Arthur stood at the edge of the volcano, his hands trembling as they gripped the dark rock beneath him.
His frustration clawed at him, more visceral than the heat rising from the molten depths. Scorn's absence was unbearable, a silence that screamed louder than any answer could.
He knew, had known for some time, that Scorn wasn't merely a ghost. He was the fabled dragon itself, his power the force Arthur borrowed and wielded. But now, with two treasures bound to him, the balance between them had begun to shift, and Arthur could feel it.
The treasures pulsed within his chest and head like a second heartbeat, their power simmering, waiting to be unleashed.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, the air thick and heavy with sulfur. The frustration turned to fire, igniting his desperation. He let the treasures' influence pour through him, his chest glowing faintly as his ribs expanded unnaturally. His throat burned, glowing like molten lava. He tilted his head to the sky and roared.
