The pale white moonlight cast its glow over a city unlike any other, as if it belonged to another world. Its inhabitants were not human—beings of ancient power and mystery.

  But suddenly, through the stillness of the pitch-black night, the sound of screaming rose, piercing the silence like a dreadful symphony. The war drums thundered, their relentless beat shaking the air. Flames spread like ravenous beasts, devouring the city’s once-proud spires. What had begun as scattered droplets of blood now pooled into vast crimson lakes.

  Amid the chaos, a lone figure stumbled through the grand halls of the palace, breathless and trembling.

  Royal Guard: “Your Majesty… the war is upon us!”

  A throne shrouded in darkness sat at the heart of the chamber. From its depths, a voice, deep and unshaken, answered with eerie confidence.

  The Blood King: “Fools. How many times have they tried? And each time, they have met only eternal annihilation.”

  Rising from his shadowed throne, he stepped into the pale moonlight seeping through the high palace windows. His form was both regal and terrifying—crimson eyes, the color of pure blood, gleamed with predatory hunger. Long silver hair cascaded down his back, framing sharp, ivory fangs. His pale skin, ghostly in its pallor, was draped in a flowing black robe lined with gold.

  He strode to the edge of his grand balcony, gazing down at the burning remains of his beloved city. Raising a hand to command his legions to defend their home, he suddenly froze.

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  His expression, once filled with unyielding fury, twisted into something rare—fear.

  A monstrous shadow blanketed the moon, bathing the city in a deep, ominous red. The sky trembled as a being of legend emerged from the darkness.

  A colossal black dragon, its scales absorbing even the faintest light, loomed before the palace, its suffocating presence thickening the air. The blood in the king’s veins turned cold.

  The Blood King: “Impossible… You are forbidden from interfering in mortal affairs. Why are you here?”

  Then, a deafening roar shattered the heavens, drowning out the sounds of battle. It was not merely a sound; it was a force—one that sent every warrior, every creature, collapsing to their knees. The world itself seemed to quake under its weight.

  And then, from the dragon’s maw, a voice like grinding steel resonated across the burning land.

  The Dragon: “Who among you wretched thieves has stolen my egg… my child? Return it, or I shall reduce this kingdom to dust.”

  Its vast, cosmic eyes, filled with swirling galaxies, locked onto the Blood King with an intensity that made even the fearless monarch feel small.

  The Blood King (kneeling, cold sweat dripping down his face): “I swear upon my name—I have stolen nothing of yours!”

  The dragon’s gaze did not waver.

  The Dragon: “I can smell my child’s scent here. If you will not return them… then I shall turn this land to nothingness and retrieve what is mine from the ashes.”

  As the king struggled to respond, a group of warriors stormed into the throne room—representatives of the three races: Humans, Elves, and Dwarves. They stood defiantly before the kneeling king.

  The Heroes: “Return what was stolen, Blood King. No more lives need to be sacrificed for your sins.”

  The king’s crimson eyes burned with rage. He longed to tear the flesh from their bones for their insolence, but the suffocating presence of the dragon held him in check.

  The Blood King: “For the last time, I. Stole. NOTHING!”

  But the warriors had no interest in listening. They rushed to the palace balcony and screamed into the burning night.

  The Heroes: “Soldiers! Fall back as far as you can from the city!”

  Then, turning to the sky, they uttered their final plea.

  The Heroes: “Great Dragon, we have done all we can. The rest is in your hands now.”

  With that, they fled, vanishing into the darkness.

  The dragon exhaled, its colossal maw opening wide. The very air trembled as an immense force gathered within. Swirling energy, raw and ancient, spiraled into a singular point of destruction.

  This sight was one that had been whispered of in myths and legends—a dragon’s breath, the final sight of any who witnessed it.

  No one who saw it lived to tell the tale.