Kharvathar paused for a moment to think. His eyes narrowed as his mind delved into the Meanin gs.
"Indeed, my awakening was not all at once," he said after a long minute, staring directly at Neftraya. She, in turn, grew even more fascinated. The priestess finally understood that the creature's soul was bound to something greater.
"I now remember moments when I awoke briefly, only to slip back into slumber," Kharvathar concluded, fixing his gaze on the woman. "In the end, I fully awakened while coming here. I felt a call—beyond my desire to kill everyone." The humanoid dragon approached the altar where she leaned. "That is why I recognized you."
"I made contact with your being. I summoned the Lord," she confirmed what he had deduced. "The pharaoh's plan was to prevent attacks on other cities and villages. To draw you to the capital and defeat you here."
"And what was your plan?" Kharvathar questioned. The woman had other intentions—it was not hard to reach that conclusion. If she also meant to kill him, Kharvathar would end it right then.
"I aspire to something deeper. Something Uras would never understand. No one would."
Kharvathar twisted his neck. *Kill her. Kill them all.* The voice in his mind whispered, hammering relentlessly. His yellow eyes flared.
"Tell me at once what you know of my return to my original form, for my mind does not reveal it to me," he demanded in a ferocious voice. Hearing this, Neftraya confirmed her certainty about that unique and strange consciousness. Then she spoke, her expression grave:
"Protect this temple and this city. If the site of your transformation is destroyed, you will never return to who you were." The priestess took a dangerous gamble, confronting the creature's destructive nature head-on.
Protect.
The word echoed deep within Kharvathar's mind, bringing hallucinatory pain as his primal, destructive side burned inside him: 'You were created for destruction and annihilation. Burn. Destroy. That is what you are.'
The voice clashed ceaselessly with the basic logic of protecting the place where his change had occurred—so that he might reclaim his former self. His instincts screamed that she lied, while another part clung desperately to the light of meaning.
All of it vanished when a far more powerful alarm rang through his being—delayed, but unmistakable. Chains snapped around both his wrists, yanking him from either side. He felt death approaching from behind. Kharvathar leaned sideways in place and spun his massive body in a ferocious 360-degree whirl.
The blade aimed at his back grazed the tunic across his chest, and he came face-to-face with the elf.
In that brief instant, he recognized one of the ancient enemies of his kind. His arm rose swiftly and descended at tremendous speed to seize his foe—but Thswoner dodged aside, and Kharvathar's fingers plunged into the polished stone floor, shattering a small area and shaking the temple.
"Elf!" Neftraya cried as her sect's followers scattered toward the exits in fear of the conflict. Kharvathar rose and regarded his opponent from afar. His memories were clearer now.
"Elf," Kharvathar repeated softly, echoing the priestess. His eyes widened like a hunter sighting prey.
In that moment—since his transformation into a humanoid—this was the closest Kharvathar had come to what he once was: he opened his mouth in a roar, sharp teeth bared, and lunged in the blink of an eye. One hand raised, nails lengthening into claws, hair spiking slightly, yellow eyes blazing like the sun.
In that split second of attack, the elf smiled. For an elven general like Thswoner, battling an ancient being was one of his greatest desires.
The elf parried swiftly, striking the black sword against Kharvathar's hand and deflecting it aside—turning the creature to face him fully. Kharvathar had lunged horizontally through the air, as though still flying, exposing himself. Thswoner drove a knee into Kharvathar's chin, halting his advance and forcing his body upright—leaving his chest open.
The elf of the White Sands thrust the blade toward the dragon's torso—but Kharvathar's other hand shot forward at the same instant, not to block the sword, but straight toward the elf's face. Thswoner recoiled; the force of Kharvathar's attack generated a pressure wave that shattered three large statues and cracked the temple wall. The dragon spun 360 degrees mid-air and landed crouched—hands on the ground, knee bent—glaring at his enemy. The entire exchange happened so swiftly that human eyes could barely follow.
Neftraya reacted only after part of the temple had been ruined. She shouted urgently:
"Leave this place, elf! Do you not see that your presence will ruin everything?"
"My presence will be the salvation of the world, witch!" the elf roared, assuming a defensive stance with the black blade raised before him. The other elves formed a distant circle around Kharvathar within the temple and began chanting strange words.
"Kharvathar!" Neftraya cried. If she could not drive the elf away, she would beg the dragon to hold onto the lucidity he was developing. But it was already difficult. Seeing an elf—against a being created precisely to kill them—had let Kharvathar's instincts nearly overwhelm him completely. His head throbbed; the battle raged not only outside, but within.
"I have decided I no longer care what happened to you, monster." The black-haired elf forced a smile. His crimson eyes gleamed; his tunic fluttered in the strong wind pouring into the temple.
"For I am the herald of your end—and death requires no explanations."
He leaped forward with blinding speed and, still airborne, brought the blade down. Kharvathar sidestepped and raised his palm to seize his opponent—but the elf was suddenly *pulled* sideways toward one of the other elves. Upon landing, Thswoner launched another assault—approaching from the side, overhead, from every angle.
The blade rose and fell, generating powerful gusts through the temple with each swing through the air. Kharvathar dodged; whenever he tried to grab or strike the elf, Thswoner evaded—even when seemingly exposed and unguarded. This enraged Kharvathar. He glanced at the four distant elves, and his instincts told him they were responsible.
Protect.
The word pulsed in his mind like a light rekindling.
'You must protect this place to return to who you were.' His mind recalled the words, gradually regaining control over his body.