The capital, once a cradle of order and history, now pulsed with fear. The dome shimmered faintly above them, golden and translucent, as if heaven itself had dropped a veil between them and the apocalypse.
Within the barrier, beneath centuries-old spires and winding marble streets, nobles rushed in frantic disarray—robes tangled, faces pale, servants dragging them by the arm. The marketplace had been bustling not hours ago, merchants shouting, children laughing, lovers whispering in alleyways. But that was before the alarm bells rang—deep, ominous tolls that split the air like prophecy.
No one knew why.
Not yet.
There was no royal decree, no clarion trumpet of an approaching army—only the pounding ring of alarm, and above it, a new sun had begun to rise. Not gold. Not warm. Red.
Crimson.
Dragons.
The sky fractured under their wings.
One scream became ten. Then hundreds. Then thousands.
