83. All Paths Converge
Chapter 83
All Paths Converge
22 nd Day of the Blood Moon
Firnin Mountains – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Eltoar stood on the open plain, his helmet in the crook of his arm, exhaling slowly through his nostrils as he stared at the vast expanse of grey fog that blanketed the foothills of the mountain. He had seen this magic before in the hands of the elves of Lynalion – which posed even more questions.
“Why do we wait?” Voranur growled, one hand resting on his sword pommel as he glared down at the fog. “Did you not see the destruction they have wrought? How many thousands burned alive? They are not our allies, Eltoar. Let us be done with them now, so that we need not look two ways. Tivar is no longer one of us. Stop letting her blind you. She is the reason Jormun and Ilkya are dead, and I will have my blood. She is a traitor, Eltoar.”
“I caution you to take care with your words, Voranur.” Eltoar stared into the elf’s eyes. Without looking, he could feel Helios standing over him. “Tivar means more to me than you ever will. Understand that and you will be far closer to keeping your head.”
“What will you do if I do not bow to you like a dog?” Voranur moved to stand in front of Eltoar, Seleraine shifting with him, a deep, resonant growl in her throat, her frills standing on end. “Will you strike me down? Do I not deserve to seek vengeance for the dead? What of you, Lyina? You slew Irulaian and Dravír over Antiquar, did you not? Is your bloodlust sated now? Would you shake hands with the elven Draleid if they stood before you?”
“I would carve open their throats and drink their blood.” Lyina stared off into the distance at the wall of fog. She had not been the same since losing Pellenor. “What are we to do if Salara has gotten to him first?” She looked to Eltoar and then back at the fog. “That fog is their trick, is it not?”
“We will walk that path if it faces us. For now, we know too little.”
“And how long do we stand here and wait?” Voranur asked. “A night? A year?”
“A breath,” Eltoar said, watching as the surface of the fog shifted and three dragons rose.
Tendrils of grey swirled around them as they burst upwards, wings cracking against the air. Avandeer emerged first, and the sight of her lightened Eltoar’s heart. The dragon was a beauty like no other. As she rose, a smaller white dragon with black-veined wings followed. Eltoar had seen the creature from atop Helios when he had first arrived, but he was closer now and through Helios’s gaze he could see the dragon’s pale lavender eyes and the thick horns that framed his skull. The dragon was much larger than he should have been, having hatched barely a summer or two ago.
A smile graced Eltoar’s lips as he stared at the white dragon. He had seen many a hatchling in his time. Over a thousand. And he could tell by the structure of this one’s shoulders, the depth of his chest, and width of his wings that he would one day be a force to be reckoned with. Eltoar only hoped that this was the first of many to come and not the last of what was.
A third dragon broke free of the fog’s grasp, scales of deep blue with bright red wings and horns black as onyx.
“I know that dragon,” Voranur said, taking a step forwards.
“Varthear.” Eltoar followed Varthear’s flight as she soared after Avandeer and the white dragon.
“Jormun and Hrothmundar killed her and Ilmirín centuries ago…” Voranur looked as though he was witnessing a ghost. “At least, I thought they did.”
“There is no Draleid on her back,” Lyina said. “She is Rakina.”
“That’s not possible.”
Eltoar thought back to the many Rakina dragons he had known across the centuries. Far too many for his heart to ever feel true rest. Each of them had unleashed a fury like no other when their soulkin were torn from them. But in the time after, they were, each of them, lost, empty husks waiting for death. He had seen many Draleid carry on after such losses, find purpose and strength despite the shattered souls they were left with. But the dragons had never done so. It was as though when a soul shattered, the dragon always took less and suffered more. As it was in life, it was in death: the dragon took the pain to save their soulkin.
As the three dragons soared towards them, Eltoar felt something in his heart, something he hadn’t realised until that moment he had not felt in a long time: hope. That feeling resonated within Helios and a warmth spread through the great dragon. It had been so many years since Helios had laid eyes on one so young.
Eltoar lifted his hand to his face, pressed the cold steel of his gauntlet against his cheek, then pulled it away to see a small drop of moisture. The sight of it surprised him. He had not shed many tears in his life. The last time he remembered was when he’d knelt in the hatchery tower over Dylain’s body all those years ago. It was not his own sadness that brought the tears forth as he stood there staring into the sky at the white dragon, but that of Helios.
