The grand throne room of Dracarys Castle stood in eerie silence, the battle outside now a distant roar.
Xander Dracarys stood at the center, waiting.
He wore ornate black armor, its crimson edges pulsing with anti-dragon enchantments.
In his hands, he held a massive obsidian greatsword, glowing with runes that flickered like dying embers.
Then—Ryle stepped inside.
His clawed feet clicked against the marble floor, his golden eyes glowing in the dim light.
Xander exhaled, gripping his sword tighter. "I knew you'd come."
Ryle didn't answer.
Then—Xander charged.
The room shook as he swung his colossal blade, aiming to cleave Ryle in half.
But—
Ryle wasn't there.
In a blink, Ryle appeared behind him.
Xander barely turned in time—
CRACK.
Ryle's blackened claws pierced Xander's armor.
A shockwave shattered the throne room's pillars.
Xander stumbled back, his armor splitting apart as cracks spread across its surface.
He gritted his teeth.
"Not yet—"
He swung his greatsword again.
Ryle caught it.
With one hand.
Then—he crushed it.
The legendary obsidian blade shattered into dust.
Xander's eyes widened. "Impossible."
In mere seconds, everything he had—the armor, the sword, his pride—was gone.
He was cornered.
Xander panted, gripping his bleeding chest.
The weight of defeat crushed him.
He looked at Ryle—not as an enemy, but as a friend.
A memory surfaced—
Two children, dreaming of the future.
"One day, we'll change the world together, Ryle!"
Xander smiled bitterly.
"Remember our dream?" His voice was quiet, trembling.
His eyes shimmered with desperate hope.
"Maybe we can realize it now."
For the first time—Ryle spoke.
His voice was cold.
"I don't remember."
The words stabbed deeper than any wound.
Xander's breath hitched.
Tears fell down his face.
He had always known Ryle had changed.
But now, he understood.
The Ryle he once knew was gone.
Ryle raised his right hand.
His purple claws shimmered, releasing an overwhelming aura of destruction.
Xander's tears didn't stop.
But he didn't run.
He simply closed his eyes.
Ryle whispered.
"Dragon Chronicles."
The castle quaked.
Above them, a massive spectral dragon hand formed—bigger than the entire fortress.
Its claws, wreathed in golden fire, reached toward the heavens.
And then—
It descended.
The sky split open as the colossal hand crashed down.
A blinding shockwave consumed everything.
The castle was obliterated.
The city crumbled.
And Xander Dracarys vanished from history.
Ryle stood amidst the ashes of Dracarys.
His breath was ragged.
His body trembled.
he had overextended.
But there was one last thing to do.
He closed his eyes.
His voice was weak but resolute.
"Help Me Noctis Vitae."
Dark energy poured from his body, surging outward in a wave of death.
Every corpse, every soul in Dracarys was harvested.
Their essence funneled into one being.
Sylvaris.
Her broken body glowed.
The Leviathan—once lost—breathed again.
Her eyes fluttered open.
The first thing she saw—
Was Dravenith, staring at her.
Still weakened, he barely managed to whisper
"Love you too."
Then—he collapsed again.
Sylvaris, now undead, smiled.
Six Days Later—Dragon Mountain
Ryle awoke to the sound of crying.
He barely had time to process before Thea tackled him, hugging him tightly.
"Idiot!" she sobbed. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"
Ryle chuckled, ruffling her hair. "I'm back, aren't I?"
Vaelthia stood beside them, arms crossed.
For once, she didn't scold him.
Instead, she just sighed.
"Thank you."
Ryle grinned. "That's rare."
Then, he glanced at Dravenith and Sylvaris, both standing nearby.
Sylvaris, now in her undead human form, looked the same—except her eyes were darkened, and a faint black mist clung to her skin.
Dravenith rubbed the back of his head. "I... guess I owe you one."
Sylvaris smirked. "You owe me a lot more than that."
Ryle leaned forward, a mischievous grin forming.
"So, are you two dating?"
Dravenith turned bright red.
"SHUT UP!"
Ryle laughed. "Tsundere dragon."
Thea chuckled. "He's right, you know."
Dravenith groaned. "I swear, I'll kill you both."
But despite his protests—he smiled.
While the group celebrated—
The hero arrived.
Ryo.
The holy swordsman stood at the ruins of Dracarys, his golden armor stained with dust.
Behind him, his harem of female warriors trembled.
Some cried, staring at their destroyed homeland.
Ryo's expression darkened.
His fist clenched.
"Dragons."
His voice was filled with hate.
The storm was far from over.