Ignis's Fury

The sky above Dragonland, usually a canvas of bruised purples and fiery oranges, churned with an unnatural darkness. It wasn't the gentle twilight Arthur had grown accustomed to; this was a suffocating blanket, heavy with a malevolent energy that prickled his skin. He could feel it, a tremor deep in his gut, a primal instinct screaming danger. Beside him, Kael’s hand tightened on the hilt of his jagged sword, his usually stoic face etched with a grim understanding.

"He knows," Kael breathed, his voice a low growl. "Ignis knows we’re growing stronger."

Elder Elara stood a little apart, her ancient eyes, usually pools of serene wisdom, now clouded with a familiar dread. The air around her seemed to hum with a silent lament, a testament to battles fought and losses endured. She had spoken of Ignis’s immense power, of his reign of terror that had spanned centuries. But words, Arthur was discovering, were pale shadows of the reality.