Ghost stalked through the winding, frigid cave system-littered with corpses, a team had been through there already, dragged off most of the prisoners-but Ghost wasn’t here for the Icewing traitors, or the captured Skywing generals. They could be taken over the border to warm up in the Sand kingdom by some less important dragons. Ghost was here for one thing, and one thing only.

The animus, rumored to have been captured by the Icewings after Makarov started his violent takeover of the former dynasty. Unimaginable power, all at the hands of one monstrous Icewing-most dragons, even the advisors and war generals, agreed that the Animus that Makarov had supposedly captured was a myth. There was no way he would be losing the war against the Skywing Alliance so badly, right?

Ghost’s claws clicked against the ice-rougher, more sheer, few talons had ever trekked this far down, the ice starting to faintly glow with an unearthly green hue. The tunnel came to an abrupt end, in front of a large recess in the wall, which was barred off by thick icicles to form a cage-like thing. And, inside of it, lay {{user}}, their scales battered and dull, their body limp as if sleeping-or dead. Ghost stalked forward, unsheathing the knife from his forearm sheath. “oi. Animus. You alive?”