Through the shimmering veil of the barrier, I saw him—Zephyros. Every time the dragons' fire hit the shield, the chains binding the dragon glowed white-hot, siphoning his life force to maintain the defense. He let out a weak, agonizing whimper, his silver scales losing their luster.
"Cowards!" Ingi roared, the force of his voice alone creating craters in the mud. "You hide behind the life of a weakened dragon!"
"It's not hiding," Siegfried said, stepping off the pillar and onto the air as if it were solid ground. "It's strategy. Balmung hungers for the heart of a King. Who will be the first to die?"
I slumped against Zephyrion's neck, my Magicore still in a forced restart, its cooling cycle sounding like a frantic ticking clock in my chest. I was powerless to cast, but my eyes—refined by Law Manipulation—saw the truth.
