Looking at there helpless situation, Ragnar smirked and turned to his warriors.
"This is what the future rulers of the elements have been reduced to?" he said, voice loud enough to echo. "Tied to their rivals, unable to break free - pathetic."
He gave them one last lingering glance - a mixture of disappointment and amusement - before turning his back on them entirely.
"Let's go. They're not worth our time."
The dragon warriors shifted, clearly reluctant to abandon the fight, but Ragnar's authority was absolute.
And that hurt even more than his words.
He didn't just mock them.
He didn't just humiliate them.
He dismissed them - as if they weren't even worthy of a real battle.
The four rulers stood frozen - both literally and figuratively - as the dragon tribe turned their backs and began to retreat from the chamber.
Sylvia's vines still clung to Arson's arm.
Peggy's golden feathers remained stuck to Glacius's icy cloak.
But for the first time, none of them spoke.
The silence wasn't peace - it was rage.
Because for all their bickering, all their rivalry, one thing was now painfully clear:
They had been defeated - not just by their enemies, but by their own lack of unity.
And that was a wound no amount of fire, nature ,ice, or magic could heal.
_ _ _
The air inside the ruined base was now thick not with the heat of Arson's flames or the frost of Glacius's ice, but with the burn of humiliation.
They were left tangled stuck with there worst enemies, surrounded by scorched walls and scattered debris.
The stronghold now lay broken and charred.
Arson sat silently, every breath still causing Sylvia's vine to twitch painfully where it had seared into his skin.
Glacius remained stiff, a layer of frost peeling off Peggy's feather stuck to his shoulder.
No one spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
And then—
A distant thunder rumbled again.
But it wasn't from Ragnar or his dragons.
It was the collapse of the upper levels—stones falling in lazy heaps as the support beams cracked, weakened by fire, frost, and brute force.
Peggy was the first to move.
She pulled herself upright, wings folding in as best she could with part of them still clinging to Glacius. "We need to get out," she said, voice low but clear.
Sylvia nodded faintly. "Before it buries us."
Arson glanced down at the glowing embers in his palm. There was barely enough power left to light a torch—definitely not enough to fight another enemy.
Glacius touched the ground with chilled fingertip. "They overestimated themselves," he muttered. "And underestimated the dragons."
He glanced toward Arson.
"And us."
Arson didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed.
It was all the reply Glacius needed.
Sylvia interrupted. " Enough! Right now our priority should be to get out of this place."
Peggy nodded. " She's right. We can have all the pride talks once we are outside. This place is gonna collapse any time."
Arson growled closing his eyes in exhaustion. "What choice...do we... have?"
Before he could say anymore, Glacius already was ahead dragging Peggy who was almost trying her best to keep balance.
Arson opened his eyes and finally noticed him.
"I am not losing in the race." Arson charged making Sylvia stumble as she was falling over him in recoil. She was clearly looking annoyed by the situation.
_ _ _
Breaking out of the ruined base was... insultingly easy.
The dragon tribe had torn through every barricade, leaving nothing but rubble.
There were no psychic barriers to stop them now, no electric pulses - just a shattered fortress with its proud captors crushed.
With some flicks of fire and waves of frost, both princes(and stuck princesses) made it out of the ruined base.
But the problem remained.
Sylvia's vines were still stubbornly wrapped around Arson's left arm, having fused slightly from the heat.
Peggy's golden feathers were still frozen onto the back of Glacius's back, the mix of static electricity and stickiness of ice holding them firm.
Neither of the princesses looked thrilled about it either.
The silence between the four leaders was definitely not looking peaceful.
Then, without a word, Arson and Glacius locked eyes.
The air ignited and chilled at the same time.
It wasn't just a stare - it was a rival's greeting.
A silent acknowledgment:
"I'm not done yet."
Neither prince wanted to linger in the shadow of their failure, they needed to prove themselves now.
To themselves.
To their tribes.
And most of all - to Ragnar.
The only way to do that?
More power. More territory. More dominance.