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On the Isle of Dragons, the instant Aurelian's silver blade of radiance cleaved the Dragon God's body in two, every dragon beheld the fall of the deity they had revered. At that very moment, a familiar voice whispered in the silver dragon's ear.
Aurelian's weary eyes shrank in sudden dread, her pupils quivering uncontrollably. Horror welled up, impossible to restrain.
"Ah… at last. The fetters that old fool shackled upon me have been cut away—by you, the one I chose. Tell me, isn't the power of the stars a fine gift? Look at yourself: you stand far greater than these ordinary dragons."
The voice murmured. It seemed to be addressing Aurelian at times, itself at others. Yet as it spoke, its true nature was unveiling itself through a terrible transformation.
"I must admit, there was no intelligent race better suited than dragons to crown their king as an object of faith. Every dragon carries the blood of that rotting carcass, the very flesh that forged my prison. No wonder the shackles of faith...
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