Royal Mischief

The tyranny of the dragon, perplexed by the talons of war, hidden within the horrors of the deep, blanketed by an aspiration for regicide. An everlasting conquest that forsakes all else for a throne, for a crown, for a mere title. As the hour of the Dragon King Festival draws near, only a single man —no, dragon, stands his ground, awaiting the final battle. A battle he knows, shall forever be etched into the domains of history.

The hour of the Dragon King Festival arrives at long last.

Royal Mischief
Seated upon a boulder, his back slouched on an acute angle, his feet stamped against the rocky terrain, Silvius Alvar patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. As he waited, he could not help but think that a proper throne would be more befitting of a man such as he rather than the rough surface currently beneath him. The stench of a stranger in the distance kept his senses sharp.

Growing further in his patience, Silvius brought his hands to grip the air around him as if it were a solid object. Into his mouth it went, one handful at a time, his eyes gazing blankly at the space between his feet, a frigid aura seeping from them into the many layers of earth beneath.