The Last Ember of Virelith

Its wings stuttered mid-beat, the left dragging like a broken oar. The beast tilted, losing altitude fast. It let out another roar-this one raw, ragged.

Not the cry of a predator.

The wail of the wounded.

The mighty dragon was falling.

"Liora, hello? Reality check-extinct monster just clawed its way out of myth, and I would very much like to live through the next five minutes," Felix snapped, nudging her shoulder. "Let's go!"

"No," she said, voice low. Her usual razor-sharp sass dulled to something softer. "It's hurt."

Felix blinked. "Oh, we're doing the noble thing now? Great. Perfect timing."

"We should help it," she added, eyes never leaving the dragon. "If it's the last one left-"

"Exactly! The last one left. And if it dies, the extinction rate stays consistent."

Liora finally turned to face him, brows arched. "Wow, Felix. That was almost a complete sentence without whining. Growth."

"This is not the time," he hissed, eyes wild. "You don't wanna be dragon chow, do you?!"

"No," she said simply.

"Then let's go!"

She tilted her head. "Why? So you can write a strongly worded letter about how I almost saved something incredible but tragically listened to you instead?"

Before Felix could retort, the dragon screamed again-this time closer, harsher. It was crashing.

Liora's eyes caught the dying light-and for a second, they gleamed gold.

"Oh no," Felix muttered. "That's the look. That's the 'I'm about to do something stupid' look."

She didn't answer. She ran.

Past the treeline. Toward the monster. Toward the legend.

Toward the last dragon.