The storm clouds split apart as a black comet of fire tore through the sky.
Soren descended like a falling star, his landing cracking the broken pavement beneath him. The black flames around him flickered and vanished, leaving only the eerie silence of the battlefield.
Bodies.
They were everywhere.
A towering mountain of corpses—monsters and dark elves, their lifeless forms scattered across the ruined streets of Cape Town. Their bodies were torn apart, crushed, burned, and utterly annihilated.
Soren's gaze sharpened as he moved forward, his boots crunching against shattered debris and dried blood. The stench of death and scorched flesh filled the air, but he barely noticed it.
This was a massacre.
He narrowed his eyes. "All of this... by one man?"
He walked past the twisted corpses, scanning for survivors. Then—
A weak groan.
Soren's head snapped to the side, his body moving before his mind caught up. He crossed the distance in seconds, kneeling beside a group of battered heroes—their armor scorched, their faces bloodied.
One of them, a young man barely clinging to consciousness, blinked up at him in shock.
"You're... you're Soren Raihan..."
Soren grabbed him by the shoulder, stabilizing him. "What the hell happened here?"
The injured hero coughed, pain wracking his body. "It was... sudden. The dark elves... they came out of nowhere."
Another hero, a woman with a deep gash across her side, swallowed hard. "They weren't just attacking randomly. They were ravaging the entire area, like they were searching for something. We tried to protect as many people as we could, but—"
Her voice trembled.
"They were too strong. We were getting pushed back. We thought we were all dead... until he appeared."
Soren's eyes darkened.
"Ren."
The woman nodded weakly. "He didn't hesitate. He tore through them like they were nothing. We couldn't even keep up with his speed. In minutes... he wiped them all out."
Soren exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
So it was the same as Shizumi. Another attack, another hunt for something unknown.
And once again, Ren had been the one to clean up the mess before anyone could figure out what the hell was going on.
Soren glanced up, his gaze moving toward the ruined skyline.
If Ren was here—he wasn't far.
And Soren intended to find him.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the air, sending shivers down the spines of the injured heroes.
Soren's eyes flicked to the side. Something was still alive.
A massive beast, its body twisted and grotesque, rose from behind the wreckage. Its charred flesh pulsed with unnatural energy, its fanged maw dripping with blackened saliva. Its hunger wasn't for survival—it was for destruction.
The creature lunged.
FWOOOSH.
Before it could take another step, its entire body was vaporized.
A torrent of black flames erupted from Soren, engulfing the monster in an instant. No screams. No resistance. Just ashes.
The heroes behind him gasped, eyes wide in shock. Soren hadn't even turned to face it.
He exhaled, the flames still flickering around his body as he slowly lowered his hand.
"All of you—find shelter and contact the Accord. Tell them that Soren Raihan is here."
The surviving heroes nodded weakly, barely able to stand. They didn't need to be told twice.
Soren didn't wait for a response. He shot into the sky, his black flames propelling him forward.
Soren scanned the ruined battlefield below him, his eyes sharp, searching. The air was still thick with the scent of blood and burned flesh, but something else lingered—a presence.
Then he saw them.
A group of dark elves floating in the air.
And in front of them—a lone figure.
Jet-black hair. A towering presence. Eyes colder than death itself.
Ren Tianlong.
The most mysterious and unpredictable hero on the planet.
Soren didn't hesitate. He released a burst of energy, launching himself downward at blinding speed, black flames trailing behind him.
BOOM.
He landed effortlessly, his presence sending a shockwave through the ground as he stepped forward.
"Hey, listen—"
Soren took another step, about to speak—
"Kneel."
The word slammed into him like a mountain.
A force unlike anything else crushed down on him, his body screaming in agony as his knees began to buckle against his will.
The world blurred for a split second—his muscles locked, his breath hitched.
Ren's Absolute Dominion had been cast.
Soren's body wanted to kneel.
But—
FWOOSH.
A tidal wave of black flames erupted from his body, wrapping around him like a burning armor, fighting against Ren's command.
Ren's eyes narrowed.
"What the—"
The pressure around Soren shattered as his flames expanded outward, pushing back against the force of Ren's dominion.
For the first time, Ren looked genuinely surprised.
"No one other than Luxarion has bypassed my domain before." His voice was unreadable, but there was something beneath it—curiosity.
Soren exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the last embers of his flames coiled around his body like serpents.
