The dawn cast a faint gray light over the Ironcrag Peaks as Ash crouched at the ravine's edge. His breath was steady, his senses sharp from countless battles.
The dragon's lair loomed below, a sulfurous pit radiating danger. Today, he would face the beast to seize the Golden Amulet, relying on his combat skill, clever tactics, and magical gear.
The fire-resistant elixir he'd drunk, its bitter taste still on his tongue, gave him some protection from the dragon's flames. The amulet was his target, but the dragon, beautiful yet deadly, was his greatest challenge.
Ash checked his gear again, a habit born of survival. His twin short swords, both named The Fangs of the Blue Dragon, hung at his hips. One channeled fire, its blade glowing red when swung. The other wielded ice, leaving frost on its edge.
