The dragon moved first.
Not with fury.
With expectation.
Snow spiraled upward in violent currents as her massive wings unfurled fully, spanning half the horizon like twin glaciers taking flight. Frost bled from her scales in jagged streaks, freezing the air itself into crystalline shards that hung suspended before shattering against the wind. The sky dimmed further, light bleeding out as though the layer were exhaling its last warmth.
"Come," she rumbled, voice rolling like distant avalanches.
Atlas did not wait.
He launched forward.
Pegasus shouted something—warning, protest, strategy—but the words were lost in the sudden roar of displaced air. Atlas didn't hear them. Didn't need to.
His fist met the dragon's scales with a detonation that split the sound barrier.