"We'll talk about that later." He locked eyes with Ren. "But first, you and I need to have a chat."
Ren paused, tilting his head slightly. His gaze was calculating, analyzing.
Then, after a brief silence—
"Fine."
Ren barely lifted a finger.
"Perish."
In an instant, the dark elves exploded into nothingness, their bodies erased from existence.
Soren watched as the ashes scattered into the wind, his expression unreadable. Even after all this time, Ren's abilities still defied logic.
The air around them grew thinner, tension crackling between the two like a brewing storm.
Ren took a slow step forward, his gaze unreadable.
"So, tell me, Soren Raihan. Dragon Prince. Seven-Star Hero of Pakistan." His voice was cold, direct.
Soren met his stare without flinching.
"There's a lot we need to talk about, Ren Tianlong. Celestial Sovereign. Seven-Star Hero of China."
For a moment, neither moved. Neither spoke.
Two of the strongest beings on the planet stood face-to-face.
And the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
The air between them crackled, not with power, but with something heavier—a presence, a weight that neither man would back down from.
Soren studied Ren, taking in every detail. The long black hair barely shifting in the night breeze. The sharp, unreadable expression. The sheer stillness that surrounded him, like a predator waiting to strike.
A man who had never once lost.
Ren, in turn, was watching him too. Not wary, not cautious—just... curious.
Two of the strongest humans alive standing face to face for the first time in battle-scarred ruins.
Soren crossed his arms. "You've been ahead of every attack. Mongolia. Cape Town. What are you chasing?"
Ren didn't respond immediately. He just stared.
Then—he shrugged.
"Does it matter?"
Soren's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched slightly.
"It does when they're not just attacking," he said coolly. "They're searching for something."
Ren smirked, tilting his head slightly. "You always talk like that, don't you? Calculating. Thinking three moves ahead."
Soren narrowed his eyes. "And you don't think at all."
That made Ren pause for just a second.
Then he laughed. A short, quiet chuckle, like Soren had just said something amusing.
"I don't need to," Ren said simply. "Thinking wastes time. I act. And I win."
Soren exhaled slowly, forcing himself not to let his irritation show.
"And what happens when brute strength isn't enough?"
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Then you hit harder."
Soren's flames flared slightly at that. He wasn't impressed.
"You think that's how the world works?" he asked. "You think just because you've never lost, you never will?"
Ren stepped forward, closing the space between them slightly.
"It hasn't failed me yet."
Soren didn't step back. He wasn't Luxarion, wasn't Dimitri, wasn't someone who feared Ren's presence.
Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower.
"You're not invincible, Tianlong."
Ren's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened. "Neither are you."
The air between them tightened, both of their auras pressing against each other.
For a moment, it felt like one wrong word could set off a battle neither of them wanted—but neither of them would walk away from either.
Then, Ren sighed, rolling his neck.
"Look, I don't have time for a strategy lesson. If you're here to fight, say so. If not, get to the damn point."
Soren let the tension settle before finally speaking.
"Fine. Before you wiped them out—did they say anything?"
Ren's eyes flickered slightly. "What do you mean?"
Soren's voice was like steel. "Did they mention a name? A location? Anything?"
Ren was quiet for a second.
Then—
"Yeah."
Soren's fingers curled into a fist. Finally.
Ren turned, looking toward the remains of the battlefield, as if replaying the moment in his head.
"Before I erased them, they weren't just attacking. They were preparing something."
Soren's gaze darkened. "A ritual."
Ren nodded.
"They kept repeating a name."
Soren waited.
Ren's voice was casual. Too casual.
"Aurelian."
Soren's entire body went still.
Not because he knew the name. But because he didn't.
He had studied everything—every war, every hero, every threat in history.
And yet, for the first time, he had no idea who the hell Aurelian was.
That bothered him.
Ren noticed. "Judging by that look on your face, you don't know who that is either."
Soren's jaw tightened. He didn't like admitting weakness.
"No. I don't."
Ren sighed. "Then it's useless."
Soren's mind raced. A new name. A new mystery. And one that the dark elves were willing to die for.
This changed everything.
Ren was already turning away. "This conversation's over."
Soren's flames burst outward, cutting him off.
"Not yet."
Ren stopped, tilting his head slightly. "What now?"
Soren took a slow breath, his thoughts settling.
"We need to find out who or what Aurelian is."
Ren smirked. "And I'm guessing you want me to help."
