Song of Dragons

Long ago stood the kingdom of Requiem, a land of men who could grow wings and scales, breathe fire, and take flight as dragons. Requiem ruled the sky. But Dies Irae, a tyrant leading an army of griffins, hunted Requiem's people, burned their forests, and shattered their temples. Requiem fell. This ancient land now lies in ruin, its halls crumbled, its cries silenced, its skeletons littering the burned earth.

The nightshades cover the land. Demons of smoke and shadow, they fear no sword or arrow. They suck the souls from all who live, like a glutton sucking marrow from bones. The world falls under their darkness. But the nightshades crave more than random ruin. The souls of mere humans will not sate them. They seek dragons. Requiem's last dragons, a mere scattering of survivors, have fought off men and griffins. But how can they fight the nightshades, creatures they cannot cut or burn?

War has ravaged the world. Cities lie crumbled. Forests smolder. The crows feast. In the ruins, Requiem's last dragons lick their wounds and mourn a death among them. But they will not have long to grieve. From the ashes, a new enemy arises, one more horrible than any before.