Page 3 of The Truth

The traitors had not known of their presence. But there could never be a sense of surprise with a dragon as large as Helios. The moment he took flight, the world stopped to witness. And as he charged forwards, spreading those bloody wings wide, the earth cracking beneath him, Alvira thanked Varyn that she and Vyldrar flew at Helios’s back and not beneath his rage.

With a breath, she leaned forwards and rested her hands on Vyldrar’s scales. “I’ldryr viel asatar. I sanvîr viel baralun, myia’nära. Anat’aier aldryr ar orimyn, anat’aier syrna ar galbarak.”

In fire we are forged. In blood we are tempered, my light. Give them fire and fury, give them wrath and vengeance.

With that, Vyldrar spread his wings, surged forwards, and leapt from the cliff. The rush of air, that surge of elation, gave Alvira a momentary reprieve from what was to come. There was nothing akin to the lightness in her shared soul when Vyldrar took to the sky, his mighty wings churning the air, the sheer power of his heart thumping in their veins. They were one. A single force of scale and flesh bound by the will of the gods themselves.

Her father had dreamt of the skies since he was a little boy, dreamt of becoming a Draleid. She only wished he had lived long enough to see her flit between the clouds, to see her find her purpose. Their souls would meet again one day, and she would have many stories to tell him.

Vyldrar angled his wings, and they ripped forwards through the sky, the wind lashing at Alvira’s face. The thoughts of pride and family burned themselves from her mind, replaced with the sight of Vastillion aflame, the traitors pouring dragonfire over the innocent souls below.

All eight of the traitors had already pulled away from the city and were moving to meet them in the open skies. Most were larger than Vyldrar, with the exception of a small cream-scaled dragon with dark horns and deep red wings.

“We’ll take the largest,” Eltoar called out, his voice carried on threads of Air. “Maquil and Alvira, stay at Shinyara’s side. Do not separate. Above all, do not hesitate. When dragons collide, death is all the world knows. Seconds alone will separate us from them. Life from death. This will be like nothing you have ever known. Hold fast.”

Eltoar’s words were like a ball of stone in Alvira’s stomach, her heart beating with Vyldrar’s as his wings bore them across the sky.

She opened herself to the Spark, feeling its warmth flood her veins, feeling the threads of Fire kiss her skin as the threads of Air swirled about her. Spirit and Earth filled the hollows of her bones.

With a roar and a crack of his mighty wings, Helios careened forwards at a speed Alvira had not thought possible. He surged ahead of the others and closed the distance between them and the traitors in but a few heartbeats. A slight shift in the air and Alvira watched in awe as the great black dragon strafed sideways and crashed into the largest of the traitors like a mountain thrown by Hafaesír himself.

Helios’s jaws closed about the other dragon’s throat, scales cracking. In the same motion, he lifted his legs and raked his enormous talons across the blue-scaled creature’s chest. The sky rained crimson, blood spewing from deep wounds as the two tangled dragons barrelled towards the city. Three of the traitors broke off and plummeted after Helios.

Alvira had but a moment to watch in horror before the dance of claw and fang descended upon her. Farda flew to her left, Maquil on his other side. Ahead, the four remaining traitors hurtled towards them, scales rippling, thunderous roars spewing forth.

In that moment the world seemed darker than before, the light of day blocked out by the canopy of wing and scale.

“Centre!” Farda roared, a stillness snatching at the world for just a moment. “Red scales. Neck, heart, belly. Endryía!”

Engage.

In a single crushing moment, the dragons collided.

Chapter Two

A Death of Hope

Farda shifted his weight as Shinyara weaved between the crush of dragons. She lurched forwards and drove her talons into the chest of a smaller creature with scales of muted blue and a soul that smelled of burning elderberries. She knew the dragon. Asherin. He had a kind heart. Eltoar was right. They needed to know the ‘why’ of this.

As Shinyara’s talons sank deeper into the meat of Asherin’s chest, a weight slammed into her side and ripped her free. The Spark crackled in the air around them as they careened through the sky. Farda could feel the talons raking Shinyara’s side even before he saw the wings of the dragon that had charged them. It was a creature even smaller than Maquil’s soulkin, Carasín, with deep red wings and dark horns that slicked across their jaws like polished obsidian. He recognised neither the dragon nor the Draleid perched upon their shoulders. They were young. Too young.

A pulse of the Spark erupted from the young Draleid, and an arc of lightning tore towards Shinyara’s throat. Farda pulled on threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit, creating a ward upon which the lightning crashed. As the young Draleid pushed harder and his soulkin attempted to tear at Shinyara, Farda wove separate threads of Air and wrapped them around the smaller dragon’s tail. He pulled.

The creature shrieked as they were dragged free from Shinyara, flailing in the air. Shinyara made to dive after them, but Farda pulled at her with his mind.

No. I would prefer not to break any souls today if we can avoid it.

Shinyara unleashed a visceral roar of defiance. Images pushed from her mind into his, flashes of Farda’s body broken on the ground below, of his skin aflame, his flesh sundered. She would not risk his life for the lives of traitors. She would not risk his life for anything. He was her light, her warmth. Even if he was a fool.

Shinyara cracked her wings and swooped down after the smaller dragon, seeing Vyldrar and Carasín battling with three of the others to her left. She would not risk their lives either. The thought of it sent an indomitable rage blazing through her. That rage burned in their shared soul, consuming even Farda’s thoughts as Shinyara crashed into the younger dragon, sank her talons into their chest, and opened them from neck to groin, gore and innards spraying into the wind. At that same moment, she leaned forwards and unleashed a torrent of raging dragonfire over the young Draleid, quieting the screams that had erupted from his throat when his soulkin had been torn open.

That was the least Shinyara could do. She would not allow traitors the time to take her light from her, but neither would she force any to live even a moment they did not have to without their soulkin. She did not wish them pain, nor did she hate them. She simply could not allow them to live while they threatened those she loved. And it broke her heart.

She watched the young dragon fall, hot blood trailing in their wake, her shared soul aching. Then she angled her wings, caught an upwards current of air, and rejoined the carnage.

Closer to the city, Helios held a dragon with scales of dull yellow in his jaws, two more of the traitors diving at him from both sides.

Three dragons, all the size of Shinyara, did battle with Vyldrar and Carasín. The young silverwing was wounded along the right flank, strips torn through the membrane of the wing on that side.