Livius dismounted with a slow, deliberate grace. He didn't reach for a weapon. He walked toward the Patriarch, his footsteps the only rhythm in the silent city. Ten feet away, he stopped, his molten eyes locking onto the slit of the old man's helmet.
"The 'Judgment of the Stone' is a myth used to frighten illegitimate bastards, Ganimard," Livius said, his voice resonating with a draconic power that made the Patriarch's heavy shield vibrate. "I am the True Heir. I pulled the Blood-Axe from the monolith. I broke the Southern Fleet. I sang the Earth-Drake back to sleep. What more does the stone require?"
Ganimard the Elder didn't move. "The stone requires purity. You carry the Silver blight, boy. The blood of the heretics who tried to steal the sun. The First Emperor—may his name be eternally etched in gold—left a Final Protocol. If a hybrid of the Sun and Moon should ever sit upon the Golden Throne, the Guardians must initiate the Protocol of the Void."
Suddenly, the ground around the palace began to glow with a sickly, violet light. Massive runes, hidden for a thousand years beneath the cobblestones, erupted into life. Livius felt his mana begin to drain—not slowly, but in a violent, agonizing surge. The "Void" wasn't just a name; it was a magical vacuum designed to strip a Dragon of their power, leaving them as a mere mortal to be executed by the Guardian's blade.
"Run, Cian!" Livius roared, his knees buckling as the Silver and Gold mana within him clashed in a frantic attempt to escape the vacuum.
Cian didn't run. He scrambled off his mount, pulling a heavy, iron-bound book from his pack—the Records of the First Era that Vaelin had died to protect. "Livius! The Protocol isn't a fail-safe! It's a harvest! Look at the runes! They aren't destroying the mana; they're channeling it into the Throne Room!"
Livius looked up through the haze of pain. Above the palace, a vortex of violet and gold energy was swirling, funneled directly into the central spire where the Golden Throne sat. The "Guardian Family" weren't protectors; they were the mechanics of a thousand-year-old battery. They were feeding the "Ghost" of the First Emperor.
"Enough!" Ganimard the Elder shouted, raising his massive claymore. The blade glowed with a dull, soul-killing light. "The transition must be completed! The First Emperor requires a vessel of perfect dual-nature! You weren't a mistake, Livius! You were the long-awaited harvest!"
The old man lunged, his speed impossible for a man of his age. The claymore whistled through the air, aimed directly at Livius's throat.
Livius closed his eyes. He didn't fight the vacuum. He did the opposite. He opened his soul and pushed.
He channeled every ounce of the Silver Dragon's cold memory and the Golden Dragon's burning rage into a single, unified point. He didn't try to hold onto his power; he gave it to the vacuum with such ferocity that the runes beneath the city began to crack and smoke.
"You want the hybrid's blood?" Livius whispered, his voice sounding like two mountains grinding together. "Then take it all!"