Asgrathia – Capital of the Dragon Realm.
The sun hung high in the sky, radiating the kind of dry dominance only dragons truly respected. It wasn't scorching—yet—but the light had a way of burning laziness out of the bones.
Northwest Quadrant.
Home of the Dragon Realm Invasion Army.
Roll call hit like a thunderclap.
"WAKE. THE. FLAMES. UP!"
Cavins burst open like popcorn kernels, and draconic cadets spilled out into formation. Wings unfurling. Tails twitching. Half-awake groans muffled under barked commands.
Marc stumbled out of his personal Cavin—three meters tall, sleek and black-scaled, with spatial tech that made it feel like a real cave inside. He stretched wide, muscles popping, wings flaring with a satisfying crack.
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Confessional Room (Marc):
"Waking up to a trumpet call that feels like it's slapping your soul? That's just Army life, baby."
"But then I see her—Krasii—doing yoga like she's in a damn fire-breathing perfume ad…"
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