The skeletal remains of a forgotten cityscape stretched endlessly beneath a perpetually grey sky. Longan Dragon Cookie stood motionless atop the highest skyscraper, watching the apocalypse of their own making.

Pale yellow eyes swept across the desolate view. There was no gold, no bowing heads, no vibrant life. Only dust, crumbling structures, and the persistent feeling of emptiness. This was not the age of dragons they had envisioned, nor the world they had demanded. This was... nothing.

"Hmph," a low sigh escaped Longan Dragon Cookie's lips. "The strong survive, I once said." Yet, here they were, the strongest, alone in a kingdom of ash. What was power without an audience? What was dominion when there was no one left to dominate? The Cookies, whom they saw as a vile plague, were long gone, their insignificant squabbles silenced by the very desolation Longan Dragon Cookie had, in part, orchestrated. The thought of petrifying them now held no appeal, only a dull ache of what once was.