Rage Of The: Dragon

The sky over the Kingdom of Aethelgard did not darken with clouds; it darkened with scales.

Elara didn't flinch. She drove the Shard into the stone at her feet, triggering a wave of absolute cold. For a heartbeat, the dragon’s fire sputtered. In that moment of frozen silence, man and beast locked eyes. Elara saw not just a monster, but a grieving king of a dead era, looking at the thieves who had desecrated his rest. Rage of the Dragon

The first sign was the heat. A dry, suffocating wind swept down from the Iron Peaks, wilting crops in seconds. Then came the shadow. Ignis-Kahl was not merely a beast; he was an avalanche with wings. When he descended upon Oakhaven, he didn’t just breathe fire—he unleashed a rhythmic, molten pulse that turned stone to glass. The sky over the Kingdom of Aethelgard did

In the capital, King Alaric watched the horizon glow a sickly, permanent orange. "It isn't hunger," the court mage whispered, hands trembling over a scrying orb. "It is retribution. We have stolen his marrow, and now he comes to reclaim the debt in ash." For a heartbeat, the dragon’s fire sputtered

With a single, massive beat of his wings, he took to the sky, trailing embers like falling stars. He returned to the peaks, leaving Aethelgard alive, but broken—a kingdom of ash that would never forget the cost of waking the fire.