Towering peaks thrust into the clouds, massive rocks assembled into a grand platform perched atop the mountain.
Hundreds of Primordial Dragons gathered around the platform, their once rock-like, immortal scales had all shed, revealing bodies of flesh that were misshapen, ugly, and fierce.
Some Primordial Dragons still couldn't adapt to these new bodies. The weak and soft flesh made them feel uneasy, and the biting cold wind bore an ominous portent.
Dragons were forced to huddle amongst their own kind for a pitiable sense of comfort.
Nine of the largest Primordial Dragons huddled at the center of the platform, discussing the future of the Dragon Race, surrounded only by the heavy breathing and low growls of the Primordial Dragons.
Mo Fei blinked his eyes, surprised to find that this time the dream wasn't about the fall of Skyhold.
