The morning sun rose blood-red over the plains, its light swallowed by the black tide of soldiers that now marched toward Greyspire. Seventy-nine thousand men, armor clattering like a storm of iron, banners snapping in the wind, and ten siege towers looming high above them like mountains of wood and steel.
From the walls, the citizens of Greyspire stared in silence. Fear hung in their eyes, yet alongside it, a fragile ember of hope burned. For at their side stood the princess—and behind her, Kael's legion of iron and fire.
Inside the war room, Kael's eyes glowed faintly beneath his mask. Before him hovered an arcane projection of the battlefield: markers of golems, troops, enemy formations. His hand traced across the map, planting runic stones that shimmered with hidden power.
"They think numbers will break us," Kael said, voice low but sharp. "Let them come. We will carve them down like waves breaking against rock."
He had already placed his trap. Buried deep in the soil around Greyspire's walls were necrotic anchors, waiting for the fallen to rise again at his command. His mage golems lined the battlements, cores glowing with condensed mana. The single-shot golems, their giant spears primed with explosive enchantments, were hidden within earthwork barriers—waiting to bring down the siege towers.
Beside the map, Umbra's shadow stretched thin, whispering from the corners of the room. "They march blind, Master. They see only walls, not the abyss waiting beneath their feet."
Kael gave a curt nod. "Good. Then today, Greyspire becomes their grave."
Far away in the hidden village within Kael's dungeon-space, Sara's body trembled with heat.
Her mother and sister knelt beside her, panic etched into their faces. Sara's skin glowed faintly, runes of crimson branching across her arms like roots of fire.
"She burns!" her sister cried. "What's happening to her?"
Umbra, perched in the corner in the form of a black cat, flicked its tail calmly. "It is the awakening of blood. A noble line long buried, clawing its way to the surface. Do not touch her. The Master has placed his barrier—she will survive."
The little girl stood nearby, hands clasped, her slimes gathered protectively around Sara. Her eyes brimmed with worry, yet she did not flinch.
Within Sara's mind, a roaring voice echoed—like the cry of some ancient beast. The flames of her lineage surged, demanding to be unleashed.
Back at Greyspire, the enemy made their move.
The first wave surged forward, shields raised, spears leveled. Behind them, the ten siege towers rumbled closer, pulled by dozens of oxen.
"Archers, loose!" the captain cried, and a volley of arrows darkened the sky.
But before they could fall, Kael raised a single hand. The mage golems unleashed their response—walls of flame and bolts of lightning that tore the arrowstorm apart midair. Then came the counterstrike.
The single-shot golems emerged from their barriers with a thunderous boom. Their enchanted spears ignited with red runes and launched skyward with trails of flame. One by one, they crashed into the siege towers.
The first tower exploded, wood splintering into fire and shrapnel. The second crumpled in flames, its oxen screaming as they fled. Within minutes, four towers lay in ruin, burning carcasses upon the field.
The crowd on Greyspire's walls erupted into cheers.
"They're falling!""The towers are burning!""Praise the princess! She has saved us!"
Tears shone in the eyes of weary men and women who had expected death. Their gratitude poured toward the princess, who stood firm upon the walls, though she knew deep in her heart the strength was Kael's. Still, she accepted their praise with a steady nod—she had chosen to trust him, and now her people trusted her.
On the battlefield, chaos grew.
The undead from Kael's trap began to rise again. Soldiers who had fallen in the first volley lurched upright, eyes hollow with necrotic fire, cutting down their former comrades.
The enemy captain screamed for order. "Push forward! Break their lines, crush the gates!"
But their advance faltered as artillery fire rained once more. Explosions ripped through ranks of men, steel and flesh scattering in showers of blood.
Inside the enemy's command tent, the commander's teeth ground like iron.
"How?" His fists slammed into the table. "How does one city resist with such strength?"
One of his strategists trembled. "Commander… the reinforcements they received—they are not human armies. They are something else entirely."
The commander's hand fell on the summoning stone, its red glow intensifying.
"Then let humanity's tricks be washed away in dragon fire," he growled. "Prepare the ritual. We will summon the beast before nightfall."
The hidden village was silent except for the sound of crackling flames.
Sara's body arched upward, heat radiating from her skin in waves that distorted the air. Her hair shimmered between fiery red and molten gold, while crimson runes spread across her arms and neck like veins of magma.
Her mother gasped. "Sara—your eyes!"
When her lids snapped open, her irises blazed like burning coals. The room shook faintly, and the barrier Kael had placed shimmered under the strain of her awakening. Flames curled from her fingers, but they did not burn the wood beneath her—nor her clothes. The fire bent, coiled, and danced like a loyal servant.
She exhaled, and a jet of flame spiraled upward, only to twist midair and disperse into harmless embers. Complete control from the very first breath.
The little girl clapped her hands, delighted, her slimes bouncing in response. "Pretty fire!"
Sara slowly sat up, chest heaving, her new power resonating with something ancient. Yet she wasn't afraid. For the first time, her fire felt… right.
At that exact moment, far beyond the walls of Greyspire, Kael's head lifted sharply. His connection to the battlefield thrummed like a plucked string, a disturbance crawling across his senses.
Through the necrotic anchors, he felt the enemy's commander begin the ritual. The stone pulsed, threads of corrupted mana coiling skyward like smoke.
"They mean to call it forth…" Kael's voice was a low whisper, his tone colder than steel. "The Fire Dragon."
Umbra's shadow slithered beside him. "Master, if they succeed, their strength will rival the tide of nations."
Kael's eyes glowed beneath his mask. "Then let them see what true terror looks like."
He stretched his hand to the ground, and the runes hidden beneath Greyspire's outer walls flared.
The earth shuddered.
At first, it was a low groan, like distant thunder. Then came the cracks—thin lines splitting the battlefield soil in jagged patterns.
Enemy soldiers stumbled, shouting in alarm as the ground beneath their boots fractured. From those fissures, faint light glowed, pulsing brighter with every heartbeat.
"What is this?!" a captain cried.
Then came the spine.
A glowing ridge burst from the soil, jagged and vast, slicing through earth like a blade. Segments of it rose higher and higher, each spike gleaming with molten light, until the battlefield seemed carved apart by a luminous canyon.
The ground heaved one final time before the Lizard emerged.
Its massive frame dwarfed the men, scales glistening with molten fire, its horns stretching skyward like jagged towers. Once only a juvenile beast, now it had grown to stand taller than the walls of Greyspire—its form radiating primal, destructive might. The glow of its spine lit the battlefield crimson, casting the enemy ranks into shadow.
The Lizard lifted its head, opened its maw, and a deep, rumbling growl shook the very marrow of every soldier present.
Terror swept through the enemy lines. The once proud 79,000 faltered as one thought took hold in their minds:
This is no war. This is judgment.