[ volume two , 400 years ago ]
City of Ilnaen - Winter Solstice, Year 2682 after Doom ALVIRA STOOD AT THE LARGE, arched window, looking out over the central courtyard and onwards to the sweeping walls of Ilnaen.
Curtains of rain fell from dark thunderclouds. The reddish-pink light of the Blood Moon washed down over the city of white stone, painting it in an eerie blend of beautiful and unsettling.
But it wasn't the Blood Moon that formed the knot in her stomach. She saw the torches in the distance, thousands of flickering flames, as if the plains themselves were on fire.
She reached out to Vyldrar. Council Chambers. Meet me there.
Alvira felt a rumble of acknowledgement in the back of her mind.
She strode across the room, snatched her sword from her bed, and buckled it to her hip. Then she stepped out into the hallway that ran adjacent to her bedchambers.
As she emerged into the hallway, two elves in the red and shimmering gold uniform of the city guard charged at her, swords drawn. Alvira ripped her sword from its scabbard in time to parry the first strike. The ringing sound of steel on steel reverberated in her ears as the swords collided. She felt a roaring pain as the second elf raked his sword across her ribs, slicing a deep gash in her side. She cursed herself for the decision to leave her plate armour it with her handmaid to be cleaned.
Alvira reached out to the Spark. She saw it in her mind. Its pulsating strands of twisting light interwoven together in the shape of a floating sphere. Each strand brimmed with the power of its element. There were five in total: Earth, Fire, Air, Water, and Spirit.
Alvira pulled at the strand of Air, drawing threads of it into herself.
She swung her blade to parry the incoming strike from the elf to her right, then pulled at her threads of Air, using them to slam the second elf into the white stone wall. She felt the resistance as the elf collided with the stone, and she heard the crunch as his bones gave way.
Spinning on her heels, Alvira lunged at her remaining attacker, deflecting his haphazard attempt to block her. She held her sword, outstretched, against his exposed neck.
"Who sent you?" roared Alvira, pushing her sword into his soft flesh.
The elf didn't answer. He just stared at her. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his skin was so pale that Alvira would have thought him close to death, were he not standing before her.
"Answer me!"
The elf muttered something incoherent, then thrust himself forward, plunging the tip of Alvira's sword into his neck. Blood cascaded from the wound as the elf hung there, held upright only by the strength of Alvira's arm. Alvira pulled her blade free from the elf's neck and let him fall to the ground, spluttering and choking on his own blood.
With a deafening howl, a blinding eruption of deep red fire consumed the elf. The force of the blast knocked Alvira off her feet and sent her crashing into the wall behind her.
Alvira pulled herself up onto one knee. Her vision was blurry. A ringing noise shrieked through her head, causing all other sounds to capitulate.
It clicked. She had not felt the tingling sensation that she always felt in the back of her mind when somebody near her drew from the Spark. A sinking feeling in her stomach made her skin crawl.
Blood magic.
Blood magic was not detectable in the way that magic from the Spark was. It was as if it were something separate entirely.
Gritting her teeth, she dragged herself to a standing position, using a nearby door frame for leverage. I need to get to the council.
I need to find out what is happening.
Alvira made her way down the sparse stone hallway. Like most in that section of the keep, the floors and walls were made from white flagstone. A deep crimson carpet ran the length of the floor.
Alvira winced as she descended the staircase to the lower level.
She felt the blood trickling down her ribcage with every step. She had been caught off guard. She wouldn't be again. She tightened the grip on her sword until her knuckles went pale.
The stone floor vibrated as the horns of the city watch bellowed through the hallway. She needed to find out what was happening.
Who was attacking?
"Archon!" Alvira snapped her head to the right. Torvill, one of The Order's Highguard, stood at the end of a short corridor, waving Alvira to run to him. "Quick! We need to—" an arrow cut off Torvill's shout as it sliced through the side of his neck.
"It's the Archon! Kill her!"
Four men in half-plate armour rounded the corner where Torvill's lifeless body now lay in a pool of his own blood. Each of the men bore the joint symbol of The Order and the Draleid on their chests: a black triangle, pointing upward, with three smaller triangles set at each of its edges. Alvira's heart both sank, and burned with rage. These men were meant to be protecting her, not attacking her. Traitors. She drew on threads of Earth as the men charged down the hall towards her, heaving their weapons over their heads, screaming battle cries as they ran.
