The escaped chain fragment did not remain hidden for long.
It began with small, disturbing reports from the eastern border provinces: farmers finding livestock dead with strange burn marks shaped like links, scouts discovering abandoned camps where eastern deserters had tried—and failed—to control the artifact. Then the sightings: a young dragon, barely adult, flying erratically over villages, eyes flickering between natural fire and unnatural dissonance glow, leaving trails of destruction that seemed almost reluctant.
Elara received the first confirmed report in the middle of a quiet morning council, the messenger bursting through the doors covered in dust and desperation. The scroll trembled in his hands as he knelt.
"Your Majesty—the fragment... it's active. The warlord who escaped the vaults—he's using it on a captured dragon from Sylara's wild packs. The beast is... not itself. It's attacking settlements, but like it's fighting the control. Villages burned, but no deliberate killing blows on people—just destruction, as if the dragon is trying to miss."
The room fell silent. Thorne's hand found Elara's under the table, squeezing tight—a silent promise of support.
"How far has it spread?" she asked, voice steady despite the ice forming in her veins.
"Three provinces already. Moving west. Fast."
Mira's face was grim, her knuckles whitening on her staff. Kael, perched on the ledge with wings folded, let out a low growl that vibrated through the stone floor. Nyx shifted beside him, smoke curling from her nostrils.
Elara rose slowly from her throne, the weight of the crown feeling heavier than ever. "We end this before it reaches the heartlands. Before it corrupts more than one dragon."
No debate this time. The threat was too immediate, too personal.
Preparations were swift and grim—this time, the party was a full war force, not a diplomatic mission. Elara and Thorne led at the front, Mira as chief rhythmic strategist, full contingents from all dragon alliances: the guardian's precision flyers for aerial dominance, Vyrath's ancient heavyweights for raw overwhelming power, Sylara's wild pack warriors for ground assault and intimate knowledge of corrupted behavior. Dual-trained soldiers filled the ranks, equipped with new anti-chain wards developed from the vault findings—rhythmic grounding to resist binding, melodic harmony to purify dissonance taint.
The journey east was relentless, pushing horses to their limits during days and dragons flying relay scouts through nights. Landscapes changed from familiar rolling fields to the scarred badlands where they had purified the corrupted entity months ago, the ground still bearing faint cracks like healed wounds. Then into true eastern territory: vast salt deserts where wind howled like dissonance itself, carrying grains that stung like needles; floating stone platforms held aloft by twisted harmonics that made melodic mages clutch their heads in pain; cities built into sheer cliff faces with architecture that seemed to sing in sharp, cutting notes that set teeth on edge.
First signs of active corruption appeared early: dead oases with water turned black and bubbling, animals fled or lying mad with fear-glazed eyes, circling vultures avoiding carcasses as if sensing poison. Then the corrupted dragon itself—a young crimson beast with chains wrapped around neck and wings like living metal vines, eyes flickering between natural fiery orange and unnatural sickly purple glow.
It attacked on sight during a desert crossing, fire breath uncontrolled and wild, wings beating erratic patterns as if fighting invisible strings.
The battle was immediate and fierce, the party barely having time to form defenses.
Dragons engaged aerially—Kael and Nyx dodging corrupted flames with agile twists, Vyrath's ancients using sheer size to contain the beast's movements without lethal force. Sylara's wild pack warriors harried from ground, using knowledge of feral behavior to predict attacks.
Elara channeled from a protected ridge, her rhythms coordinating the chaos—grounding beats stabilizing allies against dissonance waves, sonic pulses disrupting the chain's control frequency.
Thorne led a strike team to sever the physical links, sword enhanced with fused magic cutting through metal that tried to reform. "Hold it steady!" he shouted, voice carrying over the roar of flames.
The corrupted dragon—Riven, as Sylara's warriors identified from pack markings—roared in pain and confusion, fire breath turning on its own wings as internal battle raged.
Elara pushed deeper into the fight, drum beats seeking the chain's source frequency—a high warlord on a floating platform, crown artifact pulsing with amplification.
Duel across the desert sky: Elara on Kael's back projecting rhythms against the warlord's harmonics from his platform.
Chains whipped toward her, trying to bind mid-air.
Thorne intercepted from below, leaping with rhythmic boost to sever one—taking a graze that burned through armor.
Together, with dragon support, they shattered the crown artifact.
The chains fell away with a sickening screech, the corrupted dragon—Riven—collapsed exhausted to the sand, chains dissolving as control broke.
Warlord slain in the fall.
But revelation from captured aide: the fragment was but a copy—original master chain still hidden in eastern capital, powering a larger plan to bind multiple dragons for conquest.
Eastern coalition larger than thought—full invasion imminent, using bound dragons as weapons.
Return journey urgent—preparations for true defense.
Riven recovered slowly under Sylara's care, joining alliance with burning gratitude and desire for vengeance against those who bound him.
New strength gained, but greater war looming on horizon.
The reckoning had only begun.