Fiona
Three days have passed, and I have stayed away from Azric as much as possible. I found another secret place in Castle Lachlan, just like that little prison cell Darian and I had hidden in. I’ve spent those days staring at the Khorra cards Darian left me, remembering him and the days and weeks we spent together.
Darian’s death is a soul wound I don’t think I want to heal. It will shape me just as his life did. I will carry the lessons he taught me close to my heart, and I will carry his death as a warning of what it means to allow the gods to meddle.
I look at the champion cards and see Echo, the strongest wielder of shadows and greatest Mage. She was the Queen of Shadows before the gods began their war. She wasn’t even as old as I am now when she took up her crown, and yet she led an army. But she was born into a world of magic and knew what her future held.
Then there’s Erik and Rurik’s father, Brandor Halden. A wielder of lightning that can fire it off as quickly as I can fire my bow. A man slightly past his prime who had an entire lifetime of ruling humans and had never dreamed of doing anything other than avoiding magic as much as possible. Yet, he too accepted his role. He should have been preparing his sons to take over for him. He should have stepped further and further away from directly managing his kingdom. Instead, he stepped up and became the Champion of Marek, the God of Storms.
I slide the card to the back and look at the Prince of Bones. In the picture, he’s still beautiful, but he’s so young. He’s younger than me in the image, but there’s a strength in his eyes that the artist captured perfectly. It’s the same one he showed me when he began training me.
He was so young, but he already knew he would lead the world against the ones who would come to kill us all. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d have to do terrible things to accomplish it. He didn’t know how he’d become strong enough, only that he had to. His army had already been fighting for seventy years, and he didn’t start as a simple soldier. No, the first day he took up his title, he became their champion. He stood tall, not only against his enemies, but also against his own troops.
I will either die, or I’ll have to do the same. Thousands of Godforged Mages will be under my command; their powers still a little unclear to me. I will have to look them in the eyes and order them to their deaths. I will wield shadows like Echo and slaughter hundreds of Godforged, knowing that they won’t be coming back.
Somehow, I’ll have to be strong enough to bear the burden of their deaths. Can I do that? They aren’t my actual enemies any longer. Darian told me we were all pieces in a game, and unlike him, I think I’m beginning to understand the scope of that game board.
There aren’t any enemies on Nyth any longer. Well, none except the gods. We’ve all been doing what we were forced to do. Brandor may have slaughtered human villages, but that was to save Nyth and his people. He accepted his place as the Champion of Marek just as Azric accepted his place as the Prince of Bones. He did it because he didn’t have any other choice. His training was just as full of torment as Azric’s. His soul must be heavy from the weight of all his scars.
I will have to become just like them, deciding whether human lives are as important as preparing to fight the Hunters. Those soul wounds will be mine to bear. I will have to make decisions that will turn me into a monster, just like I thought each of the champions were.
The tears roll down my cheeks as I accept the last thing I ever wanted. I wanted to save people. I’ve lived my entire life with a crystal-clear idea of how to do that. Kill those who want to hurt them.
But I can’t fight this war on my own, and the Godforged require power just as humans require food. I need them to be as strong as possible. I need them to fight and hold their own.
I have to become a monster to save everyone. That terrible question will become mine to answer: will I kill some of the ones I swore to protect to save the rest?
I stand up as the tears roll down my cheeks unfettered. I need to talk to the first one who had to make this choice. Maybe he’ll be able to explain how anyone makes the terrible decision to become the thing they swore to protect people from.
I need to talk to the one who started all of this, the one whose single choice doomed all of Nyth. I need to speak to Calyr the Gold, the dragon who woke the gods.
I step into Azric’s chambers to see him at his desk. He’s holding the feathered end of a quill against his cheek as he leans back in his chair. The soft brown feather brushes the short hair on his cheek as he stares at the wall without making a sound.
“Yes?” he asks as I draw closer to him. “What do you need?”
There’s no anger in his voice, but it’s cold. Unlike our flight on Inni and the night before, there’s no warmth to his voice. I’ve tried to stay as far from him as possible, and I’m sure it’s frustrated himwith how close we were growing. It’s better this way, though. I refuse to hurt him for a few moments of comfort.
“I would like to speak with Calyr,” I say formally. “There are questions I think only he can answer.”
Azric turns away from the wall, his chair sliding against the ground with a groan. “What would you speak tohimabout?”
I take a deep breath. “I need to understand why he made the choices he made. From everything I’ve read and heard, he could have told your mother that he wouldn’t wake up the gods. He could have just ignored her request. She didn’t know how to wake them, and he knew what would happen if he did.”
Azric huffs. “What’s the point of asking him about it? He made the wrong decision, just like my mother did. Isn’t that good enough to know?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. He’s a dragon, Azric. He stayed behind to protect Nyth when the rest of the dragons left. He’s not an idiot, so why did he do it?”
I pause for just a moment, and Azric’s glare burns me. “I’m about to become the thing I swore I would kill. After the trial, I’ll become like you. If the people of Sylvantia see me in a week, they’ll think I’ve betrayed them just as we all see Calyr as the one who betrayed Nyth. I need to know why he did it. I need to know how he lives with that choice because I’m about to make one that’s very similar.”
Azric is quiet for a few moments, but his gaze softens. Then he nods. “I’ll take you to the roost, and he’ll meet you there. Inni will tell him to join you. Unlike you, I don’t have any desire to speakwith him, so you will need to have this conversation alone. He is not a friend.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he stands up, his riding coat swaying as he moves. The look in his eyes is just as fierce as ever, without a touch of the softness I was getting used to. When he takes my hand, there’s no warmth, as if he’s specifically trying to withhold it from me.
I don’t have time to think about it as he pulls me into the Void. Then, we’re standing on the hard stones of the dragon roost above Castle Lachlan. He drops my hand and walks away from me. I turn to look at him, and I know whatever feelings he’d had for me are gone. He’s never left me without saying a word like this. I hurt him by distancing myself.
Then I hear massive wings beating above me, and I hesitate for only a moment before turning to see a golden dragon descending slowly. Each wingbeat is a gust of wind strong enough that I have to brace myself to keep from falling over.
Calyr lands only a few feet away from me, his claws digging into the stone with a shrieking sound like a sword being sharpened. A hot breath of air washes over me, the scent of death on it. He must have been eating when Inni asked him to talk to me.
