The League's forward camp lay under a shroud of unease. Beasts tethered to handlers pawed the ground restlessly, eyes darting toward the glowing horizon where ash still drifted like ghostly snow. Soldiers whispered in low tones, hands clenching weapons though no enemy had crossed their borders tonight.
Something had woken. The world itself seemed to know it.
The scouts stumbled through the gates at dawn. Their cloaks were torn, beasts limping, skin blackened with soot. The entire camp turned to stare. Survivors of the Ruins. Men who had looked into a firestorm and lived.
They were ushered straight to the command tent.
Inside, the air was heavy with tension. Cael Brennor stood over the map table, broad shoulders tense, scars catching torchlight. Theros Kairn leaned against a support beam, arms crossed, expression cold, measuring. Lysara Valenne sat in silence, her eyes sharp, fingers tapping the table's edge as though weighing each beat of silence.
The scouts bowed shakily. One finally spoke, voice hoarse:
"The Magma Drake… has awakened."
The words cracked through the air like a whip.
Cael's jaw hardened. Theros shifted, teeth bared in something between grimace and disbelief. Lysara's eyes narrowed, studying the men as though waiting for proof.
"What did you see?" Cael asked. His voice carried command but under it, unease.
The scout's hands trembled. "The ground split. The air burned. A roar that shook marrow itself. We saw a city—Dominion-held—turn to molten ruin. Lava poured where streets once stood. Nothing survived. Not man. Not beast."
Theros let out a slow breath. "That monster is no myth, then. It is calamity given form."
Even the tent's silence seemed to bow beneath those words.
But the scout's voice did not stop. "There was more." He swallowed, eyes flicking between them. "In the Ruins… we saw a man. He bore a lotus mark that glowed. Beasts fought at his side. Not chained. Not bound. Shackles themselves shattered around him."
The commanders exchanged sharp glances.
"A Dominion trick?" Cael demanded.
The scout shook his head. "No. He was not theirs. Not ours. And yet…" His words faltered. "The beasts followed him. As if they chose him."
Theros scoffed, but uneasily. "Madness. Shackles do not shatter on their own."
Lysara's voice finally cut through, low and steady. "And yet they did. You all saw it?"
The scouts nodded.
She leaned back, gaze distant for the first time. "Then there walks a man who breaks chains."
Cael's hand slammed against the table. "Whoever he is, he threatens balance more than Dominion itself. Both sides will hunt him once the tale spreads."
"Then perhaps the tale should not," Theros said sharply. His eyes flicked to the scouts, and they paled.
Silence followed.
At last Cael dismissed the scouts with a wave. They stumbled out, relief and dread written equally on their faces.
Only the three commanders remained. The tent grew heavier without voices, as though even silence feared the weight of what had been spoken.
Cael returned to his maps, jaw clenched, charcoal grinding across parchment as he tried to redraw battle lines already burned away by fire. Theros muttered darkly, his voice low, the words meant less as counsel and more as warning.
"We cannot fight two wars — against Dominion and against fire itself. If the Drake has truly returned, then Theia will bleed until nothing remains."
Cael's fist slammed onto the table. "And who stirred it?" His eyes narrowed, haunted not by doubt but suspicion. "Overlords do not wake for nothing. Dominion's shadow-hand has long reach. If rumors are true… if their Chainkeepers meddled where they should not…"
He left the thought unfinished.
Theros looked up sharply, grim certainty in his gaze. "If they sought to bend even an Overlord…" He shook his head. "They may have unleashed something neither side can chain again."
For a moment, the weight of the idea hung between them — that the Drake's wrath had not been mere fate, but deliberate provocation.
But Lysara said nothing.
When the tent emptied, she lingered by the flap, staring at the horizon where ash drifted like dying embers. Her fingers curled tight around the edge of the canvas.
A man who breaks chains…
Her lips pressed to a whisper only the wind heard.
"Such a man changes more than war."
And in her heart, a seed of intent began to stir — not only toward the stranger who freed beasts, but toward the question gnawing in silence:
Who woke the fire?