The main hall of Strax's mansion was large and imposing, with carved columns supporting a high ceiling decorated with ancient symbols and flags worn by history. The fireplace in the corner burned with low flames, casting flickering shadows on the sturdy furniture and worn tapestries. The sound of the wind outside made the windows rattle from time to time, as if the world itself were breathing anxiously.
"I want to go!" Beatrice's voice cut through the heavy silence, trembling with emotion. She rose from the dark leather sofa, her gaze fixed on Strax. "I can help, Strax. I'm not useless."
Strax, standing by the fireplace, didn't even have to turn his face. His response was cold, firm, and final.
"You're not going," he said simply. "Like I said, I'm only taking the strongest dragons among you. There's no need to make a fuss."
Beatrice stood motionless for a second, her fist clenched, her eyes burning with frustration.
