Lost

The arena was a sea of fire, molten and searing.

Draktharion's breath had scorched everything in its path, the heat so intense that even the sky seemed to shudder under its weight.

The people of the dragon race roared, their voices shaking the air. The fire had engulfed Atticus— powerful or not, there was no way a human could escape such a devastating attack. He had to be dead!

But soon enough, those cheers stopped.

From within the fiery storm, two glowing crimson eyes pierced through the blaze, brighter than the fire itself.

They cut through the flames like a predator's gaze, locking onto Draktharion with terrifying calm.

The sound of two footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. Calm and measured.

Atticus walked through the fire as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze, his form completely untouched by the inferno raging around him.