Page 72 of The Truth

“We were not always perfect,” he whispered. “We rarely were. But in our good moments, you were the best of us, and despite it all, there is a part of me that will love you forever. Forgive me for everything I have done, and I will forgive you. And everything I must do from this day on is to ensure that all of this has not been for nothing. Iralíse, Alvira. I denír viël ar altinua.”

As the words left Farda’s lips, Shinyara opened her jaws and unleashed her fire across Vyldrar and Alvira.

Fly, Alvira. In this life and always.

Lyara tore across the night, ripping open the belies of three traitors as she went. Ahead, not far from the southern gates, a score of dragons mauled each other in the skies, streams of fire illuminating the night. Lyara angled her wings and swept upwards, then folded them once more and dropped into a dive. When the chaos had begun, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. But the traitors had a scent. Death and blood and darkness. They reeked of it. As she chose her target, Aeson looked through her eyes to see the fighting below. A small group huddled by the statue of Lavahîr before the lake in the Path of Legends, Uraks flooding around them.

“Aldryr ar orimyn, Lyara. Du é myia nära.”

Fire and fury, Lyara. You are my light.

Aeson pulled in a lungful of air, then leapt from Lyara’s back.

Down he went, the air ripping at him, he pushed himself with the Spark, picking his line. As he drew close to the ground, he fortified his bones with threads of Spirit and Earth, whirling a sphere of Air around himself.

He hit the ground with a deliberate crash, pushing his threads of Air outwards, sending scores of Uraks careening backwards.

Within a heartbeat, he had slid his swords from their scabbards and surged forwards. Two Uraks came at him together. He sidestepped. Opened one belly, cleaved a leg.

The second beast swung at him with a blackened axe. He twisted and smashed a ball of Air into the creature’s side with such force he heard bones snap as the Urak soared through the air.

“I’m with you, brother!” The shout came over Aeson’s right shoulder, and Atara Anthalin came charging through a host of Uraks, weaving a tapestry of blood as she moved. Where her blade travelled, death followed. A plume of fire erupted from her palm, swallowing three Uraks in the flames.

Behind her, a monstrous beast rose, its form covered in runes that shimmered with red light, horns piercing its hide and curving about its body. Aeson charged without hesitation. He leapt and at the same time lifted a mound of clay through the grass to meet his ascent. His foot hit the mound, and he leapt higher again, raising his blades above his head. He soared over the Bloodmarked and buried his blades into its back, slamming against its hide as the steel sank deep. The creature thrashed, the runes on its body billowing dark smoke. Aeson pulled his right blade free and drove it into the back of the Bloodmarked’s skull, leaping clear as it fell forwards into the grass.

“You are a welcome sight.” Atara took an Urak’s head from its body as she spoke, deflecting the blade of a blackened spear before opening its wielder’s throat. “A welcome sight on a dark day.”

A shriek rang out behind Aeson, and he turned to see a Bloodmarked snatch a hatchling from the air and rip it in half with a single pull, blood and innards spewing into the grass. A young girl screamed, her entire body shaking, blood pouring from her ears as she collapsed to her knees.

Both Aeson and Atara charged, carving a path towards the young Rakina. As the Bloodmarked turned to face them, a spear of ice burst through the side of its skull, and it dropped like a stone.

Chora Sarn stood over the creature’s corpse, garbed in full plate, her sword in one hand, a new spear in the other. Three more Draleid stood at her side. Thacia, daughter of Ulin; Haviríl Andar; and Harken Holdark.

All four Draleid stood around a clutch of apprentices who had known the bond no more than a year judging by the hatchlings at their sides.

Aeson looked around. The Uraks were pulling back. Surrounding them, toying with them. The creatures found sport in death. And by the gods would he show them death.

Atara slid her blade into its scabbard and purple light erupted from her hand, a níthral forming in her fist as she readied to face Efialtír’s demons.

“Be the light they look to,” Aeson whispered to himself as he sheathed his blades. He drew on threads of all the elements. His palms ignited, strands of white light bursting forth, twisting and coiling like roots. Within a heartbeat, he held two blades of solid white light, one in each hand.

Atara moved to stand at his side, Harken Holdark taking position to Aeson’s right, an enormous green blade in his fist. Chora and Haviríl stood together on the other side of the apprentices, readying for the Uraks to close.

“Draleid n’aldryr, akar.” Harken did not break his gaze away from a Bloodmarked as he spoke. “Donei ralin é atuya vënon.”

Dragonbound by fire, brother. Your blades are a welcome sight.

“Draleid n’aldyr,” Aeson responded, watching as the Uraks closed the circle. He counted at least ten Bloodmarked among them, their numbers swelling well past a hundred.

There, amidst the fall of everything he had ever loved, a moment of purpose and clarity flowed over Aeson. This was what it was to be a Draleid. To be a guardian of others. That moment was shattered as the Uraks charged.

Aeson fell into svidarya, letting his rage flow through him. White light shimmered, and Uraks fell around him. He let his mind slip into Lyara’s and hers into his.

Above, she opened a traitor’s belly and poured fire over his bones.

Below, he cleaved an Urak from hip to hip as it charged towards a hatchling.

He had no end, and she had no beginning. At that moment, they were nothing but death. Nothing existed but talon, and fang, and fire. Shoulder to shoulder they stood with their kin, and they brought the flames of the void to the mortal world.