MINUTES BEFORE THE CATASTROPHE
Lamia walked with terrifying grace—like the angel of death summoned from the underworld. His silver-lined black boots echoed through the forgotten halls of Ivory High, now buried in rubble. His long midnight-blue hair flowed like a velvet cape, his eyes sharp, smoldering with ancient knowledge and fury.
The underground chamber wasn't hard to find. It had revealed itself as though it had been waiting for him. Cracked stone walls, splintered wooden beams, shattered furniture, rusted kitchen utensils—everything scattered like relics of a doomed past. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, dancing slightly as he passed. The air smelled of rust, rot, and something older—something sacred.
It looked like a home once, a place of warmth, now consumed by time and death. Whatever had lived here wasn't divorced or departed—it had been obliterated.
Lamia halted before the stone coffin at the heart of the room. It was unlike any other—sealed with dark, flaking blood. Bone-like protrusions curved around it like claws desperate to keep what lay inside trapped. Atop it lay an emblem etched in old dragon script—Zandros.
Without hesitation, Lamia stretched out his hand. The Book of Shadows emerged from the ether, swirling with tendrils of smoke. Darkness oozed from its bindings, the pages whispering and giggling in a voice that made the air quiver. He opened the book and began to chant.
The ancient tongue twisted through the chamber like a curse:
"Rauth venshaal... corinth drakhaal... ievee na'sor..."
The Phoenix Stone, resting in his other palm, began to glow, pulsing crimson. Its energy seeped into Lamia's veins like liquid fire. His eyes lit with an infernal brilliance as he stepped forward, pressing the stone against the coffin.
A groan.
The ancient seal cracked.
Then split.
Suddenly, bones jerked upward from within. A skeletal figure, charred and blackened, yet still regal in its decay, began to rise. Flesh stitched itself together like time reversing. Long silver-blond hair unfurled, and golden eyes ignited with reluctant life. The man—Zandros—awoke, trembling like a beast reborn.
The room darkened as the air thickened.
Lamia smirked. "It's time, Zandros. You and Logan betrayed me. Now, you've paid with your life. But vengeance... vengeance is still ours to claim."
Zandros did not speak. Not yet. His body rose upright, animated by Lamia's command—a puppet resurrected.
Then Lamia's gaze shifted. On the far side of the chamber, he noticed carvings—sigils of dragons—etched deep into the stone walls. Magnificent and terrifying. Each dragon was drawn mid-flight, mid-battle, mid-roar.
He raised the Phoenix Stone once again. Dark light burst from its core, flooding the room and striking the sigils.
A rumble.
Then the walls cracked.
And crumbled.
From within them, four gigantic dragons emerged—each larger than the ruins could hold. They tore through the collapsing ceilings, shaking the earth, screaming into the night sky.
One was as large as a mountain, its body covered in obsidian scales that shimmered with ancient runes. Fire leaked from its nostrils even at rest.
But it was the fourth one—the leader—that brought silence. Its wings spanned the sky, blocking out the moonlight. Its eyes glowed a deep, boiling red, and its mouth twitched in displeasure, annoyed that its slumber had been disturbed.
It lowered its massive head, snarling.
Lamia didn't blink.
"Now to me, you beast," he ordered.
The dragon reared back, unleashing a howl that shattered windows miles away. Yet Lamia stood his ground, not a tremor in his voice.
Then Zandros stepped forward, compelled by the wind Lamia conjured—a wind filled with black whispers.
Zandros began to chant in the Lost Tongue. The language of dragons.
The creature stopped growling.
It listened.
The connection formed.
Zandros turned toward Lamia, face grave. "Who are you? Do you know what you've unleashed upon yourself by waking me?"
Lamia tilted his head, amused.
"You're adorable," he said, his tone dripping mockery. "But we march now. The world is rotting and we shall be its fire."
He turned toward the dragons, raising both arms.
"I want chaos. I want screams. I want the sky torn asunder and kingdoms crawling in ashes."
His voice deepened into a monstrous growl:
"Burn them all."
The dragons roared in unison, shaking the very bones of the earth.
And they flew.