The sky’s wind was gone.

  Before them stretched a desert of red and ochre, cracked, swept by scorching gusts. The horizon unrolled endlessly into jagged cliffs, sharp plateaus, and craters yawning like ancient mouths.

  The daylight was heavy. The sky, dull. And yet, everything felt… alive. Not like the forest. Not like the mountain. But as if the earth itself breathed.

  Garlan narrowed his eyes.

  — Looks like a mix between a battlefield and a necropolis of titans.

  Marenna walked slowly, gaze fixed on the ground. She pointed to deep spiral prints carved into stone.

  — These aren’t human tracks. Nor animal. They’re dragons. Earth dragons.

  Below, massive shapes moved with slow gravity. No flight. No grace. Only raw power. Some bore bodies of rough stone, streaked with telluric glow. Others, flesh wrapped in rocky carapaces, crawled and dragged themselves, wingless yet crowned with a primitive majesty.

  Brenuss let out a low growl—half awe, half fear.

  Suddenly, the ground quaked.

  And a voice, heavy as an earthquake, rose from a rocky ridge.

  — Who dares set foot upon the back of the world without anchoring their bones within it?

  A colossal dragon, half-emerging from the stone wall, fixed its gaze on Garlan. Its eyes were raw stone, without pupils—yet fully aware.

  It advanced slowly, each motion unleashing sprays of dust and shattered rock. Its sightless eyes locked onto Garlan.

  — Who are you, little dragon? You carry fire… but it is young. Undisciplined. Too quick to burn what it cannot grasp.

  Then the dragon turned its gaze to Marenna.

  — And you… dryad-to-be. You do not yet know, do you? But your sap has already chosen. You grow toward life—even in dead lands.

  Marenna’s eyes widened, startled.

  The dragon’s voice dropped lower. Heavier.

  — And this small one…

  He fixed on Brenuss. Long. Silent.

  — Spawn of the black. An egg never wanted. A promise never made. And yet… you grow. You listen. You observe. You have not chosen yet, little one… but you are already too strong to ignore what you are becoming.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Garlan stepped forward, eyes hard.

  — Who are you?

  The colossus lifted its head slightly. Fragments of stone tumbled from its flanks.

  — I am Darak’Thar. Guardian of the Depths. Brother of Pressure. Father of Silence.

  Garlan arched a brow, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

  — Brother of Pressure? What, you brew ale too, or is that just a fancy title?

  Marenna buried her face in her hand.

  — Unbelievable… You really had to joke now, Garlan?!

  Brenuss gave a small snort of laughter, then stepped back when the dragon’s blank—but piercing—gaze fell on him too.

  Darak’Thar did not answer at once. Then, in a deep rumble, the earth shook. Was it laughter… or annoyance?

  — You jest… before the weight of stone. Very well. Then bear it.

  Darak’Thar let out a short, thunderous roar. Instantly, gravity surged.

  The ground split beneath Garlan. His body was crushed downward, as if a hundred mountains had settled on his shoulders.

  — Gravity, multiplied by fifty, growled the dragon.

  Garlan transformed instantly, body sheathing in dark crimson scales, arms broadening, fangs bared. He assumed his full draconic form, breath rumbling in his throat, bracing against the weight.

  He bent at the knees, but held. Claws dug deep into the ground to resist.

  Then, with brutal effort, he channeled wind-mana through his muscles—not to fly, which he knew was impossible here—but to lighten himself from within.

  In a heartbeat, he vanished, reappearing level with the Primordial’s colossal face.

  His fist glowed. The air trembled.

  — This is how I move.

  He smashed his wind-forged fist into the dragon’s stone cheek. A shard of mineral broke free, and a thin fissure spread across the black rock.

  Darak’Thar stared at him, unmoving.

  Then he laughed. A deep, ancient, rocky roar.

  — Ah… ah hah hah… You remind me of your grandfather.

  — Me, weak physically? Garlan smirked. I’d say I’m holding my own pretty well.

  Darak gave no answer. He simply raised a single claw. Slow. Majestic. And tapped.

  Not a strike. Merely the tip of his claw, casual, almost lazy.

  But the impact was monstrous.

  Garlan was hurled sideways, smashing through a rocky outcrop dozens of meters behind. His body slammed into stone, carving a bloody trail, his chest torn open in a deep, clean gash.

  He hit the ground. And did not rise.

  — GARLAN! Marenna screamed.

  She rushed to him, hands already blazing with light. But seeing him like this—unconscious, half-eviscerated—snapped something inside her.

  Her breath hitched. Her mana spun wildly, first like spores, then like a wave of unchecked growth.

  She rose slowly, eyes glowing with a luminescent green, her form wrapped in furious roots and vines she no longer controlled.

  — YOU STRUCK HIM TOO HARD!

  With a cry of rage, she leapt, propelled by a surge of wild mana. Midair, she summoned colossal roots, thick as tree trunks, tearing through stone with a thunderous roar.

  They coiled around Darak’Thar’s massive legs, straining, pulling in opposite directions, as though to rend him apart.

  The Primordial staggered, his colossal bulk collapsing to the ground in a detonation that shook the valley. A seismic wave split cliffs, fractured earth.

  The ground still trembled.

  And in the midst of it all, Darak’Thar erupted into laughter. Deep. Rocky. Almost pleased.

  — Ah hah hah… You caught me off guard, little dryad. But I acknowledge your strength.