It cannot be.
Eltoar's heart clenched as the six winged shapes rose higher, scales glittering in the sunlight. A fist tightened around his lungs, his pulse racing like a galloping horse. He pressed his hands against Helios's scales, the dragon's emotions swirling and crashing in his mind. Loss, anger, awe, shame, confusion. Had more dragons hatched or had these Draleid and their dragons stayed hidden in Lynalion all these centuries? Who were they? Memories of times long past flooded his mind. Faces of the Draleid he had once known. Hundreds of faces – thousands. But those memories were soon replaced by images of blood and fire, by the screams of the dying, and the sight of Ilnaen burning. Guilt was something Eltoar had grown accustomed to, but now, as he watched the dragons soar through the air, wings spread wide, the feeling washed over him in waves.
"Eltoar!"
Lyina's voice echoed in his head, but he ignored her, instead watching as the dragons shifted and plummeted towards the battlefield, ignoring the Dragonguard, thunderous roars rippling through the skies.
Eltoar turned to his right, seeing Pellenor sitting astride Meranta, eyes fixed on the shapes above. He could see the same sense of guilt and loss on Pellenor's face as he felt in his own heart.
"Eltoar!"
As the other dragons dropped low towards the battling armies, Helios, Karakes, and Meranta swept up the side of the cliffs, catching a current of air, then banking left. The entire time, Eltoar didn't take his gaze from the six elven dragons. None of them were even nearly as large as Helios, but each was at the least a measure for Meranta, and two were as large as Karakes.
"Eltoar!" Lyina called once more, anger seeping into her voice. "We need to do something!"
As Lyina's words touched Eltoar's ears, the six dragons dropped low, sweeping over the elven forces, casting dark shadows across the mass of shimmering gold. Eltoar could hear each beat of his heart pounding in his ears. He watched as the dragons spread out. He watched as they approached the fissure that split the battlefield. And he watched as they unleashed rivers of dragonfire down over the Lorian armies. The roar of dragons blended with the screams and shouts that echoed across the plains as the dragonfire carved paths of death and destruction through the Lorian ranks.
All the while, Eltoar just watched. His mind told him to fight. These dragons and Draleid were not his friends. Even if they may once have been, that was true no longer; he had assured that with his own choices. And yet with the hatching of the white dragon and the emergence of the new Draleid, things had shifted within him; there was hope for their kind once more.
"Eltoar, what are you doing?" It was Pellenor who called out this time.
Eltoar made to speak, but no words left his lips. Memories continued to rush through his mind. Tivar's words in the temple at Dracaldryr repeating themselves. 'I will not put another of our kind in the ground. I will not tear another soul in half.'
"The soldiers are lambs to the slaughter down there, Eltoar," Lyina shouted.
Eltoar turned to Lyina, his body rocking as Helios hammered his wings against the air, holding in place. Eltoar whispered, more to himself than in answer to the others. "They're our kin…"
"I can't just let them die!" Pellenor called out.
Eltoar's throat tightened as he turned to look at Pellenor.
Pellenor shook his head. "I can't." A sombre tone crept into Pellenor's voice. "What are we if we just let them die?"
Before Eltoar could respond, Meranta shifted, cracking her wings against the air, and then she was diving, plummeting towards the battlefield.
Rist crashed to the ground, his knee sinking into the soft earth, panic slithering through his veins. Without a thought, he swung his blade as he turned, the clang of steel reverberating through his arms as the elven spear slammed down. He may have blocked the strike, but the force of it, combined with his precarious position, sent him tumbling backwards, his elbows digging into the blood-sodden earth.
Around him, men and women screamed and howled, the incandescent light of dragonfire blazing.
The elf followed after him, jabbing downwards with his spear, but Rist turned the weapon sideways with a thread of Air, then kicked at the elf's feet, knocking them off balance. Another thread of Air to the elf's chest and they stumbled, crashing to the ground. The elf made to rise, but an obsidian hoof slammed down on their chest as one of the Blackwatch trampled them, charging onwards.
His heart thumping, Rist dragged himself to his feet, heaving in deep lungsful of air. Everything was chaos. When the dragons had appeared above the mountains, the soldiers had cheered. They had thought more of the Dragonguard had come to turn the tide. But when the dragons soared over the elven forces, and drew closer, a wave of panic had rippled through the Lorian armies. Then the fire came, and Rist lost everyone.