The sorrow and loss and agony crept into Helios slowly as he admired how the young dragon felt the currents of air and how he always moved to best protect his Draleid.
The white dragon never let his head drop lower than needed, always gave a subtle shift before changes of speed or sharp turns, and, crucially, always looked up. Most dragons never looked up. The greatest predators in the sky never needed to fear what came from above. A dragon that looked up cared more for its Draleid than for itself, always readying to turn and fight, leaving its own belly exposed.
Such a sight would have brought him joy in times past. But now, the only images that crossed Helios’s mind were of the world they had ripped from this young dragon. A world they had sought to make better but instead had torn asunder.
“We can make it right,” Eltoar whispered. “We can make it right.”
Salara ran her hands along Vyrmír’s golden scales, a fury burning within her as she looked through the dragon’s eyes at Eltoar Daethana and the others stood upon the open plains at the base of the mountain.
“What is your command?” Taran called from the nape of Nymaxes’s neck.
They stood upon a ledge hidden high in the mountain range, clouds circling. They had been there for some time, concealed by wards of sight and spirit. Warding a dragon was not a simple thing, near impossible. But high in the mountains, bolstered by the cloud cover, it was enough. They had flown by the cover of night, soaring silently through the dark clouds over the Lorian camp, careful to avoid the many beacons Eltoar had placed, setting their trap.
Salara turned her gaze to the thick grey fog and the three dragons that emerged from within. She flicked her tongue off the back of her teeth, squeezing her right hand into a fist.
“In two days, look to the Firnin Mountains. The path you wish to walk lies there. ” Those were the words that strange man had spoken the night he and his companions had taken Boud. Salara and Vandrien had agreed there was something deeper happening, that the man was weaving them into threads of his own making. Boud’s fog confirmed this.
It was all far too coincidental for her liking and confirmed suspicions she had long held: Boud had allowed herself to be captured. Why and to what end, Salara could not work out. But a warrior with Boud’s talents and strength did not simply find themselves wandering the depths of Lynalion, and they most certainly did not allow a collar to be placed around their neck so easily.
“Narvír?” Taran called again. “Dar er din narvan?”
Commander? What is your command?
Salara stared down at the three dragons that soared towards Eltoar and the others. Vandrien’s plan had been for Salara and her kin to wreak havoc on the Lorian forces besieging the Firnin Mountains in hope of drawing Eltoar and the Dragonguard away from Elkenrim. But then they’d seen the Lorian beacons light, and they’d sat back and waited.
At that very moment, Vandrien and Warmarshal Luilin led a force of sixty thousand through the Elkenwood towards Anaduin – or Merchant’s Reach as the human’s had renamed it. All the while, the forces that had gathered in the east – over a hundred thousand strong – marched for Elkenrim.
By the time the sun left The Traitor’s moon alone in the sky that night, two more cities would be reclaimed. And the human empire that had covered the continent in blood would be little more than ashes.
The astute course of action would have been to let the Dragonguard and these other dragons tear each other to pieces while Salara split forces and assisted with the reclamations of Anaduin and Elkenrim. She could hear Vandrien’s voice in her mind. “Patience, Salara, is an attribute all predators share.”
But Salara had been patient. She had waited centuries. She had let Eltoar and Voranur live at Darnírin’s Hill. The time for patience was done. Salara wanted blood.
She reached down and collected her helm from where it sat between her legs and slid it into place. “What do you say, my light?”
A powerful rumble thrummed through Vyrmír, his rage flowing into Salara. Memories passed from the dragon’s mind into Salara’s, memories of the night Ilnaen fell, of how Eltoar had bound them on Driftstone while he slaughtered the ones they loved. More memories followed of the first time she’d met that same elf in the üvrian un’Aldryr after Vyrmír had hatched. He had seemed a different soul then – lighter, full of compassion and joy. That Eltoar was dead, and the time had come for her to kill this one.
She drew a long breath, then raised a hand in the air. “Draleid un Numillíon. Hear me now. Hold courage in your hearts, and set it in steel. Hold fire in your veins, and let it burn through you. Today, we face the traitors who destroyed our world. We will not all leave this place. This will not be a day that is looked back upon with warm hearts. Our descendants will know this as a day of wrath and a day of reckoning. It has been my greatest pride to lead you forward into this new world and to fight alongside you. Leave the white dragon unharmed, but to the rest, show no mercy and give no quarter.” Vyrmír shifted beneath Salara, his great golden wings spreading wide. “For Irulaian and Dravír, for all those we have lost, and for all those who deserve a future under free skies, fly with me now, my brothers and sisters. Forward unto victory!”
