Along with the thunderous roar of the resurrected Serathil and the swelling cheers of the people who lined the riverbanks, Leroy and Lorraine reached the capital city of Kaltharion astride Vaeronyx. Dawn had fully broken by then, casting molten gold along the rooftops, and the dragon, ever dramatic, ever ancient, made a deliberate, slow circle around the city.
His vast shadow swept over the tall stone buildings, across the morning markets bursting into life, and over every startled face that turned skyward. Merchants froze mid-call; baker boys dropped baskets of fresh loaves; children pointed with shrieks of awe. Even the horses in the stables reared and snorted, startled by the enormous silhouette crossing the sun.
Up on the fortress walls, the guards were much less poetic about it.
Weapons were raised. Bows drew back. Orders were shouted.
