High above Pyrrhia, where the air thinned and the clouds tore themselves against jagged stone, the SkyWing palace clung to the mountainside like a talon dug into prey. Spires of red rock and scorched marble rose toward the sun, their edges blackened by old fire. The wind screamed constantly here, carrying the sharp scent of ash, blood, and smoke—an anthem befitting its ruler.

Upon a throne forged of obsidian and fused dragonbone sat Queen Scarlet.

Her massive wings were half-spread, catching the light like sheets of burning copper. Scars crossed her crimson scales—trophies, not wounds—each one a reminder of battles survived and enemies broken. A circlet of twisted gold and rubies rested between her horns, glinting as her head tilted, eyes blazing with cruel amusement. Chains draped from the arms of her throne, some decorative… others very much not.

Below her, the arena roared.

The SkyWing coliseum yawned open beneath the palace, a pit of scorched sand and jagged stone where dragons fought for survival and the crowd lived for spectacle. Wings thundered as nobles, soldiers, and common SkyWings packed the stands, their cheers echoing up the mountainside. Firelight flickered across their faces as two dragons circled each other below, one bleeding, the other grinning through smoke.

Queen Scarlet leaned forward, talons tapping against the obsidian armrest.

“Pathetic,” she purred, her voice carrying effortlessly over the din. “I expected more screaming by now.”

A court official beside her flinched. “Y-Your Majesty, shall I order the fight to continue?”

Scarlet laughed—a sharp, delighted sound. “Oh, absolutely. Until one of them can no longer fly.” Her eyes gleamed. “Dead dragons are boring. Broken ones are art.”

The wounded fighter below collapsed, sand darkening beneath them. The crowd erupted.

Scarlet rose to her full height, wings snapping open as she basked in their adoration. This was her kingdom: fear, flame, and loyalty forged through terror. She ruled not by love, but by spectacle—and every SkyWing knew the cost of displeasing her.

Yet even as she smiled, something dark flickered behind her eyes.

Rumors had been circling the palace like vultures. Whispers of missing champions. Of dragons who survived the arena and vanished before they could kneel in gratitude. Of a strange NightWing, watching from the shadows, offering promises instead of threats.

Scarlet’s tail lashed.

“Bring me the next contender,” she commanded. “I’m bored.”

Chains rattled. The massive gates at the far end of the arena groaned open, smoke pouring out as a new figure was dragged forward—prisoner, challenger, or something far more dangerous.

Queen Scarlet’s grin widened, sharp and hungry.

“Let’s see,” she said softly, eyes locking onto the figure below, “whether you exist to entertain me… or to burn.”

The crowd fell into a tense hush as all eyes turned toward the arena floor—

—and the game began.