The Dreadhearth Queen
The dusk had settled like a soft shroud over the vast Draconis Kingdom when Lysandra, with the stealth of a seasoned warrior, returned to her domain.
The shadows of the evening were her allies, cloaking her movements in secrecy until a voice shattered the silence, anchoring her to the spot.
"Mother!" Rhygar's call rang out from below, slicing through the quiet with the urgency of a worried son.
Lysandra's flight halted abruptly in mid-air; her jaw clenched tightly, eyes ablaze with a cold, fiery light.
The warmth of the day that was lingering within her had vanished, replaced by a chill that seemed to emanate from her very being.
Yet, as she faced the one who resembled Drakar in many ways except being young, her expression smoothed into an icy mask of control.
With a graceful, calculated descent, she landed beside Rhygar, her tone as frosty as the night air, "What is so urgent for you to call out to me now?"