The moment the elves' feet touched the battlefield—
They froze.
Not in caution.
In recognition.
Their gazes, which had skimmed the ruined land with cold detachment, snapped as one toward the massive form lying amid the shattered earth.
Kael.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
These elves came here as soon as their spy in Astraea had informed them that the humans were moving to subjugate a dragon, but they weren't so sure about the credibility.
Now, however, looking at Kael's massive body lying limp on the ground, they knew without a second's delay that he was a dragon. A true dragon.
Their shock, however, only lasted a second before every single elf moved.
They crossed the battlefield in blurs of light and wind, robes streaming behind them like banners of moonfire.
Vilonder, still crawling, barely registered their passing—only the sudden pressure that crushed him flat against the ground as they surged past.
They reached Kael and stopped as one.
