"Liron, stop!" Augustus cried.
The once prideful Emperor was reduced to nothing but a shade of his former self. He had fought like Drom himself, carving deep wounds into the Silver Moon. Dawn had tasted the death of a Cyoon and several Fallen, radiating with Harras's wrath. In the hands of a beggar, this blade would have brought death to empires. In Augustus's hands, his mastery would bring the end to worlds.
But it wasn't enough.
Liron slammed his blade down, slicing off the last remnants of his wings. As the Emperor had forged the angels into his wings, their tormented shapes and souls became a part of Augustus. They served him like his arms and legs. Thus, he cried out the same way when Liron had severed his left hand.
Augustus dropped Dawn, throwing it away. "I yield, Liron, I yield! You have won!"
Liron panted, struggling to stay on his legs. Even with Everon on his side and wielding Urox's and Aurora's last gifts, he had barely kept up with the Emperor. Augustus had broken Liron's blade, its tip stuck in the ground behind the Emperor, ten feet away. Liron's right arm hung lifelessly on his shoulder, several fibers and flesh scorched away. His once trusted armor, the one he smithed himself on Casar's Summit, had fulfilled its last service to him, its shredded remnants spread throughout the Silver Moon.
He was drenched in blood, Dawn having left deep cuts all over him. Everon was in worse shape, having saved his life countless times throughout the fight. The dragon couldn't maintain his physical body after the Emperor's blade slashed him into two. Everon wouldn't be able to help from here on out, resting in his spiritual form.
But there was no more help needed.
Liron stomped down on Augustus's chest, the few remaining ribs breaking. The Emperor coughed up blood. For this look, he had fought. Partially, at least. The look of sheer desperation on the man's face that took everything from him. That killed the last ounce of hope Liron had had for this pitiful excuse of a world.
"Yes," Liron said, his emerald green eyes burning bright with hate. "I have."
…
Liron groaned, his head feeling like it was split open with an axe. Every little motion awakened new sources of agony throughout his body. Perhaps the wolf had done more harm to him than he had realized. But he had hoped the Bliss would have cured him of the worst. Usually, the midnight mass and its Bliss healed the people there from any injuries they had. Harras's light and love tended to cure the ones believing in him. But they had done nothing.
This time, the images of his dream stayed longer with him. Minutes after waking, he could still recall glimpses of him fighting someone on the Silver Moon, riding on the back of a dragon, bringing down fire against holy smites. Liron had dreamed of fighting as a Draconist, but he never felt like he had gone through them after waking.
He rose, his head dizzy, collapsing again. Emma was gone, having the courtesy to let him sleep. Today, there was no work. The day after a midnight mass was always free. Half the workers would not come, if at all. After the Bliss and the mass had come to an end, many went to the pub in town. Having felt the rush of it, people wanted to continue with something similar, keeping the spark alive. Liron could only guess how many would wake up in a stranger's bed, having a shitty day ahead of them.
After a few failed attempts, Liron succeeded in sitting up, his feet on the hard floor. While stronger in its intensity, the weakness faded. But unlike all the other days, it didn't leave him. Liron was weaker on his legs, swaying as if he had gone to the pub, too. He took a deep breath before opening the door and leaving his room.
Emma and their parents frowned as he sat down at their table. "Morning."
"Good morning," their mother said, brushing through his hair. "Liron, are you good? You look not the best."
"Don't spoil him," their father said, sitting down next to him. "You sneaked out to go to the pub, right?" Leo couldn't keep a smile off his face. Unseen by the others, he gave his son a thumbs-up.
"What?" Marie said, not as thrilled as her husband. "You did what? Emma, why didn't you stop him?"
"I…" Liron said.
"I didn't do anything," Emma replied. She was at the table, too, tuning her lute. It was an ugly thing, built out of whatever wooden waste their parents had gotten their hands on. The string they had to buy. Quite expansive, something they always reminded their daughter of. "I didn't hear him leave the bed. How is it my fault if he wants to get wasted?"
"You are his sister," Marie said. "You two have to be there for one another. But you also have to look out for one another. He is still not of age. Drinkin' after the mass is so…"
Liron buried his face in his hands, trying to rub the migraine out of his head. "I didn't do shit."
Leon blinked, his pride vanishing. "What?"
"I didn't sneak out to get wasted, as Emma said it. I just… slept like shit."
Leon and Marie exchanged looks. "You did…" Marie said. She dragged Liron's face out from his hands, examining him and feeling temperature. "That is… strange. My boy, you're burning. Schatz, I think we should get him to see a healer."
Leon put his hand against his son's forehead, grunting in agreement. "You're right. The hunt did a number on him."
