Asgrathia – Capital of the Dragon Realm.
Evening.
Barracks Walkway.
The trio strolled alongside the towering obsidian barracks, post-drill exhaustion hanging from their wings like wet cloaks. Light from the dusk-burned sky cast long shadows across the stone.
Cliff scratched at his neck. "So what's the mess tonight? Burnt beast ribs or swampweed stew?"
---
Confessional Room(Cliff):
"There is nothing like ribs. Nothing."
"Sex is overrated if compared to ribs."
---
"Please not stew," Shata groaned. "My flame's still green from last time."
Marc was mid-sentence—"Let's just head to the—"
When it happened.
WEEE-OOOO WEEE-OOOO WEEE-OOOO.
The sirens screamed.
Red warning lights burst from the tops of the barrack spires, spinning across the sky in sweeping arcs.
The trio stopped in their tracks, along with every other cadet and soldier in the vicinity.
A sudden hush.
All eyes turned skyward.
There it was.
A crack.
