Inside the dragon's heart, there was no fire, only a storm. Amaris stood in a swirling cyclone of sound, every cruel word she had ever heard spinning around her. The pain was real, as sharp as any blade.
She could not silence the storm. But she could speak into it.
She read her story. Not for the dragon, but for herself. For Cael. For Liran. For Selene. She read until her voice bled raw, and then she whispered the ending.
In that quiet, something broke.
The dragon screamed; not in rage, but in mourning. Its wings shattered into ribbons of wind. The faces dissolved. The weight lifted.
Bloodfang was gone.
There was no roar of victory. No crown. No parade. Just the three of them, standing in silence as the sun finally touched the stones of Silvergate Keep.
Amaris kept writing. Not to prove anyone wrong, but because the stories mattered. Because they were hers.
And that was how she learned:
How to slay a dragon.