Too late

The city of Aurelia stood as a jewel among the mountains, its golden spires catching the morning sun like a beacon of hope. But hope flickered and died on the day the dragon came.

It swept from the clouds with wings vast enough to eclipse the sky, its roar shaking the earth. The beast’s fiery breath consumed the proud city, leaving behind crumbled towers and streets choked with ash.

The heroes arrived as the last embers smoldered. A swordsman with a gleaming blade, a mage whose staff crackled with arcane energy, and a ranger whose arrows could pierce the heavens—they were too late.

The streets were silent save for the distant creak of collapsing stone. The heroes stood amidst the ruin, their faces shadowed by grief and failure.

"Where were we?" the swordsman whispered, gripping his weapon with trembling hands.

"Fate has no mercy," the mage replied, his voice heavy.

From the ashes, a lone child emerged, clutching a charred doll. The ranger knelt, her voice gentle. "We are here now. And we will make sure this never happens again."

The dragon was gone, its destruction a scar on the land. But in their sorrow, the heroes vowed to rise—stronger, faster, and ready to face the darkness before it struck again.