The next dawn found Ash higher in the Ironcrag Peaks, the ravine's entrance now a familiar shadow below. He'd spent the night in a shallow cave, his fireless camp shielded by boulders, his mind racing with the dragon's image: obsidian scales, crimson-edged, and those molten-gold eyes that had nearly spotted him.
The Golden Amulet, glowing against the beast's neck, was his goal, but the dragon itself was the obstacle—a living fortress of fire and fury. His observations had given him a plan, but he needed more: a clearer read on the dragon's habits, its triggers, its weaknesses.
Today, he'd watch from a new vantage, closer to the lair's heart.
He checked his gear: the disruptor, tuned to a higher frequency; the fire-resistant elixir, half-drunk, its bitter aftertaste lingering; and the reflective shards, a pouch of glass fragments that caught the light like gold.