Vyrmír gave a mighty crack of his wings and leapt from the cliff, the wards of sight and sound shattering as he unleashed a roar that sent tremors through Salara’s bones.
Behind them, Nymaxes answered with a roar of his own. And from further back, Andrax, Barath?r, Baerys, Rysírix, and Lauthín all roared like thunder as they lifted into the air.
Sorrow and fury burned in Salara’s heart as the last of the dragons went to battle. There would be no victors, only survivors.
Eltoar looked towards the mountains at the sound of the rolling thunder that was the roar of dragons. His heart caught in his chest at the sight of Vyrmír’s golden scales glinting in the light of the sun and the Blood Moon, the dragon’s wings casting a gargantuan shadow across the mountainside. Six more flew in Vyrmír’s wake.
“Please, Salara, no. Not now…” Eltoar gritted his teeth, clenching his fist at his side. They were so close. He needed to know how the egg had hatched. “Gods damn you.”
“Is this enough then?” Voranur called as he mounted Seleraine. “Your old apprentice and this new Draleid have struck a deal. There is no denying it now, Eltoar. We are all that is left, and they would see us dead.”
Eltoar shook his head, whispering. “No, no, no…”
“Voranur is right, Eltoar.” As Lyina spoke, Avandeer, Varthear, and the young white dragon all turned in the sky, changing course to the west.
Eltoar watched them go, then pulled his helmet from the crook of his arm and slid it over his head. He drew one last long breath, then turned and mounted Helios, the great dragon’s head resting on the grass beside him, a fire burning in Helios’s veins. “Our focus is Salara and her Draleid. Leave Calen Bryer and the others. They can be dealt with another time.”
“No!” Voranur roared from astride Seleraine, the blue dragon charging forwards and cracking her wings. “I will have my blood, Eltoar. I will have it!”
“Voranur! We’re stronger together – Voranur!” Helios lurched forwards, but Seleraine had already lifted into the air. Seleraine had only ever been second to Eríthan when it came to speed, and now she tore across the sky like a streak of lightning, headed straight for Tivar and the others. Eltoar called to Lyina, who now sat at the nape of Karakes’s neck. “Go after him!”
“I will not leave you alone in this,” she called back. “Even Helios cannot stand against so many.”
“Helios will do what he must, as will I. But if that dragon dies, so too may our hopes of ever gazing upon another hatchling. Go, Lyina! Protect our future. We will show them why Helios is known as The Shadow of Death.” With that, Eltoar leaned forwards, and Helios unleashed a deep, primal roar, unfurling his wings.
The dragon surged forwards, wings cracking against the air, and then he was lifting, that familiar weightless feeling settling in Eltoar’s stomach. A glance over his shoulder told him that Lyina had followed Voranur.
Good. Eltoar looked ahead to where the seven dragons bore down on him.
Vyrmír was the largest by a distance, larger even than Karakes. They would need to isolate him.
The red-scaled dragon who had fought at the Three Sisters and Andrax, with his yellow scales and pink wings, were the next largest threats. The three dragons with scales of purple, black, and blue were all far smaller.
The green-scaled dragon, the one streaked with silver on the left of the formation, as large as Meranta had been, this one would be Helios’s first kill.
A part of Eltoar wanted to hold back, to find a way through to Salara. But over the course of his long life, Eltoar had learned that there were precious few things more unforgivable than making the same mistake twice. He had held back at the Three Sisters, and Pellenor had died for it. That thought ignited the fury within Helios, a pressure building within the great dragon, the beating of his wings rippling beneath Eltoar.
Tivar’s voice echoed in his mind. “I will not put another of our kind in the ground. I will not tear another soul in half.”
“I’m sorry,” Eltoar whispered, the wind drowning his words. “I’m sorry I failed you. Keep them safe. I will do what I can.”
Eltoar opened himself to the Spark and pulled his and Helios’s minds together. They drew a breath, icy and sharp. Their heart beat, slow and steady. They settled their mind, resolute and steadfast. To survive this, they needed to be one.
Ayar elwyn, ayar uoré, ayar nithír.
One heart, one mind, one soul.