Around him, elves and Lorian soldiers hacked and slashed, all semblance of rank broken. As he stepped backwards, still dazed, the ground squelched beneath his feet. He searched the faces of the trampled dead, praying to Heraya that he wouldn't see Neera among them. Even the thought twisted his heart.
Breathe.
Rist clenched his fists around the hilt of his sword, slowing his breaths. But nothing stopped his hands from shaking or his chest from shivering. To his left, he watched as two elves hacked a man to pieces, steel slicing through flesh, a spear plunging into his throat, a sword taking his arm. They were savage, brutal – efficient.
Panicked, Rist turned to see an elf striding through the madness, red cloak billowing, golden armour gleaming. Threads of Fire, Air, Earth, and Spirit whirled about the elf. Whips of Air struck out, snapping necks and breaking bones while a column of fire poured forth from the elf's hand.
Rist stepped backwards, his heel sinking into the blood-sodden mud, then stopped, clenching his jaw. He wanted to be brave, to be strong, but even as he took a step forwards towards the elven mage, his hands shook, and his legs felt as though they had been filled with lead. This was nothing like the practice yard.
A flash of motion to his right, and Anila and Farda Kyrana, along with a clutch of Battlemages, burst from a mass of bodies, threads whirling around them.
Anila charged the elven mage, moving like a wolfpine, low and fast, one sword hung at her hip, the other gripped firmly in her fist. She twisted, narrowly avoiding an arc of lightning, then burst forwards, steel raised.
Farda sliced through the elven mage's threads, cutting them short before they could touch Anila.
Anila reached the elven mage, their swords clashing. As steel crashed against steel, Anila twisted her sword and drove it down through the elf's foot, pinning them to the ground. The elf howled, but even as their screams rang out, Anila shifted past them, slid her second sword from her belt, and took the elf's head from their shoulders.
Rist watched as more elven mages poured through the chaos on the other side, crashing into the Battlemages that had come with Anila and Farda. The concentration of the Spark in that one area set a thrum in the air that Rist could feel in his bones.
As Rist readied himself to charge, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and twisted at the waist, just in time for steel to slice through the flesh of his left forearm, above the vambrace. At first, he barely felt anything, then the wound burned as though he had been cut with fire. He let out a howl as he stumbled backwards, his right hand still gripped around the hilt of his sword.
The elf who had attacked him pushed the advantage, lunging with their curved blade, intent on emptying Rist's innards onto the mud.
Rist tripped over something, his feet slipping. Panic permeated everything: it snaked into his mind, trembled in his hands, wrapped around his heart, and hardened in his legs. He kept himself upright by sheer force of will, his eyes flitting back and forth as men and elves ripped each other apart. He swung his blade up frantically, trying to take the encroaching elf off guard, but the elf was too quick and blocked his swing with ease, knocking Rist's blade from his hands before swinging for his head.
Rist threw himself backwards to avoid the elven steel but felt its sting as the blade sliced him from chin to lip, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. Rist's back foot slid on the muddy earth, and he dropped to one knee, dread turning his veins to ice. He lifted his gaze to see the elf closing him down, curved sword raised above their head, arcing through the air.
His heart drumming in his ears, he reached out to the Spark and let his instincts take control. He pulled on threads of Water and Earth, pushing them into the ground beneath the elf's feet. He dragged the moisture from the sodden earth, pooling it one place, softening the mud even more, then pulled with threads of Earth, sucking the elf downwards. A moment of confusion touched the elf's face. Where they had expected to find solid ground, their lead foot sank into mud. Fear pushing him forward, Rist lunged, almost collapsing as his back foot slid on the mud. He threw himself forward, ramming his shoulder into the elf's chest.
The pair crashed into the blood-soaked earth, the elf howling, their trapped legs giving off a terrible snapping sound. Rist scrambled atop the elf, straddling them. His first thought was to strike down with his sword, but he no longer held it in his grasp. A sharp pain exploded in the side of his head, and Rist reached down, almost blind with the stars blurring across his vision. He wrapped his fingers around the elf's throat, squeezing. Don't let go. Don't let go. Another punch slammed into his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. He squeezed tighter, the elf thrashing beneath him, his knees sliding on the wet earth. As he squeezed and squeezed, the elf's helmet slipped from their head, and Rist found himself staring back at a face that looked no older than his. Her golden hair was tied tight, and her soft features were free of dirt and blood.
