Meanwhile, at the cave's mouth…
The wind screamed over the jagged lip of the abyss—less a breeze, more a dirge. Cold mist crept across the shattered ground, curling around armored boots and clawed feet, blurring the shapes of those who stood vigil at the edge.
They had come to finish what had begun weeks ago.
Here, in this pit, the Chaos Dragon had been struck down. Poison in his veins. Wings torn. Alone.
Now, a dozen soldiers stood ready, their ranks shadowed by the scaled traitors of the dragonnudes. At their head loomed Captain Harven, the bowman whose venom-tipped arrow had stolen the great beast's flight.
"This is the place," Harven murmured, gaze sweeping the darkness. "He bled here. I saw it."
But the cave yawned empty.
No corpse. No shattered bones. No trail.
Only silence.
And silence was never harmless.
General Kyreth—silver-scaled, battle-worn, a spear like a pillar gripped in one hand—scanned the darkness, unease twitching in his tail.
"This isn't right. That wound should have ended him. There should be at least something."
A younger soldier knelt near the entrance, pressing his palm to the stone.
"…Cold," he whispered. "Too cold. Like something drank the heat from the rock."
The abyss breathed then. Not wind—something deeper. A sound that didn't belong in the world above.
It came again—louder. Not a roar. Not a voice. The impact of two powers colliding, shaking the bones of the earth. The kind of violence that carried no words, only intent.
Harven went pale.
"That's not wind."
Another detonation followed, this one close enough to rattle teeth, as though the world below had cracked against its will.
Kyreth didn't wait.
"Retreat," he barked, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. "Now."
No one argued. Not when the dark was speaking in the language of gods.
They fled like cowards wrapped in the skin of warriors, boots pounding against stone as if speed could outrun the silence now breathing behind them.
The royal hall of Avarinth—greatest and proudest of the human kingdoms—had never felt this cold.
Captain Harven knelt before the obsidian dais, armor scoured by rock and blood, eyes sharp but unsettled. The king's court was full tonight: nobles in silks, guildmasters in chains of office, bishops in white, generals in steel. Torchlight danced across anxious faces, the shadows it cast long and trembling.
"The cave was empty," Harven said, his voice carrying in the hush. "No corpse. No blood. No trace. As though the Chaos Dragon had bled into smoke."
The words hit like an arrow loosed in the dark.
Shouts broke out. Panic moved through the chamber like wildfire.
"Impossible!" thundered Duke Wensley. "We saw it fall!"
"And yet it lives!" cried Archpriest Domaris, gripping his scepter tight. "Or worse—it has changed. The abyss may have devoured it and birthed something fouler still!"
General Calros's gauntleted fist slammed onto the council table, rattling cups and hearts alike.
"Enough. We know nothing. Guesswork will not guide a kingdom's hand."
But Harven didn't yield.
"Majesties, lords… we heard something. Deep in the dark. Not the cries of beasts, not the clash of men. Something older. Heavier. The sound of power that doesn't belong in our world."
The words dragged the room into silence.
King Albrecht Veylor leaned forward, dragonbone crown catching the light. When he spoke, it was not as a monarch, but as a man staring at the edge of a blade.
"If the Chaos Dragon survived… if something stirs in that abyss…"
His gaze shifted to the high commander.
"We will not wait for it to rise. We shall go down."
"Your Majesty—" began a pale minister.
Lady Rhelia, the church's Arch-Knight, cut him off like a blade.
"Better to face the truth than let it stalk our dreams. If the dragon breathes still, we end it before it grows into something greater."
The king stood. The chamber seemed smaller.
"Then it is decided."
A scroll was brought forward, the ink still wet with royal seal.
"Captain Harven. General Kyreth. The Order of the White Flame. Adventurers from the Seven Stars. Priests of the High Flame. Dragonnude champions. You have three days to prepare."
One noble swallowed.
"To descend into the abyss?"
The king's eyes, once warm, had turned to obsidian.
"No. To drag its secret into the light. And if what sleeps there is already awake…"
He let the silence finish the thought.
In that stillness, no one dared speak of glory. No one muttered of honor.
They all knew the truth:
If the Chaos Dragon was no longer in that cave—
And something else was—
Then the sun had already set on their age.