Part II -- The Dragon of Game Night (Condensed)
The kingdom of Valedorn did not sleep.
Not a single soul dared close their eyes.
Because Vorthak the Ashen King--ancient destroyer of empires--was not destroying anything.
He was sitting in the ruins of The Pizza Place eating Piggie Stix like it was the meaning of life.
Cheese stretched from his teeth like golden threads.
Garlic butter dripped down his claws.
And every time he swallowed, the ground trembled slightly--like the world itself was unsure whether to be terrified or impressed.
Marco stood in silence, arms crossed, his face half burned, half unimpressed.
"More," the dragon rumbled again.
Marco sighed. "Aye. Of course."
And the kitchens went back to work.
Even after the roof was gone.
Even after half the buffet was missing.
Because at The Pizza Place, you did not stop service just because the apocalypse arrived.
Crowds gathered outside the broken walls.
Some screamed.
Some prayed.
Some started placing bets on how many Piggie Stix the dragon could eat before he "got full," as if that were even a concept anymore.
Rowan stood frozen near the shattered buffet line, staring at the beast.
"It doesn't make sense," he whispered.
Marco didn't look at him. "A lot of things don't."
Then Marco grabbed Rowan by the shoulder.
"Come with me."
They descended beneath the tavern.
The air grew cold.
The stone older.
And the symbols on the walls began to glow faintly red, like they remembered something the world had forgotten.
They reached a massive iron door marked with a dragon crest.
Marco opened it.
Inside: a chamber of ancient war.
Murals of dragons and men fighting together... then burning together.
In the center stood a statue of a warrior.
Rowan.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
Rowan stepped back. "That's not me."
Marco's voice was quiet. "That's what I thought too."
He pointed to the mural.
"Long ago, dragons and humans fought the Shadow War. Then one man united them."
"The Flamekeeper," Rowan whispered.
Marco nodded.
"And when Vorthak woke... so was said the Flamekeeper's blood would return."
Rowan stared at the statue.
"Are you saying I'm--"
BOOM.
The entire chamber shook.
Dust fell like rain.
A roar echoed from above--but it wasn't Vorthak this time.
It was sharper.
Angrier.
Alive with hate.
Marco went still.
"That's not him."
They ran.
Up through the tavern.
Through broken halls.
Into chaos.
Outside, the city was no longer celebrating.
It was running.
Because something new had arrived.
A second dragon.
Smaller than Vorthak.
Faster.
Its scales burned red like dying suns.
It landed in Lantern Square with a crash that shattered stone for blocks.
And from its back stepped riders.
Armored in black steel.
Silent.
Perfectly still.
The leader removed his helm.
He smiled at Vorthak like an old friend.
"Well," he said softly, "you've finally awakened."
Vorthak slowly lifted his head from a half-eaten mountain of Piggie Stix.
The air froze.
Even the fire paused.
The dragon's eyes narrowed.
It spoke one word.
"...You."
The rider tilted his head.
"You remember."
The ground trembled again.
Marco grabbed Rowan's arm tightly.
"We need to leave. Now."
But Rowan wasn't moving.
Because something impossible was happening.
The crimson dragon lowered its head toward Rowan specifically.
Like it recognized him.
Like it waited for him.
The rider's smile widened.
"Oh," he said. "There you are."
Rowan whispered, "Me?"
The rider raised his blade.
And pointed it straight at him.
"You're not supposed to be alive."
Silence swallowed the city.
Vorthak growled.
The second dragon roared.
Marco shouted, "ROWAN--MOVE!"
But it was too late.
The sky cracked open with red light.
And the last thing Rowan saw before the world exploded--
was the rider whispering:
"Begin the second sealing."
Then everything went white. read more
