The Dead Don't Let Go

Rowena's vision blurred as her surroundings seemed to fade into a haze of chaos. Her body trembled, her mana reserves utterly depleted, and Flaralis's labored breaths echoed behind her.

She glanced at her dragon, his massive frame bleeding and battered, and her heart ached with guilt. In the distance, her castle loomed, its dark spires barely visible through the haze of smoke and flames.

Her crimson eyes dimmed as she silently whispered in her mind, "Forgive me, Father. I failed you and our kingdom."

Drakar's voice pierced through the din, smooth and taunting, "If you surrender now, I will spare whatever is left of your kingdom and your people," he called out, his lips curling into a sly smile. His tone was calculated, testing to see if the proud woman would finally break. She reminded him quite a lot of that bitch who was once his wife. Maybe he found the right replacement.