Arrival of the King of Dragons

As the dragons continued their majestic display in the sky, an unexpected and awe-inspiring response came from the horizon. A new roar, unlike any other, cut through the evening air. It was more ethereal, deep, and resonant than the dragons' harmonious calls.

The roar was gentle yet powerful, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very core of everyone present. It was as if the roar carried the weight of ancient magic and wisdom, a sound so profound it left everyone breathless.

The crowd fell silent, their eyes wide with amazement as they turned to face the source of this new sound. Even the dragons seemed to acknowledge this otherworldly roar, their movements pausing momentarily as if in admiration.

The roar continued to build in volume, its notes mingling with the dragons' calls, creating a harmonious symphony that filled the entire castle grounds. It was a sound that seemed to transcend the earthly realm, touching something deep and primal within all who heard it.

As the sound echoed through the air, the crowd finally noticed a speck in the distance. Though it was far away, there was no doubt that it was a dragon—and a majestic one at that.

All the dragons in the sky turned and flew toward the sound in unison, their wings gliding in perfect harmony. The sight of these magnificent creatures moving as one was breathtaking. Their collective motion was like a wave of power and grace, flowing seamlessly through the evening sky.

The crowd watched in awe as the dragons approached the distant speck. King Scorvius, his shock now turning to a deep sense of understanding, stood still, knowing that something monumental was about to happen.

As the mysterious dragon drew closer, its immense size became apparent. Even from a distance, it was clear that this dragon dwarfed all others present. Its massive wings spanned the sky, casting a shadow over the castle grounds as it approached.

The dragons already in the sky parted to make way for this majestic dragon, their roars now softer, almost reverent, as they circled around it. The air was thick with a sense of awe and respect, as if the arrival of this dragon was a moment of great significance.

The crowd below was spellbound, their eyes wide with amazement and disbelief. They had never seen a dragon of such magnitude and majesty. Murmurs rippled through the noble onlookers, their voices a mixture of wonder and fear.

"What is this?" one whispered.

"Could it be the king of dragons?" another speculated.

Suddenly, a deep, commanding voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. It was Thalorin Ravenscroft, the esteemed High Chancellor of Valenspire Academy. Known for his vast knowledge and connection to the magical world, his voice carried a weight of authority and respect.

"It is the descendant of the Emberstorm lineage!" Thalorin proclaimed, his tone filled with awe. "The first dragon, the mount of our very first great King Scorvius Drá Ashéncrest I—Drakthar. He is the last of their proud clan, the king of all other dragons, Pyraxor."

The revelation sent waves of shock and awe through the crowd. Pyraxor was no ordinary dragon; he was a direct descendant of Drakthar, the last of the Emberstorm lineage. This lineage had been revered for centuries as the first and mightiest of dragons.

Pyraxor's scales, a vibrant cascade of fiery reds and oranges, glowed with a powerful aura. Small, intricate purple runes adorned his body, pulsating with a magical energy that seemed to echo the ancient power of his lineage. His wings, vast and majestic, stretched across the sky as he descended, each beat creating a rhythmic, almost hypnotic beat.

The dragons already in the sky spread their wings wider in a respectful arc, their movements synchronized in homage to Pyraxor. Their roars turned into a low, harmonious symphony that merged with the mighty dragon's presence.

As the crowd remained in a state of awe, their attention fixed on the mighty Pyraxor, they began to notice something even more astonishing. Atop the massive dragon's back, nearly overshadowed by his grandeur, was a figure. She was petite, almost easy to overlook against the backdrop of Pyraxor's enormous form. But there was something unmistakable about her presence.

Her silver-white hair billowed in the night breeze, shimmering like moonlight against the darkening sky. It was a breathtaking sight, and the crowd's murmurings grew louder as they took notice of her. The realization dawned slowly but surely, spreading through the onlookers like wildfire.

"Is that... someone riding Pyraxor?" a noblewoman whispered, her voice filled with incredulity.

"Impossible," another nobleman muttered, his eyes wide. "No one has bonded with the king of dragons in centuries."

As Pyraxor drew closer to the platform, the figure atop him became clearer. It was a girl, her face illuminated by the dragon's ethereal glow. The crowd's shock turned to sheer disbelief. They looked at her face, straining to remember from which family she came. They exchanged puzzled glances, their thoughts racing.

"Is she a distant relative of the Aeloria?" one noble wondered, recalling the ancient dragon-riding lineage.

"Perhaps a hidden descendant of the Thalorians?" another speculated, noting her air of confidence and grace.

"No, no," a third insisted. "I know every member of the Thalorian family. She must be from a far-off land or an unknown house."

As they tried with all their might but could not remember, whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. Who was this mysterious girl, and how had she come to ride the mighty Pyraxor? The nobles, known for their intricate knowledge of every family tree, felt a rare and unsettling sense of uncertainty.

The dragons in the sky circled lower, their movements synchronized in reverence to Pyraxor and his new rider. The atmosphere was electric with astonishment and admiration. Even the high-ranking nobles, who had seen many extraordinary things in their lives, were left speechless.

King Scorvius, his eyes fixed on Isabel, felt a mixture of pride and wonder. He understood the significance of this bond, not just for Isabel but for the entire kingdom. High Chancellor Thalorin Ravenscroft, usually composed, allowed himself a rare smile of genuine amazement.