A series of roars filled the sky as the elven dragons angled their wings and streaked towards them. They fixed their gaze on the green dragon at the left of the formation. “M? Heraya tael du ia’sine ael.”
May Heraya take you into her arms.
A brief moment of peace settled into them, and then Helios rose high, shifting, folding his wings and ripping through the sky. The other dragons were slow to react, all but Vyrmír, who twisted and cracked his wings, trying to intercept Helios’s flight. But even he was not fast enough.
Helios crashed into the green dragon with the weight and power of a falling star. The creature let out a shriek as Helios’s jaws wrapped around its throat and his talons tore at its belly. Streams of fire poured from the green dragon’s jaw, weak and feeble, Helios’s teeth cracking scales, warm blood flowing. Threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air whipped forwards from the Draleid on the creature’s back, but Eltoar sliced through them and wrapped the elf in a ward as strong as steel. He could feel the Draleid pushing back, thrashing frantically with the Spark, all fear and panic.
“Du lirthín denír, akar.”
You made this, brother.
Two of the smaller dragons tore at Helios’s side, but as he and the green dragon fell, the wind flapping around them, they pulled away. Helios buried his talons into the dragon’s belly, slicing through scale and flesh. He opened his jaws and poured fire down over the other dragon’s head, unleashing a roar before sinking his teeth back into the creature’s throat and deeper into its flesh. With a fury raging through him, Helios ripped the dragon’s neck from its body, blood spraying into the wind.
He released his talons from the creature’s belly and let the body fall before crunching down on the neck and throwing it to the wind. As the dragon’s body spun and plummeted to the plains below, where the scattered remnants of the Lorian armies were falling back, a pang of guilt and pain twisted within Eltoar.
The Draleid clung to the severed neck of his Soulkin, face pressed against the scales. He made no effort to shield himself from the impact of the landing or to jump free.
“ I will not tear another soul in half,” Tivar’s voice echoed once more, carving Eltoar apart. He did not want to kill any more of his kind. He had hoped he’d seen the last of that years ago.
Eltoar forced himself to watch until the green dragon’s body smashed into the ground below, a cloud of dust rising, chunks of dirt launching into the air.
A roar sounded behind him, and in that moment, Eltoar and Helios set that guilt alight and turned to face the others.
Rist’s legs moved with little thought, forwards and only forwards. He shifted Magnus with his shoulder, attempting to redistribute the man’s weight, body aching. Magnus was awake, but barely. He had come close to burning himself out, and the drain had almost taken him. Shouting and chatter rang out across the fields around him, but it was all a blur.
“Come with me… Rist, please…”
Calen’s voice plagued Rist’s mind. His throat tightened at the thought, heart racing. Calen was the Draleid. What he had seen in the Well of Arnen had been true… or at least some of it. But how much? Had it been a vision of the future? His mind was a storm, nothing settled, everything raging and whirling.
Everything in his heart had wanted him to go with Calen. He had heard his own voice screaming at him in his mind to take Calen’s hand… to go. But then he’d seen Magnus on the ground, Garramon calling out with his face burnt – burnt by Calen –and Neera struggling to breath with her armour twisted and bent. They had needed him. He couldn’t have left them. He wouldn’t. They had stood by him through everything, given him a purpose, cared for him, believed in him. Everything had just taken him off guard… The chamber had been collapsing… Magnus couldn’t walk on his own. He’d had no choice.
Something grabbed at Rist’s shoulders and pulled, a voice bellowing in his ears. Suddenly Magnus was gone. He turned to see Garramon, face burnt and scarred, throwing Magnus over his shoulder, lips moving, sounds echoing in Rist’s ears.
Everyone around him was scattering, panic on their faces.
Something hard stung his face, then hands grabbed the sides of his head and he was staring down at Neera’s bloodied and dirt-covered face. “Rist!”
She grabbed his hand with an iron grip and pulled him as she ran.
Rist looked over his shoulder to see Taya Tambrel and a score of her Blackwatch sitting astride their obsidian mounts, pointing and yelling. Taya glanced up towards the sky, then shouted, and the horses broke into a gallop.
Rist followed Taya’s gaze to see a green-scaled dragon plummeting towards the earth. The enormous creature seemed to fall like a feather, its head and neck floating in the air beside its body, blood drifting around it. It was as though the falling dragon defied all sense of time and natural laws.