"You sicken me…" Alvira muttered to herself. She pulled the threads into her, feeling the rough grate at the back of her mind that came with drawing on Earth. She let out a blood-curdling roar as she held her hand out in front of herself, clenching her fingers into
a tight fist. All four of the soldiers' breastplates collapsed inward, cracking their ribs and crushing their lungs. They fell to the ground in screams of agony, spluttering blood as they gasped for air. Alvira felt a momentary pang of sympathy as she stepped past the wailing wretches, which she quickly brushed aside.
They are traitors who would have my head on a spike.
Alvira's heart pounded in her chest. She rushed through the labyrinth of corridors that weaved through the keep of Ilnaen. They weren't just under attack. They were betrayed. She needed to get to the council chambers; they weren't far now.
She drew on threads of Fire as she turned down the stone corridor to her left. Two soldiers were sprinting towards her. Both wore the glistening white armour of the Highguard, the symbol of The Order emblazoned across their chests, but their helms obscured their faces. Alvira didn't let go of the spark.
"Don't move any closer!" she shouted.
"Alvira, it's me." Alvira knew the elf's voice even before she removed her helmet.
"Valyna. By the gods, am I happy to see you." The ball of tension in Alvira's stomach dissipated. She even allowed herself a weak smile as she set eyes on her friend. "What is going on?"
Valyna's mouth drew into a thin line. "The Uraks have breached the walls and surrounded the city. The city is split. I'm not sure how it started, but we stepped out into the training yard, and the men were slaughtering each other. We have been betrayed, Alvira."
"That much, I know. Have you seen Eltoar?"
"No, Archon."
"Farda?" An uneasy silence hung in the air. Only the muffled sounds of the battle drifted through the stone corridor. "Valyna, have you seen Farda?"
"Yes, Archon."
"Valyna, stop playing games with me!" shouted Alvira, allowing her anger to get the better of her. "Where is Farda? We don't have time to stand around."
"He no longer fights for The Order, Alvira."
"What are you talking about? He—"
"The last we saw of him, he was riding astride Shinyara…
setting the Western wall aflame."
A shiver ran through Alvira's body.
Even Draleid have turned…
"How… How many, Valyna? How many Draleid have betrayed us?"
"I do not know, Archon. But the skies are on fire."
The Highguard who stood beside Valyna let out a sigh. "The gods have abandoned us, Archon. We should leave while we can.
We need to get you and Vyldrar to safety," he said in a thick Drifaienin accent.
Alvira moved like lightning, clearing the space between herself and the man in the blink of an eye. She wrapped her fingers around the shimmering chainmail that covered the exposed area of his neck, between his helm and his breastplate. She clenched her hands tight around the mail, drawing the man's face level with her own.
She pulled on threads of Spirit, weaving them into her voice as she spoke, easing the man's fear.
"The gods have not abandoned us, just as we will not abandon the people we swore to protect. If we die tonight, we die with our swords in our hands, staring into the eyes of the one who sends us into the void. Do you hear me?"
Alvira stepped back. Her heart thumped in her chest as she released her grip on the man's chain mail. She had clenched it so hard that her knuckles had whitened and her fingers were stiff.
"Yes, Archon," said the man. His breaths were shallow, and there was regret in his voice.
Good. Be ashamed. Let it fuel your anger.
"Have you seen any of the council?" said Alvira, turning to Valyna, who shook her head. "Okay, we need to get to the council chambers. We need to find out what is going on. Then we can organise the defence. Vyldrar will meet us there."
"Yes, Archon," said Valyna, nodding towards the man who was with her.
Alvira took a deep breath as they reached the top of the enormous staircase. The doors to the walkway stood in front of them, framed by thick walls of white stone. They were built from multiple layers of solid oak, reinforced with steel, and ornamented with gold plating. Anywhere else in Epheria, they would be considered art.
But in Ilnaen, works of beauty were commonplace.
"Archon… before we go out there…"
"We will have time for goodbyes later, Valyna. I don't plan on dying today." Alvira didn't wait for Valyna to respond. She turned, reaching for the Spark. She drew on thick threads of Air and slammed them into the heavy, reinforced doors, swinging them open with ease.
Dark thunderclouds pummelled rain down onto the stone surface of the walkway as Alvira stepped through the doors. The massive structure was nearly two hundred feet long and stood almost the same height off the ground.
The council chambers were nestled at the top of the city's tallest tower, the Tower of Faith, and the walkway bridged the chamber and the keep. Stepping out onto the bridge was like standing at the edge of a bottomless chasm.