The elf stared back at him. Rist loosened his fingers, a feeling of revulsion crawling over his skin at what he was doing. And in that moment, the elf shifted, and a piercing pain erupted in Rist's upper back. The shock alone caused Rist to jerk backwards. He drew in short breaths, his head spinning. Then the pain redoubled as whatever the elf had stabbed into his back was pulled free.
Panic consuming him, Rist remembered the dagger Garramon had given him. He reached his hand to his hip, fingers fumbling, and pulled the dagger free. The hilt in his grasp, he grabbed the elf's forearm, slamming it down into the sodden earth, seeing the glint of steel in the elf's hand. With the elf's arm pinned, Rist slammed the dagger into the pit of her elbow, feeling the blade scrape against bone as it drove the whole way through. He twisted the hilt – as he had read to do in Killing, by Taran Kovak – slicing through the arteries and veins. In a frantic rush, he yanked the dagger free, blood pumping from the wound, then plunged it into the elf's neck.
The elf's eyes widened, her mouth gaping as she clasped her free hand to her neck. Rist twisted the dagger, pushing it deeper with all his strength. The elf thrashed beneath him, her mouth filling with blood, her eyes bulging. After a moment, the thrashing stopped and the elf's body went limp.
Rist felt a pull from the pendant around his neck. He could feel the Essence leaving the elf's body. He hesitated, fear and uncertainty burning within. But Fane's words rang in his mind. 'Through this tether, the Essence spilled so that the loss of each life could be recycled; from death could come life anew.' Rist opened his mind, and for a fleeting moment his entire body went cold, pain vanishing, air fleeing his lungs. The gemstone set into the pommel of the dagger glowed furiously with a bright red light.
Rist heaved the dagger free, stumbling backwards as he hauled himself to his feet, slipping in the mud. His breaths shivered as he stared at the dagger, at the black leather handle, at the roaring lion heads carved into the crossguard, and finally at the glowing red gemstone set into the circular pommel. His hands shook as he continued to stumble aimlessly backwards. He looked back to the elf, lifeless on the ground, a shard of bone protruding from her left shin where her legs had been trapped in the earth.
A series of roars erupted in the sky, and Rist lifted his gaze to see the dragons circling back, wings spread wide, casting dark shadows. He stopped in his tracks, unable to move, his body frozen. He stood and watched as pillars of fire spewed forth from the dragons' jaws, sweeping across the battlefield towards him.
He wanted to move, but his body didn't respond to his commands.
The dragonfire drew closer, the force of the immense power seeming to shake the air itself, the smell of burning flesh and charred earth drowning out Rist's senses.
He trembled, his throat tightening. As the dragons drew even closer, their flames raking across the battlefield, Rist's feet finally responded, and he stumbled backwards, tripping over something but holding himself upright. He looked down to see the eyes of a dead man staring back at him. Fear squeezed his lungs and clenched his heart as he lifted his gaze. The dragonfire was close enough for him to feel its heat, to feel its fury.
"Rist!"
Something crashed into Rist lifting him off his feet, and then he slammed into the earth, his head spinning, stars flitting across his eyes. Rist snapped his eyes shut as howls and cries rang out, the earth shook, and the light of the dragonfire burned like the sun.
"Stay down!" Whoever had tackled Rist to the ground now lay on top of him, their body splayed across him as the dragonfire swept around them.
After a few moments, the earth ceased its shaking, and the sound of cascading flames yielded to the aching moans and wails of those still alive. A fist gripped Rist's cloak and dragged him forwards, a hand resting on his cheek, prying his eye open.
"Rist, look at me. Are you hurt?"
Rist's vision was blurry. His eyes strained, but he kept them open as a hand patted at his sides, arms, and shoulders, searching him for wounds. As his vision focused, he found Garramon kneeling over him. The man's face was streaked with blood and cracked dirt. Rist saw worry in his eyes. Rist coughed as he tried to speak, his throat dry and cracked. "I'm all right."
Garramon nodded, letting out a long breath. He met Rist's gaze, his expression hardening. "Never freeze like that again. Ever. There is no quicker way to find Heraya's embrace." Garramon shifted backwards onto his haunches, then reached out and grasped Rist's arm, pulling both of them upright.
