Ragnar sat at the grand oak dinner table in the heart of Lila's castle. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls. The air hung heavy with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine.
A feast had somehow bridged the gap between weary travelers and their draconic host. Across from him, the girls—Elara, Mira, and Kalia—picked at the remnants of their plates. Their laughter from earlier now softened into quiet contentment.
Lila lounged at the head, her scales glinting like polished emeralds under the chandelier. Her massive form somehow fit into the ornate chair without splintering it.
As the last bites were savored, they began to rise. Chairs scraped against the flagstones. Then a sharp crack echoed through the hall.
The window nearest the table burst open. Hinges groaned as if yanked by invisible hands. A chill wind rushed in, snuffing out half the candles.
