Lord of the realm

Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, and its hands ended in claws that could rend steel as easily as cloth. But it was the massive wooden beam it wielded as a weapon that truly marked it as a creature to be feared—a club that had once been an entire tree, now polished smooth by years of use and stained dark with the blood of its victims.

Its opponent was a dragon—a medium-sized beast, but no less formidable. Scales the color of scorched orange shimmered under the fading sun, and its wings cut through the air with thunderous force. It exuded a fierce, wild energy, like a living storm coiled in sinew and flame.

When the troll moved, the ground groaned. When it roared, birds fled the skies.

The battle seemed to have been going on for hours already. Trees had been reduced to splinters. The once-lush forest beneath them had been ground to pulp and dust, the soil scorched black, the air thick with ash and the bitter stench.

The dragon circled overhead, wings stirring whirlwinds beneath it.

With a guttural growl, it unleashed a stream of fire—not orange, but blue-white, the kind that could melt steel. The flame engulfed the troll's shoulders, lighting up the clearing like daylight.

But when the fire cleared… the troll still stood.

Its skin, glowing faintly from the heat, cracked and hissed.

But it was unmoved.

Trolls are said to be among the most resilient creatures in existence, born of mountain stone and old powers. Their bones are harder than iron, their muscles corded with the strength of a dozen men. And the giant ones—like this—are known to be nearly impossible to kill.

Especially when enraged.

The troll hurled a boulder the size of a cartwheel into the air with its left hand, and for a moment it looked like the dragon might dodge.

But the stone struck its wingtip mid-flight, sending the beast spiraling into a tree with a deafening crash.

The trunk snapped like a twig under the dragon's weight.

The dragon was fast, agile, and clever—but the troll was relentless.

It stomped forward, fist clenched like wrecking balls.

With a snarl, the dragon leapt back into the air, battered but not broken, and arced high above. Its chest pulsed, throat swelling.

It wasn't done yet.

The skies darkened as if the battle had summoned a storm.

Sparks flickered in the air.

And in the clearing between them, the ground cracked.

Jaenor gasped, surprised to see the size of the troll. It was his first time seeing one of such height and the battle too. A dragon and a troll—it was a bit exciting for him.

And the people too, they were watching it as if it was some sport for them.

Meanwhile, Odessa observed with a knowing eye, not one of the great wyrms of legend.

"Half-blood," she murmured to Jaenor as they watched the battle unfold.

"Dangerous, certainly, but not one of the ancient bloodlines. See how its scales have shades of white and brown rather than the traditional colors? And its size—a true dragon of age would be twice that length at least."

Even diminished from the legendary standards of its kind, the creature was still magnificent and terrifying. Its scales gleamed like polished lava stones in the afternoon sun, and when it opened its mouth to roar, flames hot enough to melt stone poured forth in a torrent of destruction. Its wings, though torn and battered from the fight, still spanned nearly forty feet when fully extended.

But it was clear that the dragon was losing.

Great wounds marked its flanks where the troll's claws had found their mark, and its left wing hung at an awkward angle that suggested broken bones. Its movements were growing sluggish, and the flames it breathed were becoming weaker and less frequent.

"The poor creature is exhausted," Odessa observed with something that might have been sympathy.

"It's been fighting for hours, judging by the destruction around us. Even a dragon cannot battle indefinitely without rest."

As if her words had been prophetic, the troll suddenly raised its massive club high above its head and brought it down with devastating force.

The dragon tried to dodge, but its injuries had slowed it too much.

The wooden beam struck it squarely in the side with a sound like thunder, sending it tumbling through the air like a broken kite.

BOOM!!!!

The great creature crashed onto the ground, which in turn formed a deep pit that had been formed by its crash. There was a huge smokescreen of dust and debris flying around the crash.

For a moment, silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the troll's victorious roar that shook the very ground beneath their feet.

The gathered spectators held their breath, waiting to see if the dragon would rise again to continue the fight.

But the pit remained still, and slowly it became clear that the battle was over.

Then, just as some of the braver onlookers were beginning to edge closer for a better look, a figure emerged from the crater where the dragon had fallen.

It was a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with the kind of lean build that spoke of someone who was stronger than he appeared.

His clothes were torn and dirty from the battle, but he seemed remarkably unharmed for someone who had just witnessed a dragon's defeat at close range. His hair was a sandy brown color, and his eyes were a bright green that seemed to hold flecks of gold when the light hit them just right.

Jaenor felt his eyebrows draw together in confusion as he studied the stranger's face.

There was something familiar about those features, something that tugged at memories of friendship and shared adventures from what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Baren?" he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the battlefield despite the distance between them.

The young man's head snapped up at the sound of his name. With his dragon heritage, he had grown to sense things around him, and sharp hearing was also one of them.