Soren shrugged. "You're already doing half the work. Might as well make it efficient."
Ren actually laughed at that.
"See, this is why we don't work together."
Soren raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
Ren's smirk widened.
"Because you think ahead. And I don't think at all."
With that, Ren leapt into the air, vanishing into the night.
Soren watched him go, his mind already planning the next step.
Aurelian.
If even Ren didn't know who that was, then something was seriously wrong.
Soren turned, his black flames coiling around him like a second skin.
He needed answers.
And he knew exactly where to start.
The skies above Drakareth burned with shifting colors, ethereal flames dancing across the heavens. The city of Valtheryon, the Celestial Throne of Dragons, pulsed with a primordial energy, its towers stretching into the endless sky.
At the heart of it all—the Dragon Monarch stood in silence.
Hakan Raihan sat on the edge of a floating platform, his golden eyes staring out over his conquered kingdom. His throne was his, his rule undisputed.
But it wasn't enough.
It never had been.
Power without purpose was meaningless. And right now, he had no answers.
"You called for me, my liege?"
Xyvarion materialized behind him, his black exoskeleton gleaming under the light of the drifting suns. He was the only one who dared to approach Hakan without fear.
Hakan didn't turn. "What do you know of Vealzaryon's origins?"
Xyvarion hesitated, just for a second. Even he hadn't expected this question.
"He was strong. A monster." His voice was measured. "A force that none thought could be stopped... until you."
Hakan's gaze was cold, his golden eyes piercing through Xyvarion like a blade.
"That's not what I asked." His voice was sharp, unwavering.
He leaned forward slightly. "Was Vealzaryon from the Tenebral Hollows?"
Xyvarion shook his head.
"No, my liege. He was born here, in Valtheryon. He ascended to the Dragon Throne as the chosen successor."
Hakan's brow furrowed slightly.
"Then that means the only dragon in my entire army who hails from the Tenebral Hollows is..."
Xyvarion lowered his head. "Me, my liege."
For a moment, silence settled between them.
Hakan exhaled slowly. "You're the only one?"
"Yes, my liege." Xyvarion knelt, his voice steady.
Hakan's fingers tapped against the armrest of his throne, deep in thought.
Then, he stood.
"Prepare yourself. We're going to the Tenebral Hollows."
Xyvarion's reaction was immediate. His entire body tensed, his exoskeleton shimmering for a split second.
And then—he shook his head.
"My liege, with all due respect... please don't go there."
Hakan's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Xyvarion bowed lower, his claws pressed against the stone floor. "If you order it, I will go alone. I will conquer the Hollows for you."
Hakan's expression darkened.
"You would raise your voice to me?"
This wasn't the Xyvarion he knew. His most loyal dragon—the one who never hesitated, never questioned—was suddenly desperate to keep him away.
Before Hakan could say anything else, another presence stepped forward.
Rhalvion.
The golden-and-white celestial dragon knelt before Hakan, his aura calm but unwavering.
"If the Monarch permits, I would like to speak."
Hakan stared at him, his distaste evident. Rhalvion was Azharel's envoy. A being tied to the Primordials—the very ones who had cast him out of the Astralis Rift.
"Speak," he allowed.
Rhalvion lowered his head slightly, his voice careful. "I would advise sending Xyvarion alone."
Hakan's eyes flicked between them both.
Xyvarion's posture stiffened. "Yes, my liege. I want to go alone."
For the first time, Hakan saw something new in Xyvarion's expression.
Not duty. Not loyalty. But desperation.
It made his blood boil.
Hakan sat back down, one hand resting against his jaw. Why? Why was Xyvarion so adamant that he go alone? What was in the Hollows that even he, the Dragon Monarch, was not meant to see?
His fingers drummed against the throne's armrest. A test.
"Tell me, Xyvarion." Hakan's voice dropped to something colder, something unreadable. "Would you come back alive?"
Xyvarion's head snapped up. "Yes, my liege. I swear it. I will return victorious."
His voice held absolute certainty.
Hakan's golden eyes burned into him for several seconds. Then—
"Fine. You may proceed."
Xyvarion vanished instantly, his form disappearing into the void as he took off toward the Tenebral Hollows.
Hakan turned away, stepping toward the balcony, his hands gripping the railing.
His instincts screamed that something was wrong.
"Rhalvion. Come here."
