Flashes. Faces of dragons, even of scavengers, blinking in and out like a flickering flame. Screams scarred the darkened sky. There was nothing but death. Blood splattered the once green fields. Suffering, agony, that seeped into the soil, spoiling all life there for years to come. Then, a dragon. His midnight black scales and vibrant markings of red and orange. He smiled. Ancient Pyrrhia has broke into war, and a young, shy dragon of the cave-dwelling DarkWing tribe is forced into the middle. Quite quickly, he will learn what he is truly made of: diamond or glass?