The forest was silent.

Not a whisper of wind, not the rustle of leaves. Only the soft hum of energy emanated from Sunday as he knelt in the clearing, eyes closed in meditation. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, waiting. The golden light of his wings cast a soft glow, untouched by the surrounding gloom. 

But then, a shift. 

The air stirred first, faint and hesitant. Birds suddenly burst from the treetops, their wings flapping wildly in panic. Small animals scurried from the underbrush, their paws beating against the ground in a frantic rhythm. Deer bounded through the clearing, not even sparing a glance at Sunday, their instinct guiding them to flee from what was coming. 

Sunday's eyes remained closed, his breath calm, even as the wildlife continued to flee past him. He felt the change in the atmosphere, the shift in the balance. 

The smell of smoke began to curl through the air, faint at first, then stronger. It carried the heat of something unnatural, something destructive. The trees groaned under the weight of the growing heat, and the sky—once clear and golden—began to darken, clouds thickening unnaturally fast as a black smoke choked the heavens.

Sunday's fingers twitched ever so slightly, his senses now fully alert. The calm before the storm was over.

The wind around him began to stir, the leaves rustling in agitation as a familiar heat filled the air. Sunday's eyes snapped open, glowing like molten gold. He could feel it now, Slogan's presence burning brighter as the King of the Sun drew closer. The skies began to darken, and the ground trembled as the unmistakable sound of beating wings echoed through the forest. 

Slogan was here.

Sunday slowly rose to his feet, his wings stretching out behind him as he faced the direction of the incoming threat. The trees began to sway violently as the dragon's immense form appeared over the horizon, flames licking the sky. The moment had come, and the First Light would stand firm, ready to face the wrath of the Sun King.

In the distance, Slogan's roar split the heavens, shaking the soil beneath Sunday's feet. It was a battle cry, a declaration that the time for words was nearly over. Sunday, however, stood unflinching, his eyes burning with divine resolve.

The night had fully descended, and the moonless sky was blanketed in smoke from the burning forest. The only light came from the flickering embers and the golden glow surrounding Sunday, radiating as if the Holy Light itself had manifested in him. His wings fanned majestically, glowing brighter as they stretched wide, their radiant feathers shimmering in the dim light.

"Slogan," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet strength. "I will not let you pass."

Slogan, in his full wyvern form, descended like a nightmare come to life. He was immense, his two muscular hind legs crashing through the trees as he landed with a deafening thud. His two front limbs were wings with a second pair right behind—gigantic, powerful, and gleaming a pristine white. The leathery skin of his wings stretched taut as he beat them rhythmically, stirring the air with a hurricane's force. His body was serpentine, coiling with grace and strength, his scales shifting from crimson to a molten black as the firelight flickered across them.

Slogan's head was monstrous—long and sleek, with horns curling back from his skull like a crown of death. His glowing gold eyes were filled with fury, locked onto Sunday with a burning intensity. His mouth opened to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth, and from his throat erupted a low, rumbling growl that shook the ground beneath them.

Blue-hot flames flickered at the edges of his maw as smoke billowed from his nostrils. His long tail, armed with a cruel barbed tip, swayed menacingly behind him, lashing at the earth and sending debris flying. He was not just a wyvern; he was the embodiment of wrath, a force of nature bent on destruction.

Sunday stood his ground, his golden eyes meeting Slogan's fiery gaze without flinching. The Sun King had arrived, and the battle that loomed between them was now unavoidable.

The tension in the air was palpable as Slogan's massive form towered over Sunday. For a moment, neither moved—Sunday standing as an immovable force, Slogan hovering like a dark storm about to break. The only sounds were the distant crackle of burning trees and the soft hum of power radiating from the two beings.

Slogan's gold eyes narrowed as he took in Sunday's true form for the first time. The angelic figure before him was no longer the big-boned, imposing figure he remembered. Sunday now appeared lean, powerful, and every bit a being of celestial might.

