"Dragon Ruler of Flames, do you really want to do this?" The figure's eerie silver eyes glowed dangerously, twin orbs of cold, unfeeling power that seemed to pierce through reality itself.
Barki stood rooted in place, her draconic instincts screaming at her to retreat. Her orange eyes wavered, a storm of emotions flashing through them. This wasn't just any foe—this was him.
"I... I..." She faltered, unable to reply.
Luciel von Blade. The Primogenitor of Wind. A being who had existed since the dawn of the Smiths, a force of nature given sentience, a calamity in human form.
"Better," Luciel said, his voice carrying the weight of an ancient predator addressing mere prey. "Stay out of my way, or you will lose your soul."
"You can't do this, Luciel von Blade," Barki managed to say, her voice firm despite the unease crawling up her spine.
Luciel tilted his head slightly, his silver eyes narrowing. "You dare talk back to me? Do you wish for death?"
