The Skies Roared with Fire
The winds above the highlands howled like ancient spirits awakened. Clouds churned, black and thick, pierced only by the sunlit gleam of dragons cutting through the skies. Below, the last banner of the free Kingdom fluttered—torn but defiant.
Aragon sat tall on Eliviraa's back, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon where smoke from the ruined capital still lingered like a scar across the sky. Beside him flew Freja, her crimson armor shimmering in flashes of dawnlight, riding her battle-scarred dragon, Cindrel. Behind them followed a formation of dragon riders, both old and new. Among them flew Freja's sister—Lady Maraleen—who had arrived days ago with her own dragon, Zerynthia, a silver-winged matron beast, regal and seasoned.
