Lo Quen felt the gale howl beneath his wings as his dragon eyes swept across the chaos below.
Flames. Corpses. Ruins.
And more scaled-claws surging toward this place—so many they filled an entire legion.
Such scale, such coordination could never be driven by mere beastly instinct.
His memory flashed back to the ambush on the Dragonroad, when a single shrill cry had rung out and the scaled beasts surrounding them had retreated like a receding tide.
There had to be a commander behind them.
Circling high above, his immense form loomed like a shadow of death, spewing Dragonfire without pause.
Every second, hordes of scaled-claws were reduced to ash in the golden blaze.
On his back, Jaelena clung tightly to the scorching scales, her knuckles white with strain.
Watching the enemies who had slaughtered her kin writhe and burn below, her violet eyes blazed with hatred, yet deep within flickered a helpless sorrow.
How she longed to be the one to strike those monsters down.
Just then, as Lo Quen's focus honed in on searching for the hidden commander—
"Whoosh—!!!"
A piercing shriek split the air at his right, sudden and sharp.
The sound raced closer at impossible speed, tearing the sky with a wail like a ghost's cry.
Instinct overtook thought.
His massive body shot upward in a blur, leaving only a fading afterimage.
An instant later, a black shadow wreathed in crimson fire tore past where his lower belly had been, missing him by a hair's breadth.
The searing wind trailing the arrow was so hot it burned against the scales of his abdomen.
It vanished into the fog behind him, leaving only a fleeting crimson streak across the air.
Cold sweat prickled down Lo Quen's scales.
Fury surged through him. His great head snapped toward the source of the shot, golden pupils narrowing to deadly slits as they locked onto the target.
In the shadows of a plaza near the ruined tower stood a monstrous figure clad in armor.
It dwarfed its kin, towering twice the height of a grown man, like an iron tower wrapped in scales.
Its dark scales gleamed with a metallic sheen, covering every inch of exposed flesh.
Most chilling were its eyes.
Scarlet orbs, empty of life, empty of emotion—only hollow, frigid indifference.
In its hands, it held a massive bone bow.
The weapon was etched with countless crimson runes, writhing and pulsing as if alive.
The bowstring, thin as a strand of hair, glimmered with lethal light.
"Dragonbone Bow!" Jaelena's weak voice gasped in his ear.
"Be careful! Its arrows are steeped in blood magic. If they strike, flames will consume you from within."
She panted, her voice tinged with disbelief. "But such a weapon demands immense magic and time to charge… I could only loose one arrow every half-month. It shouldn't be able to—"
Her words stopped cold.
For below, the towering commander drew a second arrow from its back—black as night.
It nocked the shaft with chilling calm, its brute strength bending the massive bow until it groaned like breaking bone.
The runes flared as if fed with blood, erupting in a blinding crimson light.
Another killing arrow was about to fly.
"Whoosh—!!!"
The second crimson-flamed shaft tore through the air.
Lo Quen twisted hard in midair, his vast golden wings beating with crushing force, stirring a violent storm.
His colossal form spun sideways with startling agility, leaving behind a blurred golden afterimage.
Once more, the blood-forged arrow grazed him by a breath, scraping against his armored flank.
The rushing wind scraped across his scales with a metallic screech, leaving them seared with lingering heat.
Lo Quen's golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the monstrous archer below.
Its arrows flew with terrifying precision, nearly predicting his movements before he made them.
Had his soul not been that of a grown man, that second shaft would have torn his wings—or pierced his heart.
A normal dragon, with only a child's mind, might dodge the first by sheer chance, but never the second.
He could not allow it to fire a third.
A killing frost swept through him, drowning every other thought.
His wings snapped back like a bowstring drawn taut.
Lo Quen's massive head pitched downward, jaws stretched wide. Deep in his throat, golden destruction had reached its peak.
It erupted like a volcano long suppressed, roaring straight toward the bow-wielding figure.
BOOM——!!!
The scorching Dragonfire surged like an enraged golden tide, engulfing the target in an instant.