Streaks of blackened earth raked the ground around them, fires burning, bodies of elves and men alike charred and crackling, armour melted. Between streaks of burnt earth, men and elves were lifting themselves back to their feet, readying themselves for the fight to continue. Rist turned towards where the fissure had split the battlefield, seeing a mass of golden armour shimmering in the sunlight, marching forwards. The elves had closed the fissure.
An air-shaking roar erupted overhead, and Rist looked up to see two dragons crashing together with the force of colliding stars. Fire streaked and jaws snapped, talons raking scales and raining blood.
Cold fingers wrapped around Eltoar's heart as he watched Meranta crash into one of the smaller elven dragons, one with vivid green scales and wings of pale blue. It had been centuries since he had seen dragon fight dragon, and watching it now filled him with a sense of dread. He drew in a deep breath, a tremble setting into his hands, Tivar's words once more ringing in his ears. 'I have fed the earth with too much blood. I will not put another one of us in the ground.'
Eltoar shook his head. The past was the past. No matter how long he lingered there, it would not change. He needed to deal with the present, with what was in front of him. And right now, Pellenor wouldn't even last minutes without Eltoar and Lyina. Eltoar set his jaw. He would defend his own, no matter the cost. A deep rumble resonated through Helios, a primal fire dulled by a resigned sadness. "Endryía." Engage.
Helios's body shifted, wings angling, and then the dragon dove towards Meranta and the others. The great dragon unleashed a monstrous roar that rippled across the sky, sending dull vibrations resonating through Eltoar's bones. In his periphery, he could see Lyina and Karakes matching them on their left, red scales shimmering. "Engage, but don't kill." he called out, threads of Air carrying his voice. "Not unless you have to. They are our kin. We just need to distract them long enough to cover the retreat."
If more of our kind have survived…
"They will not spare us the same grace, Eltoar." Lyina said nothing more, and Eltoar didn't respond. They both understood. If these Draleid and dragons were truly survivors of The Fall, then they would bear no love for the Dragonguard. They were the last vestiges of a dying race, but in Eltoar's heart, he feared he had shed too much blood for their kind to ever truly be whole again. For now, all he could do was hope.
Wind whipped past Eltoar's face, crashing over Helios's scales, their minds drifting together, their hearts beating as one. In life, they were two halves of a whole, two souls merged, each body an extension of the other.
A dragon with scales of muted yellow ripped through a cloud to Eltoar's left, jaws opening, the flickers of fire forming in their mouth. But before the dragonfire could be set free, Karakes crashed into the creature's side, dark talons tearing through yellow scales, jaws wrapping around the smaller dragon's neck. Karakes opened his jaws and bathed the dragon with fire, flames washing over yellow scales. As the dragons hurtled through the air, a deep sorrow flooded Eltoar and Helios's joint mind. To be fighting kin once more was not something they had ever hoped for. They pushed the sorrow aside, focusing forwards. They would try to find a peace. They had to try.
The horns of retreat bellowed in Farda's ears. Around him, men and women fled for their lives, staggering through the charred fields of the dead. Cries and wails rang out, the last breaths of the dying – the sounds Farda recognized as the true song of war.
Farda stood amidst the chaos, but he cared not for what was happening on the ground; his concern was in the skies. He watched as the dragons tore strips from each other, plumes of fire streaking across the sky. Had the elven dragons been hiding in the woodland of Lynalion all this time? Or had they been hatched? The answer to that question could change everything. Though Farda thought it unlikely the dragons had been hatched, simply by the way they moved in the air. These dragons knew war; they had lived it. More likely they had stayed hidden in Lynalion, waiting until the empire was at its weakest, until the Dragonguard's numbers had dwindled.
"We need to go." Ilyain's voice rang in Farda's ears as his fellow Rakina rested his hand on his shoulder. "The battle is lost, my friend. Eltoar and the others are fighting to buy us time. We would do well not to squander it. The elves are licking their wounds now, but if we linger they will sweep forwards."
Even without his sight, Ilyain saw more than most.
Farda clenched his jaw, glancing back at Ilyain's unerring stare before turning towards the sky once more. Even with Helios, there was little chance Eltoar, Pellenor, and Lyina would be capable of prevailing against six fully grown dragons without suffering themselves. "Gunild? Hala?"
