There was a tremor in the hills—low, resonant, ancient.

It rolled through the mountains like a living heartbeat, rattling the bones of the city beneath. The Leonidus banners, still tattered from the last siege, strained against their poles as the wind howled from the north.

Above, the sky was no longer night or day but something between—a storm of fire and fury, red and gold flames devouring the heavens.

Every citizen saw it. Every soldier paused. Even the sleeping turned their heads to the window to witness it: the birth of a new legend or the end of an old one.

The fire was not natural. It was alive, breathing, shaped by will and wrath.

Aros had opened his draconic wings—vast, black things that caught and scattered the stormlight.

His scales glistened like obsidian dipped in lightning, his eyes molten with rage. Across from him, Catherine had shed her mortal shell.

Golden scales rippled across her body, armor forged not by man but by inheritance older than kingdoms. Her wings unfolded—four in number, vast as cathedral spires—each one catching the wind like sails of the divine.

The air burned between them.

Every flap of their wings churned the world below—fires snuffed, towers cracked, the rivers themselves trembled as if the land remembered this kind of power and feared it.

Aros bared his fangs. "You think yourself divine because your blood remembers dragons, girl?" His voice shook the sky itself, a thunderclap wrapped in contempt.

Blood dripped from the side of his mouth, sizzling as it struck the molten air. He was wounded, his left wing torn, but the grin never left his face. "Then prove it."

Catherine didn't answer. She simply raised her sword—a relic of the old war, its blade engraved with runes that shimmered like suns bound in metal. She pointed it toward his heart. "You should have stayed in the dark, abomination. Go back to the pit that birthed you."

The abomination laughed—a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the mountains. "The pit that birthed me? You mean the same pit that whispered to your ancestors? You wear their blood like glory, but you forget, dragonborn—the dragons didn't bless mankind. They cursed it.....they cursed you."

The words made the fire pulse. Catherine's jaw clenched, her breath hissing like a furnace. The air rippled around her as her wings spread wide again, each feathered scale a blade of light.

"I heard about it, to cut humanities population in half, powers given but... something more... something precious, taken."

"Enough," she whispered—and vanished.

She moved faster than sound. One instant she was there, the next she was upon him. Her sword came down with a shriek that split the clouds. Aros raised his claw to block, but the impact was cataclysmic—a ring of gold and crimson exploded from the strike, flattening the forest below, ripping apart mountaintops like sandcastles.

Aros was thrown back, crashing through a ridge, his scream lost to the roaring wind. Catherine followed, relentless. Each movement was grace turned weapon, each strike a hymn of vengeance.

For a moment, it seemed the heavens themselves would tear apart.

Then, in the smoke, his laughter returned.

Blood poured from his wounds, yes—but his grin widened. "So this is what they meant when they said the humanities dragons still draw breath… fascinating."

He rose again, wings flaring, scales cracked but gleaming. "But tell me, golden daughter—does your heart burn for him? For the boy who carries my mark?"

Catherine froze.

Aros smiled wider. "Aiden. The one who carries my name in his soul. The one who promised me his death."

Her heart clenched like iron. She felt it then—a pulse, faint but unmistakable—Aiden's aura, bound by that cursed pact. Her rage deepened. "You dare speak his name."

"I don't just speak it," Aros hissed, his pupils thinning to slits. "I feel it. He and I are one wound. One promise. You can send me back a thousand times, but as long as he breathes—"

Catherine's sword pierced his chest before he could finish. Flames burst from the wound, searing through his flesh, incinerating the black ichor that ran through his veins. Aros roared, the sound splitting stone. Catherine's voice followed—cold, final.

"You'll not touch him!!"

But Aros's grin never faltered, even as his blood turned to vapor. "Too late, dragonborn. His life… is mine."

He flung out a claw, and power surged—not outward, but downward. Catherine felt it instantly. His essence, his mark, was pulling away, streaking toward the city below.

"No—!"

But Aros was faster. He twisted midair, wings catching the storm currents, his body reforming into a streak of darkness hurtling toward the heart of Leonidus. His laughter echoed like prophecy.

Catherine roared, a sound so raw it split the air like a tear through reality. The flames that poured from her throat were not of this world—they were sunlight made wrath.

She followed, but the transformation had drained her. It had been years—decades—since she'd embraced her full form. The old power came at a cost. Her wings faltered, her vision blurred, and she dropped lower into the clouds.

Still, she didn't stop.

Below her, the city braced for annihilation.

In Leonidus, people screamed as the heavens burned. The Slayer Guild's protective barrier shimmered gold, trembling as shockwaves rolled across the district. Inside, Samael and the other Slayers stood ready, their blades drawn, mana-etched armor glowing faintly in the gloom.

The ground shuddered.

Then—impact.

Aros struck like a meteor. The protective field fractured, ancient runes scattering like sparks. The Guild's stone walls exploded inward, a maelstrom of smoke and fire tearing through the grand hall.

When the dust settled, Aros stood amidst the ruin. Wings half-spread, chest still bleeding, eyes wild with a predator's joy.

He sniffed the air once, twice, and smiled. "Ah. There you are."

The Slayers moved instantly—twenty-five of them, blades singing, energy flaring like a storm about to break. But Aros didn't move toward them. His attention was elsewhere. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring.

And then—he spoke.

"Oh Aiden!"

The word cracked through the air like thunder. "Come out, boy. Come face me, as promised. Let the world see what courage looks like before it dies."

No one moved. The guild hall filled with tension so thick it could be carved.

Then, slowly, footsteps.

Chains rattled.

Aiden stepped into view.

He was pale, but his eyes burned gold. Samael had sealed him in the reinforced cell only hours ago, covered with layers of runic protection—but now he was here, standing in the open. The seal still hung faintly around his wrists, broken by will alone.

"H...how did he..?"

Arina's eyes widened. "Wait Aiden, no!"

Samael raised a hand, stopping her. His expression unreadable. "Let him...."

"But Commander—!"

"Let him," Samael repeated, voice like iron. "He knows what he's doing."

The Slayers hesitated, unease written across their faces. They had seen warriors charge to their deaths before—but there was something different about this boy. Something in the way he stood, quiet yet unyielding, that silenced even seasoned killers.

Aros laughed when he saw him. "So you came after all. My little oath-keeper."

Aiden stopped a few paces away. His breath fogged in the heat. His heart pounded, but his voice was steady. "You wanted me. I'm here."

"You don't look afraid, like always," Aros said, circling slowly. "Strange. For someone who knows what's coming."

"Me.... afraid?" Aiden replied softly. "Never...."

For a moment, even Aros blinked.

Samael's gaze sharpened. Arina's lips parted slightly—something flickered in her eyes. Not fear. Respect.

Aros chuckled, low and dangerous. "Never.,.? Foolish human."

"...Maybe," Aiden said. "But at least I keep my word."

The words hung there, taut as a blade.

Catherine's roar echoed faintly in the distance—still coming, still fighting the storm—but for now, the world had narrowed to these two: the boy and the beast. The mark between them pulsed faintly, a sigil of burning light etched into Aiden's skin. It shimmered in rhythm with Aros's breath.

Aiden could feel it—every heartbeat mirrored in his enemy's chest.

It was as if their souls were halves of the same chain, forged in blood and broken promises.

Aiden's hands trembled once—only once—then steadied. "Let's finish this."

Aros tilted his head. "Finish? Oh, no. This is only the beginning....A step, towards a horrific future."

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