Alvira fought back the fear and desolation. Valyna had not lied.
The skies were on fire. Everywhere she looked, torrents of flame streaked across the sky. Rivers of dragonfire illuminated the depths
of the heavy, charcoal-black clouds. The flowing rivers of flame only parted when they whirled around the scales of another dragon, like waves breaking on the bow of a ship.
Alvira jumped as a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, crashing into the side of the tower. Chunks of stone whirled through the air, crashing to the ground below.
The city burned just as the skies did. The acrid smell of charred flesh and burning wood filled the air. Battle cries and wails of agony echoed throughout the streets of white stone.
Alvira reached out to Vyldrar again. He was close. Be careful.
"Valyna?" Alvira turned towards the Highguard, a questioning look on her face.
"We are with you, Archon."
"Until the end," added the man by her side.
That's more like it.
Alvira nodded and set off across the walkway.
Several shapes came into view about fifty feet ahead. Through the deluge, Alvira made out six figures. Five of them towered over the sixth, who moved in a whir of steel. The light from the dragonfire above caused the soldier's twin blades to shimmer.
Alvira knew the hulking shapes to be Uraks. They were foul creatures, powerful, with leathery skin and eyes as red as blood.
Creatures of the traitor god.
As Alvira and her companions drew closer, she saw that two of the Uraks now lay crumpled in a heap on the ground, and one moved with a debilitating limp. A shiver tickled the back of Alvira's mind as arcs of lightning shot from the tips of the man's blades. Screams resounded in the night as the man's three attackers plummeted to the city below.
Alvira and the Highguard approached. Rain hammered down over the man as he stood there, soaked to the bone, his black hair
matted to his forehead. He sheathed his swords in the scabbards across his back, as Alvira drew closer.
"Archon," he said, dropping to one knee and drawing a closed fist across his chest.
"Get off your knee, Aeson. This is no time for formality."
The young man rose to his full height. He was handsome, with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes. "Yes, Archon."
"Why are you here? Should you not be down there, in the city?"
"The first sword tasked me with protecting the walkway. To stop all who attempted to enter the council chamber."
"Eltoar. He is in there?"
"Yes, Archon. He and the rest of the council."
"Are you going to try to stop me from entering?"
The young man smiled. For a moment, Alvira feared his answer.
She knew his capabilities well. She was not sure she could best him in either the sword or the Spark.
"You are my Archon. My blades belong to you."
"Draleid n'aldryr," said Alvira, drawing a closed fist across her chest.
"Draleid n'aldryr," repeated the man, mimicking Alvira's gesture.
Alvira couldn't help the flicker of a smile that crept onto her face. "Aeson, I need you and the Highguard to stay here. Do as you have done. Nothing crosses this walkway. Understood?"
Aeson nodded, drawing his swords once again.
"Archon—"
Alvira cut Valyna off with a stern look.
"As you command, Archon."
The wind and the rain buffeted Alvira as her feet pounded the surface of the stone. Cracks of lightning and torrents of dragonfire illuminated the night sky. It was impossible to distinguish between the claps of thunder and the roar of the dragons overhead, such was
the ferocity of the incredible creatures. A rumble in the back of her mind let her know that Vyldrar was perched on the roof, at the opposite side of the council chambers.
Only if needed.
The domed roof of the council chamber was built from solid gold. Large white banners hung in front of the great oak doors; the symbol of The Order emblazoned across them in black. It was a sight to behold. Many travelled the length and breadth of Epheria just to see it up close, but Alvira didn't have the time to admire its beauty.
No guards were stationed at the chamber doors. Eltoar obviously had faith in young Aeson.
Your faith is well-placed, old friend.
Alvira reached out to the Spark and heaved the giant doors open with threads of Air. She felt a slight sap of energy as she bounded into the chamber. The drain didn't affect her like it used to – the force that sapped at her strength as she drew from the Spark – but it was still there. Still lingering. Leeching at her, slowly. Waiting for the day that she drew too heavily.
Alvira ran her hands up over her face, wiping away the rainfall that clung to her skin. Water dripped from her hair and her leathers, forming a trail along the white stone floor as she walked.
The council chamber was as breath-taking on the inside as it was from the outside. The Order had commissioned the finest craftsmages for its construction. The floor of the central atrium consisted of interlaced gold and white stone, with the symbol of the Draleid at its centre, in jet-black. The central atrium was ringed by a colonnade of ornate, forty-foot-high columns of white stone.
