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The warrior’s boots crunched over frostbitten stone as he ascended the narrow ledge, the howling wind carrying the reek of sulfur from the chasm below. Above him, the dragon’s lair yawned—a jagged maw streaked with veins of obsidian, its shadows pulsing with heat. Serath adjusted his grip on the broadsword, its blade humming faintly with runes carved by long-dead smiths. He didn’t need to see the beast to know it was close. The tremors underfoot said enough. A guttural growl reverberated through the mountain, dislodging shards of ice that shattered like glass around him. Then it emerged—scales the color of smoldering coal, eyes like twin forge-fires. The dragon’s wings unfurled, snapping gusts that near ripped Serath from the ledge. He lunged, blade meeting talon in a shower of sparks, the impact shuddering through his bones. Fire erupted from its maw—he rolled, searing heat licking his armor as the cliffside behind him erupted into molten slag. Serath surged forward, driving the sword into the joint of its wing. The roar that followed split the air, but the beast twisted, tail whipping like a siege weapon. Stone shattered. The world tilted. And as the ledge crumbled beneath him, Serath glimpsed the abyss below—and the dragon’s jaws, wide and blazing.
