Leon watched her closely, his breath steady, his expression calm.
He knew what was coming.
The Dowager, on the other hand, looked confused.
'Is that Dragon Tongue? No, this is different.'
Dragon tongue wasn't foreign to her.
She'd lived long enough to see true dragons speak worlds into motion.
Their voice carried dominion over their own nature, magic, might and the hierarchy of their kind.
But what she sensed from Elizabeth wasn't that familiar weight.
It was colder.
As if her presence reached for something dragons were never meant to touch.
Dragons commanded life with authority. Elizabeth commanded the boundary that came after it; Death.
That was her own gift, her own nature.
[Throne of Finality].
A talent that bent anything dead, or close enough into her legion, so long as the creature's rank didn't surpass hers.
And the swarm ahead of her was filled with nothing stronger than rank seven vermin.
Perfect prey.
