Sword of Dawnbreaker

A massive gate stood silently before them, and beside it, stood a middle-aged man with gray short hair, a high jutting nose, and a resolute face—the ruler of the Sacred Dragon Kingdom, Duke Balogar Knal.

”I didn’t expect you’d arrive already,” Heragor smiled as he saw the other, ”It’s been a long time.”

”It’s been a long time,” Balogar’s gaze moved between Heragor and Andar, and a rare smile appeared on his usually overly serious face, ”I thought you might not find this place—I even considered lighting up the way to guide you when I saw you flying in.”

”Actually, I also thought I wouldn’t find this place...” Heragor closed his eyes gently, a smile appearing on his face, ”But with closed eyes, everything here is still so clear.”

”Let the sentiment end here, we need to complete the final step,” Andar’s aged and deep voice interrupted Heragor and Balogar’s nostalgia, ”Balogar, have you checked it?”

”While waiting for you, I briefly checked inside: the combined stasis effects of the Eternal Storm and the Goddess of the Night have halted everything here, time hasn’t destroyed our labor—it is still in good condition as ever, without a trace of aging. I successfully activated the elevator to the deep layer and the energy unit of the deep layer, which slightly loosened the current space-time. I think this means we are ready to depart.”

Heragor looked into Balogar’s eyes and couldn’t help but say, ”After all these years, you are still the best mechanic...”

”Thank you for your praise, leader.” Balogar replied, stepping aside slightly and making a gesture of invitation, ”Let’s go—we three have been away from our posts for too long.”

The ancient and heavy gate silently opened, and in this static space-time, the years spanning eighteen hundred seventy thousand hadn’t corroded the miracle the dragons once created with all their might—Andar and Heragor stepped through the gate, continuously illuminating the lights as they entered.

Balogar followed closely behind.

They traversed a short corridor and passed through a connector which was overly large for humans, arriving at a circular platform where a cylindrical elevator waited.

Lights flickered on the elevator surface, and concise symbols marked useful information on the clean alloy shell—this style was completely different from the luxurious and decadent Talronde eighteen hundred seventy thousand years later; Heragor hadn’t seen it for many years.

The elevator descended silently, sending the three dragonkin in human form deep into the ”tower”, through layers of isolation barriers and heavy gates, the descent lasting a full half-minute before stopping at a vast control room-like place.

After stepping out of the elevator, the lights before Heragor brightened synchronously, revealing a spacious hall with pillars in ancient dragonkin style, among which many seats were arranged, all as they were in his memories.

They quickly found their seats—three seats positioned prominently at the hall’s front end, still as new as ever despite the long passage of time.

A slight tremor came from outside, hinting at a chilling malice and crazed energy, immense beyond mortal imagination.

Yet compared to the past million odd years, this energy was immensely weakened, to the extent Heragor could resist it with sheer willpower.

He knew this ”weakening” came at a significant cost.

The three did not converse, but silently moved forward, sitting in their respective chairs. Balogar began operating many buttons before him, Andar initiated his responsible system, while Heragor placed his hand on a crystal protrusion at his seat, finely manipulating numerous magic power circuits within the crystal—thus, an ancient creation began awakening from its dormant state.

Before them, a massive curved window brightened, becoming a projection screen showcasing the outside scene, where one could see the sky near the ”tower”, the permeating light, and the phantom dragons hovering in the stationary sky.

Andar’s gaze involuntarily fell upon the phantom dragon herd, his hand hovering near a panel to the right of his seat, yet before executing his operation, he couldn’t help but softly say, ”Want to take one last look? Once we launch, we’ll never see them again.”

Heragor’s gaze also fell upon those past phantasms, and within those images, he found many familiar figures—former friends, lovers, children... names flowing through his heart slowly, those lost in the Defiant War eighteen hundred seventy thousand years ago, yet he closed his eyes.