Enormous black and white banners draped the front of every second column. Interspersed between the columns stood six massive statues. Standing over twenty feet tall, each statue represented one of the six gods.
Varyn, the Father, stood directly across from the main entrance.
The Mother, Heraya, was at his side. Both wore long, flowing robes, with circlets atop their heads. Alvira could not think of a way that the craftsmages could have made them look more noble.
Halfway across the chamber, facing each other from opposite sides, stood Elyara and Acheron, the Maiden and the Warrior. The two statues closest to the entrance depicted Hafaesir and Neron, the Smith and the Sailor.
There was no statue for Efialtír, the traitor god.
Hundreds of candles in sconces all about the chamber illuminated the golden dome in an incandescent glow. Though, the candlelight did not burn as brightly as usual. The chamber seemed shrouded in a dimness, as though the light itself retreated from the shadow.
"Eltoar!"
Alvira's call echoed throughout the empty chamber, as the candles flickered shadows across the floor. The only response was the muffled drum of rain, interspersed with claps of thunder, as it battered the dome, drowning out the fighting in the city streets.
Alvira walked out into the centre of the massive chamber, stopping atop the black stone symbol of The Order.
Footsteps sounded through the chamber. "Alvira. You're alive."
Eltoar Daethana was the First Sword of the Draleid, Alvira's second in command, and her oldest friend. His snow-white hair coruscated in the dim candlelight as he stepped from behind the colonnade. The colour of his full plate armour matched his hair, with an ostentatious trim of gold and the symbol of The Order emblazoned across its front. His face was sharp and angular, and his ears tapered off into a point, like all elves'.
"I am. Thank the gods. It is good to find you. Where are the rest of the council?"
Alvira thought she saw the corners of Eltoar's mouth twist into a smile. It was hard to tell at that distance and in the dim light.
He did not answer. He stared at her as he circled the edge of the colonnade, his slow and purposeful steps echoing off the stone.
"Eltoar. Where are the rest of the council?"
"Always worried…" said Eltoar. He spoke slowly, as if savouring every word. "Always worried about the poor, pathetic council. All they have ever done, Alvira, is hold us back."
Alvira tightened her grip on the handle of her sword. "Eltoar…
what are you saying—" Something wet and cold dripped onto Alvira's cheek. The rain still drummed against the outside of the dome. Perhaps the lightning or the battle had cracked its surface.
Alvira wiped away the droplet, but when she brought her hand away from her face, crimson blood smeared her fingertips.
She looked up at the dome. She had only given it a passing glance when she entered. Her eyes narrowed as she attempted to understand what she was seeing. A chill ran through her as the light settled on the disfigured shapes that hung in the air, close to the surface of the dome.
The council.
She couldn't feel him drawing from the Spark. Yet, the bodies hung in the air. A knot twisted in her stomach. She looked at Eltoar, who now stood before her. "What have you done?"
"I have freed us, Alvira."
"Eltoar… no…"
Eltoar's face twisted into a snarl. Dark circles hung under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept in weeks. "What? You would have us sit under the council's thumb for eternity? We are Draleid, Alvira. When Fane told me his plans—"
"Fane?" spat Alvira. "That twisted mage? Eltoar, you know better than most what he is capable of. Open your eyes! Look at what you have done. The city reeks of blood magic!"
"You talk of what you do not understand," hissed Eltoar.
"Eltoar, our friends are dying out there! The council… How can you—"
"Sacrifices must be made so that we can be reborn, Alvira.
Efialtír demands it."
"Efialtír? The traitor god? Eltoar, have you lost your mind?"
"He sees the way," said a raspy voice from over Alvira's shoulder.
"The one true God," answered a second voice.
Two hooded figures emerged from the shadows of the colonnade behind Alvira, their black cloaks illuminated by the weak candlelight.
"Eltoar, what is going on here?"
Alvira thought she saw hesitation flash across her friend's face.
But he concealed it quickly. "Join me."
"I would rather burn for eternity."
"That can be arranged," hissed one of the men behind Alvira.
Alvira ignored him and focused on Eltoar. "Eltoar… tell me that wasn't you." She looked up at the eight mutilated bodies that hung in the air, along the surface of the dome.
