THE DRAGONS ASHES

CHAPTER 5 : THE SIEGE OF VALEN

The capital city of Valen was burning, its grand history reduced to ash and cinder in a single, catastrophic night.

From five thousand feet in the air, the sprawling metropolis looked less like a civilized sanctuary and more like a jagged obsidian plate that had been violently shattered by fissures of purple-and-black fire. The grand marble outer walls, built centuries ago by the founding emperors to withstand the heaviest siege engines and dragonfire alike, had been smashed inward like dry timber.

Towering Abyssal Behemoths—colossal monstrosities forged from fused shadow, iron, and bleached bone—lumbered through the burning streets below, tearing through ancient stone buildings and residential quarters as if they were made of wet clay. Panic, screams, and the dull, rhythmic thud of war drums rose from the ruins.

At the very heart of the city, perched proudly atop the jagged peak of Mount Astra, stood the Imperial Citadel. Surrounding the citadel’s magnificent white-domed High Sanctuary was an immense, pulsing dome of necrotic energy. It hissed, groaned, and crackled viciously, spitting jagged jets of violet lightning into the dark, smoke-choked clouds above.

Ignis banked hard, his massive, leathery wings cutting through the turbulent, smoke-choked air as he began a steep, calculated descent toward the Citadel’s upper courtyard.

Beside Samson sat Princess Aurelia, her knuckles white as she gripped tightly around the dragon’s thick spine scales, her silver hair whipping wildly in the gale force of the dive. Clinging desperately behind them on Ignis's lower back were Sir Raymond and the three surviving vanguard knights, their faces pale with exhaustion and awe.

"The necrotic barrier!" Aurelia shouted over the roaring thunder of the wind, extending a trembling hand to point at the pulsing violet dome below. "Archduke Malakor linked it directly to the city’s ancient mana ley-lines! Any royal mage or spellcaster who even touches it has their soul violently drained in seconds!"

"Hold on," Samson replied, his voice preternaturally calm, ringing with the deep, metallic resonance of his awakening bloodline.

Without a moment of hesitation, Samson stood up directly on Ignis's massive shoulders, balancing effortlessly against the rushing slipstream as the dragon plunged straight down toward the dome of dark magic. He drew the silver rapier Aurelia had given him, its polished metal catching the harsh purple glow of the siege below.

As Samson consciously channeled the raw, primordial force of his Dragon God bloodline, the rapier’s steel did not merely glow—it liquefied into molten gold, radiating a blistering heat so intense that the atmospheric air around them shimmered into heavy, warping waves. Simultaneously, dense crimson scales spread rapidly across Samson’s forearms, wrapping his grip in impenetrable dragonhide armor.

"Ignis, clear the square!" Samson ordered, his eyes locking onto the swarming defenders.

The dragon opened his mighty maw and unleashed a devastating column of pure golden flame directly at the elite battalion of dark cultists guarding the Sanctuary’s lower gates. The fire swept through their ranks like a tidal wave of the sun, instantly incinerating their protective wards, heavy plate armor, and flesh alike, leaving behind nothing but glowing, fading ash.

Fifty feet above the churning necrotic barrier, Samson leaped cleanly from the dragon's broad back.

He fell like a falling star, raising the blazing, gold-drenched sword high above his head. "Break!"

The blade struck the exact crown of the necrotic barrier with the force of a falling mountain.

For a fraction of a second, the ancient dark magic fought back, attempting to devour his life energy. It reached out with thousands of microscopic, clawed tendrils, desperate to corrupt his spirit and drag him into the void.

But the moment the Abyssal rot touched Samson’s ancient blood, it ignited. His draconic aura erupted outward in a blinding, instantaneous starburst of brilliant golden light that turned the night into day.

CRACK!

The sound echoed like rolling thunder for miles across the burning city, vibrating in the chests of every living being. The impenetrable necrotic dome shattered like thin glass, exploding outward into billions of harmless silver sparks that rained down upon the marble courtyard like a strange, glowing snow.

Samson landed heavily on the sweeping marble stairs of the High Sanctuary, the ancient stone fracturing into spiderwebs beneath his boots. Behind him, Ignis touched down with a deafening, thunderous crash, sweeping his massive tail in a wide arc to smash two hulking dark war-golems into harmless piles of gravel.

The heavy, rune-carved bronze doors of the High Sanctuary slowly swung open, groaning against the sudden influx of pure air.

Standing just inside the grand, vaulted hall—illuminated solely by the sickly, dim light of floating black candles—was Archduke Malakor. He was a towering, imposing figure clad in jagged, raven-black plate armor, his human eyes entirely replaced by burning, molten orbs of necrotic purple. Floating ominously behind him in a swirling cradle of dark lightning was the legendary Holy Light Sword, its once-glorious white blade bound tightly in heavy, writhing chains of dark magic.

"An unranked rat crawling up from Oakhaven," Malakor purred, his voice layered with the hollow, haunting whispers of a thousand trapped Abyssal spirits. "You broke my barrier, boy. But you are far too late. The gates of the Abyssal Realm are already open, and the vanguard of the Lich King approaches."

Samson stepped past the shattered threshold into the Sanctuary, his golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the chained, suffering sword.

"Step away from the throne, Malakor," Samson said, his voice echoing authoritatively off the high, vaulted ceiling. "Your dark reign ends today."