The king's road stretched northeast, flanked by blue pines whose leaves glowed with mana at their tips. The first sun, pale and sad, was barely visible behind the low clouds. The wind blew cold, but did not carry the smell of sulfur – that smell remained to the south, where the second portal continued to vomit shadows.
Zirinos rode alone at the front. Ethan, behind, pulled his horse's reins with difficulty. Ana, Sara and Ariny followed in a line, behind Andy. No one spoke. Only the clatter of hooves on the beaten earth and the creaking of saddles.
The House of King Remadís had been left behind the day before, to the west. The capital, once proud, was now deserted – the nobles had fled northeast, to Lunos, where the last tournament would take place. The peasants, the few who remained, jostled on the roads with carts and belongings, their eyes empty of those who had already seen the worst.
"The Pope," said Ethan, breaking the silence. "He killed himself."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"I heard it. At the inn. The servants were talking."
"And you don't care?"
Zirinos did not answer. He only tightened the reins. The horse sped up.
Ethan sighed. He looked at Ana. The mark of Anorys shone on her chest, visible even above her tunic. Her brown, cold eyes fixed on the horizon.
"The divine power," said Ethan, after a long time. "Mine. Ana's. Everyone's. It's unstable. Sometimes it works. Other times, not. Ana tried to destroy a rock with the mark. The rock didn't even move. Then, without meaning to, she split a tree in half."
"The second sun exploded," replied Zirinos, his voice neutral. "The masked one stopped time. The universe felt it. So, divine power felt it too."
"And you? Your power?"
Zirinos did not answer.
Corruption, he thought. Not divine power.
But he said nothing.
---
Far away, north of Lunos, Alór van Decatry faced the horde alone.
The mountains rose black against the gray sky. The snow, which had been falling since dawn, covered the bodies of the demons he had killed in the previous hours. The horse, tired, had died the day before. Alór had fought on foot since then, retreating step by step, leaving a trail of corpses behind him.
His leather armor, once resistant, was now torn in several places. The blood, his and his enemies', had dried on his skin.
The egg pulsed in his backpack.
Faster than before. Hotter.
Alór felt the shell crack.
"Not now," he murmured, blocking a demon's blow with his arm. "Wait a little longer."
The egg did not wait.
The shell cracked open with a dry snap. A blue and white light, cold, intense, illuminated the clearing. The demons recoiled, panting, their yellow eyes fixed on the creature being born.
It was small. Smaller than Alór's hand. Its scales, icy blue, shone with an internal light. Its eyes, white, fixed on his. Its small, fragile wings opened slowly.
The dragon squeaked.
It was not a frightening sound. It was a sound of recognition.
Mother, it seemed to say. I'm here.
Alór knelt. His trembling hands touched the creature's head. The scales were cold, smooth, like polished ice.
"Frost," he whispered. "Your name is Frost."
The dragon squeaked again. It spat a small cloud of ice that froze the bushes around them.
The demons hesitated.
Alór stood up. Sword in hand. Dragon on his shoulder.
"Now," he said. "Let's kill them."
The battle was short.
Frost, even small, was fast. The ice he spat did not kill, but it slowed. It froze the demons' feet, legs, arms. Alór took the opportunity to cut off heads.
When the last demon fell, Alór sat on the ground, exhausted.
Frost nestled in his lap.
"Your first battle," said Alór, stroking the icy scales. "Not bad."
The dragon squeaked.
"No, not bad. It was terrible. But you'll improve."
Frost closed his eyes. He fell asleep.
Alór looked at the horizon. Smoke rose in the distance. The villages burned. The dead did not count.
"My father," said Alór, aloud, to no one. "He's going to like you."
Or not. Andy Decatry never showed to like anything.
But Alór didn't care.
+++
Zirinos and Ethan arrived in Lunos at dusk on the third day.
The castle of Linda Lunos rose at the top of the hill, dark, severe, its towers covered in melted ice. The walls, once proud, were now marked by recent battles. The smell of smoke and fear hung in the air.
The refugees camped in tents around the castle. Peasants, soldiers, merchants – all with empty eyes of those who had already seen the worst.
Zirinos dismounted. He handed the horse to a servant. Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked.
"I'm going to see Luna," he said to Ethan.
"I'll come with you?"
"No."
Ethan did not insist. He only nodded and walked away, toward Andy and his sisters.
Zirinos entered the castle.
+++
Luna's room was in the north tower, with a view of the mountains. The walls, of dark stone, were covered with thick tapestries that her mother had chosen years ago. The fire in the fireplace burned low. The smell of dried herbs mixed with the smell of candle wax.
Luna sat on the bed, her back against the wall, her right arm amputated and wrapped in clean cloths. Her silver hair, loose, fell over her shoulders. Her clear, empty eyes fixed on nothing.
When Zirinos entered, she shrank back.
It was not a large movement. Only a hunch of the shoulders, a turning away of the head, a tightening of her remaining hand on the sheet. But Zirinos saw it.
She's afraid of me, he thought.
And with reason.
He sat in the chair by the window, as far from her as possible. Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked softly.
"I brought Enyo," said Zirinos, his voice low, calm. "The one that hatched for me in hell."
Luna did not look at the creature. Her clear, empty eyes remained fixed on nothing.
"I'm going to fight in the tournament," he said. "Tomorrow. I'll kill whoever is necessary."
Luna did not react.
"Mira died. The dogs killed her. I wasn't there."
Luna's hands tightened on the sheet. Her knuckles turned white. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.
Zirinos knew she could not speak. The doctors had said that her soul had not yet accustomed itself to her body. Linda had said it was fear. Zirinos knew it was both.
"Lindériu is dead," he continued. "I killed him. It was a fair judgment."
Luna looked at him. Her clear eyes, where tears threatened to fall, fixed on his. There was fear in them. Fear and something more – a question she could not ask, an accusation she could not scream.
Zirinos did not answer what she did not say.
He only stood up.
"I'm going to sleep," he said. "Tomorrow is early."
Luna lowered her head. Her silver hair fell over her face, hiding her eyes. Her remaining hand trembled.
Zirinos left. The door closed.
Enyo squeaked.
"Be quiet," whispered Zirinos. "She's afraid of me."
The creature did not quiet.
The monster that came out of hell did not cry.
It only planned.
And the plan was almost complete.
+++
In the castle courtyard, Andy Decatry spoke with his daughter Ana. The duke looked older than Zirinos remembered – deep shadows under his eyes, graying beard, tired eyes.
"Tomorrow," Andy was saying, "you will all fight."
"Not me," replied Ana, her voice cold. "I'm going to watch. My power doesn't work."
"It will work. When you need it."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then you die."
Ana tightened her hand on her sword.
Zirinos passed by them without saying anything.
Andy looked at him. His tired gray eyes met his.
"Zirinos," he called.
"Duke."
"Mira..."
"It's over. Forget it, Duke."
"It never ends. It never ends, kid. Believe what I tell you."
Zirinos did not answer. He only continued walking.
The castle around him seemed like a tomb of dark stone.
Inside, Luna did not sleep.
She only waited.
The tournament would begin in hours.