Page 4 of The Truth

Through Shinyara’s eyes, Farda spotted a blaze of light far below. One of the traitors doing battle with Helios had peeled away and continued to pour flames over the dying city. What manner of madness would cause a Draleid to turn their back on the battle before them, simply to slaughter more men and women?

A high pitched shriek pulled his attention back up to where the others were fighting, and Shinyara was already peeling back through the air before Farda had even laid eyes on the muddy brown dragon with its jaws around Carasín’s neck.

Threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit lashed back and forth between Maquil and the traitor Draleid. The Spark surged outwards from Maquil, his panic evident, fear pulsing through every movement.

“Tear it from the sky!” Farda roared, his voice crashing against the rushing wind. All thoughts of a peaceful resolution evaporated in the fires of his mind. He would not allow Maquil and Carasín to fall. Eltoar would never forgive him… and he would never forgive himself.

Pillars of dragonfire spewed across the canvas of blue and blotched white as Vyldrar attempted to get to young Carasín, but the traitors blocked his path, the pair of them pecking at the mighty dragon like vultures at a black lion.

No such impediment stood in Shinyara’s way. She hit that traitor with the force of a battering ram, little care for self-preservation crossing her mind. The world was a tangle of claw and fang and tail as she ripped the dragon away from Carasín.

A talon plunged into her side and would have opened her if Carasín hadn’t swept about and rejoined the fight, clamping her jaws on the traitor’s wing and snapping.

A frantic eruption of the Spark ignited from the dragon’s soulkin, threads of Air wrapping around both Farda and Maquil. Farda had a thought to push back through the threads, to see whose soul was stronger, but it would have been a waste of precious energy.

With its wing broken, the dragon was already falling from the sky, his soulkin howling into the wind, grasping desperately at the Spark with every fibre of her being. It would almost have been a mercy to end it there and then. The power of the Spark rose and rose within her until her eyes erupted with searing white light, and Farda could almost feel the devouring of her soul from the inside out. The threads of Air that held Farda tight melted, and just like that, two dragons and two Draleid had been torn from the world, and the only victor was the darkness.

It had been more than a decade since Farda had been forced to take the life of another Draleid. It was a feeling he would rather never touched his heart again.

“Farda!” Alvira’s voice boomed as though it were thunder itself, carried by threads of Air and Spirit. But even with Alvira’s power amplifying her words, it was too late. Farda turned his head in time to watch as one of the dragons battling Vyldrar swept down towards Maquil and Carasín. Farda recognised the blue of Asherin’s scales.

With barely eighteen summers at his back, Maquil had committed a fatal mistake: he had allowed himself to think the battle was won.

A single heartbeat passed, and Asherin was upon them. Carasín, for all her youth and speed, could do nothing as Maquil was stripped from her back, talons wrapping around the young man’s face and legs. Had he seen more battle, Maquil might have reached out to the Spark, might have struck with lightning or sheared through the red dragon’s legs. He might have done something, anything. But as it was, he froze. Just for a moment, just the briefest of hesitations. That was all that was needed. The dragon cracked his wings, lifted upwards, and, in the same motion, pulled his talons apart and burst Maquil across the waist like an overfilled sack.

A second heartbeat passed, and Vyldrar collided with the traitor. A second too late. Vyldrar tore at the blue dragon with a fury like a raging storm. In a single motion, he ripped the dragon’s wing free, blood and bone in his jaws, savage rage in his eyes. From his back, Alvira unleashed arcs of chained lightning, her fingertips scintillating, the Spark pulsing from her in waves. It was a display of sheer power and fury that caused even Shinyara to watch in awe. But beneath it all, so too could Farda feel a sadness, a guilt that crept from Alvira and Vyldrar.