Taya shouted once more, her mighty horse churning the clay beneath its hooves. And then the dragon crashed into the earth, and Taya was gone. The dragon’s limbs crushed scores of men and women as they slammed into the ground. The ground shook, and Rist stumbled, dust and dirt spewing into the air.
The dragon’s head slammed into the earth before his eyes, snuffing soldiers’ screams in an instant. Rist turned away as Neera wrapped her arms around him and opened herself to the Spark.
Calen pushed his strength into Valerys as the dragon tore through the skies, Varthear and Avandeer with him. He glanced over his shoulder. Seleraine was gaining on them, blue scales gleaming in the light of the sun and the Blood Moon overhead.
Had the second dragon – likely Karakes and Lyina – not joined Voranur and Seleraine, Calen would have told Valerys to turn and tear them from the skies. With Avandeer and Varthear alongside him, the blue dragon wouldn’t have stood a chance. But Karakes was even larger than Avandeer, and Varthear had no fire or Draleid on her back. There were too many risks.
“The hills!” Tivar roared, pointing towards a vast expanse of rolling hills that stretched southwards towards the Burnt Lands.
Calen was about to answer when a clap of thunder cracked above him. He looked up in awe to see dark storm clouds forming from thin air, rolling outwards like a sweeping wave and stretching across the sky. Within moments, he could no longer see the sun or moon, both shut out by a dark and ominous sky.
Boud . This was the power of a Stormcaller. Calen glanced over his shoulder once more to see Seleraine and Karakes were almost upon them. “Rise!” he shouted to Tivar. “We can lose them in the clouds!”
Valerys angled his wings and swept upwards. As he did, a roar sounded behind him and Seleraine slammed into them, sending them both reeling through the sky. The dragon was only atop them for a second, when Varthear crashed into Seleraine’s side and ripped the dragon free.
Varthear roared, raking her talons along Seleraine’s back and biting down into the dragon’s forelimb.
Calen looked up at the dark storm clouds, then back towards Varthear and Seleraine rolling in the sky, Karakes hurtling towards them, Helios and the other dragons battling in the distance.
A small part of him whispered in the back of his mind. “Go. Run!” If they climbed and vanished into the storm clouds, they would be gone without a trace.
Calen took that part of himself and cut it to pieces, a fire rising within him, a fury flowing from Valerys. They would not leave Varthear to die. “Aldryr ar orimyn,” Calen whispered, and Valerys lurched forwards, unleashing a primal roar, a pressure swelling within him.
Fire and fury.
Tivar and Avandeer swerved in the air and drew level with them.
“La?l val du, akar!” Tivar roared.
I’m with you, brother!
The two dragons descended on Seleraine together. Avandeer fell upon her from the top, talons slicing into the blue dragon’s back. She snapped at Voranur, who sat at the nape of Seleraine’s neck, but the man sent arcs of lightning streaking backwards.
Valerys took advantage of Voranur’s distraction to fold his wings and crash into Seleraine’s exposed belly, biting down into the dragon’s throat, blood flowing into his open mouth. Varthear surged forwards to make the killing blow, only for the hulking form of Karakes to crash into her mid-flight.
The enormous red dragon tore strips through one of Varthear’s wings, hooking her leg with a talon and swinging her through the air. Varthear snapped back and gave a vicious swing of her head, a black horn piercing Karakes’s side. The dragon let out a shriek that sent a shiver through Calen’s spine as he went hurtling through the air on Valerys’s back.
Valerys, Seleraine, and Avandeer spun and flipped, talons slicing, jaws snapping, and blood flowing. In the madness, Calen lost sight of Varthear and Karakes, his head spinning. The Spark pulsed in the air, flashes of lightning igniting the sky.
The world spun, wings flapping. He saw smoke.
Valerys shrieked as Voranur pushed threads of Earth into his bones and scales. The dragon’s pain turned to fury, and Valerys unleashed a torrent of fire over Voranur, causing Seleraine to thrash and roar. The Draleid had created a ward just in time to part the flames, but as he did, Calen pushed threads of Fire and Spirit into him, roaring. Images of Valerys’s bones twisting and snapping flitted through Calen’s mind, and rage like no other took him over.
He poured every ounce of his strength, his hatred, his fury, and his pain into the threads. Voranur pushed back, the air swirling about them, the world spinning as the dragons tore at each other across the sky, but Tivar joined her strength to Calen’s, her threads winding around his.
