The battle shook the ruins.
Fyria flew overhead, trading fire with the skeletal dragon. Elira's arrows struck its joints, slowing it. Mochi expanded, using his Royal Slime mass to create barriers. But the corrupted energy surged through the air like a poison.
Takeshi reached out with his taming link—and recoiled. The dragon's soul was a battlefield, torn between agony and rage. But deep inside, something called out.
He dove deeper, mentally, pouring his own feelings through the bond: empathy, sorrow, hope.
Suddenly, he saw it. A memory. A girl once fed the dragon apples beneath a tree. Laughter. Peace.
He grabbed hold of that image.
"I won't tame you. I'll remind you who you were."
Golden chains of light wrapped the dragon as it screeched and flailed. Takeshi channeled more energy. Whispermutt howled beside him, focusing their bond.
With a final roar, the corruption shattered.
The dragon collapsed, breathing heavily, eyes clear.
The False King snarled. "You'll regret this mercy." And vanished into the shadow.