"Sacrifices must be made, Alvira." Eltoar held her gaze. Alvira had hoped she would at least find guilt in his eyes, but she found nothing. His lip curled in resignation. "So be it." He gave a slight nod to the men behind her.
Alvira spun on her heels, drawing on threads of Spirit and Fire.
She didn't feel the hooded man reach for the Spark, but arcs of purple lightning erupted from his outstretched hand. Alvira slammed down hard with Spirit and Fire, redirecting the lightning towards the second man. The force of the lightning lifted him off his feet. Shards of shattered stone flew in all directions as it cracked into the ground.
Alvira leapt towards the first man, swinging her blade in an arc.
With inhuman speed, the man drew his blade and parried Alvira's strike. But he wasn't fast enough to block the dagger she pulled from her hip. She drove it through his heart.
A low, rumbling laugh filled the chamber. It took Alvira a moment to realise that it came from the man with the dagger in his chest. She let go of the hilt and stumbled backwards.
The man pulled the dagger from his flesh and let it drop to the ground with a clang. He cracked his jaw from side to side, rolling his neck as though he were trying to relieve a stiff ache. But not a drop of blood seeped from the wound.
He pulled his hood back off his head and stepped towards Alvira. His skin was so pale that it almost matched the white of the stone from which the city was built. He twisted his lips into an attenuated grin and stared at her with eyes of jet-black.
A shiver ran down Alvira's spine when she realised what the creature was. A Fade. A mage that opened themselves to the traitor god and shared their body with dark spirits.
Alvira felt the Fade reach for the Spark, but she wasn't quick enough to react. Threads of Air slammed into her chest, catapulting her into the base of one of the columns. She softened the blow with a cushion of Air, but she still felt the pang of pain shoot up her spine. She landed on one knee, shaking as she rose to her feet. A sharp pain still burned along her ribs from her earlier wound, but she ignored it.
"This one has some fight," hissed a voice to her left. The other Fade, whom she had hit with the lightning, was now on his feet. He clutched a sword of black fire in his porcelain-pale fingers.
A níthral.
The two fades closed in on her, circling her like wolves who had trapped their prey. They drew so heavily from the Spark that Alvira
felt it pulsating from their bodies. The drain didn't seem to affect them, at least, not like it did, her.
Eltoar didn't move to help her – or hurt her. He just stood there and stared. He had been her closest friend. The one person she thought she could trust implicitly. And now he just stood there, happy to watch her die.
Alvira let her sword drop to the ground and reached out to the Spark. Fire, Earth, Water, Air, and Spirit. She drew from them all.
It was necessary to form a níthral – a Soulblade.
She felt the thrum of the Spark as the elements weaved around each other. Tendrils of piercing blue light burst from her hand in both directions, twisting and turning around each other. As they moved, they left a solid form in their wake. It took only seconds for the form to take shape.
Alvira stood in between the two fades, her hands wrapped around the long haft of a double-bladed sword that glowed with blue light. It felt almost weightless in her hands. She took a deep breath. And then the fades were upon her.
They slashed at her with their black-fire blades, snapping at her like vipers. The forms flowed through Alvira's mind. She moved into the fellensír – the Lonely Mountain. A defensive movement practised by warriors of The Order, for when they were outnumbered.
Her lungs heaved for air as the fades battered at her defences.
Alone, she might have been able to take them. They were skilled swordsmen. She was better. But the two of them together were too strong. They nipped at her with threads of Fire and Wind, trying to catch her off guard. She held firm, but she was tiring.
She swung her níthral up, catching the downstroke of the fade's sword in a burst of blue light. Immediately, she pivoted, swinging low across the ground and sweeping her blade upward.
A horrifying shriek resonated through the chamber as Alvira's glowing blue blade sheared straight through the fade's arm. The creature wailed and snarled as it hunched back defensively. Still, Eltoar did not move. He simply observed.
Another thick thread of Air crashed into Alvira's chest. She caught herself before she collided with the wall of the chamber, but it had been close.
The two fades closed her down. They stood only a few feet apart, their black-fire blades seeming to draw in light as they blazed. Alvira stood up straight, took a deep breath, and set herself for what was to come.
The fades charged.
A fierce wave of fear and anger flooded the back of Alvira's mind, accompanied by a monstrous roar that shook the very foundations of the chamber. Alvira didn't stop the smile from spreading across her face as she wreathed herself in a bubble of Air.
The wall behind her exploded inward in a cloud of stone and dust. The fades shielded their eyes as the rubble crashed down onto the atrium floor.
