Arthur charged toward the dragon’s lowered neck, sword lifting as he was about to be "The Dragon Slayer".

The dragon’s golden eye shifted—Not panicked, nor wounded. Instead, it was calm and focused.

And the moment Arthur entered the kill zone—

The dragon’s head snapped up. Its mouth opened wide as the heat surged.

A blast of flame roared straight toward Arthur, violent enough to make the air bend.

Arthur’s eyes widened. The heroic moment vanished from his face.

Celestia moved fast. Both hands up, veil catching the air as a wall of holy light snapped into place in front of Arthur.

The fire slammed into it. The barrier held.

Arthur stumbled back behind it, the color gone from his face.

But the move had cost a second—and that second mattered.

The purple-robed mage in the center of the rune circle had been left open. Staff to the ground, completely exposed.

The axe girl tried to get there. The dragon didn’t let her.

Its tail came around hard and fast.

The mage barely had time to turn before it connected. The hit took him clean off his feet and into the rocks.

His staff skidded away. His body stopped moving.

The rune circle flickered—then started to die. The chains binding the dragon’s wings went from bright white to something thin and fading.

The dragon felt it immediately. It was free.

Everything that happened was a trap set up so it could escape. The dragon wasn’t stupid. It had lived for 300 years and had fought battles tougher than this before.

It lunged forward with a roar that didn’t sound like pain.

The last of the chains tore free and came apart in the air.

"Circle’s down!" Kaia yelled.

"Hold it—HOLD IT!"

The guildmaster cursed and lunged, trying to keep the dragon pinned with sheer pressure and positioning.

But the dragon wasn’t fully trapped anymore.

It couldn’t soar—not with the wounds on its wings and the heavy damage it had taken.

Yet it didn’t need to soar. It spread its wings and beat them once—hard. The gust blasted dust and gravel outward.

The dragon didn’t fly high, but it flew high enough to bypass the current blockade.

And it didn’t flee deeper into the mountains. It turned. Straight toward the secondary team.

Kyle’s blood ran cold.

"Move!" Alara shouted the moment she realized what was happening. "Back! Spread out!"

Leo planted himself instinctively, shield up.

Mira’s face drained. "It’s coming here?!"

Weston stepped forward without thinking, eyes fixed on the dragon’s approaching shadow.

Kyle’s hand tightened around Fear Blade.

The dragon crashed down closer—stone splintering under its weight—then drew in a breath so deep it made the air shiver.

Heat gathered in its throat.

Kyle felt it—that pressure again. That sense of something catastrophic about to happen.

Suddenly, Weston raised both hands, and light surged from him—bright and clean, forming a protective barrier in front of Alara’s line.

A dome-like shield, trembling at the edges as it met the dragon’s rising heat.

The dragon released its breath. Fire erupted across the valley flank in a wide, sweeping wave.

It hit Weston’s barrier head-on. For a heartbeat, the shield held.

Weston’s arms shook. His jaw clenched so tightly Kyle could see it from where he stood.

The light brightened—then cracked.

Not shattering instantly, but breaking in spiderweb lines as the dragon’s fire pushed harder.

"Weston—STOP!" Mira’s voice broke.

Weston didn’t stop. He forced the barrier thicker, trying to buy even one more second.

The shield finally gave, and the light burst outward in a blinding flash.

The fire washed past the broken edges.

Not full force on everyone—Weston had taken the worst of it—but enough that Kyle felt heat punch his skin even from behind Leo’s shield.

When the wave ended, smoke curled low across the ground.

The dragon’s breath faded into glowing embers.

And Weston... He was still standing for half a second.

Then his knees buckled. He collapsed forward like someone had cut the strings holding him up.

"Weston!" Mira was already moving.

She dropped beside him, hands shaking as she tried to turn him, tried to speak, tried to find words.

Weston’s eyes were half-open. He tried to inhale. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even focus properly.

His body trembled once, then went dangerously still.

Leo stepped in front of them like a wall, shield raised, breathing hard.

Alara’s face was frozen—her eyes wide, then narrowing into something sharp and furious.

Kyle didn’t move.

For a moment, it felt like the world went quiet inside his head. Cold and absolute silence. Like something inside Kyle had shut a door.

He looked at Weston.

He looked at Mira kneeling beside him, hands trembling as she tried to do something, anything.

He looked at the dragon—still there, still breathing, still alive—its molten eyes turning as if it was already choosing the next thing to burn.

Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, filled with a concentrated killing intent toward the red flying crawler in front of him.

His fingers loosened from Fear Blade, his shoulders dropped a fraction, and his eyes flared crimson.

Kyle didn’t shout. He didn’t even move his lips.

He just opened something in his mind—wide, wide enough to reach past the rocks and cracks, past the skittering feet and circling shadows.

Every monster nearby.

Every hungry thing drawn by blood and noise.

Kyle’s thoughts didn’t feel like thoughts anymore.

They became a pulse.

A command sent into every direction at once, slipping into instincts that didn’t know how to resist.

The Basalt Crawlers froze mid-scrape. Their many legs stuttered.

Then, as one, their heads snapped toward the dragon.

The valley hawks that had been circling above faltered in the air—wings catching, bodies jerking like invisible strings had tightened around them.

Their cries changed. Not fear. Not pain. It was Hunger... Obedience.

Kyle’s gaze stayed locked on the dragon’s massive shape as the monsters began to move—turning away from the secondary team.

Toward the red dragon, carrying one idea... One order.

`Kill it!`