The night split open with fire.
Serakai, the hidden city of scholars, was now a battlefield. White Flame banners tore through the rain as Astraea's soldiers stormed the southern gates. Their armor shimmered with radiant sigils — not forged by smiths, but carved by priests. Their weapons burned with silver flame, cold and pure, meant to devour dragonfire itself.
Kaito ran through the labyrinthine streets, Lira close behind him, clutching the Prophecy scroll. Yù Lóng soared above, her scales flashing between lightning strikes as she loosed a torrent of flame upon the invaders. But even her fire could not burn the silver shields that glowed with unholy light.
"What are they using?" Kaito shouted, slashing through a soldier whose armor melted under his sword.
Lira's voice trembled. "Dragonbind metal — relics from the old temples. Astraea must have unearthed them."
Kaito's blade sparked violently, meeting another silver weapon. The impact sent shockwaves down his arm, but he refused to yield. Around them, Serakai burned — not with wild rage like the capital once had, but with cold, deliberate destruction. The White Flame wasn't here to conquer. They were here to erase.
Above the chaos, Yù Lóng roared, but something vast struck her midair — a beam of white fire that hissed like acid. The dragon shrieked, spiraling toward the mountains.
"YÙ LÓNG!" Kaito cried.
She crashed beyond the eastern ridge, a storm of wings and debris. Kaito's fury ignited, his aura flaring crimson as he cut down the soldiers blocking his path. Lira followed, panting, her hands glowing faintly with symbols of light.
"Keep moving!" she shouted. "If they capture the prophecy, all is lost!"
They reached the city's outer gate just as a massive shadow loomed over the battlefield — another dragon.
But it was wrong.
Its eyes were blind white, its body bound in chains of molten silver. The creature screamed — not in fury, but agony. Its wings beat not by will, but by command.
Lira's face paled. "They've enslaved it."
From the sky descended a rider in white armor, his helm shaped like a crown of feathers. His blade burned with the same pale fire that wounded Yù Lóng.
"I am General Kael Toren," he declared. "By order of Lady Astraea, surrender the Seer and the relic. The Graveborn's fire belongs to the Empire now."
Kaito's eyes burned. "You wear purity like armor, but I see the chains beneath."
Kael dismounted slowly, his expression calm, but his voice carried weariness — not hatred. "You don't understand what Astraea offers. The world needs cleansing, not chaos. She will build what your brother dreamed of — order without sin."
"Order without choice," Kaito spat. "That's not peace. That's a tomb."
The ground cracked beneath them as he drew his blade, flame twisting around it like a living storm. Kael moved in a blur — their swords clashed, steel against light, the air around them warping from heat and power.
Lira chanted words of old flame, runes glowing at her fingertips. The silver dragon above turned its gaze toward her, its chest convulsing as it tried to resist the binding sigils carved into its scales.
"Stop!" she cried. "You don't have to serve them!"
For a brief instant, the dragon hesitated — and that hesitation shattered Kael's control. Kaito seized the moment, driving his blade into Kael's armor, sparks flying. The general staggered, not dead but wounded.
Kael looked up at him, blood staining his white armor. "You think you're saving them," he rasped. "But every flame leaves ashes. Astraea will rise again, and she will break you."
He pressed his hand to the dragon's rune-bound collar. "Fall back."
With a roar of chained fury, the silver dragon unleashed one final blast — not at Kaito, but at the city itself. The amphitheater crumbled, towers fell, and the fires of Serakai died under waves of silver flame.
Kaito and Lira barely escaped into the mountains, the night glowing behind them with ruin.
When they finally reached the cliffs where Yù Lóng had fallen, they found her lying wounded, her scales scarred by silver burns. Steam rose from her body as her eyes flickered weakly open.
"I failed you," she murmured.
Kaito knelt beside her, pressing his hand against her snout. "No. They twisted one of your own. We'll free them — all of them."
Lira set the Prophecy scroll beside them and began tending to the dragon's wounds with glowing sigils. "Kael spared us," she whispered. "He could've killed you, but he didn't."
Kaito looked out toward the distant glow of Astraea's banners. "Then he's not lost yet."
Yù Lóng shifted, her voice low and heavy. "Kael Toren… I know that name. He was once a dragon knight — a guardian sworn to the first covenant. If Astraea has him, she has the blood of the old order in her grasp."
The words sank deep into Kaito's heart.
The old world was awakening again — its relics, its betrayals, its ghosts.
Kaito stood, his shadow long beneath the stormlight. "Then we go north," he said. "To the Silent Peaks. If the cult of the dead god stirs there, they might know how Astraea binds the dragons."
Lira nodded, clutching the Prophecy. "The flame moves north. So does fate."
Yù Lóng's wings stretched painfully, scattering ash into the wind. "Then let the wind bear witness," she said softly. "The second war of dragons has begun."
They vanished into the night, leaving the ruins of Serakai smoldering behind them — a city burned not by vengeance this time, but by purity turned to poison.
Far away, Kael stood among the ruins, hand on his wounded chest, staring toward the mountains.
"She looked at me," he whispered, thinking of Lira. "And for a moment, I almost believed her."