"Well, looks like you've shed a few pounds, haven't you?" Slogan sneered, his voice thick with mockery. "Thought you could hide behind that fatass disguise forever? Traitor," he spat the word like venom, his tail lashing the earth, sending chunks of rock and dirt flying. "Where's the Queen, Yadnus? You can't hide her forever."

His aura flared brighter, illuminating the battlefield, casting long shadows against the charred trees. Sunday's golden eyes glinted,"You should not have come." He called out, his voice calm but carrying a warning that echoed through the clearing, "the Queen is gone. Your pursuit is futile."

Slogan growled low in response, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. His enormous wings flapped once, stirring the air with a gust that nearly knocked over the remaining trees. His eyes never left Sunday, burning with an intensity that felt almost feral.

"The Queen," Slogan snarled, his voice a deep, guttural rumble, "is mine by right. She belongs to the kingdom of Yruf—and so does Luna." His maw opened slightly, blue-hot embers glowing between his teeth. "You will not stand in my way, Yadnus."

Sunday stood firm, unshaken by the threat. His golden aura flared brighter, casting light that stood in stark contrast to Slogan's fire. "This is no longer about your claim to the throne," Sunday said, his voice steady. "This is about your madness. You will tear the world apart, and for what? Vengeance? Luna? Your greed will destroy everything! Including Luna!"

Slogan's snarl grew louder, the heat around him intensifying as flames danced across his blackened scales. "You know nothing of what I've lost," he spat, taking a menacing step forward, claws sinking into the earth. "I will burn this entire world if I must. Nothing will keep me from what is mine!"

Without warning, Slogan lunged, his massive jaws snapping toward Sunday with terrifying speed. Sunday dodged just in time, his wings propelling him backward as Slogan's teeth clamped down where he had been standing. The ground cracked under the force of Slogan's bite, sending shockwaves through the forest.

Sunday shot into the air, hovering high above as he gathered energy in his hands. A glowing spear of pure light materialized in his grasp, humming with divine power. He hurled it at Slogan, aiming for the beast's exposed side. But Slogan was quicker than he appeared, his white wings beating once, sending him into a swift roll as the spear of light narrowly missed.

The wyvern let out a furious roar, his tail whipping forward in a blur. It struck Sunday hard, sending him crashing into the ground with a force that left a crater in the earth. Dirt and debris exploded into the air, but Sunday emerged, unharmed, his golden aura shining brighter than before.

Slogan wasted no time, charging forward with terrifying speed. His wings flared out, creating a shield of blue fire as he barreled toward Sunday, flames shooting from his maw in a torrent of destruction. The fire was so hot, the trees around them ignited instantly, turning the once-green forest into a blazing inferno.

Sunday stood his ground, his wings shielding him from the worst of the flames. With a wave of his hand, a barrier of light formed in front of him, holding the fire at bay. But Slogan's assault was relentless, his massive form crashing through the barrier with brute force, leaving Sunday no choice but to go on the offensive.

With a powerful flap of his wings, Sunday launched himself into the air again, this time meeting Slogan head-on. They collided with a deafening crash, the clash of their powers shaking the very earth beneath them. Slogan's claws slashed through the air, but Sunday was nimble, dodging each strike with angelic precision.

"You cannot win, Slogan," Sunday called out, his voice calm even in the heat of battle. "Your rage blinds you!"

As Sunday and Slogan clashed in a blinding explosion of fire and light, the very air seemed to tremble under the weight of their battle. The heat from the flames scorched the sky, yet, in an instant, everything shifted. A sudden, unnatural cold swept through the forest, extinguishing the nearby fires and turning the suffocating smoke into a thin, eerie mist. The oppressive heat vanished, replaced by an overwhelming chill that sent shivers down to the core.

Then, a massive shadow fell over the battlefield. The ground itself seemed to vibrate, trembling under the sheer weight of something ancient, something powerful. A deafening roar pierced through the night, shaking the very heavens and sending shockwaves across the charred landscape.