Draven's heart pounded in his chest as he stood on shaky legs, the roar of the wounded dragon echoing in his ears. The battle had become a blur of clashing steel, blazing magic, and the overwhelming presence of the massive beast circling overhead. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and blood, and the ground beneath him trembled as the dragon's fiery breath scorched the stone walls of the ancient fortress. They had managed to wound it, but the dragon was still very much alive—and very dangerous.
Aria stood beside him, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes locked on the sky as the dragon circled again, preparing for another strike. "It's hurt," she said, her voice taut with tension. "But it's not giving up."