Drazuul watched in silence as Narmo practiced basic combat stances under Vorondil’s watchful eye. The elf moved with patient precision, adjusting the boy’s stance with the ease of a master.

Narmo couldn't have found a better teacher if he'd tried. Vorondil’s swordsmanship surpassed anything Drazuul had ever seen.

Almost anything.

A phantom ache pulsed through Drazuul’s chest. The scar itched—a cruel reminder.

Because there had been one swordsman.

One whose skill stood leagues beyond even Vorondil’s.

Drazuul’s muscles tensed. He tried to force the memory back into the abyss where it belonged, but memories had teeth, and this one refused to be buried.

It slithered into his mind like smoke, choking out the present.

And suddenly, he was there again.

----

Many years ago…

The sky trembled beneath the beating of Drazuul’s wings. Clouds parted, fleeing from his presence, revealing his monstrous silhouette against the heavens.

A thunderous roar tore through the battlefield as a stream of fire—**pure, unrelenting—**erupted from his maw.

The world below burned.

Dozens fell, their screams silenced before they could even reach the air.

A wizard, bold or foolish, raised his staff. The sky split open, and a bolt of lightning crashed down upon Drazuul’s back, peeling away blackened scales in an agonizing explosion of heat and pain.

Drazuul snarled, fangs bared. He would remember that one.

His slitted eyes locked onto the offending mage.

He tucked his wings and dove.

The wind screamed past his ears as he plummeted like a meteor, the battlefield rushing up to meet him.

And then—

Impact.

The earth shattered. A crater yawned open where the mage had stood. Nothing remained but the crushed remnants of his body beneath Drazuul’s talons.

He reared back onto his hind legs, flames licking at his maw as he roared over the chaos, a challenge to any who dared meet him in battle.

A battle cry met his challenge.

Drazuul turned, spotting a towering man barreling toward him, a massive battleaxe raised high.

The warrior never got the chance to swing.

Drazuul’s tail slammed down like a battering ram, crushing him into the dirt as effortlessly as the mage before him.

A sudden flash of light ignited at his flank.

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Instinct roared a warning.

He leapt back just as a blade of pure radiance sliced through the earth, carving a deep trench where he had just stood.

Drazuul’s lips curled into a snarl. Where?

Without waiting to see his attacker, he turned his head and unleashed a torrent of fire—a scorching cone of destruction aimed toward where the light had struck from.

But then—

A shield of light erupted before him.

The flames rebounded, searing back toward his own face.

With a furious growl, he snapped his jaws shut and reared back, momentarily blinded. His vision burned white-hot, but his rage burned hotter.

He roared and lunged.

He expected to crash through the barrier, to obliterate whoever dared stand against him.

But—

His momentum stopped.

The shield held.

Drazuul staggered back, claws scraping against the earth as a deep growl rumbled in his throat.

And then he saw him.

A man, clad head to toe in shining plate armor, charged forward—unyielding, relentless.

Arrows rained down around him. He didn’t slow.

Every bolt aimed at him was sliced from the air with precise, effortless swings.

His gaze never wavered.

His sword never faltered.

And for the first time in centuries—

Drazuul felt something cold slither into his gut.

A hint of unease.

The barrier flickered and vanished as the warrior surged forward.

Drazuul reacted instantly.

His tail cracked through the air, a whip of pure force aimed to pulverize the man where he stood.

But—

The warrior leapt over it.

Not just jumped—soared. He twisted midair, landing light on his feet, never breaking stride.

Drazuul snarled.

No hesitation. No fear. Unacceptable.

His massive talons slammed down, the sheer weight enough to shake the battlefield.

A direct hit.

The earth shuddered, dust and debris exploding outward.

But there was no scream.

Drazuul snapped his gaze down—

Empty ground.

The warrior had already moved.

Before Drazuul could react, a searing pain erupted in his forepaw.

A sword of pure radiance had pierced through his scales, nailing his massive limb to the earth.

Drazuul roared, fury igniting his veins.

With one powerful swipe, he lashed out with his free claw, striking the warrior square in the head.

A direct hit.

But something was wrong.

Instead of crushing his skull, it felt like hitting solid stone.

Yet—

The warrior’s helmet flew off.

For the first time, Drazuul saw his face.

And for the first time, Drazuul felt true dread.

Burning silver eyes locked onto his, brimming with fury—and judgment.

Instinct screamed.

Drazuul wrenched his paw free in a spray of molten blood and took flight.

His wings beat hard, lifting him into the air as he unleashed another inferno.

Yet again—

A shield of light materialized.

The flames were swallowed whole.

Higher. I need to go higher.

Drazuul surged upward—

—and crashed into something.

An invisible wall.

No, not invisible—another barrier.

A cage.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he snapped his head down—

Too late.

The warrior was already upon him.

He leapt skyward, stepping on platforms of light, rising with terrifying speed.

And then—

The sword plunged into Drazuul’s chest.

Straight through.

To the hilt.

A cold scrape against his beating heart.

His wings failed him.

The world spun as gravity seized him.

Drazuul plummeted.

The warrior landed heavily on Drazuuls chest, gripping his blade.

With one brutal twist, he ripped the sword free.

Blood poured from the wound, sizzling against the scorched battlefield.

And the warrior… never looked back.

Without sparing Drazuul another glance, he turned and vanished into the chaos.

Drazuul lay still.

His blood pooled beneath him, warm, wet, final.

Or so he thought.

The world twisted, shifting between then and now.

The battlefield flickered, time slipping through his claws. The sun leapt across the sky in erratic jumps.

Drazuul drifted in and out of consciousness.

When he finally awoke, the world was silent.

The battlefield lay still around him. The scent of blood and scorched earth hung thick in the air.

Then—a voice.

Soft. Hesitant. Real.

He snapped out of his ruminations.

"Are you okay?"

Drazuul barely had time to process the words before a hand pressed against his foreleg.

A sharp hiss. Flesh searing.

The boy jerked back, his breath hitching as he instinctively clutched his burned palm beneath his other arm.

Drazuul’s golden eyes flickered downward.

Narmo.

His silver eyes didn’t waver.

Pain twisted his expression, but concern outweighed it.

A fool.

A reckless, oblivious fool.

Drazuul threw his head back— and laughed.

A deep, thunderous rumble, shaking the very stones beneath them.

The memory. The pain. The ghosts of the past—

All washed away in the absurdity of the moment.