The entire nest trembled as Strax's aura expanded.
It wasn't an explosion—it was an affirmation.
The ice didn't shatter; it yielded, as if recognizing something above it. The ancient runes etched into the walls lost their luster for an instant, unable to withstand the pressure of that hybrid presence: draconic, demonic, absolute.
The Empress felt it.
Not with ordinary fear—but with the kind of dread only ancient beings feel when they realize that the rules that have sustained them for ages… have ceased to be reliable.
"A Dragon… Demonic…?"
Her voice echoed lower now, less imperial, more cautious. "You dare tarnish the name of our lineage with that title?"
Strax tilted his head, as if considering the question seriously.
"I haven't tarnished anything," he replied. "I survived."
The heat around him intensified, forming a faint distortion in the air—a fire that didn't burn the body, but the essence. The perfect opposite of her eternal cold.
