The howling cold wind roared across the icy cliffs of the Frostpeak range, carrying the clinking of iron armor and heavy chains. A hunting party of thirty seasoned archers and warriors, led by Commander Kaelen, tracked the deep talon scratches in the snow to hunt down Frostis—a young white dragon with jade-like scales whom the royal court deemed a threat that had to be eliminated. Fighting alongside Frostis was Eira, a warrior woman who had abandoned her clan to protect the dragon ever since it was merely an egg. But neither the hunters nor the protector could have anticipated that this slay hunt had unwittingly disturbed an ancient seal forgotten for millennia.

Inside a cavern adorned with thousand-year-old ice stalactites, the hunters cornered Frostis. Spell-bound iron arrows struck deep into the young dragon’s shoulder. Frostis let out a cry of agony, his buckled white wings collapsing a section of the cavern ceiling. That very impact shattered the massive block of ice enveloping the Demon Lord’s Soul—the heart of Moros, the Black Dragon Lord buried since the Golden Age. The ground shook violently. Meters-thick layers of snow collapsed, swallowing scores of hunters. From a mile-long jet-black fissure stretching across the mountainside, a devastating surge of dark aura billowed forth, turning the white snow into pitch-black ash.

From the depths of the subterranean burning hell, Moros rose to his feet. Standing at a colossal fifty meters in length, encased in jet-black scale armor tougher than diamond, and possessing eyes glowing red like molten lava, his sheer presence crushed all resolve. Without warning, Moros opened his massive jaws and unleashed a torrent of Black Frostfire—a demonic flame that not only incinerated flesh and bone but froze the very soul. In an instant, the arrogant hunting party met a gruesome fate as their poisoned arrows and iron spears bounced off Moros’s scales like mere scratches. The black fire turned the snowy hill into a dark inferno, consuming half the hunting force in seconds, reducing Kaelen—who just moments before had swung his sword demanding the white dragon’s head—to a trembling mess, kneeling before the presence of a true Overlord.

Realizing that Moros would incinerate the entire valley and every living soul within it, Eira drew her ancient sword and leaped onto Frostis’s back despite the young dragon’s severe injuries. She shouted above the roaring blizzard that they could not back down, for if he escaped this mountain, the entire world would be plunged into darkness. Frostis raised his head high, uttering a resonant roar that pierced through the dark aura. Spreading his white wings despite his bleeding shoulder wound, the young dragon launched straight into the sky to face the black giant.

Frostis took advantage of his youthful agility to dodge through the space-shaking sweeps of Moros’s giant wings. Eira used the remnant magic of the Ancient Ice tribe, channeling frost energy into Frostis’s ice breath to forge razor-sharp icicles that struck the Black Dragon’s left eye. Seeing Frostis risk his life to protect the valley, Commander Kaelen and the surviving hunters fired all their remaining chain hooks to pin Moros’s legs to the ground.

Although their coordinated effort repelled the initial onslaught and temporarily forced Moros back into the chasm’s abyss, the seal had completely broken. The Black Dragon Lord flapped his wings and soared to the peak of the highest mountain, roaring a declaration of war toward the entire kingdom before vanishing into the black mist. Eira knelt beside the exhausted Frostis on the snow, cradling the giant dragon’s head. Kaelen approached, slowly sheathing his sword and bowing before the young woman he had once hunted. The war between Pure Frost and Ancient Darkness had only just begun.