For two hundred years, no dragon had crossed the skies of Ortshire.
Until tonight.
Aren Kest stood upon the western battlements, watching the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the distant mountains.
Below him stretched the magnificent kingdom of Ortshire. Towering castles rose above endless clouds, ancient stone bridges connected distant cities, and great waterfalls plunged into the valleys below.
For centuries, the Seven Spans had connected the kingdoms, carrying travelers, merchants, and armies between lands that would otherwise remain forever divided.
But peace was about to end.
A shadow passed across the setting sun.
Aren looked toward the heavens. His breath caught.
An enormous dragon, its wings stretching wider than the great towers, emerged from the clouds.
The warning horns sounded. Soldiers rushed to the walls. Citizens fled through the streets. Across the kingdom, thousands watched in terror as a creature known only through ancient legends circled the capital.
Aren drew his sword.
But the dragon did not attack.
Instead, it circled the highest tower once, released a thunderous cry, and turned toward the eastern mountains.
Then something extraordinary happened.
The great bells of the Seven Spans began falling silent. One by one.
From the northern reaches to the far eastern frontier, the bells that had sounded for centuries ceased their ringing.
Aren stared toward the mountains. Something was terribly wrong.
And then, from somewhere deep beneath the endless ocean of clouds, something answered the dragon’s call.
Aren tightened his grip upon his sword.
The dragon had not come to destroy Ortshire. It had come to warn them.
And whatever had awakened beneath the mountains was only beginning to stir.