The silence of the night was broken by a muffled scream from one of the sentinels atop the walls. A normally impassive ice giant was now trembling. His face had gone pale, his wide eyes fixed on the horizon line, where scaly creatures advanced in a macabre march.
"There are… too many…" he murmured, his voice faltering. "By all the gods… there are so many…"
His face, usually as hardened and sculpted as stone, now showed something rarely seen among giants: pure fear.
Eskandor quickly approached and placed a hand on the giant's shoulder.
"Control yourself," he said in a firm voice. "His Majesty is with us. There is nothing to fear."
His face was calm, even serene. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed something else. Panic pulsed there, hidden behind the false confidence. Eskandor no longer fully believed in Uriel's strength. Not anymore. But he would never let that show. Never.
The giant swallowed hard. Tension made him whisper:
"And… and if His Majesty runs away…?"
Crack!
Eskandor's slap echoed like icy thunder. It was not gentle. The giant's face turned with the impact, and the mark of Eskandor's hand remained visible on the bluish skin. Eskandor took a step forward, eyes shining with false indignation, and roared:
"Shame on that cracked ice face of yours! His Majesty would never flee! We are talking about the great Uriel! The wisest, the most powerful, the most majestic of all kings! If he wanted to, he could swallow an entire army and still ask for dessert!"
His words came out full of fervor, almost like a religious chant. But inside… inside, Eskandor was already tracing escape routes. If things went wrong, if Uriel fell… he wouldn't hesitate to run. Living to flatter another king was always better than dying for broken promises.
The giant, his cheek burning and his pride wounded, only shot Eskandor a look full of contempt. But he said nothing. He didn't want another slap — or something worse. He swallowed his thoughts and fell silent.
Then came the powerful sound of Uriel's wings cutting through the sky. The king descended like a living avalanche, landing in the center of the courtyard with a crash. Snow scattered with the impact, and the air seemed to freeze even more around him.
Eskandor ran, making his way between the warriors with exaggerated reverence, and prostrated himself before the immense figure.
"Majesty!" he said loudly and fervently. "We have nothing to fear while your glory hovers over us! It is an indescribable honor… an inexpressible honor to fight alongside such a magnificent sovereign! If you asked, I would throw myself into the fire without hesitation! I would give my life a thousand times if it meant protecting you!"
And as exaggerated as his words seemed… the sincerity in his voice was palpable. Eskandor was a flatterer, yes — but in that moment, he truly believed it was safer to fight than to be the next to disappoint Uriel.
The king watched him in silence for a few seconds. Then, with a deep and imposing voice, he simply said:
"Silence."
Eskandor obeyed immediately.
Uriel looked around at the faces of his people — some frightened, others hardened — and raised his voice, this time for all to hear:
"Prepare yourselves. Gather your weapons. Reinforce the walls. No one will die today."
He spoke with such solid confidence that, for a brief moment, the fear seemed to vanish from the air.
Without another word, he opened his wings again, rose into the sky with a roar of wind and snow, disappearing into the blood-colored clouds.
And down below, the hearts of the ice giants, hesitant as they were, began to beat a little stronger. Even if it was a lie, it was a lie they wanted — needed — to believe.
Uriel flew high, above the dark clouds that covered the frozen fields like a shroud of imminent death. His body glowed with a silvery light, wings spread wide, slicing through the freezing winds with majesty. But in his mind, the fear that once gnawed at his certainty no longer had space.
The horde advancing… was not the Boss's true army. It was only a smaller front, a distraction, perhaps. A test. Uriel felt a subtle relief — not total, of course, but enough to keep control of the situation. He murmured to himself, a slight ironic smile on his lips:
"At least… I'm not facing a real wyvern…"
His eyes shimmered with a hint of reverence and dread.
"Even as a dragon, I wouldn't stand a chance against one of them right now…"
His words vanished into the wind, carried by the icy current as he glided through the sky like a predator.
Below, the war drums suddenly fell silent. The ancestral music that once intoxicated the warriors' hearts ceased, as if the world itself had held its breath. Uriel felt the weight of that silence. He knew what was coming next.
The first screams came. Fanatical screams.
The lizards — hundreds of them, with cracked scales and eyes burning with madness — broke into a frenzied charge. Each one howled with violence, their mouths foaming, crying out for blood, for destruction, for sacrifice. They were beasts maddened by blind faith, ready to die without question.
Uriel shouted, his voice thundering over the battlefield:
"Prepare yourselves!"
And then, he opened his mouth, his eyes ignited in brilliant blue — and the roar came.
Not a mere sound, but a true draconic roar, ancient, primal, and charged with power. The surrounding mountains echoed in response. The snow shuddered. Ice crystals exploded from trees. Weaker hearts might have stopped in that instant.
And then Uriel dove.
His wings folded. The air around him froze under the pressure of the fall. When he reached maximum speed, his mouth opened again, and he roared with power:
[Ice Dragon's Breath]!
A whirlwind of bluish energy burst from his throat. The absolute cold swept over the first lizards like a glacial storm, freezing them the instant the breath touched them. Screams died before they were even released. Bodies hardened in poses of despair, turned into sparkling ice statues.
Uriel flew past them without mercy, with controlled fury. And when he spun in the air, he came back with full force.
With a roar, he crashed against the ground and into the lizards' frontline like a living avalanche. His body crushed dozens upon impact, his limbs hurling fanatics into the air, smashing bones, tearing flesh, shattering weapons.
And in a fluid motion, he soared once more, leaving a trail of frozen destruction behind.
This was only the beginning. But Uriel would make sure the world — and the gods — remembered what it meant to provoke a dragon.
----
Advanced chapters on my Patreon: patreon.com/Louisdg