In the gaping hole where the wall behind her had once stood was the hulking figure of Vyldrar. Dark green scales covered his muscular body, shining like emeralds in the pale pinkish moonlight.
Deep black pupils bisected his yellow eyes. Ridges of long horns framed his face, under his jaw and back up along his neck. The hole he had created was not nearly big enough for him to fit through, but his powerful forelimbs clung to the inside of the chamber. A more magnificent dragon she had never laid eyes on.
Alvira felt Vyldrar's anger smouldering in her chest.
Fear painted the fades' paper-thin faces. Even those dark creatures could not stand against dragonfire.
Vyldrar extended his thick, muscular neck over Alvira, a deep rumble emanating from his throat. The dragon's chest expanded as his massive leathery wings spread and rose backwards. That familiar pressure built at the back of Alvira's consciousness. His mouth opened to expose a fearsome array of teeth, the smallest being the size of a dagger. Orange-red flames began to pour from his jaws. What began as a flicker became a river of incandescent dragonfire that lit the council chamber like a bonfire.
The fades screamed as they burned. It was like nothing born of the natural world. Their piercing shrieks seemed to contain a multitude of voices that howled as they were ripped from the world.
The shrieking stopped before the dragonfire did. As Vyldrar's flames dissipated and flickered from existence, all they left behind were a pair of charred and crumpled husks.
The dim bluish glow of Alvira's níthral washed over the white stone. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and blood seeped from the variegated wounds that laced her body.
With the gaping hole in the chamber's wall, the sound of hammering rainfall filled the atrium. The natural acoustics of the building made the claps of thunder sound like explosions in Alvira's ear. But amidst it all, Alvira heard the clink of steel boots against the stone floor.
"Join me," said Eltoar again. He stood over the charred corpses of the fades. His white plate armour was pristine, unmarred by dirt or blood. "We will create a world where we are not beholden to the whims of kings and queens. A world where we are the kings and queens."
Alvira felt Vyldrar scratching at the back of her mind. His anger burned as brightly as ever. She felt the pressure building again; the low rumble in his chest.
"I will never betray The Order."
"The Order is gone!" roared Eltoar, finally breaking his calm demeanour. "It is destroyed, and the council are dead. Their hypocrisy, their lies, and deceit. Dead!"
Alvira stared at Eltoar, examining the man that she once knew.
A man that was no more.
What happened to you?
"Fine!" shouted Eltoar, not waiting for Alvira to respond. "So be it. Die with them. Die with your beloved Order!"
A bone-shattering roar erupted in the exposed skies overhead.
Alvira's shoulders dropped, and her spirits sank into the pit of her stomach. She could just make out the terrifyingly massive outline of Helios – the dragon to which Eltoar was bonded – soaring through the sky. The night sky, burning with dragonfire, all but obscured Helios's deep black and red scales. Were it not for the bolts of lightning that streaked through the thunderclouds, it would have been easy to mistake him for a trick of the eye.
The monstrous dragon crashed straight into Vyldrar. Its immense jaws closed around the neck of the smaller dragon. The force of the collision tore Vyldrar away from the side of the chamber. His talons gouged furrows in the stone as the two dragons spiralled down into the city below.
"Vyldrar!" Alvira screamed. She leapt over to the edge of the stone, where the opening in the wall gave way to the open sky. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she watched the two immense figures crash down into the city streets, hundreds of feet below.
Alvira collapsed to her knees. She felt Vyldrar's pain. Helios was easily twice his size, and she felt every gash that the monstrous creature raked in Vyldrar's side. She felt his jaw clamp around Vyldrar's neck and his teeth tear away chunks of flesh. She felt his fear. He had always been the better half of her. He had been strong when she was weak, and he had been courageous when she cowered. But now she felt his fear.
Something in her body broke when she felt him die, like a pane of glass shattered into a million pieces. She went numb. It was said that when a Draleid or their dragon dies, the other becomes broken.
Half of something that would never be whole again.
She felt the cold steel of Eltoar's sword nestle against the nape of her neck. She knelt in the rubble of the broken wall, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked out over the city. Blazing infernos rose across its sweeping streets. Hundreds of dragons filled the eldritch skies above, their silhouettes illuminated by the cracks of lightning that tore through the sky.
"You could have saved him."
Alvira didn't respond. She took one last look over the city.
Eltoar swung his blade.
Alvira closed her eyes.