The ancient city trembled as Fenrir stood atop the cracked remains of what had once been a temple.
Dust and debris swirled in the air like smoke, and every breath he took was laced with the taste of stone and time.
His boots crushed shattered tiles beneath them, and his coat billowed in the growing wind.
He could feel it—his power. Agitated. Restless. Hiding no longer.
"Come on. I know you're there. Stop pretending."
Fenrir muttered.
As if in response, the ground shuddered violently.
Stones lifted and collided midair, fusing with a noise like bone snapping and metal grinding.
Columns cracked and flew into the sky, beams and shattered bricks swirling like they were caught in a vortex. Fenrir stepped back, eyes narrowing.
From the storm of destruction, a monstrous form emerged—a colossal dragon-shaped construct built entirely of rubble, metal, and forgotten magic.
