Kane and the dragon slipped through a narrow service entrance, designed for servants who'd once attended the throne room's glory.
The passage opened behind a shattered pillar, obsidian fragments scattered across marble floors.
They crouched low.
The boy's crimson energy dimmed until barely a flicker remained, his small form pressing close to Kane's side.
The throne room stretched vast before them—columns of black stone rising toward vaulted ceilings where constellations had once been painted. Now only cracks remained, creating a spiderweb pattern across the ancient murals.
But Kane's attention fixed on the chamber's center.
Cyrus stood alone, transformed halfway between human and dragon.
Obsidian scales covered his arms and neck, catching the crimson light bleeding through the room. His wings spread wide, casting shadows across cracked marble.
He looked younger somehow. Less burdened.
On the far end, seated upon a throne of molten stone, a massive dragon watched.
