"Drachenmacht," Ardiel whispered, his voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
The Dragon Mark on his back stirred to life, a faint glow at first, but it quickly intensified, like molten metal heating up in a forge. The mark began to spread, its power rippling outward in a dramatic sequence.
It started as a searing line, cutting across his spine, tracing its way down like a burning brand. The line moved with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring its journey, before branching out across his shoulders.
From there, it twisted and coiled, like living tendrils of ink, creeping down his arms and weaving intricate patterns along his skin. The sensation was both agonizing and exhilarating—a mix of pain and power that made his muscles tense and his breath catch in his throat.
