And it was—
A roar. Not the piercing shriek of the wyverns they had fought, but something deeper. Heavier. Like thunder rolling across the peaks.
Lyra's head whipped upward. Her eyes widened.
"No," she breathed. "That's not just another wyvern."
Inigo followed her gaze—and saw it.
Far above, gliding with monstrous grace through the wispy clouds, came a beast three times the size of the ones they had faced. Its wings were broader than a ship's sails, its scales darker than slate, and its maw opened with a guttural snarl that echoed across the cliffs.
"Ancient," Lyra said, voice tight with dread. "It's an elder wyvern. We've stirred something far worse."
Its golden eyes locked onto them—and then it dove.
"Ride!" Inigo shouted, spurring his mount forward.
They galloped down the ridge trail, hooves pounding like war drums. The wind screamed past them, but the creature's roar drowned out all else.
A shadow passed overhead, enormous and fast.
"Inigo, split!" Lyra cried.