Calen pulled from his memories, feeding on the searing images of the death and destruction Voranur had wrought at Aravell, of how his lightning had torn through Onymia’s chest, sending the small grey dragon tumbling to the earth. Of how, one by one, he had witnessed each of the Rakina dragons fall, bellies torn open, scales cracked, bodies ravaged.
Valerys’s rage swirled through him, the bond burning with white-hot fire. And as they spun and Voranur pushed back with every shred of power he had, Calen drew threads of Air through himself. A cracked blue scale drifted in the sky beside him, blood streaming in its wake. He wrapped the threads around the scale and launched it like an arrow.
The scale sliced through the flesh of Voranur’s neck, and for a moment, the elf’s eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open, blood pouring over his lips. Voranur’s head separated from his body, and Seleraine let out a wail that froze even Calen’s heart.
It was the cry of a soul being broken, the cry of a love shattered and a lifetime ended. But Valerys didn’t share in Calen’s sorrow. The dragon was all rage and fury. He rent Seleraine’s chest, talons slicing through the scales of the blue dragon’s underbelly. He kicked again and again, blood spraying into the wind, Seleraine’s innards spilling. As she thrashed and roared, he crunched his jaws around her wing and ripped it free, that fury burning like the sun within him.
Memories flooded their shared mind from the Battle of Aravell: Seleraine’s talons raking Valerys’s side, her jaws coming inches from ripping Calen in half, her fire pouring over the city.
This dragon would have killed his soulkin in a heartbeat, would have torn him apart, broken the bond, just like she had done to so many others across the centuries. There was no mercy in Valerys’s heart for Seleraine and Voranur. Not a shred, not a drop – none. He crunched the bones in her severed wing and released it into the air.
As the dragon fell, Voranur’s headless body slowly spinning alongside it, a roar sounded above them.
Karakes had separated from Varthear and was hurtling towards Calen and Valerys. Still fuelled with rage, Valerys cracked his wings and rose to meet him.
At the same time, Avandeer turned in the air and unleashed a pillar of dragonfire.
But Karakes never reached either of them.
Aldryn didn’t let out a roar. He barely gave a sound. The massive dragon burst from the dark clouds above, dropping with a speed the likes of which Calen had not thought possible for a creature so large. At the last moment, he unfurled his golden wings and hammered into Karakes’s side, ripping him from the air.
Coren and Aldryn moved as one, their talons burying deep into Karakes’s side, their fury an all-consuming thing. They bit down into Karakes’s jaw, feeling scales snap and bones break, the sweet taste of blood on their tongue.
This was the dragon who had torn Syndril from the world, the dragon who had broken Farwen, the dragon who did not deserve to simply die but to feel the agony and pain Syndril felt. They had waited centuries for this moment.
When Aldryn and Karakes had first met in the sky over the old city of Mythavelion, Aldryn had been half the size of the older dragon. He had been but an adolescent, his fire little more than the flickering flame of a candle. But now he was larger by far, and the years had forged him into a warrior, into a dragon that had war in his veins. More than once, he had strayed from his isolation at the sight of a lone Dragonguard, and he had littered Epheria’s coast with their bones. Even still, his hunger for vengeance had not been sated, nor would it be until every last one of the Dragonguard were broken and shattered.
As Karakes thrashed and kicked, Aldryn held him in place, biting down harder, gouging flesh and scales from his chest. From Karakes’s back, Lyina lashed out with threads of each elemental strand. Fire plumed through the sky, arcs of lightning streaking. The woman drove threads of Earth into Aldryn’s bones and tried to pull the breath from Coren’s lungs with threads of Air. But her panic left her vulnerable, and Coren returned her onslaught tenfold.
Tears streamed down Coren’s face, flowing freely and vanishing into the wind. Farwen was gone. The only family she had left. She and Aldryn were alone now. And these traitors had taken everything from her.
Memories from a time long ago drifted through her mind of Farwen’s master, Dylain, in the northern hatchery tower, broken, his Soulkin, Soria, ripped from the sky.
“Keep her safe, Coren. Kollna has always spoken highly of you.”
“I tried,” Coren whispered. “We kept each other safe. For as long as we could.”
Coren shook her head, allowing her sorrow to burn into rage. The roar she unleashed carried through Aldryn, and he bit down and ripped Karakes’s jaw free, whipping his head left and right, then tearing at the dying dragon’s throat, blood spraying into the wind.
