The impact of that colossal presence still echoed in the air when silence finally truly settled in—not the heavy silence of loss that had dominated the crater moments before, but a silence laden with disbelief, with something that shouldn't exist and yet was there, breathing before them.
The white dragon, its living scales enveloped in flames that didn't consume, remained motionless for a few moments, as if adjusting to its own existence, as if each movement needed to be relearned within that new structure.
The heat emanating from it didn't burn the skin, but it pressed down on the atmosphere, making each breath denser, more conscious, as if the air had been altered to match this new reality.
Rogue was the first to move, not out of courage, but because standing still meant accepting what had just happened, and that was still far from acceptable.
