After the echo of the roar faded, it lingered in the air like a distant thunderclap, rippling through the trees and stirring the leaves. The sound had come from far off, yet it carried enough weight to silence the forest. Elyon stood still, visually calm, absorbing the atmosphere, though his mind buzzed with questions he could barely begin to form.
Beside him, Richard remained motionless. His posture was relaxed, and his expression gave nothing away—an unreadable mask. Unlike Elyon, he seemed unsurprised, as if he'd expected something like this.
Then, almost in sync with the fading echo, the Ember Fangs nearby tensed. The usually elusive creatures—sleek, predators with ember-glowing fur and molten eyes—suddenly became alert. Their sharp gazes scanned the forest, ears twitching. Without a sound, they turned and bolted, vanishing into the trees with remarkable speed.
Elyon turned to his father. "What was that?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"I think I know what it is," Richard replied, his tone low and focused.
Without another word, Richard broke into a jog in the same direction the Ember Fangs had gone. As he turned his head briefly to glance back, he called out, "Follow me."
Elyon didn't hesitate. He sprinted after his father, thoughts swirling. Are we following those Ember Fangs? But why?
Their pace quickened as they weaved through the dense forest. The soft thud of their boots on the forest floor and the occasional snap of branches were the only sounds accompanying them—alongside a low, distant noise, almost like breathing or rumbling, which grew slightly louder the deeper they went.
Elyon's heart pounded—not just from exertion, but from anticipation. Whatever was waiting ahead, it had stirred the Ember Fangs into flight, and that wasn't something he took lightly.
Through the trees, a soft light began to filter in. As they ran closer, Elyon spotted a clearing ahead where the tree line ended. He pushed forward, just a few steps behind Richard, and broke into the open.
What he saw made him stumble to a halt.
In the clearing stood a group of dragons—sleek, powerful beasts with glossy black scales that shimmered under the filtered sunlight. Their bodies were laced with glowing cracks, veins of lava-red light that pulsed slowly with an inner heat. Their tails ended in jagged clusters of molten rock, some flickering faintly like coal embers. They weren't towering like the dragons of myth, but they were still immense—each one easily larger than a horse, their presence commanding.
Elyon stared, wide-eyed.
And they were right here.
There were at least twenty of them. Some were accompanied by their younglings, small and fragile-looking, measuring no more than three feet in length and standing about two feet high. They appeared to be resting, huddled close together in loose clusters, and did not seem to pose any immediate threat. Their presence was calm, almost peaceful, as they lay in the open, occasionally shifting or glancing around with slow, deliberate movements.
However, one detail stood out—noticeable even from a distance. A small group of different creatures lingered nearby, clearly distinct from the rest. These creatures were larger, roughly the size of horses, with sleek, muscular bodies covered in scaly, silver-toned skin. Their upper bodies shimmered faintly under the dim light, giving them a slightly metallic appearance. Reptilian features marked their faces, with long snouts and sharp eyes that glinted with a predatory intelligence. Despite lacking wings, their posture and movements were agile and powerful. They moved on all fours with a gait that was strikingly dog-like, their limbs strong and ready, as if prepared to pounce at any moment. There appeared to be five of them in total.
Richard spoke quietly. "Go back a little."
Elyon obeyed without hesitation, stepping back as instructed.
Richard didn't move for a moment. He watched the creatures in the clearing with a quiet intensity, then stepped back toward Elyon, lowering his voice.
"They're called Silvryns," he said. "Guardians—at least, that's what the old records called them. They usually stay far from this region. For them to be here means something's changed." And the red dragons are called' flame scales'.
Elyon glanced between the glowing dragons and the silver beasts. "Changed how?"
"They only gather when a threat beyond their territory rises. They're drawn to imbalance… to danger. And if they're standing among drakes like these without a fight breaking out, it means they have made a pact
Sometimes drakes make pact with other reptiletion kind specie as sign of truce and protection
A sudden rustle cut through the conversation.
The trees to their left split open as a pack of Ember Fangs burst into the clearing—at least seven of them, eyes burning like forge-fires. Whatever had driven them off before had either worn off or been overridden by something primal. Hunger. Aggression.
They struck fast—one leaping at a resting dragonling. The black-scaled parent roared and swung its molten tail, smashing the attacker into the earth.
Chaos erupted.
The clearing exploded into movement: dragons snarling, younglings scattering, flames flaring along scaly throats. Richard drew his blade, a dark iron curve etched with sigils, and ran forward to intercept an Ember Fang diving toward the drakes' flank.
Elyon ducked, then sprang into motion, his own blade drawn. He clashed with one of the creatures mid-pounce, steel meeting claws in a shower of sparks.
Then, from the side, something blurred into motion.
One of the Silvryns—silent until now—lunged forward. Its silver hide shimmered in the sun as it slammed into an Ember Fang with terrifying force, jaws snapping shut on the predator's neck. With a single whip of its body, it tossed the Ember Fang aside like a rag.
Elyon froze, shocked by the precision.
