The roads of Nairon trembled beneath the march of armies, as three colossal royal carriages carved their way toward the palace.Behind each one stretched endless convoys of sorcerers, fairies, warriors, and beasts—summoned from distant lands for a single purpose: to stand against only four Big Dragons.
In the throne hall, the three allied kings gathered with the King of Nairon. A map lay open before them, voices sharp with urgency, for they all knew the bitter truth: this was not a battle of triumph, but a battle for survival.
— "The water fairies shall quench the flames and shield the villages."— "The ice sorcerers will freeze the heavens if they must, and bind the wings of these beasts."— "And we, the wind warriors, will tear the skies with our storms and drive them away."
There was but one certainty within those stone walls: if they failed tonight, there would be nothing left to defend at dawn.
Beyond the palace, the heavens themselves became a battlefield of wind, ice, and fire.
What remained of Nairon's army had withdrawn from the frontlines, entrusted with a higher duty—the protection of their people. Through streets and alleys, soldiers gathered children and families, guiding them to the deep shelters carved beneath the kingdom. There, fleeting safety was all they could grant. Their vow was clear: no one shall be left behind.
And for a moment, hope flickered. The water fairies doused the burning forests, ice sorcerers chained the dragons' flames, and the storms of Zephyra ripped through the skies to scatter their wings. Slowly… the kingdom seemed to breathe again. Fires dimmed, and the roars of the Big Dragons waned.
But peace is ever fragile. Suddenly, the sky itself howled with fury—Elinor unleashed her wrath. She exhaled a torrent of fire vast enough to consume a city, tearing through defenses and drowning countless lives in flame. Panic swept the ranks; hearts faltered, lines broke.
And worse still… another dragon shattered the wall of ice with its breath, blazing through the eastern border. A guard burst into the throne hall, breath ragged, voice shaking:— "My liege… the borders have fallen! The true peril begins now!"
At that moment, Fairo returned. His body, broken and bloodied, bore the weight of his defiance, for he had insisted on standing with the soldiers to shield his people. Laid upon his bed, he opened his eyes at last and whispered with fading strength:— "Bring Dalirina… we cannot prevail without her."
But the king's face darkened, his voice thundered with anger:— "I will not summon her! She betrayed us—just as that fairy once did in this very kingdom. All that we suffer now… it is her doing!"
Fairo's gaze sharpened, his voice hoarse yet unyielding:— "And who told you this, my king? Who whispered such poison into your heart?"
And there, the truth finally revealed itself. That day, when the queen leaned close to the king's ear, her words were not counsel but treachery. She had planted the venomous lie that Dalirina longed for the throne, branding her a traitor unworthy of trust. From that whisper onward, truth was twisted into nightmare—and the ruin of this day was born from that single deceit.