As the ground rose to meet them, Aldryn watched the light fade in Karakes’s eyes, then tossed the dragon aside, unfurling his wings as Karakes smashed into the ground.
Aldryn swept forwards, his talons trailing the grass. Coren leaned back and opened her arms, feeling the strength of the world pull against her. After a moment, Aldryn angled back around and alighted beside Karakes’s broken body.
Coren slid from her soulkin’s back, threads of Air allowing her feet to touch the grass as gently as the breeze. She passed Karakes’s mutilated face, his lower jaw ripped free, shards of bone jutting outwards, blood pumping onto the ground.
The momentary pang of guilt and sadness was swallowed by the unyielding rage within her. Coren had spent many years weeping over the dragons she had been forced to kill. Over the bonds she had been forced to break. And she had spent many dark nights wondering what might have been if these traitors had not slaughtered her brothers and sisters.
She followed the wails to where she found Lyina lying broken beside Karakes’s body. Both her legs were snapped, one twisted in a way that turned even Coren’s stomach. The woman’s cries carried on the wind, harsh and sharp. They were not cries of agony or pain, but of loss and emptiness. Coren had heard them enough times to know the difference.
She warded Lyina as she approached, then knelt beside her, staring down into those bloodshot, tear-filled eyes.
“Now you know how she felt,” Coren said, wrapping her fingers in Lyina’s hair and wrenching the woman’s head up. Lyina shrieked in pain, but Coren slapped her. “Shhh… Look me in the eyes. That’s it. I’ve waited for this moment for a very long time.” Coren glared down at Lyina. “It should have been Farwen kneeling over you. But she finally rests now.”
“I…” Lynia coughed, blood speckling her lip and catching in her throat. “I thought your soulkin had perished. I?—”
Coren wrenched Lyina’s head back again. “Shut your mouth. You shut your treacherous, fucking mouth.”
“I am happy he lives,” she choked out. “I am happy you are whole, Coren.”
“Shut your damn mouth!” Coren roared, slamming her fist into Lyina’s face. “Don’t you dare. You did this. You caused all of this. Don’t take this moment from me.”
Lyina’s head lolled, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes and mingling with the blood that coated her face. She hacked a cough again. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m?—”
“It’s worth nothing!” Coren roared, shaking Lyina’s head. “You killed everything we loved! You will find no forgiveness now as you face Heraya.”
A deep, visceral growl resonated in the air as Aldryn stepped across Karakes’s corpse and loomed over Coren and Lyina. The dragon’s rage was like the fires of the void. It poured into Coren, filling her bones, and she summoned her níthral.
She held the light-wrought spear to Lyina’s throat, her hand shaking, her lip trembling.
“Do not keep me from him… please.” Lyina choked on a bloody breath, convulsing. “Don’t let yourself become that monster.”
“You made me that monster,” Coren growled. She drew in shallow breaths, blood trickling over her níthral as she pressed it into Lyina’s flesh.
Lyina stared back at Coren, her eyes pleading. “You choose,” she said, her voice weak. “You… choose… who you are. Nobody else.”
Coren’s entire body began to tremble, her and Aldryn’s shared rage burning in her. The roar that left her, swept from her stomach up through her chest, and cut at her throat. She buried her níthral in the earth beside Lyina, holding it in place before releasing it.
She stared down into Lyina’s eyes and slid a knife from her belt. “You are lucky that I am not you.”
“I know.” Lyina’s eyes widened as Coren drove the knife into her heart.
Coren let the woman’s head drop to the dirt and pressed a closed fist to her own face, all that rage and fury yielding to a wave of overwhelming loss and agony that wracked her body and ripped at her heart.
Farwen was gone.
She drew heavy breaths, letting them out slowly, then rose and mounted Aldryn, looking to the sky over the plains to the north, where Helios and the elven dragons tore each other apart.
To her left, Valerys, Avandeer, and Varthear – her wing badly torn and bleeding – descended towards her.
Aldryn let out a low rumble, staring down at Karakes one last time before lifting into the air and rising to meet the others.
She didn’t speak as they came together. Aldryn simply angled his wings and soared towards the thick grey fog that had slowly begun shifting south towards the Burnt Lands.
This was not the end, but it was the beginning of it. Aldryn let out a low rumble beneath her, his powerful wings beating. No longer would Coren fight alone. No longer would she keep her soulkin in the shadows. They had waited and bided their time, and now the Lorian Empire would know their wrath.