
Once.
Twice.
The fire along its spine pulsed, and a low, rumbling growl escaped its chest—like distant thunder beneath the earth.
The realm was no longer quiet.
Smoke and magical debris slowly cleared. Steam hissed. Rubble crumbled.
Then—footsteps.
