[Sansir.]
I led a small company northwest from the docks, a few hundred meters inland where the scent of salt still lingered in the air.
The ground beneath our boots was wet and uneven, the remnants of tides creeping too far from their home.
The men moved quietly, but tension buzzed in the air, thick and restless.
We had felt something, several potent auras cutting through the wind, and when we finally saw them, our suspicions turned to grim confirmation.
A fleet of dragons soared above the clouds, their scales glinting in flashes of pale light.
The moment their eyes met ours, the sky cracked open with war.
Their roar drowned out reason, and fire fell like rain.
From Kivana's reports, I knew reinforcements were already on the way, troops meant to establish a permanent base here.
Until then, the responsibility fell entirely on me, leading the vanguard in a war none of us were truly prepared for.
Veronica sat beside me, her hands trembling over casualty reports, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
We were pushed back again and again, overwhelmed by sheer numbers, a million dragons against ten thousand men.
More than half our forces were wiped out in the first wave.
If not for my command and Veronica's healing, not a soul would have survived.
Then the storm came, a mana storm, tearing through time and space, warping attacks and reversing wounds.
The battlefield twisted, unmade, and remade.
The dragons retreated, scattering toward Fertical soil, bound by some unseen accord. Perhaps Uhana was behind it.
I couldn't blame her. She acted for her kingdom's survival, as Rosen once had.
I never knew him well, but his ambition was legendary, the man who brought down a Saint.
When the battle ended, we established a temporary camp, earth mages reinforcing the tents against the still-raging storm.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl echoing across the hills.
I sat beside Veronica beneath a flickering ward light, my cloak drawn over her shoulders to shield her from the wind.
"So," I asked, watching lightning split the horizon, "do you think we can hold out?"
I had already formed my own conclusion, but I wanted to hear her reasoning.
Training her in battlefield command was part of her ambition, she sought nobility, and I was the closest she had to a stepping stone.
That thought lingered a little too long. I didn't hear her answer until a palm pressed against my face.
"Did you hear me? I said we should focus on defense!"
I blinked, pulling myself back from thought. "Ah. Yes. That's… a good idea."
Her expression twisted between curiosity and annoyance. "Why ask if you're not going to listen?"
I shrugged. "Who knows."
She sighed, then leaned forward. "So what do you think?"
"Defending this position might be the best course," I said. "Our naval forces aren't suited for large-scale sea battles yet."
"Should we stay on the mainland," she asked, her tone sharp, "or move out to sea toward the western continent?"
I considered the options. Staying on land meant stability; leaving meant risk.
We could reach the other continent, but only through a string of small islands, fighting both weather and dragons along the way.
Even with airships and flight-capable units, dragons ruled the sky absolutely.
Their dominion wasn't just physical, they could alter the very sky itself, shaping clouds, storms, and gravity to their will.
If I tried to fly, they could make the air itself deny me.
A troublesome ability. One I had no resistance to.
"It's better if we stay," I said finally. "We need someone strong here to handle the sheer number of them."
She nodded. "Malachi mentioned reinforcements are coming, he's bringing others. A man named Stark among them."
"Stark," I repeated, rolling the name on my tongue. Strong, bold, I envied it.
"Then we'll hold this ground. Send most of our forces to sea with full supplies, and wait for backup."
Veronica smiled faintly. "Good. Once they arrive, we'll decide who goes to the western continent."
It was a sound plan. I could teleport there if needed, though the same couldn't be said for our soldiers.
Large-scale spatial manipulation wasn't common, even among mages.
Veronica folded the casualty reports, marking inconsistencies with sharp strokes before sealing them.
A dark bird, conjured from shadow and mana, took form beside her, gripping the papers in its claws.
She whispered a small incantation, and the creature vanished, bending space around itself as it flew toward Novastia.
I watched the distortion fade and exhaled slowly. "I suppose now all we can do is wait."
She leaned forward, stretching her arms across the table, her gaze fixed on me with a casual intensity that made the room seem smaller, more intimate.
The scene was almost majestic, enough to tempt a feral impulse within me.
Her earlier, clumsy confession of love lingered in my mind, forcing me to confront just how deeply I cherished her.
It was hard, agonizing, even, to reconcile these feelings with the strength I had long deemed a weakness.
Impossible, really, to cope with it. And for so long, I had tried to reject it.
Yet denying it had only made it heavier, constricting my chest, making every breath an act of resistance against myself.
"I love you," I said. The words slipped out without thought, a confession born of weakness and truth.
Her lips curved into a smile. "Love you too, cheesy little thing."
For a brief, shining moment, I wished the war could end.
That we could simply exist like this, untethered from all the destruction around us.
But that fleeting warmth shattered the instant she spoke.
A terrible miasmic aura descended over me, thick and suffocating, tasting of decay and death on my tongue.
It was death magic. Raw. Powerful. Immediate.
Veronica shot upright as blood streamed from her lips. I slammed my palm to her chest, forcing mana into her, stabilizing her life. Then I cursed, bitter and low.
I spread my aura across the camp, but it was too late. Too late for everyone.
Every soldier, every healer, every soul, I could feel the extinguishing of life all around.
I drew my sword, standing as Veronica slowly regained her footing. "What kind of monster—?"
Before she could finish, a wave of darkness surged forward, crashing against me like a tidal force.
I was thrown backward, consciousness slipping away.
When I opened my eyes, the world was barren.
The camp had vanished, reduced to ash and emptiness.
Skeletons floated unnaturally in the sky, suspended as if by some cruel display.
Above them, a terrifying figure descended.
Veronica struggled to stay upright, her cloak torn from her shoulders, revealing armor unscathed and gleaming beneath the grim light.
The figure approached, every movement deliberate.
His skin was pale grey, contrasting sharply with the black obsidian of his eyes.
Short curls framed the sides of his face, while the rest of his hair fell in black waves.
He wore a fitted black shirt and pants reinforced with dark metal plates, a stark opposition to my white armor.
He exuded death itself, a living embodiment of it. His gaze held nothing but emptiness, infinite darkness.
With a subtle motion, he called forth a sword, a long, sleek odachi, pitch black, reflective like a void.
The blade rested lightly against the left side of my head, a cold promise of inevitability.
"I am Panthor," he said, his voice low, chilling, resonating like stone grinding against stone.
"Son of Purtunah, prince of the great dragon kingdom, Drandafal."
His eyes flicked toward mine as the blade shifted.
Instantly, I raised my sword, attempting resistance, only to be overwhelmed.
He pressed forward with unyielding force, driving me to my knees. "I am the heir to her great coldness... and her great death."
There was powerful, and then there was impossible, and this creature existed beyond both. Leagues above Satire, leagues above me.
A force I could only describe as bottomless, an abyss of darkness and creation intertwined.
This was no ordinary dragon. This was a True Dragon, the apex of its race, the culmination of eons of evolution.
Its nature was so vast, so incomprehensible, that even perceiving it threatened to unravel my mind.