Chapter 37: Wrath of the Draconis—The Sky Burns

  The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron. Leona, Lyra, and Garett pushed forward, the uneven ground treacherous beneath their hurried steps. Trails of blood guided them.

  Lyrius ran—stumbled—through the darkened woods, his breath ragged, each step sending fresh agony lancing through his body. His once-proud form was broken, torn apart by battle and his own betrayal. But even as his strength drained away, even as his vision blurred, his mind was elsewhere.

  He wasn’t thinking about the Starforge.

  He wasn’t thinking about power.

  All he could think about was Drakon.

  The grand chamber flickered with the golden light of the brazier, casting long shadows across the polished obsidian floor. Lyrius stood in the center, fists clenched at his sides. His brother, Drakon Vaelinor Draconis, loomed before him, his expression unreadable.

  "You're sending me away." Lyrius' voice was quiet, but laced with accusation.

  Drakon sighed, his armored hands tightening into fists. "It’s not like that. This war is escalating. If you stay, you’ll—"

  "I'll what? Get in the way? Embarrass you?" Lyrius took a step forward, his eyes burning. "You always spoke of honor, of our duty to House Draconis. And now you’re exiling me?"

  Drakon flinched. No. That wasn’t what this was.

  But how could he explain?

  How could he tell Lyrius that he was protecting him? That if he stayed, the High Council would use him, twist him into a tool for their war? That the only way to keep him from being turned into a monster was to send him far, far away?

  He inhaled sharply. “You don’t understand. I—”

  Lyrius laughed bitterly. “No. I think I understand perfectly.”

  And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Drakon watched him go, his heart a battlefield of conflict. He had made his choice.

  And Lyrius had made his.

  The memory faded, swallowed by the present.

  Lyrius staggered into a clearing, the towering trees giving way to an ocean of luminous flowers. Their petals pulsed softly, glowing with ethereal light, a species found only in the Verdant Vale. The ground beneath him was soft, welcoming.

  He exhaled, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Fitting..." he muttered. "Dying in a graveyard of beauty."

  A shadow loomed in front of him.

  His heart stopped.

  It was Drakon.

  Lyrius' breath hitched. "No... you're not here. You—"

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  But the figure did not vanish.

  Drakon was real.

  Lyrius lifted a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing his brother’s face, as if trying to confirm that he was flesh and blood. Warmth. Real. Alive.

  A broken, breathless laugh left Lyrius' lips. "You're really here."

  Drakon caught his arms as he collapsed, lowering him gently to the ground. Like he had when they were children.

  Lyrius’ vision blurred with unshed tears. "I hated you," he confessed hoarsely. "I admired you. I resented you. I wanted to be you. And yet, I..." He swallowed back a sob. "I just wanted you to see me."

  Drakon’s jaw clenched. He placed a hand on Lyrius’ chest, reaching for a potion. His magic flared, searching—desperate.

  Nothing.

  The wound was too deep.

  Drakon tried again, hands glowing as he attempted a healing spell—and failed. His magic refused to mend, refused to soothe.

  The glow shifted—darkened.

  Necrotic energy curled at his fingertips.

  Lyrius saw it.

  And with the last of his strength, he stopped him.

  His fingers barely grasped Drakon’s wrist, his grip weak, but unshakable. His voice, barely more than a whisper, was firm.

  "Don’t you dare raise me."

  Drakon froze.

  For the first time in years, he had no words.

  Lyrius sighed, his body going limp. The stars above blurred into a haze, the flowers around him glowing like dying embers.

  And with one final exhale, he was gone.

  Leona, Lyra, and Garett burst into the clearing—

  And stopped dead at the sight before them.

  Drakon knelt in the field of glowing flowers, his younger brother cradled in his arms, his expression unreadable.

  But inside, something shattered.

  He had been moments too late.

  No. That wasn’t the truth, was it?

  He had failed to save Lyrius long before they set foot on this cursed planet.

  A sharp inhale. A tremor in his hands. Grief festered. Burned.

  And when his golden eyes lifted—

  Rage consumed him.

  His gaze fell upon them—the ones responsible. The murderers. Garett Fenralis. Leona Leonis. Lyra of Elderwynd.

  His fingers clenched around Lyrius' lifeless form. These bastards took him away.

  A low, rumbling hum filled the air, growing in intensity. The ground vibrated beneath them, as if reality itself recognized what was coming.

  Leona’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that sound.

  She turned toward the sky—

  And saw hell itself.

  Above them, the heavens parted.

  From the abyss of space, a titan of war emerged from stealth. The Reckoning—a moon-sized dreadnought, its hull black as the void, its silhouette a grotesque fusion of function and intimidation. Engines burned like the eyes of gods, their glow casting eerie illumination over the battlefield below. Its vast, monolithic frame stretched across the sky, blocking out stars, suffocating the heavens with its presence.

  Leona's voice was barely above a whisper. "The Reckoning…"

  Garett’s stomach turned to ice. He had seen warships. He had fought on warships. But this…

  This was a goddamn executioner.

  A mechanical voice crackled to life, its tone calm, absolute.

  [ STEALTH DISENGAGED. ]

  [ PRIMARY WEAPON SYSTEMS ONLINE. ]

  [ COMMENCING ORBITAL STRIKE CALCULATIONS. ]

  Drakon rose to his feet, Lyrius’ body still in his arms.

  He didn’t look at them.

  Didn’t acknowledge them.

  He only lifted his free hand, the motion almost effortless, like a king passing judgment.

  And with a voice thick with quiet, unrelenting wrath, he spoke:

  "Mortivax."

  The earth ruptured.

  A maelstrom of black energy tore the clearing apart, twisting and churning as the second dragon-mech descended from the sky. Mortivax, the Twin Titan, forged in the same nightmare crucible as Soldraknirr, yet far more terrifying. Sleek, jagged, its wings like obsidian razors, it radiated an aura of death itself.

  With his brother’s corpse still in his grasp, Drakon issued a final command.

  "Erase them."

  Far above, The Reckoning obeyed.

  [ TRAJECTORY CONFIRMED. ]

  [ CALCULATING ALL MOVEMENT PATTERNS. ]

  [ ENSURING ZERO COLLATERAL TO FRIENDLY UNITS. ]

  [ FIRING. ]

  The sky exploded.

  Hellfire rained from the heavens.