Liron rolled his eyes. He hated the healer. The old witch hated him. Only her oath to Harras and the Empire had made her treat him in the past. Where everybody was distrustful of him, she thought him to be a Child of Drom. A beast in human skin. Much more than just a bad omen. Emma had once told Liron that the owner of the pub, Mr. Schnauzer, had said that the healer wanted their parents to leave him out in the woods so his kind could claim him.
Their parents were never happy to bring either of them to her because of that. Besides the high pay she demanded, of course. Liron pushed his father's hand away. "I'm good. Just give me a…"
A faint roar sounded from high above. Liron and his family blinked, wondering whether they had misheard. After a second roar, they knew they hadn't. All weakness forgotten, Liron jumped to his feet, his skin prickling. He had never heard one himself, but every description, whether its source could be trusted or not, had shared the same details.
"By Harras's ass," Liron said.
Before his mother could reply to his vulgarity, Liron hurried away, rushing out of the house. His family called his name, but he paid them no mind, searching the skies. And there it was. A shadow flying high above. Too small to be a cloud-eater. Too fast also. With the third roar, Liron had the confirmation he wished for.
He put his hands over his mouth, his eyes tearing up. His smile stretched over his face, strong enough to hurt his lips. "Fuck yeah!" he said.
The neighborhood had heard the dragon, too, coming outside to watch this living legend. They doubted at first, too, but a surprised murmur echoed through the gathered, pointing at it. Liron thought that dragon and its Draconist only flew above Eisenrahm, passing the unimportant town on their destination. But they slowed, descending in front of Eisenrahm.
Liron screeched, sounding like Emma when she had a crush on a boy in town. His weakness hadn't left him yet, but he forced new strength into them. He would not miss his only chance to witness a Draconist with its dragon because of some ailment. His family had joined him, staring at the sight with a similar awe. It didn't match his, though.
Their father said something, but Liron didn't listen again, running to where the Draconist landed. His family didn't follow, too shocked to move yet. Liron was one of the first to reach the spot, wind slamming into him as the dragon neared the ground. He held a hand in front of his face, being forced to walk back. With a heavy thud, the dragon landed, unleashing one final roar to ensure the entirety of Eisenrahm knew about their arrival.
Liron tilted his head up with the others, trying to see all of the dragon. He had never witnessed such a majestic being in his life. Dragons shared countless features, but no two looked alike, differing greatly in their appearance. This one was massive, dwarfing the wolves. Half the pack could measure up to its weight and scale.
The dragon stood on four legs, wings as expansive as the sky. Its scales had an intense yellow, similar to the heart of every fire. A patch of white stretched from its stomach up on its neck to its head, the inferno raging inside its body shining through it, showing its enemies what fate would await them. Two beautiful horns adorned its head, forming a crown. While dragons were defenders of the Empire, meant to fight the Qilesh, nothing of that could be seen on its head. One could think a dragon couldn't show its emotions, its face made of nothing but weapons. But this dragon appeared to smile, no tension in its features. Its eyes, tiny on its massive head, calmed everyone they looked at.
They passed Liron, too, his heartbeat slowing down. It accelerated after the dragon's gaze wandered on. With its sheer magnitude, they all did not notice its rider until he leaped down from his trusted companion. A jump that would break Liron's legs meant nothing to the Draconist.
Based on the dragon's appearance, Liron thought his mind had deceived him. But seeing the silver plate armor, its elegance impossible for mortal hands to craft on their own, he knew who stood before them. The scorched surcoat depicted the sun rising again, Harras's angels flying with its return, celebrating their long-awaited victory. The countless battle scars covering the otherwise flawless masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. A blue feather attached to the helmet, the only calming thing at the blank silver surface besides the eye slits.
As the Draconist removed his helmet, shaking his sweaty hair, locks of blonde hair falling over his shoulders, Liron had the last proof he needed. Lance, the Promised Dawn, most famed among his order, had arrived at Eisenrahm, regarding the gathered crowd with a charming smile.
Kasper and the older Warpriest pushed through the people. The pastor bowed down for Lance, Kasper refusing to show the Draconist more than a puzzled expression. "M… my…," the Warpriest said. "I… I… wh… what an honor. Sir Lance, w… we didn't expect your arrival. What gives us the honor of meeting you here?"
Lance laughed at the pastor's bearing. "No need for bows, my friend. You don't have to ruin your back for me."
The laughter caught on, but the sheer shock held most mouths shut. Lance stepped forward, kneeling to Kasper. "You ought to be Kasper. Your Lordschaft, I saw you last time when you were but a boy. To what a splendid young man you have grown into."
Kasper didn't know how to react, his face frozen. He worked his jaw. He didn't appear to be the kind that likes to be surprised. "Thank you. Coming from one of the Empire's greatest heroes, this is praise I shall cherish. But I have to echo our dear pastor. Are you not required in Sannara? Why are you here?"
