The beast stared at Avin.
And Avin stared back.
The lake rippled between them—quiet, heavy, waiting.
It was enormous. The creature's body rose from the crimson water like a coiled mountain, its length unending, vanishing into the lake's depths. Sunlight struck its scales and scattered across them like light through stained glass. Each scale shimmered with an iridescent spectrum—green and blue, violet and gold—arranged in perfect hexagonal patterns that looked more like gemstones than armor.
Two long whiskers hung beside its jaw, swaying in the wind like banners of war. The beast opened its jaws, rows of teeth gleaming like knives forged from crystal. Its nostrils flared. The sound it made wasn't a growl—it was a rumble that came from the depths of the earth itself.
Avin swallowed, his heart thundering in his chest. His wounds throbbed, every breath a knife in his ribs. But his instincts screamed what his mind could barely process.
It's about to attack.
