Swish.
Drem soared through the valley at blinding speed, the air rippling behind his wings. Explosions flashed near Jerfinndor's cave, shaking the cliffs with deafening roars.
"What the—" His voice faltered as the scene unfolded below him. The valley had turned into a graveyard. Dragons were slaughtering one another in a frenzy. Some ripped their own throats apart; others tore limbs and wings from their kin. The sky stank of burning flesh and blood.
Broken bodies carpeted the earth—none intact, every corpse torn, crushed, or blown apart.
Drem's gaze drifted forward. A massive skeleton sprawled across the valley floor—an ancient dragon's remains. Seated casually within its gaping skull was a figure—a morgan—lounging as if he ruled the chaos.
"How dare a lowly creature make fun of us?" Drem's voice rumbled, heavy with rage. He raised his spear and leveled it directly at the intruder.
