The familiar chime of the warning bell resonated through the silent streets of Boreas—a sound that had become almost routine since the original ring had been stolen. Its toll signified only one thing: a dragon was near. As the metallic walls vibrated with each strike, townsfolk froze where they stood, their hearts gripped by a blend of fear and grim resolve. Quickly, they assembled in formation, weathered elders stepping to the front lines, faces etched with determination and a hint of trepidation as they prepared to face the ancient beast.
A profound hush enveloped Boreas, broken only by the distant, haunting cry of an unfamiliar dragon—a creature as white as freshly fallen snow. The townspeople, seasoned by countless dragon encounters, sprang into action: barricading doors, herding livestock into hiding. Their time-tested defense relied on camouflage; enormous white sheets were draped over homes and market stalls, blending seamlessly into the wintry landscape. In the near-blizzard conditions, the dragons’ poor vision made this tactic remarkably effective.
Overhead, the sky deepened to a foreboding gray as each villager donned their finest camouflage cloaks, steeling themselves for the imminent clash. The wind picked up, icy tendrils cutting through layers of fabric, while the bell’s somber toll underscored the mounting peril. Yet, an unsettling sensation permeated the air—this encounter felt different.
Stolen novel; please report.
The colossal dragon loomed above Boreas, its massive form eclipsing any they had ever faced. This was no ordinary beast—it was a behemoth, scales glistening as pure and cold as ice, easily fifty times the size of a house. Its icy breath left a shroud of frost in its wake, and there was no doubt—it was fully aware of their presence.
Luminescent blue eyes methodically scanned the town, as if seeking something—or someone. Without warning, it unleashed a thunderous roar that rattled the very earth, signaling it had found its quarry. Hovering ominously, its throat began to glow with an ethereal light, mirroring the aurora. The townspeople, acutely aware that their customary camouflage might fail them this time, stood paralyzed, breath caught in their throats.
In a sudden burst of brilliance, the dragon expelled a maelstrom of swirling, frigid winds that tore mercilessly through Boreas. The chilling tempest consumed all in its path—buildings splintered and collapsed, ancient trees snapped like twigs. Panicked screams filled the air, only to be swallowed by the howling gale. As the onslaught intensified, the once vibrant streets were transformed into a silent, frozen wasteland.
The dragon’s glacial fury left an indelible scar across the heart of Boreas. Everything they had painstakingly built now lay in ruins, entombed beneath layers of ice and snow. Whatever the beast had sought, it had found, leaving no doubt that its devastating mission was complete.