The celestial dragon moved toward him, kneeling behind him.
"Yes, Monarch of Dragons."
Hakan didn't turn. His gaze was locked onto the vast expanse of Drakareth, but his mind was already somewhere else.
Something wasn't right.
And he intended to find out what it was.
The night air over Valtheryon was still, the vast expanse of Drakareth stretching endlessly beneath Hakan's feet. The celestial rivers twisted through the sky, glowing faintly under the shifting hues of the Dragon Realm.
Yet, despite the beauty of his domain, Hakan's mind was elsewhere.
His gaze was sharp, locked onto Rhalvion, who remained kneeling behind him.
"Tell me, Rhalvion." His voice was low, carrying a weight that made even the celestial dragon tense. "What exactly is in the Tenebral Hollows that you and Xyvarion are so desperate for me not to see?"
Rhalvion's expression remained unreadable. He did not answer immediately.
Then, after a moment, he lifted his head slightly.
"Monarch, before I answer—there is a message from Master Azharel."
Hakan's eyes widened slightly, his entire body stiffening.
Azharel.
The name alone sent a wave of irritation through him.
His fingers tightened on the stone railing, the sheer presence of that name reigniting memories he would rather have forgotten.
The Primordial Dragon who cast him out of the Astralis Rift.
The one who looked upon him and said, "You are not the one."
Azharel. The End That Watches.
Hakan turned fully, golden eyes burning. "A message? From him? About what?"
Rhalvion lowered his gaze. "I can deliver it now if you permit me."
Hakan felt his pulse in his ears.
What could Azharel possibly have to say to him now?
But before the words could leave his mouth—
The scene shifted.
The cosmic void trembled, ripples of power flowing through the eternal expanse. Here, in the deepest reaches of the Astralis Rift, reality itself bent at the will of four titanic figures.
The Four Dragon Kings.
They stood upon an endless celestial plane, the stars shifting behind them like a vast, breathing entity. Their forms were barely contained within mortal perception—a mere glimpse of their true might could shatter the mind of lesser beings.
Zerythion, The Ever-Flame Sovereign
A colossal dragon wreathed in fire, his scales glimmering like molten gold. His voice rumbled like a dying sun.
"Azharel." His gaze burned through the darkness. "Explain yourself."
Valaqara, The Weaver of Celestial Threads
A serpentine form, twisting and weaving through the fabric of reality itself. The endless strands of fate coiled around her, each thread representing an outcome—a destiny.
"The others believe Hakan was the one." Her voice was layered, omniscient, as if a thousand possibilities spoke at once. "Yet you rejected him."
Tzeryxal, The Sentinel of Forsaken Truths
A hulking draconic entity of pure void, his very presence devouring the light around him. His form was like a black hole, absorbing existence itself.
"He defeated Vealzaryon," Tzeryxal rumbled, his voice ancient, ageless. "A dragon with the potential to surpass even us."
His glowing violet eyes locked onto Azharel.
"Yet you claimed he was not worthy."
Azharel, the End That Watches, remained still.
His form was different from the others.
Unlike the vast titans surrounding him, Azharel's humanoid figure was cloaked in an eerie, shifting void—a presence that existed between existence and nothingness.
His crimson eyes gleamed, unreadable, as he finally spoke.
"Yes. He defeated Vealzaryon."
A pause.
"But only because Vealzaryon himself allowed it."
The air shifted violently, the entire celestial space quaking at his words.
Zerythion's flames flared in outrage. "What nonsense is this?!"
Azharel remained calm, his gaze unwavering.
"Vealzaryon's power was sealed. Eighty percent of it, to be exact. He fought Hakan at only a fraction of what he was truly capable of."
Tzeryxal's eyes narrowed. "And you are certain of this?"
Azharel nodded. "Vealzaryon himself suppressed his power. Had he fought at full strength, Hakan would have perished."
Silence.
Even the Primordial Dragon Kings had no immediate response.
Then, Valaqara spoke, her voice shifting like an unraveling thread of fate.
"And what of Xyvarion?"
Azharel closed his eyes briefly before answering.
"Sixty percent of his power remains sealed to this day."
Another silence.
For the first time in eons, the Primordial Kings hesitated.
Zerythion's flames sputtered, dimming slightly as realization dawned upon him.
"Then if Hakan was able to defeat Vealzaryon in that state..."
Valaqara's form coiled tighter, her celestial threads shifting rapidly. "He was never fighting the real monster."
