The clouds parted, and the sky itself seemed to hold its breath.
He descended slowly, each beat of his massive wings sending tremors through the air that vibrated in Bai Yue's chest like a second heartbeat. He was not like Cāng Jì, all golden brilliance and dramatic flair. He was not like Cāng Yáo, all glittering jewelry and petulant arrogance. He was not even like Léi Chen, with his crackling storm-white scales and barely-contained electricity.
This dragon was ancient.
His scales were the color of dried blood and shadow, dark crimson fading to black along his wings and spine. They didn't gleam or glitter. They absorbed light, drinking it in until he seemed less a creature and more a hole torn in the fabric of the sky.
His horns swept back from his massive skull in cruel curves, scarred and chipped from battles fought before Bai Yue's great-grandparents were born.
But it was his eyes that stole her breath.
