The Dragon Slayer's Queen
Zayla tried to count the sigils, but they flitted and rearranged every time she blinked, a chaotic swarm that blurred her vision and made her wonder if they would all be consumed one by one until nothing remained but tales etched into the stone.
A dais, rimmed in gleaming, hammered silver, loomed at the far end. Dominating it all was the Queen’s sigil—the ouroboros—hovering above an offering bowl so deep it seemed to plunge into the unknown. Surrounding them were relics of power—a crown, a shattered blade, a curl of scales that glimmered in black and iridescent hues. Each item seemed to demand them, a sense of inevitable expectation hanging heavy in the air.
Ari’s growl vibrated through Zayl