His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Perhaps... Uncle Alameck was right. Their existence is insignificant. Perhaps they really are just maggots, scurrying about in a world that was never made for them. Why bother concerning ourselves with such fragile things?"

The words came easily.

But they felt... untrue.

He looked down at the snow where Ren had faded.

"I say these things," he continued quietly, "and yet... I can’t help but take an interest in them... their smiles, their joys, even if I know it will all end badly for many of them, and there is nothing I can truly do about it... Am I destined to continue like this for eternity?"

His silver wings folded in tight.

"I never forget anything due to this Authority Father gave me... no distance from the pain. Why do such creatures even exist? They try even though they know it’s pointless, that their efforts are ultimately insignificant... still they persevere. It’s almost maddening to watch."

He paused.

"It shouldn’t matter... none of it should."

Then he looked up, his eyes clouded with something ancient and uncertain.

"...What would you say in these moments... Father?"

The wind offered no reply.

Only the snow answered, falling steadily, blanketing the battlefield in quiet white.

But then,

Yuuto’s gaze shifted.

There, at the center of the crater where Ren had vanished, something remained.

A single, strange fragment.

He took a slow step forward. Then another.

And knelt.

A black orb, gnarled and faintly curved, rested alone in the snow. It didn’t glow or hum with energy. It gave off no magical signature. And yet... its presence was wrong. Not hostile. Not cursed.

Just... incomprehensible.

It was the artifact Ren had used to transport him to wherever this was.

It seemed he had left it behind.

"Ren... did you leave this for me?"

Yuuto simply smiled.

"Thank you... Perhaps your kind may not be as insignificant as I feared."

...

...

The battlefield trembled beneath the weight of ancient power.

Eli’Erel hovered in the storm-choked skies, obsidian wings stretched wide. Her gaze was fixed not on the ruin below, but on the monster rising before her.

Alister.

His body, previously slim in his human form, now expanded scale by scale, muscle by muscle, until the skies themselves seemed to shrink around him. Golden plates of armored hide shimmered with inner fire as jagged horns curled back across his head like the crown of a war-born king. His wings unfurled, vast, radiant, and lined with burning sigils. Each beat stirred the winds into a frenzy.

He was no longer a man with draconic power.

He was the Lord over dragonkind.

From the heavens, Eli’Erel narrowed her eyes. "If this is your attempt to look grand, then your pride will be the death of you."

Alister, now towering above her, tilted his massive head slowly. Smoke curled from his nostrils as his golden slit pupils locked onto hers, steady, unimpressed.

He gazed at her and said nothing.

His clawed hand clenched once.

The sky cracked.

Alister did not open his maw.

And yet, his voice was everywhere, woven into the crackling storm, murmuring through the trembling earth, and reverberating inside Eli’Erel’s chest like the slow beat of a war drum.

"Pride and honor are parts of a dragon’s lifeblood," the voice resounded, as calm as it was colossal. "A Lord of Dragons need not fight with the visage of a man... he must fight as a Dragon Lord should."

Suddenly, the skies fractured with golden light.

Dozens of radiant portals spiraled into existence around Alister’s colossal form. From within them, wings tore through the light—dragons emerged one after another, their roars shaking the heavens.

They flew in sweeping arcs, encircling Eli’Erel like a ring of death.

She spun midair, eyes narrowing as she counted them. Dozens. Maybe more.

Then, the sky split once more, this time with deeper light, the portal rimmed in harsh, molten gold tinged with purple.

From it, a shadow stepped forth.

Draven.

The Lighting General.

His massive frame trudged forward, a storm of pressure in every step. Across his broad shoulders, his greatsword Stormcleaver rested like a toothpick in the grip of a giant. In his other hand, hanging limp by the hair, was something far more chilling.

A severed head.

Blood-matted white hair. Frozen expression. Lifeless, half-lidded eyes.

Aethel.

The union director had been killed.

Eli’Erel’s wings fluttered with the slightest jolt.

Draven reached the base of Alister’s towering form and knelt, head bowed low. With a show of reverence, he dropped the head onto the scorched earth before the Dragon Lord.

"The human has been dealt with, my lord," he said.

"Well done, Draven."

"It was not a challenge, my lord, you flatter me."

The circle of dragons lowered their heads. The air trembled.

High above, Alister’s eyes slowly shifted toward the head, expression unreadable, golden gaze shimmering like suns behind glass.

He did not speak.

But the clouds groaned.

The battlefield darkened.

And Eli’Erel, for the first time in centuries, felt something foreign ripple down her spine.

Unease.

Soon, Alzuring, Mar’Garet, Cinder Terra, and the smallest among them, little tree Silvyr, stepped through their respective portals.

All showing signs of an intense battle agnist the abyssal monsters across there bodies.

Yet their wounds were all slowly closing.

All began taking their dragon forms.

They took their places in the circle, the storm’s thunder rolling like a drumbeat announcing their unity.

For a moment, Alister’s massive head turned toward Cinder. Through the veil of heat and fire that clung to her form, she met his gaze and smiled—a quiet, knowing smile.

The air between them carried the faintest flicker of warmth amidst the storm’s fury.

Eli’Erel’s voice cut through it, sharp and biting.

"So... you’ve called them all here," she said, her eyes scanning the gathered warlords. "Do you intend to see them die once again? Have you learned nothing in all these centuries?"

"No, I have called them all not to aid me in battle, but to witness the first of many victories to come against the abyss."

The dragons shifted at Alister’s words, a low, rolling rumble moving through the circle like the earth itself was agreeing with him. Their wings twitched, claws scraped against stone and scorched soil, but none stepped forward. They understood. This was not their hunt.