The ground was still smoking where Tiamat and Ouroboros had collided. Broken rocks, charred trees, and even reality itself seemed cracked, bleeding splashes of wild mana. It was as if the world was still trying to remember how to hold itself together after the presence of the two ancient dragons.
Now, in human form, they walked side by side.
Tiamat wore ceremonial robes forged from golden scales and ethereal fabric, which floated around her body like a living halo. Each step seemed to shift the air like waves on a sacred lake.
Ouroboros, in stark contrast, was barefoot. Her black hair snaked around her head, as if it had a will of its own, and her cloak seemed to be made of night itself - shadows sewn with the light of stars that had already died.
Strax took a few steps forward, his eyes still shining with the remnants of the Draconic Gaze. His muscles were tense, his body vibrating with resonant mana, but his mind was already drifting away from the battlefield.