The next sound to pierce Farda’s ears was a soul-crushing shriek from the jaws of Carasín. Farda’s heart dropped into his stomach as though it were made of lead, every hair on his body pricking. He could feel the sorrow in Shinyara, feel the ache that carved into her soul at the sight of young Carasín’s soul shattering. To become Rakina was an agony none could dare dream of, but to become Rakina, to become Broken, with so few summers beneath her wings was unspeakable.

As Vyldrar pulled away and let the maimed blue dragon fall, Carasín’s sorrow grew into a frenzied madness. The small silver dragon folded her wings and dropped. She crashed into the falling dragon and proceeded to tear at its already savaged body with a ferocity that could only be born of grief. She bit and clawed and tore, shredding his wings, opening his stomach, and ripping chunks of flesh from his neck.

Within moments, Asherin and his Draleid were little more than a falling cloud of blood and bone. But when all signs of life faded, Carasín did not pull away. Instead she continued to tear at the falling chunks of flesh, blood spraying in her wake. And as she fell with the corpse of her soulkin’s killer, Farda saw the light fade from her eyes. The frenzy abated, an emptiness taking its place, an apathy.

Through Shinyara’s eyes, Farda watched as Carasín plummeted and wrapped her wings around the two halves of Maquil’s mangled corpse, bringing them together in mid-air. She pulled the light of her short life into one final embrace before hitting the ground below.

A moment of silence lingered, followed by a thunderous crack and a pluming cloud of dust. Before the cloud had even settled, Vyldrar ripped past Shinyara and dove towards the city of Vastillion where the rogue traitor had pulled away from the fighting and continued to lay waste to everything that moved. The roar that escaped Vyldrar’s throat was wrought with fury, grief, and desolation.

In a crimson flash, the last remaining traitor who had engaged with Farda and the others streaked past, following in Vyldrar’s wake. Before a thought could cross Farda’s mind, Shinyara had folded her wings and dropped like a stone.

Down and down again she fell, the wind crashing against Farda as though it were a solid wave. He took a breath and closed his eyes, allowing his lungs to swell as he let his mind drift into Shinyara’s. He felt her heart beat, their heart. Felt their wings rippling as the force of the world tried to pull them apart. Felt the rage searing in their veins and through their soul. They were as one, and they were whole.

Through Shinyara’s eyes, they watched the ground approach, then, as the currents of air shifted, they opened their wings and swooped outwards. The power of the swing propelled them forwards. They shifted their wings, and their target came into sight. The last red dragon trailed Vyldrar, pillars of fire spewing from its jaws.

Further from the city, Helios had pulled away from the fighting with what looked to be the large blue dragon trailing after him.

They need not stare any longer to know Helios’s destination. The dragon descended towards the crater where Carisín’s broken body lay.

With sorrow in their heart, Farda and Shinyara returned their gaze to the crimson-scaled dragon ahead. The battle was not yet won. Guilt was a monster oh so familiar to them. A monster that would claw at their heart for the rest of their days, as it always had. But they would silence it for now lest further death rest on their shoulders.

They stilled themselves, the wind tearing at them as they swooped up towards the crimson dragon who was now only a wingspan from Alvira and Vyldrar. Not a sound escaped them, not a beating of wings nor a drawing of breath. To warn Alvira would be to warn their enemy. And so they arced upwards like the willing hands of death, and at the very last moment, when the other dragon spotted them below – when it was too late – Shinyara hurled her legs forwards and drove her talons into its belly, blood streaming through the cracked scales. From sheer momentum, they carried the dragon from its flight, wings folding against the wind.

The creature snapped and howled, Shinyara’s talons burying deeper into its flesh.

Farda pulled threads of Air, Spirit, and Fire into his palm, then launched an arc of lightning at the creature’s neck, only to see it skitter away as it collided with a Sparkward.

Astride their soulkin, Farda and the traitor Draleid lashed at each other with whips of Fire and Air while both attempted to push threads of Earth into each other’s bones, threads of Spirit slashing and hacking.

Only then did Farda realize who the Draleid was.