Meanwhile...
As the fierce battle between the two dragons unfolded high above, a legion of men clad in white cloaks, led by avians, marched steadily toward the eye of the storm. The men traveled on foot while the avians soared above, their wings slicing through the turbulent winds. Known as the Dragonsworn Conclave, these men pushed a massive, glowing green crystal on a cart, which provided a magical view of the world through Seraphis’s eyes. At that moment, it showed an enraged white dragon, poised to strike.
“The Dragon Gods have finally answered our prayers, my brothers and sisters! They have sent us a harbinger of death to destroy a false god and join our cause!” proclaimed one of the cloaked figures, his voice filled with fervor as he gazed at Orion’s reflection in the crystal.
“These freaks make me uneasy, sir Atlas. Remind me again, why do we aid them?” asked one of the younger avian shield bearers, his silver armor gleaming under the dim, stormy sky.
“You know why, Lars. Ever since Lucius led the rebellion and slew the council’s elders, he’s no longer just a king without a throne; he’s the king. His word is absolute. If he wants to change our ways and re-establish contact with mortals, then so be it,” Atlas replied, his voice heavy with weariness.
“But it should have been you! You should have claimed that throne! I know it, and so does Elyria.”
“I am not fit to rule, Lars. I am nothing more than… what do the mortals call it?” He paused, searching for the word. “A dog!” he remembered. “A dog bound by the commands of its master, forced to obey and never dare to bark back. A man with such a nature deserves no crown, certainly not a throne.”
How far Atlas had fallen from grace. That would be the first thought to cross Valerian’s mind if he saw the man who had once spared his life. Though his crimson armor and blade still gleamed with a menacing radiance, his eyes were now hollow, devoid of any genuine emotion. His left arm, once sacrificed for Valerian’s future, had been reattached as if he had never lost it. But that arm now brought him only pain, feeding his growing sense of emptiness. He could not remember how he had lost it, and, more perplexing, he could not remember why.
Atlas, once hailed as the mightiest avian in history, had been stripped of his pride and purpose. Whoever had severed his feared and powerful limb was a foe too dangerous to be left alive. Yet Atlas did not know that the reason he had lost it was an act of compassion toward the child of a woman he had once loved—a sacrifice for a better tomorrow, an atonement for his past sins. His scars still ached, and the absence of truth gnawed at his soul. It was this lack of understanding that had taken away the man he once thought he was, leaving him as nothing more than a hollow shell, the mere shadow of his former self. He had become the embodiment of a soldier, a man who had forsaken his soul to serve another’s cause.
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The closer they approached the epicenter of the clash—what some would call a battle between gods, and others, a struggle between relics of a forgotten age—the more ferocious the weather became. Thunder cracked like a war drum with each lightning strike. Trees burst into flames, and the howling winds fanned the inferno, spreading it further across the land. A torrential downpour quenched some of the smaller fires, but thick smoke choked the murky plains of Isilrun. Above, where the battle raged, the storm clouds swirled violently, suddenly lighting up as a barrage of lightning bolts shot down at Seraphis.
High above, Orion’s lightning arrows struck Seraphis directly, piercing the gaps in his ribcage and throat, tearing open gaping holes in his wings. Seraphis let out a furious roar and retaliated, summoning his own power. Blue flames gathered deep in his throat, and tiny sparks of blue energy formed, coalescing into a massive, spinning orb of fire before his open maw. The orb grew rapidly, expanding to the size of Orion, and continued to swell. The heat radiating from it was so intense that it scorched Orion’s scales without even touching them. Seraphis was vulnerable while focusing on his attack, but approaching him now would be suicide, and charging another long-range strike was too risky—Orion was not sure when the volatile sphere might explode. He had to act fast. He plunged downward, wings crackling with lightning, cutting through the dense clouds with desperate speed.
The fiery blue orb swelled until it exceeded even Seraphis’s size, and then it unleashed itself, descending from the clouds like a force of nature, pursuing Orion with relentless intent. As he dove, Orion caught sight of a legion of men marching directly into his path, oblivious to the incoming cataclysm. An idea suddenly flashed in his mind. Realizing he couldn’t outrun Seraphis’s deadly assault, he guided that destruction straight into his enemies below. After all, this was the reason he had come.
Channeling all his energy into his wings, he propelled himself towards the ground with blinding speed. Lightning tore across the sky, striking down upon the ranks of the Dragonsworn Conclave below. Some were incinerated instantly, their bodies collapsing into the mud. Strangely, the surviving cultists did not flee or resist; instead, they fell to their knees, arms spread wide, greeting their deaths with serene smiles.
Meanwhile, Atlas stood his ground, his crimson blade flashing through the storm, effortlessly deflecting the incoming lightning strikes. His eyes gleamed with hunger—for the blood of a true dragon would more than satisfy his sword’s thirst.
Just before Orion struck the ground, he gave a powerful sweep of his wings, creating a gust of wind so strong that it knocked the remaining members of the Dragonsworn Conclave off their feet. Skimming close to the earth, he guided the raging ball of blue flame in his wake, its fiery path incinerating the cultists, leaving not even their bones intact. The instant the orb touched the ground, it erupted in a violent explosion, releasing a torrent of flames that tore across the already ravaged lands of Isilrun, adding further devastation to the chaos.