From her maw poured a blended light of blue, red, and gold — a terrible column of destructive force that gathered everything into its core. It descended like a falling star, absorbing life and light as it went. The blast struck the Dragon King and detonated in a cathedral of flame and force.
When the fire and shock cleared, a vast swath of land — nearly fifty kilometers across — lay ruined and smoking. The blast had burned and crushed everything in its radius. Lyra stood panting, wings spread, scales steamed and singed but resolute. She forced herself to look down the ruined field and measure the price she had paid to stop him.
For a long beat she thought she had the moment. Then the thunder of wings filled the sky. The Dragon King had recovered astonishingly fast. In less than a second he had vaulted back into the heights and was already coming for her neck with brutal speed. Lyra spun to meet him, reaching for another strike.