"Gunild no longer walks the mortal plane. She flies with Borallis once more."
Farda turned at the sound of Hala's voice. The woman's white hair was tarnished with a mixture of wet and dry blood, her cloak in tatters. The sight of his old friend released a knot of tension in Farda's muscles, but the words she spoke pulled at his core. Gunild was dead. Another of his kin, gone. His heart ached, and even that brief moment of sorrow set his hairs on end. It had been centuries since he'd felt an emotion like that. Centuries since Shinyara had stripped him of that ability when she left the mortal plane. Only since finding Ella had even the slightest sliver of the ability to care returned to him.
"Draleid n'aldryr," he whispered, almost to himself, resting his hand over his heart, his throat tightening.
"Rakina nai dauva," Ilyain and Hala answered, resting their hands over their hearts.
Farda tapped his fingers against the coin in his pocket, looking from Ilyain to Hala, then out towards the dragonfire-raked battlefield. "We cover the retreat," he said, letting out a short breath. "The elves have taken heavy losses themselves, but we know what happens when they smell blood." Before turning, Farda cast his gaze towards the sky once more, to where Helios, Karakes, and Meranta swirled around the elven dragons, jaws snapping, talons raking. May the gods watch over you, my friends. Draleid n'aldryr, Rakina nai dauva.Eltoar cast a glance down towards the battlefield. The Lorian forces were in full retreat now, streaks of charred earth and lingering fire marking where the elven dragons had ripped their ranks asunder. But the elves had also taken grave losses and looked to be consolidating. All Eltoar and his Dragonguard needed to do was give the Lorian forces the chance to regroup into a stronger position while they fell back. Without the dragons overhead, the elves likely wouldn't sweep forwards. Elven battle tactics were aggressive, but they still valued life.
Eltoar pulled his gaze back towards the sky and drew in a deep breath, pressing his hands into the scales of Helios's neck. Ahead, Meranta and the green-scaled dragon snapped at each other, talons raking, plumes of fire streaking through the skies. A number of bloody tears marred Meranta's sandy wings, but a gaping wound ran the length of the green dragon's side, blood trailing in the wind. Two more dragons circled, a smaller dragon with a deep blue colouring, and a golden-scaled dragon as large as Karakes, with wings of pale cream. The two circling dragons snapped at Meranta, but mostly held back for she was entangled with the smaller green dragon. He looked past the two circling dragons, his eyes fixed on Green Scales. Pull them apart.Helios let out a bone-shaking roar that earned the attention of the two circling dragons, who scattered, unwanting to face Helios head on. He cracked his enormous wings, shifting in the air as his legs swept forwards. Helios crashed into the green dragon's side, one talon wrapping around the creature's neck, the other breaking through the scales on their ribs and anchoring into flesh.
With another roar, Helios cracked his wings and heaved the dragon free from Meranta, snatching it like an eagle would a hare. The smaller dragon thrashed and snapped, dragonfire pouring from its jaws, but Helios simply spread his wings, catching the air current and using the momentum to launch the green dragon through the sky. The smaller dragon tumbled through the air in a tangle of wings, streaks of blood whipping in their wake.
Before Eltoar had a chance to do anything, the two circling dragons swept forward. Both the golden-scaled dragon and the smaller blue dragon missed Helios by only a few handspans as they swooped in from either side, jaws snapping shut. Despite Helios's size, he was quick in the air, several lifetimes worth of warfare honing his senses sharper than any blade. As Helios banked left, angling his body for another sharp turn, Eltoar pulled on threads of Air and amplified his voice through the skies. "Brothers, sisters. Enough of our kind dine in Achyron's halls. There are few of us left. Let us not make that number even smaller."
No response came. All Eltoar heard was the crashing wind as Helios tore through the air, the golden dragon and the blue dragon close behind. Above, he saw Karakes's red scales shimmering as the dragon weaved between the other three elven dragons, Lyina's threads of Air and Spirit whipping back and forth, slicing through threads cast by the other Draleid.
Eltoar glanced back in time to see two columns of dragonfire searing towards them. "Rise!"