Azharel finally moved, turning to face them all. His presence wasn't oppressive like the others, but rather, a quiet force that seeped into the very fabric of reality itself.
His next words sent a chill through the void.
"Hakan believes he is at the top. He believes he has seen true power."
His crimson eyes gleamed.
"But he has yet to face what lies beyond the threshold of his understanding."
The endless void of the Astralis Rift trembled. The very fabric of space seemed to ripple at the weight of the conversation between the Primordial Dragon Kings—beings so ancient and powerful that even gods would bow before them.
Azharel's words hung in the void like a death sentence.
Hakan was never meant to win against Vealzaryon.
The fact that he did—against a foe that had suppressed eighty percent of his power—wasn't proof of his strength.
It was proof that he had never fought the true monster at all.
Zerythion, The Ever-Flame Sovereign
The colossal fire dragon's aura flared, his molten scales shimmering with restrained fury.
"You speak as if Hakan was unworthy." His voice rumbled through the void. "If that is true, then explain how he entered the Astralis Rift in the first place."
"Even among us, only those deemed worthy by the Rift itself can pass through. Our laws are absolute.
His flames intensified.
"Yet he broke through. He shattered the gate and entered. How?"
Valaqara, The Weaver of Celestial Threads
The serpentine celestial dragon coiled, her countless threads of fate vibrating as she analyzed every possible future.
"Not only did he enter," she murmured, "he also bested our Astralis Guardians. Those who act as the first and final defense of the Rift."
Her multiversal eyes burned brighter, thousands of futures and pasts flashing within them.
"That should be impossible."
Tzeryxal, The Sentinel of Forsaken Truths
The shadowy titan stood still, his voice a low rumble that consumed sound itself.
"He should not have been able to fight here at all."
The Rift rejected the unworthy. Any being that did not meet its conditions would be erased before even setting foot within its domain.
And yet, Hakan not only entered—he fought, survived, and escaped.
Tzeryxal's abyssal form shifted as he locked his gaze onto Azharel.
"Tell us the truth, End That Watches."
His next words shook the void itself.
"What exactly is Hakan Raihan?"
Azharel, The End That Watches
For the first time, Azharel remained silent.
The other three dragon kings noticed it immediately.
Zerythion's flames dimmed. "Why do you hesitate?"
Azharel's gaze remained unreadable.
Then, after an eternity of silence—he spoke.
"Perhaps..." His voice was quiet, yet it echoed through all of existence.
"Perhaps he has another destiny."
The void cracked.
The entire Rift trembled as the other three Dragon Kings froze.
"Another destiny?" Zerythion repeated, his voice slow, cautious.
Valaqara's threads writhed in chaos, unraveling at the mere suggestion. "No. That is not possible. You see the fates of all beneath you."
Tzeryxal's presence darkened, the shadows around him growing even deeper. "That would mean... he exists outside of your sight."
Azharel finally turned to face them, his crimson gaze locked onto the three most powerful beings in existence.
"Yes."
The word was simple. Cold. Absolute.
A truth that should not exist.
Zerythion's flames flickered violently. "That is absurd! If you, Azharel, cannot see his future—then that means he is something that should not be!"
Valaqara's voice was sharp, demanding. "Even Primordials fall under the threads of fate! Nothing can exist outside it unless they are stronger than you!"
Her countless threads of reality twisted violently, as if struggling to weave something that simply did not belong.
"And there is no possible way Hakan Raihan is stronger than you!"
The universe itself strained under this revelation.
Azharel remained quiet.
Tzeryxal, the Sentinel of Forsaken Truths, took a step forward, his abyssal presence swallowing the light.
"Then that means..." His voice was death itself, hollow and unyielding.
"Hakan Raihan is something that should not exist."
The void pulsed violently, a crack of pure nothingness spreading across the Astralis Rift.
Azharel turned back toward the shifting void, his expression unreadable.
His final words before the scene cut away carried an ominous weight.
"And yet… he does."
Hakan exhaled slowly, his irritation barely concealed.
Azharel's message would have to wait.
For now, Rhalvion had his attention.
The celestial dragon had not moved from where he knelt, his golden-and-white form bathed in the faint glow of Drakareth's endless sky.
"Follow me, Monarch," Rhalvion said, rising. "There is something you must see."
Hakan's eyes narrowed. "What are you playing at?"
