Chapter 41: When Dragons Dream of War
Beneath the Shroudlands, in a vast volcanic cradle forgotten by mortals, the breath of the sleeping titans stirred the molten air. The walls of the cavern were layered with scales, bones, and the petrified corpses of beasts long extinct.
At its heart lay Antares, the Dragon Lord.
Twice the size of a fortress and wrapped in obsidian-black scales etched with runes of ruin, he lay coiled within a lake of fire. His long slumber, a wound-born exile, was never meant to last forever.
But now—
He was awakening.
A sliver of divine aura brushed against his senses: Celeste. And at its center, something ancient… something dangerous.
> The Eclipsion stirs.
His eye, slit like a dagger's edge, turned eastward—toward the Luther Clan's mountain stronghold.
> "So the girl found the flame," he rumbled.
A smaller dragon—a red-scaled wyrm no larger than a house—approached and bowed its head.
"My lord, shall we rally the broods?"
Antares did not answer at first.
Instead, he reached into the memory of flame. A thousand years ago, he had faced a man wielding that same cursed blade—its heat had scorched even his immortal flesh.
Martin Luther.
But the girl was not Martin.
> Not yet.
"No," Antares finally said. "Let her grow. Let her wield the blade. Let her believe."
His wings shifted, sending tremors through the mountain.
"Then I'll burn her last."
---
Back in Luther lands, Jean emerged from the catacombs with Eclipsion strapped to her back and Solstice still at her side.
Twin blades.
Light and flame.
Charles Luther stood waiting with a messenger scroll in hand.
"The Iron Empire has declared intent to duel," he said. "Not war—yet. A ceremonial challenge. You'll represent our clan."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "They're testing us."
"No. They're testing you."
She nodded. "Then I'll show them what I've become."
But her thoughts strayed… not to the duel, not even to Antares.
To Silvia.
Her sister had been summoned.
And Silvia never came without reason.
---
Far to the west, on a windswept cliff overlooking the Wailing Sea, Silvia Luther opened her eyes for the first time in months.
She stood beneath a rusted sword lodged in stone, her crimson aura coiled in stillness.
A falcon landed beside her with a scroll.
She read it.
And for a long time, said nothing.
Then:
"Jean…"
She turned, retrieving her blade—a nameless weapon older than the clan itself.
"If he's calling me back… the war is already too close."
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