The Red Dragon finally noticed.
A subtle absence rippled across the battlefield. A pressure that had been present moments ago… was gone.
Its head turned mid-battle.
Scales scraped as its massive neck rotated. Its eyes burned as they locked onto the golden glo weaving between the cages below.
Lucien.
The wolf was no longer fighting.
He was taking.
The realization struck.
While the Red Dragon had been shattering anchors and tearing open paths for liberation, Lucien had been harvesting the board itself... removing pieces without noise, without any form of spell flare, and without resistance.
The dragon could not sense teleportation. No spatial distortion. No ritual signatures.
Yet one by one, the ancient presences were vanishing.
Gone to a place the dragon could not detect.
A low growl rolled from its chest, vibrating the chamber like distant thunder.
"So that is your game," it rumbled.
The dragon tried to turn fully—
But it failed.
