3. Whispers of Things to Come #2
In the sky above, Vyldrar caught Doaxes in a turn, his jaws clamping around the grey dragon’s neck, scales snapping.
Panakír let out a gasp. And there amidst all the chaos, tears rolled from her eyes and down her cheeks.
“You dare weep?” Alvira moved closer, until a mere five feet separated them. “You made this. You…” A sudden rush of sorrow filled Alvira as her thoughts drifted to Maquil and Carasín, to Savrien and Daraní. And she found herself capable only of repeating the word Eltoar had spoken: “Why?”
Panakír’s lips trembled, and she dropped her sword with a heavy clang.
“What are you doing?”
A series of monstrous roars tore the sky apart, and a chill shivered through Alvira’s veins. With his jaws still clamped around Doaxes’ throat, Vyldrar watched as five more dragons descended from the clouds a mile or so from the city.
Tarast’s wing, Alvira thought, surely, or Galandíl’s, but Vyldrar saw neither amongst their number.
“I’m sorry…” Panakír stumbled, the tears now flowing freely. She looked as though every ounce of strength had been drained from her body. “I… I’m sorry Alvira…”
Panakír dropped to her knees, hitting the stone with a crack, her shoulders slumped, eyes staring at her bloodied hands.
Alvira wasn’t sure what she had expected to find when she came face to face with the traitor, but this was not it.
This was not a bloodthirsty monster full of righteous zeal.
This was a broken warrior, one who dared not look into her own soul.
The men and women who bore the coiling ravens of Antiloch all looked at each other askance, a wave of uncertainty spreading through them.
Alvira released her níthral, grabbed Panakír by the collar, and hauled her upright, staring into her eyes. “What in the gods is this?”
When Panakír only stared absently back, Alvira shook her and roared, “Answer me!”
The new dragons drew closer, spreading into formation. Vyldrar released the thrashing Doaxes and dropped, hurtling towards the earth before spreading his wings and sweeping back towards the city.
“It was the only way…” Panakír muttered, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
She lifted her gaze. “Your presence here only shows me that everything he said was true. You are here. Eltoar is here. Just as he said you would be. How could he have known that you of all the Draleid would be the first to respond? How?”
“Who?” Alvira gripped Panakír’s collar so tight her knuckles lost all feeling. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Panakír shook her head. “The things I saw, Alvira. I…” Panakír’s breaths came short and sharp. “This was the only way. We couldn’t let it happen.”
“You’re not making any fucking sense!” Panic rippled through Alvira as she felt Vyldrar soar over the city, Doaxes moving to join with the new arrivals.
Unrest stirred about her. The soldiers on both sides had halted almost entirely at the emergence of the five dragons, tens of thousands of eyes staring into the sky.
But they knew what it meant for Doaxes to fly at their side, and the scales of battle shifted once more.
About her, steel crashed against steel as the Antiloch forces charged, emboldened by the sight of more dragons flying at their back.
Alvira pulled Panakír close, staring into those bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. “I should bleed you out here, carve you apart.”
“Do it.”
Those words took Alvira aback. She swallowed hard, unsure what to say.
“I can’t—We can’t live like this.” Panakír glanced towards the sky, and Alvira knew she was talking of her soulkin, of Doaxes. “We did what was required of us… but no more. We do not leave this place, Alvira. We knew that before we came here. You are my end.”
As the battle reignited around Alvira, the Vastillion soldiers formed a ring about her, voices calling out, “Protect the Draleid!”
All sense of reason left Alvira’s mind. This was madness.
Every second of this was insanity. She threw Panakír to the ground and summoned her níthral once more, the blue light glistening in the trails of the elf’s tears.
“You turned your back on your kin. You burned innocent people alive, people you had sworn to protect. And when you are called to answer for your treachery, you feign madness? Why, Panakír?”
The elf lifted her chin and allowed the glowing blade to press into her throat. “Because I love this world.”
Before Alvira could respond, a roar filled the air, so powerful it shook the ground beneath her. She tilted her head to see Helios finally taking to wing, having mourned over Carasín and Maquil’s bodies.
The sight of the great dragon lifting into the sky sent cheers through the Vastillion ranks.
Helios, The Black Sun, was legendary. Where his wings filled the sky, salvation followed.
But Alvira knew what the soldiers of Vastillion did not: that even Helios could not stand against six of his kin, not even with Vyldrar at his side, not already bloodied and weary, his heart broken.
Alvira looked back down at Panakír, a slow realisation setting in.
“You planned this... You…” Images swirled in Alvira’s mind of the dragon who had separated from the fighting to burn the city, that same dragon who had fled for Shinyara and Farda to chase, leaving Vyldrar and Helios to stand alone. “How… how could you have—”
“It is as he said.” Panakír shook her head as she spoke. “I doubted, Alvira… I did, but again and again he showed us the truth, showed us the path we were walking down. This was the only way.”
“The only way for what?” Alvira roared, losing her patience entirely.
“To stop the world from burning.”
Above, Vyldrar and Helios swept across the city, casting shadows large as mountains. They flew outwards towards the encroaching dragons, prepared to face what was to come.
“It is you who has set it afire,” Alvira whispered as she felt Vyldrar’s wings beating, his heart thumping against his ribs.
He held no fear within him. To protect was his purpose.
But Alvira, she felt fear. Fear for the loss of the other half of her soul.
She set herself and drew back her níthral.
To end Panakír now would be to take Doaxes from the fight. “You brought this upon yourself.”
Gasps sounded around Alvira, and she heard one of the soldiers about her whisper, “By the grace of Varyn…”
Alvira lifted her head to see Eltoar descending from the sky, threads of Air whirling about him with such control as to make Achyron himself brim with jealousy.
Those on all sides stared in awe at Eltoar’s armour gleaming in the light of the blazing fires, his white hair flowing over his shoulders, not a helmet in sight.
Eltoar landed only a foot from Alvira without so much as a whisper. He stared down at Panakír. There was something different in him. This was not the same Eltoar who had spoken to her of understanding before the battle. This was a soul that raged with the fires of loss.
He took a step forward, and Alvira placed a palm against his armoured chest, stopping him in place, her níthral still levelled.
With every measure of calm, Eltoar rested his hand on Alvira’s arm and lowered it. He stepped past her and grabbed Panakír by the throat, lifting her to her feet. Even as the fighting raged throughout the city, Eltoar paid it no heed. The entirety of his focus was on the elf.
Overhead, Helios and Vyldrar crashed into the others, moving as one.
Eltoar stared into her eyes; his voice spoke of frozen fury. “Maquil is dead.”
Panakír’s entire jaw trembled, tears redoubling. “I am sorry, Eltoar.”
Eltoar smiled. But the look in his eyes was sorrow and only sorrow, the corners of his lips never quite rising. “Carasín wrapped herself around his dead body as they fell, her heart broken with her soul.” Eltoar leaned closer so that his nose brushed hers. “That was your doing.”
Panakír choked and coughed as Eltoar tightened his grip on her throat. “I… didn’t…”
“I have no need for your words. There is nothing that could wipe the darkness of your deeds. I once called you sister, called you kin. But now I call you nothing, for you are nothing. May Heraya turn you away, and may you wander with no sight nor senses.”
The Spark surged from Eltoar in great pulses, threads of all elemental strands weaving about him in a maelstrom of light and power.
Alvira watched in awe as he pushed those threads into Panakír, watched as she writhed and screamed, watched as her skin crackled and burned while the threads of Fire separated and turned her flesh to barren, blackened bark.