Rhalvion's expression remained unreadable. "I do not play, my liege. This is something that has been kept from all but those who rule this throne."
Something about the way he said it made Hakan's patience wear thin.
"If this is another trick from your kind—"
"You'll see soon enough."
Rhalvion turned and began walking.
For a brief moment, Hakan considered not following him.
But his instincts—the same instincts that had led him through the battlefields of Earth, the wars of Drakareth, the horrors of the Astralis Rift—told him that whatever was behind that door...
It mattered.
So he followed.
Rhalvion led Hakan deep into the castle.
The hallways twisted in ways Hakan had never seen before—these were not the grand halls of the throne room, nor the battle-forged pathways leading to the war chambers.
No.
These corridors were older.
The stone beneath their feet was different—unpolished, ancient. The air was thick, heavy, as if the very walls were holding in something long buried.
Hakan's golden eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, his steps slow but deliberate.
"How deep does this go?" Hakan finally asked.
Rhalvion continued walking. "We are almost there."
After what felt like an eternity, the path finally ended.
And in front of them—
A gate.
But not just any gate.
It was massive, towering over them, its surface carved with ancient, unfamiliar symbols. The writing glowed faintly, reacting to their presence.
Hakan stopped.
He had never seen this before.
And yet, something deep inside him felt like he had.
Like he was meant to.
Rhalvion raised his hand.
A golden circle appeared before him, spinning in the air.
The moment it completed its rotation, the symbols on the gate flared to life.
CRACK.
The stone groaned, splitting apart as the gate slowly opened.
A brilliant light erupted from within, pouring into the dark corridor.
The sheer energy pulsing from the other side was like nothing Hakan had felt before.
It was not warmth. Not cold. Not fire. Not darkness.
It was something beyond all of those things.
Rhalvion stepped to the side and gestured toward the entrance.
His voice was calm.
"My liege."
"After you."
Hakan's jaw tightened as he took a step forward, the blinding light reflecting in his golden eyes.
And then—he stepped through.
Xyvarion stood at the edge of the abyss.
A place where even Drakareth's eternal sky did not reach.
Before him stretched the Tenebral Hollow—a land consumed by darkness, where the air itself was thick with hostility. The twisted peaks of black stone reached toward the heavens, but no light had ever touched them. No warmth. No life.
Only silence.
And in that silence—something watched.
The abyss was alive.
Xyvarion exhaled slowly, his crimson exoskeleton pulsing with restrained power. His humanoid form stood tall, unshaken by the void's suffocating presence.
He knew this place.
He was born here.
Yet, even now, something about it felt wrong.
Unnatural.
As if the Hollow itself had become a graveyard for something that should not be dead.
He closed his eyes. Listened. Felt the weight of the dark.
Then—he opened them.
A sharp glint of violet energy burned within his abyssal gaze.
A slow smirk formed on his face.
"I was forged in this darkness."
"And yet, even now, it dares to test me?"
He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like a death knell.
"Then let's remind the Hollow..."
His body flickered. The shadows around him shifted unnaturally.
"Who its true king is."
And with that—he stepped forward.
The abyss swallowed him whole.
The castle stood like a corpse of a forgotten age.
Its towering spires were jagged, broken, as if time itself had tried to erase its existence but failed. Dark energy pulsed from its very walls, a slow, rhythmic heartbeat of something old and waiting.
Inside, the throne room was suffocating.
The air was thick with abyssal power, the very shadows seeming to slither like living things. At the end of the long obsidian hall, seated atop a massive throne of black stone, was a woman.
A dragon in humanoid form.
Her eyes gleamed, an unnatural shade of violet, her scales shimmering with a mix of darkness and something deeper—something that whispered of nightmares.
She rested her chin on her palm, her expression unreadable as she gazed into nothingness. Unbothered. Unmoved.
Then—
A figure emerged from the darkness.
A guard, his presence like a wound in reality.
His armor pulsed with an inky black aura, tendrils of corruption twisting around his form. He kneeled before her, his voice nothing more than a hollow breath.
"Queen Veyra..." He did not lift his head.
"Xyvarion has entered the Hollow."
Silence.
Then—a smirk.
Slowly, Queen Veyra of Tenebral Hollow leaned forward, the corner of her lips curling into something sharp.
Her fingers tapped against the armrest, a slow rhythm.
She said nothing.
Because she didn't need to.
She had been waiting for this.