The force of Helios's sharp upwards turn pressed Eltoar against the dragon's scales. Were it not for the power that moulded Helios's scales to Eltoar's presence, he would have been thrown hurtling backwards.
"We need to disengage!" Pellenor's voice rang in Eltoar's ears as Meranta drew up alongside Helios, the pair of dragons breaking in and out of the clouds. Blood streaked from a number of wounds along Meranta's side and back, and a long gash was ripped through her right wing.
"Agreed. Lyina and Karakes," Eltoar called back. He didn't wait for a response. Without a word, Helios cracked his mighty wings against the air and turned back on himself, making towards where Karakes was attempting to break free from the three elven dragons. If not for Karakes's size and ferocity, the other dragons would have torn him to shreds already. But as it was, he was just about holding his own.
As Helios and Meranta drew closer, soaring in a tight formation, both dragons roared – a warning they would not have given if they had desired to kill. One of the smaller dragons, with vibrant purple scales, broke away, spiralling down, but the other two redoubled their efforts to rip Karakes from the sky.
Helios focused in on the larger of the two: a deep-chested dragon with crimson scales and a long neck. Pressure built deep within Helios, sending energy rippling through the bond. Then, Helios unleashed a torrent of orange-red dragonfire. As the crimson-scaled dragon twisted and turned, desperately trying to avoid the touch of Helios's raging flames, Helios crashed into the creature's side, wrapping his jaws around the dragon's long neck. Using his momentum, Helios bit down and hauled the red scaled dragon through the air, pulling them away from the fighting. As the dragon thrashed, Helios tore strips through their right wing, ripping the membrane apart in sprays of blood – a wound that could be recovered from, with the aid of Healers, but one that would take them out of this fight.
Helios released the shrieking dragon from his grasp and let it spiral towards the ground. Eltoar turned his head to see Karakes and Meranta snapping at the smaller dragon with scales black as jet. He looked about, trying to locate the remaining elven dragons. Counting the dragon whose wing Helios had just shredded, there should have been four more. But thick clouds had begun to fill the sky, and visibility was low. This was the ideal point to fall back. They had given the armies ample time to retreat and regroup.
"Fall back!" Eltoar called out, using threads of Air to funnel his voice to Lyina and Pellenor. Without hesitation, Karakes and Meranta disengaged from the black dragon and doubled back towards Eltoar.
An arc of lightning ripped through the air, missing Meranta by the breadth of a hair. A flash of gold followed the lightning, streaking across the sky, and then the large elven dragon was crashing into Meranta's flank, ripping and tearing with tooth and talon. The golden dragon was larger than Meranta, larger even than Karakes, and more powerful by a distance. Eltoar's screams had barely left his throat by the time the creature had ripped Meranta's left wing clean from her body. The dragon's shrieks and wails twisted Eltoar's heart.
Two more streaks flashed through the sky, and two of the elven dragons collided with Karakes, preventing him and Lyina from going to Meranta's aid.
The roar that left Helios's throat shook the air, and a rage seared the bond, rippling from Helios to Eltoar, consuming them both, burning in their veins, pushing back the agony. A dragon's rage was a powerful thing. But if left unchecked, it could cause devastation the likes of which many could only imagine. The Draleid was the balance. Eltoar was the ice to Helios's fire. But now, as Helios tore through the skies towards Meranta and the golden dragon, Eltoar leaned into that rage, opened his heart to the fire.
With each passing moment, he felt pieces of his already broken heart shatter. A beat of Helios's wings, and he watched as the golden dragon ripped open Meranta's chest. A thump of his heart, and his body clenched at the sight of the beast's jaws locking around Meranta's throat, ripping and tearing, blood pluming into the air as the dragons spiralled downwards.
"No…" Eltoar couldn't hear his own words over the roaring of the wind and the roaring of dragons, but the pain in his heart was a physical, tangible thing. Meranta and Pellenor were his kin. No, they were more than kin; they were fragments of his soul, remnants of who he had once been. And as he watched them fall from the sky, Helios's rage consumed him. "Rip them from the sky."
Helios answered with a thunderous roar before crashing into the golden dragon with the force of a falling mountain. His strength burned in Eltoar's veins, and Eltoar pushed their minds even deeper together, rage and fury flooding every corner of their soul. They were fire and fury. They were death and deliverance.
