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She's just as beautiful as he remembers.
In the back of his mind, he knows it should be horror that he's feeling. He knows it should be terror and hatred and determination, not this sickening awe that settles and churns in his stomach, but no matter the situation this is the feeling she instills in everyone she meets.
Horribly familiar wings stretch out from the tower, glittering gold and blue as the sunlight settles onto her scales and reflects the light all around them. They raise and flap, scattering dust and gusts of wind around them, and a body raises itself into the air, her massive tail curling at the end, and even with the blue that streaked across her, a shade carrying more visceral memories than he could count, he felt no fear of the hivemind, only of her, of the dragon that ruled over his life and the lives of the few people he'd considered friends back then, of the creature he'd felt the heat of up close during their meetings, of the Meritocrat he'd watched destroy the city he'd once called home with in still in it.
Someone grabs his shoulder, the shape of it as familiar as breathing, and another takes his left hand in its own, small and scaly, and he clutches at it like a lifeline. Normally he'd shy away from this, but not now. Not now. He knows, logically, that the enchantment on the tattoo he was given oh so long ago was gone, but he could almost feel its burn returning as she lifted herself higher.
Guivres roars, and it is horrifying, and with his magic he can feel the power that is held in it, and even he can't interpret what the feeling in his stomach is at that.
Wilde squeezes Hamid's hand, pushes thoughts of burning cities and searing heat, and readies himself one last time.