Lord Chamsford quickly restrained Jaered, and he didn't resist. He laid on the ground, flaming staffs by his side, and stared up at the White Dragon. It writhed in its ancient, massive form. Restraining the dragon would be impossible.

Jaered had changed, as if the fiery ball he had cocooned himself in was more than that. The most striking change was the white tail and horns that had grown out of him. His hair was a white mane. His skin, previously tanned, was now pale. The cloak he now wore was iridescent, his pants slightly burnt.

Lord Chamsford had no idea what to do. If this White Dragon did indeed wage war on the Kingdom, both would suffer greatly. It was undoubtedly the evil of the prophecy. From Jaered's story, he knew that the lesser dragons were captured separately. If this White Dragon had their combined power, there was no hope. It was left to the great hero, Jaered, to defeat it and right his wrongs. He never imagined it would end like this. Lord Chamsford watched as the White Dragon turned upon him. It approached, opening it's gaping maw.