"HE LIVES!"
A soldier screamed from the city walls, his voice cracking across the wind.
"THE SEVENTH BATCH HAS PRODUCED A DRAGONBORN!"
The kingdom of Drakaria—so recently numb to the scent of ash and the silence of failure—erupted into a frenzy of hope. Just six days ago the people had grown used to mourning, their grief dulled by repetition. But now the impossible had happened.
A White Half Blooded Offspring had survived.
King Drakovitch rode through the capital in a grand procession, Spike following behind him. The streets were packed shoulder to shoulder with citizens shouting, weeping, and falling to their knees.
They were surrounded by the Dragon Knights, each mounted atop the kingdom's national beast—the towering wyrm known as Wyrmfoot. The creatures stomped through the stone roads with thunderous steps, their scales glinting like armor beneath the blazing sun.
