Garlan stepped forward slowly, arms slightly open, eyes locked onto the wyvern’s.

  He could feel her breath—rough, strong, still alive despite the vines.

  He could sense the mind behind those eyes. Not human, but thinking.

  Instinct. Calculation. Patience.

  — "I know you can break free," he said calmly.

  — "You're just waiting for the right moment."

  Another step.

  His voice steady. Not angry. Just resolute.

  — "So I’m giving you a chance. A real one.

  Let’s find a way—something that works. For all of us."

  The wyvern didn’t move.

  Then she roared.

  The vines exploded, shredded by raw magic and sheer force.

  Her wings snapped open with a violent crack.

  Garlan didn’t have time to think.

  His hands were already moving.

  His fingers shook.

  A blade of wind shot out—

  But not just one. Dozens. Hundreds.

  Tiny ethereal scalpels slashed the air, all converging in a whisper of precision.

  The cut was clean.

  Silent.

  The wyvern’s head dropped onto the stone, eyes still wide open.

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  Black blood seeped from the neck, hissing as it touched the earth.

  Garlan stood frozen, arm still outstretched.

  A single tear rolled down his cheek.

  He didn’t know why.

  But it came anyway.

  Tharion approached slowly, gaze fixed on the lifeless body, then on the still-smoking head a few feet away.

  — "What a waste… Why be so stubborn…"

  He crossed his arms, his expression darker than usual.

  — "And now we have to finish the job. Kill the brood.

  Otherwise we’re looking at a fire-breathing vendetta in a few years."

  Marenna hadn’t moved—

  But when she saw the tear on Garlan’s face, she rushed to him.

  She gently placed her fingers against his temple, channeling her elven magic to glimpse his thoughts, to understand.

  Bad idea.

  She was instantly swept into a storm of visions.

  A dragon.

  Huge. Blazing.

  Its presence echoed Ignir, the fire-drake from old legends—wings aflame, eyes of living steel.

  A deep, buried rage. Primal. Timeless.

  But in the midst of that inferno—

  She saw herself.

  Like a lake.

  Still. Clear. Anchoring.

  She opened her eyes, breathless.

  Shaken. But overjoyed.

  The vision confirmed what she had always felt—deep down, unshakably:

  They were bound.

  They were meant to be.

  Tharion’s voice cut through the moment, flat and unbothered.

  — "Right. We’ll come back for the body and the head on the way down.

  Now we find the hatchlings. And kill them."

  Garlan flinched, still on his knees.

  — "Kill them? Can’t we just… raise them? Ride them?"

  Tharion looked at him for a long moment.

  One eyebrow arched. A mix of doubt and genuine curiosity.

  — "You want to… ride them?"

  Marenna, still shaken but grounded, spoke softly:

  — "We might be able to. Depends on their age and size. But…"

  She paused.

  — "Tharion’s probably right.

  We’ll likely have to kill them. Unfortunately."

  A silence fell.

  The wind stirred dust around the wyvern’s headless body.

  Tharion gave a small nod.

  — "Let’s move. Let’s finish what she started."

  Garlan rose slowly.

  Marenna reached out her hand.

  And the three of them walked together, higher up the slope.