Commander Thorak, wiping the blood flowing from his forehead, consulted his tactical screens.
- "Our detectors are locating at least twelve heavy artillery batteries concealed within a twenty-kilometer radius. Combined magical and technological camouflage. They’re using illusion spells coupled with concealment nets."
A fifth explosion, more violent than the previous ones, shook the air to starboard. This time, one of the escort vessels, the Black Griffon, could not withstand the impact. Its hull cracked with a groan of metallic agony, and it tilted toward the ground in a spiral of smoke and flames. The cries of its crew were lost in the roar of the wind.
- "Enough!" roared Syléane, her eyes blazing with cold, calculated anger. "The human enemy wants to test our resistance? They’re about to discover what it truly means to defy draconic power!"
She stepped forward to the center of the bridge, ignoring the chaos surrounding her. Her officers, despite their wounds and dismay, turned toward her with respect mixed with anticipation. They knew they were about to witness a demonstration of power that would remain etched in their memory.
Syléane closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drawing from the reserves of magic that flowed through her veins like a river of liquid fire. She felt her draconic heritage awakening, that ancestral power that made her far more than a simple warrior. When she reopened her eyes, her pupils glowed with a scarlet light that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
- "Stand back," she ordered calmly to her officers, who obeyed immediately.
She slowly extended her hands forward, her fingers spread like claws. Her aura, usually contained and imperceptible, suddenly became tangible. A reddish glow emanated from her body, intensifying progressively until it became visible even through the armored viewport. The air around her began to shimmer under the effect of the magical heat radiating from her skin.
- "Shield of Absolute Void!" she murmured in a clear voice but charged with an authority that seemed to resonate in parallel dimensions.
The incantation, pronounced in the ancient draconic language, triggered an immediate reaction. An immense telekinetic sphere materialized around the entire fleet, a bubble of pure force with a diameter of ten kilometers. Translucent but shimmering with golden runes, it pulsed to the rhythm of Syléane’s heart. The air itself seemed to solidify, creating an impenetrable barrier between the armada and the outside world.
The effects were immediate and spectacular. The winged creatures, who had been struggling against the turbulence caused by the explosions, instantly regained their stability. The damaged vessels stopped pitching. Inside the shield, the air was perfectly calm, as if the draconic fleet was evolving in another dimension.
A new sonic charge exploded outside, but this time, the shockwave was immediately stopped by the shield. The impact created colored ripples on the surface of the sphere, like miniature auroras, before being sent back toward the ground in an explosion of energy that illuminated the landscape for kilometers.
- "Now," murmured Syléane, her eyes still glowing with power, "let’s show these humans what recklessness costs."
From the command vessel Celestial Tyrannosaurus, Varnor Ignivara observed his daughter with a mixture of paternal pride and professional admiration. The patriarch of the house, whose golden scales sparkled in his humanoid form, smiled with satisfaction.
- "Excellent mastery, Syléane," he transmitted through telepathic communication. "Now, prepare to counterattack! It’s time to remind them why our ancestors conquered three continents."
He turned to his own officers, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no contradiction. "All units, Omega attack formation! Locate those artillery batteries and reduce them to ashes! Show these humans what it means to defy House Ignivara!"
At the rear of the ranks, mounted on an armored wyvern with scales black as night, Belgaroth Ignivara contemplated the scene with mixed feelings. Syléane’s cousin, whose aristocratic features were hardened by bitterness, had nearly been unseated by the initial attack. Only his draconic reflexes and equestrian mastery had saved him from a mortal fall.
He watched his cousin repel the human attacks with growing irritation. Once again, it was she who shone, she who demonstrated her magical superiority before the entire army. His claws tightened on the braided leather reins, and his wyvern growled upon sensing its rider’s tension.
- "Of course," he thought bitterly, "it’s always the perfect princess who saves the situation. But my time will come. And when it comes, she’ll be the one looking at me with envy."
His burning eyes, heritage of his draconic lineage, fixed on the earth below where the human artillery batteries continued to fire useless salvos against Syléane’s shield. Somewhere in those wooded hills, human soldiers were discovering with terror that their most powerful weapons were ineffective against draconic magic.
- "Miserable humans," he murmured through his teeth, his voice charged with cold hatred. "You dared to humiliate me once, during the battle of Kareth. You made me look like a coward before my peers. You will not humiliate me twice."
His memories brought him back to that fateful day when a human ambush had decimated his squadron. He alone had survived, and his strategic retreat had been interpreted as cowardice by some of his peers. This shame had been gnawing at him for years, feeding his thirst for vengeance.
Meanwhile, on the bridge of the World Devourer, Syléane maintained her shield with absolute concentration. The magic she was channeling was colossal, sufficient to power an entire city for months. But she controlled it with the precision of a clockmaker, measuring each energy flow to optimize her fleet’s protection.
- "Thorak," she ordered without diverting her attention from her spell, "launch the reconnaissance squadrons. I want the exact position of every enemy battery. And prepare the heavy bombers—we’re going to show them what real artillery is."
- "At your orders, Lady Syléane!" The commander immediately transmitted the instructions through the magical communication network.
A few minutes later, a hundred combat wyverns launched from the belly of the transport vessels, their riders equipped with enchanted night-vision goggles and location crystal spheres. They dove toward the ground in perfect formations, dodging artillery fire with supernatural agility.
Simultaneously, the armada’s "heavy bombers" positioned themselves for attack: dragons in their original form, each measuring more than fifty meters long. Their maws were already beginning to glow with orange light, a sign that they were preparing their incendiary breath.
Syléane turned toward the eastern horizon, where the first glimmers of dawn were beginning to tint the sky with a rosy color. Soon, the sun would rise on a transformed landscape, where the human artillery positions would be nothing more than smoking craters.