Yet the expected sight of its body crumbling to ash never came.
At the heart of the roaring inferno stood a towering, twisted figure—like a demon god dragged from a blazing forge.
Its armor radiated an eerie glow, countless etched runes flaring violently as though awakened, holding fast against the flood of golden fire.
"Valyrian steel armor!" Jaelena's voice cut through the flames from where she clung to the dragon's back. "Those symbols are runes carved with blood magic. They can diminish the power of fire."
Lo Quen's golden eyes narrowed to icy slits.
Diminish Dragonfire's power?
A cold sneer formed in his mind.
If fire cannot burn through your shell, then I'll crush you and your shell both.
Without hesitation, the golden dragon hurled himself forward, straight into the sea of fire and onto the unyielding figure.
At the moment of impact, his left hind claw—driving the weight and momentum of his entire body—came crashing down on the monster's chest, square against the rune-covered armor.
BOOM—CRACK!!!
A deafening roar split the air, the sound of steel being warped under unstoppable force.
The runed chestplate caved inward, twisted deep beneath the blow.
Pinned beneath Lo Quen's massive claw, the monster let out a frenzied roar. Its arms flailed wildly, barbed claws scraping futilely at the dragon's golden scales, sparks bursting with each shrill, grating strike.
Its other hand clawed desperately at its waist, reaching for its sword.
"Roar—!"
Lo Quen thundered.
Without mercy, his other hind claw slammed down, crushing the monster's midsection.
CRACK—SPLAT!
The sickening sound of bones shattering rang out.
"Gaaaahhhhhh—!!"
A distorted, guttural scream tore from its chest—then its strength failed, vanishing all at once.
The half-drawn sword slipped from its grasp, gleamed faintly, then clattered uselessly to the ground.
Lo Quen's jaws opened wide. Deep in his throat, golden fire blazed once more.
The runes across the Valyrian steel armor flickered wildly, resisting in vain.
Lo Quen felt them weakening, the intricate sigils dimming faster with every breath of Dragonfire.
The armor's magic was collapsing.
Pouring raw magic into his throat, he unleashed another surge of flame, hotter, fiercer.
Finally, the runes went dark. The steel melted, the fire seared through the chestplate and poured inside, burning the creature to ash.
Lo Quen ceased his breath.
Sulfurous smoke burst from his nostrils, spreading fast into the frozen air.
Slowly, he lifted his claw, pushing aside what was left of the charred remains.
Jaelena slid down his searing scales, her steps faltering as though she might collapse.
Fighting pain and dizziness, she staggered toward the blackened corpse.
Her eyes swept across the scorched earth until they fixed on the sword.
The hilt and much of the blade were blackened by heat, but not destroyed. Along the steel, faint lines of script remained.
She picked it up, gazed at the markings, and a flicker of shock passed across her face. A sigh escaped her lips.
"Now I know who he was..."
Lo Quen turned his massive head, his deep voice rumbling.
"Who?"
"Aurion..." she said slowly. "The Dragonlord who survived the Doom. When he learned of Valyria's fall, he crowned himself Emperor of Valyria and led tens of thousands into the Smoking Sea."
She paused, her tone heavy, rasping. "According to the records kept in Tyria, his army landed and marched toward Valyria City. He sent only a small envoy to demand Tyria's allegiance, and Tyria refused. Aurion even threatened to attack, to punish us. But then... they vanished into the road to Valyria, gone like smoke. No one ever learned what became of them. Who would have thought that centuries later, the emperor and his army would return to Tyria like this..."
Her voice trembled with grief and rage. Former kin turned to monsters, their homeland reduced to ashes—the truth was unbearable.
Lo Quen had just been brooding over the fact that the creature yielded no Dragon's Soul. Hearing Jaelena's tale, he felt a pang of solemnity.
But another question gnawed at him: why had this fallen emperor and his army, after centuries wandering the Deadwood, suddenly struck Tyria now?
He recalled Jaelena's warning—that the purple beast would never stray far from Valyria—and unease surged within him.
A dark premonition coiled in his heart.
Someone was watching him.