Don't Play With Fire

The final draconian soldier fell, cleaved by the arc of Asher's blazing ring blade, a deadly crescent that left nothing but destruction in its wake. 

The ground below was a grim image, charred and scorched, proof of the fierce battle that had raged. 

For miles, the remnants of the draconian forces lay scattered, a silent, dark chorus to the cost of fighting a monster they couldn't comprehend.

Asher, his form still wreathed in the remnants of dark green flames, allowed no time for reflection upon the desolation below. 

With a swiftness that belied the weight of the moment, he descended towards Rowena. 

As he drew close, the sinister flames that had danced around him flickered and died, his skeletal form giving way to flesh and skin, a transformation from specter to man.

"I am sorry I was late," Asher spoke, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions, his eyes a mirror to the pain and regret that churned within him.