The dragons roared with thunderous applause as Z'ark knelt before Neron, his massive form dwarfed by the magnitude of his defeat.
The once-proud gleam of his golden scales had dimmed, a shadow of the might he once radiated. Around them, the Dragon Nation's elders stepped forward, their ancient eyes heavy with the weight of tradition and expectation.
"By right of combat," one of the elders declared, his voice as deep and powerful as a rumbling storm, "you are now the King of Dragons."
The proclamation was met with another roar from the gathered dragons, a myriad of wings and cheers that filled the sky.
"Haa… haa… whoa!"
Neron stood still, his heart pounding in his chest as the reality of his new position sank in. He had come here with a simple goal: stop the dragons' march and prevent war. Now, not only had he succeeded, but he had also been thrust into a role far beyond anything he would have normally desired.