He roared at the top of his lungs as Helios opened his jaws and clamped them around the golden dragon's body. So vast was their size difference that Helios's bite near tore the creature in half, his teeth ripping through the Draleid's torso as they sat at the nape of their soulkin's neck.
The bond ignited, Eltoar could feel bones break and scales shatter as Helios bit down with all his strength. The dragon thrashed his head from side to side, ripping the golden dragon's chest to pieces and tearing the Draleid in two at the same time. Helios pulled his talons forwards and sank them into the golden dragon's back. At the same time, he wrapped his jaws around their neck. Then, in one smooth motion, he ripped the dragon's neck from their body, blood spraying in the wind. With both the dragon and the Draleid torn from the world, Helios let their bodies fall and unleashed a roar that was equal parts fury and sorrow, the pain of seeing Pellenor and Meranta fall still burning within.
Shrieks and roars answered, and the remaining elven dragons fell on Helios with a fury. Jaws snapped and talons raked as the five dragons tore at Helios and Eltoar, arcs of lightning ripping through the air, whips of Fire cracking, threads of Air attempting to pull Eltoar free from his soulkin's back. But for every wound Helios took, he gave twice over. Eltoar rocked from side to side, jerking forwards and back as his soulkin twisted through the air. He weaved threads of Spirit, Fire, and Air around them, redirecting rivers of dragonfire while slicing through the other Draleid's threads. His heart was cold fury. They had taken Pellenor and Meranta from this world, and in doing so they had shorn the word mercy from Eltoar's mind. He roared, sending an arc of lightning crashing into the chest of the purple-scaled dragon, and then the iron tang of blood touched his lips as Helios tore into the tail of the smaller green dragon.
The blue elven dragon hammered into Helios's side, talons tearing. But as quickly as the dragon had attacked, it was ripped free by Karakes who burst through a bank of clouds, anguish seeping through his roar. Karakes collided with the blue dragon, thrashing and clawing.
Helios bit down harder on the green dragon's tail and swung them through the air like a plaything, ripping the tail free and launching them upwards. As the green dragon flailed and flapped, their wings fighting against the force of the upward motion, Karakes circled back, cracked his wings, opened his jaws, and tore the creature in half, ripping into its flesh, tearing its wings asunder.
As the broken remnants of the green dragon fell to the earth, the three remaining elven dragons wheeled away, their shrieks piercing the sound of the crashing wind.
Eltoar's heart thumped against his ribs so hard he feared they might break. His body shook from head to toe. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry as sand. In his mind's eye, he watched the golden dragon tear Meranta to pieces. The thought snatched the air from Eltoar's lungs, and Helios unleashed an agony-wrought roar. With the roar, the fury that had burned in Eltoar's veins subsided, replaced by complete and utter sorrow. The grief that gripped him was such a physical thing that he collapsed against Helios's scales, his heart aching, eyes burning.
Weightlessness set into Eltoar's stomach, and he jerked backwards as Helios folded his wings and plummeted towards the ground with abandon. Through the dragon's eyes, Eltoar could see a blood-soaked crater in the earth below, at the western edge of the battlefield, near the River Dalwin, where Meranta had crashed down. Lyina and Karakes were already below them, Karakes's red wings spreading wide as he alighted on a clear patch of earth.
Eltoar slid from Helios's back before the dragon touched the ground. Dust and dirt spiralled into the air as his feet touched down, knees bending, threads of Air and Earth preventing his legs from snapping with the impact. He drew a long, rasping breath into his lungs, then lifted himself to his full height, his chest tightening as his gaze fell on Lyina, who knelt by the crater, wailing, shoulders convulsing, her helmet lying on the ground beside her.
She turned at the sound of Eltoar's footsteps, her eyes raw and red, tear-carved paths running through the blood on her face. Karakes stood over the crater, soft whimpers escaping his chest as he touched his snout against Meranta's broken body.
It was only when Eltoar drew closer he saw that Lyina held Pellenor's head against her lap, his body splayed out on the ground before her. Lyina looked as though she was trying to speak, but all that escaped her throat were sobs and whimpers.
Eltoar dropped to the ground beside her, his gauntleted hand resting against her cheek. He could feel the tears streaming from his eyes, but he made no motion to stay them. He reached out and rested his palm on Pellenor's lifeless body. "I am sorry, my friend. I am so sorry…"