Lance stood up again, pushing a few strands out of his face. "I was not too long ago, Sire," Lance said, his voice rich and deep. He had an accent but spoke their tongue without flaw. Every Draconist was required to learn the four languages of the empire. "But duty has called me here."
The Knight Dracon turned towards the crowd, addressing them. "Greetings. My name is Lance Chevalier, knight of the Society of the Dragon. I serve the Empire, Emperor, and you. I am the blade and the shield of the innocent, your hands the one that wield me."
Lance quoted part of the oath every Draconist swears. He was about to say the rest, but this alone worked its wonders, every soul spellbound to him like pups to their mother. Clearly practiced in public speaking, he directed the crowd like a band of musicians that sometimes played at the pub.
"A week ago, Illaxia and I were contacted by Everon. He is ready for a new rider."
Not even Kasper could keep his jaw from hitting the ground. Dead silence. Lance could have announced the Emperor himself, and it would have gotten similar reactions. Everon, even among his kind, was more myth than real. He was one of the first dragons to bind himself to a human. But he hadn't chosen any rider in the past 300 years. His rider was Peran, son of Lanrion, founder of the Society of the Dragon. After his father's death at the hands of Arthur, Peran had taken over the order, leading them to glory.
After Peran's death, Everon had vanished, refusing to bind himself to anyone again. The return of Blackbone would shake the Empire itself, boosting morale. A greater sign for the final victory over the Qilesh wouldn't be found.
Lance smiled at the reactions, Illaxia sharing her rider's delight. "Yes, Everon has chosen a new rider. For the past week, he has guided me throughout the Empire. He told me he could sense a soul worthy of binding himself to. And yes, this soul is here. He made that clear."
"Well," Kasper said, clearing his throat. He had caught himself stepping in front of Lance, a civil smile hiding a savage hunger raging behind his eyes. "This is truly… something, oh Sir Lance. Blackbone was… is a being the Empire owes a lot to. His rejoining of the war will clearly usher in the Qilesh's end. I, Kasper Lockram, cousin to Harras's Scion and guardian of Nordland, offer myself as rider to Everon. It must be our heavenly Father's will to have me bound to Blackbone."
Many nodded. As far as Liron knew, no dragon had ever chosen a member of a Sacred House. Strange, now that he thought about it. Who could be more deserving of such immense power than one of Harras's chosen?
Lance stared past Kasper, appearing like he listened to someone. Kasper wanted to say something else, but the Draconist walked around him, examining the crowd. Every person his gaze fell on had dreams awoken they had never dared to dream before. They died as fast as they came to be, Lance not stopping in front of them. The younger men pushed themselves in front of everybody else, shoving anyone weaker aside. They had a similar look to Kasper as he had approached Lance, but the Draconist wasn't interested in them.
Despite Liron's strength and size, a few other boys older than him had more vigor on their side, butting him away. He fell on his knees as they took his place. Liron threw some curses at them, the world forgotten. Now they had to be assholes at such a time? As he wanted to get up again, ready to punch them, rage taking him over, silence. No one really had said anything before, but something had changed. Something Liron couldn't see from his position, looking up at countless bodies standing too close together.
Lance had stopped in front of a boy who pushed Liron to the ground. He made out a few sounds, believing himself chosen. But he was mistaken, Lance putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, shoving him aside. Liron sat on the ground, frowning as Lance studied him, a bright smile spreading over the Draconist's face.
"What is your name?" Lance asked.
Liron's mind raced, expanding into countless directions to explain the obvious. But he had learned not to dream much.
"L… Liron Sturm," he managed, his throat dry.
Lance laughed at that. "Well, that's something. A good name. A strong one. It will be easy to remember."
Liron had adored the Knight Dracon from afar, wishing to fight alongside them. A Ravenspawn couldn't expect more. Having this notion disproven to him, he became misty-eyed. Yet, he thought this to be a cruel joke. "Wh… why?" he asked, fighting against the warmth spreading in his chest. He didn't want to feel the hope only to taste its loss.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Lance said. "Couldn't believe it myself when I was chosen. But, Liron, there is no better judge of someone's heart than a dragon. Ravenspawn or not, they will know what you are made of." Lance held his hand to Liron. "And now stand. Neither Knight Dracon nor Hatchling ought to sit in the dirt."
Liron laughed, tears rolling down his cheeks. All the venom in his chest died fighting, refusing to believe it. Nothing good could happen to him. Not to a Ravenspawn. He was nothing but a bad omen. And yet here he was, reality disregarding that belief. Liron didn't want to sob, but he couldn't help himself. Lance's hand turned into a blurry mess, but he found it nonetheless, grasping it.
As they touched, the sky split open.