Suddenly, the landscape of the living planet shifted. The colossal form of the world-dragon began to condense, to fold in upon itself with a low, tectonic rumble that vibrated through Nero's soul. The mountain ranges smoothed into limbs. The continental plates reshaped into a torso. The great, amber eye focused and drew closer.
Where the primordial dragon had been, now stood a figure.
It was a middle-aged man, hovering in the golden-brown light. He had thick, earthy brown hair that fell to his shoulders like a lion's mane. His eyes were reptilian—slitted pupils in irises the color of rich, wet soil. Two powerful, curved horns, the texture of ancient, polished stone, swept back from his forehead. A long, muscular tail, covered in fine brown scales, swished slowly behind him.
The resemblance was startling. The horns, the tail, the aura of contained, bestial power… he looked like an older, more majestic, and infinitely more ancient version of Nero's own draconic form.