The Silvryn didn't stop. It bounded forward, moving with fluid, savage grace, tearing into the flank of another Ember Fang. The other four began to move as well, joining the defense—not as allies of the dragons, but as enforcers of balance.
Richard yelled over the din, "They're not here for us. They're here for them!"
Elyon parried another attack, adrenaline burning in his chest.
It was completely chaotic.
The battlefield was a whirlwind of noise and movement, a storm of violence without clear allegiance. Some of the Slivryn had turned on the Ember Fangs, tearing into them with ruthless precision, while others had chosen a different target—Richard and Elyon. There was no sense of unity among the attackers, only bloodlust and confusion. The chaos was thick enough to drown in.
Yet Richard stood firm, unshaken by the monstrous creatures before him. His eyes remained calm, his stance controlled. Where others might have hesitated in the face of silver-scaled horrors, Richard didn't flinch. His attention locked onto a single Slivryn charging toward him, its silver hide gleaming like polished steel beneath the fractured sunlight.
Without hesitation, Richard raised his hand and summoned fire.
A sphere of flame burst to life in his palm, crackling with raw energy. He hurled it with practiced force toward the incoming beast. The fireball roared through the air, colliding with the Slivryn's chest and exploding on contact in a blast of heat and smoke.
But the creature didn't fall.
As the flames died down, Richard's eyes narrowed. The Slivryn emerged from the firestorm unscathed, its armor-like skin untouched by the flames. The silver plating that wrapped around its body had absorbed the heat and shrugged off the damage without so much as a scorch mark.
He scowled. So... conventional fire won't work.
A thought formed in his mind, sharp and quick. I must generate something beyond mere flame—something powerful enough to disrupt their armor's composition. Raw energy...
Richard took a step back, lifting both arms toward the sky. The air around him shifted instantly. Overhead, dark clouds began to gather, spiraling together in unnatural haste. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A pulse of energy rolled through the field like a shockwave.
Before Elyon or the surrounding creatures could react, the sky split open.
A bolt of lightning, searing white and furious, shot down from the heavens with a scream of thunder. It struck the Slivryn directly. The impact lit up the battlefield for a heartbeat—then silence.
The creature stopped mid-charge.
Its armor glowed a molten white before cracking apart, the silver plating shattering like glass. The energy tore through its body, too fast for even a scream. Then, with a sudden jerk, the Slivryn collapsed. Its massive form slammed into the ground, lifeless, silent, smoke rising from the scorched earth around it.
It didn't move again.
Meanwhile, Elyon was locked in combat with another of the creatures. Sweat lined his brow as he ducked beneath a swinging claw. His sword flashed, meeting the strike with a clang of steel. But even as he parried the attack, he could feel the creature's overwhelming speed. It was faster than anything he had ever fought.
The armor's too tough, Elyon thought, eyes darting for an opening. The underbelly is the only exposed area—but it knows that too. It hasn't moved in a way that shows any weakness. It's protecting that spot deliberately.
The Slivryn lashed out again, a blur of motion. Elyon barely blocked in time, staggering from the force of the hit. He took a quick step back, trying to create space between them. But the creature mirrored his movement instantly, closing the distance before he could even raise his blade for a counterstrike.
It's reading my movements—tracking every step.
Desperate to break the deadlock, Elyon extended his hand. "Light Bolt!"
A brilliant spear of light erupted from his palm and shot toward the creature. It struck the Slivryn square in the chest, resulting in a loud explosion that sent dust and ash into the air.
But the creature didn't fall.
It shook off the impact with a snarl, only knocked back slightly by the blast. No sign of injury. No hesitation.
It charged again.
Elyon gritted his teeth. "Light Bolt!" he shouted once more, firing rapidly.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven—
Each bolt slammed into the beast, flaring with brilliance and heat. But it wasn't enough. The creature absorbed the damage like a sponge, recoiling only slightly before recovering, then charging again.
It was like trying to stop a landslide with pebbles.
Elyon's mind raced. This isn't working. I need more than force—I need precision.
Without a word, he closed his eyes.Activated a different spell.
"Central Sight."
A pulse of energy rippled through him. When his eyes opened again, they glowed with an ethereal blue. The world around him dimmed in color, fading to dull shadows, while lines and particles of essence sprang into view like a map etched in light.
He could see it now.
Particles—glowing, hazy orbs of golden-yellow essence—floated in the air. Some hovered loosely in the environment, but others were concentrated within the Slivryn itself. The creature's entire body pulsed with internal energy, glowing bright as a beacon. But most importantly, Elyon could see the channels of power threading through its form—and at its center, a node of concentrated essence.
There it is, he thought, adjusting his grip on the sword. That's the core. That's where I strike.
He steadied himself. His breathing slowed. His stance shifted—ready.
The Slivryn lunged.
In one fluid motion, Elyon moved. Guided by the lines of essence, he slid beneath the creature's strike and twisted his body. As the Slivryn soared over him, exposing its chest for the briefest moment, Elyon brought his sword upward.
Blood pooled on the Ground