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The Dead Dragon

𝗟𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥: 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘖𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘌𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘺. 𝘕𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘦, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘳. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 — 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.