Jenavira stood completely still.
Seconds passed.
The air tensed.
Then the mist shifted.
A low rumble whispered through the floor as the fog rippled outward.
Marek snapped his head up. "Movement."
The mist wall curled upward like rising smoke, thickening fast.
The ground beneath their feet pulsed once, then began stretching outward.
Dravin muttered, "The hell—?"
In seconds, the enclosed space morphed.
Mist and ground shaped themselves into a wide, circular chamber.
A dome.
Jenavira's eyes narrowed. "There it is."
And then—center stage—the mist twisted tighter, forming into a massive beast.
A long dragon took shape, silent but overwhelming.
No scales. No flesh. Just layered, pulsing fog wrapped around a glowing core.
Its eyes opened—slow, glowing pale blue.
Dravin took a step back. "Oh. Great."
Jenavira's lips curled into a half-smirk. "I was right."
Dravin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, congrats. You win a dragon."
