It had been a long time.
When he saw the blue dragon land in the square, this thought inexplicably surfaced in Gawain's mind—though in truth, it had only been a little over two months since he had last seen Melita. Yet the feeling that things had changed lingered stubbornly, and only when she gave a slight nod did he suddenly realize where it came from.
It was not merely because too many earth-shaking events had occurred over the past two months, nor merely because Tarlonnd and the human world had changed so greatly at this turning point in history. More importantly, he sensed an obvious difference in the aura of that enormous, majestic blue dragon—as well as striking changes in her appearance.
He stepped down from the platform and walked toward Melita. He saw that her enormous body was still covered in many visible wounds. The most alarming scar ran down from her neck, stretching across nearly half her torso. The flawless scales once maintained by robotic caretakers and advanced compounds were now weathered and battered, and many fresh marks, as though from recent surgery, were scattered across her limbs.
It was not just Melita. The dragons who had landed alongside her bore injuries of similar severity. None of those wounds had been concealed; everyone around the square could see them clearly. After seeing the dragons covered in scars, many people instinctively fell silent.
Many people knew nothing of what had happened in Tarlonnd, nor could they imagine how these dragons had received such injuries. Yet those savage wounds were themselves silent symbols, carrying with them the blood, smoke, and fire of a godslaying battlefield. The aura forged through battle felt even more tangible than the dragons' own pressure, inspiring reverence from the depths of one's heart.
Gawain arrived before