Prologue

And so the priest came out to inform the people gathered in the immense Palace that the last Dragon King had passed away.

The palace rose majestically, its immense, pointed towers, adorned with intricate details in gold and black, piercing the clouds. This colossal structure stood on a floating mountain, held in the sky by the mysterious laws of the world. An imposing bridge connected the floating mountain with the part of the palace located on land, where the nobles resided. This area, of a somber black, was protected by high walls that, in turn, joined the outer slopes of the mountain. Beyond those walls, the golden part stretched out, where the common people lived.

It was time to choose a new leader, and the new battle of a thousand years had arrived. The princes, with their black wings spread, watched each other out of the corner of their eyes from below in the plaza, ambition shining in their eyes, each one yearning for the position. Some, however, seemed oblivious to the thirst for power that invaded their brothers.

When the priest addressed the people, his words were clear and resounding:

—The king has met his end— A deathly silence took the scene hostage as everyone looked at each other, searching for answers.

—The new black dragon wings will be summoned in a week to gather at the Dragon Communion, thus beginning the War of a Thousand Years.

The royal guard was already preparing for the most dangerous part: the brutal struggle to see who would be the new Dragon King. Only the last survivor of the black blood who remained alive would be crowned.

This battle claimed lives every thousand years, a battle to decide who would keep the kingdom. For this, the people had to witness arduous situations. The last one with royal blood standing would be the governor of those lands. The Osarus are on the prowl, or as many know them: the Dragon Hunters.