World's End

His anger surged within him as he blasted dragonfire upon the villagers. He could hear them shouting, he could feel their fear. He reveled in it. That is what he, the great black dragon commanded! Ah, the pitiful lives of these mortals, weak timelines at best.

Yet a part of him shunned his actions. That part of him remembered a time not long ago, a time when he was but a scholar, and he had a name. He could not recall that name now, not since his anger and wrath took control. He would destroy. All he knew was to destroy. But the buried part kept nagging him as flesh disappeared down his gullet. Blood ran in rivulets down his jaw and long neck, to spill upon the dirt below. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

This town was empty; he had made sure of it. He unfurled his great wings and prepared to fly. On to the next town! Oh, the destruction he would wreak! He launched himself into the sky with a few flaps of his wings. He soared under the heavy clouds, the sky bleak and gray. The forest rolled by underneath him, the tops of the pines a macabre palisade. Glancing behind him, he saw the wing of dragons that chased him.

He snorted. These dragons had been chasing him since the beginning and he could not shake them. They seemed just as relentless as he. But he would not stop; his rage fueled him.

It was a few days. Really, it shouldn’t surprise him since the next town was not nearby. His exhaustion finally caught up and his strength was flagging. With every passing moment, the wing of dragons edged closer and closer. He wouldn’t be able to outpace them at this point. He spun in the air and blasted fire into the sky with a howl. A challenge. Pines still thrust up from the ground below. Blood, long since dried, ran trails down his scales, evidence of his most recent fights. Arrows still poked from wounds, and shattered javelins hung from his belly. He hadn’t escaped all the death he’d caused without any injuries, what were a few more from the group that tailed him? The lead dragon, a golden one, answered his call and sped forward.

They collided above the taiga, a writhing ball of flame, claws, teeth, and wrath. Another, this one blue, rained fire down upon his back and his scales began to crack under the heat. He shrieked with pain. He flipped around and began to claw at the blue dragon. The final one in the wing, green, drove up from below, lips pulled into a snarl and claws lashing. He yowled as talons raked across his flank. The golden dragon blasted his own fire and lashed claws. Teeth bit into his neck from the blue dragon, and he fell to the forest below.

He was too big to fit between the pines here. One punctured the membrane of his wing and he screamed. Another tree scraped along his wounded side. He slammed into the ground, groaning and scales clattering. He was barely retaining consciousness, but he looked around himself regardless. Seeing nothing, he rose. The trunk of the pine tore the rest of the tatters that remained of his wing, but he bore it without much more than a whimper. The three dragons still hovered above him, waiting for an opportunity to grab him. They didn’t want to suffer the pinetops, some of which were now coated in his blood, dyeing the needles red.

He began to trudge through the forest, dragging his ruined wing behind him. The wing above him followed his path, likely following the scar of red he was leaving across the snow.

He didn’t know for how long he walked, though it couldn’t have been very long. He knew that. He knew that he was beyond injured, that he was just barely clinging to his awareness. Here, though, he stopped. He couldn’t go any further. He collapsed.

A small human child stood at the end of his snout. A toddler, he thought. He huffed, smoke pluming from his nostrils, unable to move. He knew he was still an imposing sight - a colossal black-scaled dragon, dark horns swept straight back, and sharp fangs capable of rending meat from bone. Recent wounds glistening with a wetness, and blood that dried from between his teeth and older wounds. Yet the child seemed unafraid. He remembered when he was a hatchling. He remembered constantly fearing the adults, himself being small enough to be crushed underfoot. He remembered his life of reading, carefully turning old pages with filed claws. He remembered working at the Great Library.

“Who are you?” he heard the child say in a small voice. He remembered his name.

“Karegar” he told the tot. It stumbled back a pace.

“A real dragon,” it said with an awed whisper. Karegar just gazed at the child before his eyes snicked closed. He could hear the child moving around him. Karegar was afraid. He was afraid for the child and for himself. Would he die here, among the trees and buried in snow? Was the wing of dragons still tailing him, and what would they do? Would they kill him? Would they kill this child, this new life that seemed so fragile? And thus, consciousness left him.

***

The golden dragon flew across the tops of the pines, searching for Karegar. The dragon had gone rogue, and it was his job to find and apprehend him, kill if necessary. He knew they fought over this forest, but he had lost the trail when the black dragon had walked through the forest. They’d tried, and when they lost him, he was pissed. He wanted to fly down into the pines and find him on foot, but he was cautious of being impaled by the grim trees.

His two companions, Dalirra the green and Rosutarr the blue, were helping him search. They were placed several wingbeats to either side. How could a mindless dragon lose his pursuers? The council would be sure to reprimand him. He growled.

Karegar had injured him too. It hadn’t been a completely one-sided fight. Dalirra and Rosutarr were new to aerial combat, so it was mostly him that had done the fighting. They did help, and it was Rosutarr that had bitten into Karegar’s neck and sent the dark dragon. But it was he that had borne the brunt of Karegar’s attacks. Scales that cracked under dragonfire pained him, and he clutched at the claw wounds that marred his underbelly.

“Atonaligar!” he heard from one of his wing companions. He turned to Rosutarr. “I see the rogue!”

He immediately began winging his way over to the blue dragon. Dalirra followed.

“Is the rogue conscious?” Atonaligar asked. It was appropriate to avoid naming the rogue. It wasn’t like they knew their own name anyway.

“Negative,” Rosutarr responded. He swooped down into the trees, where a wide clearing had given enough room for several dragons. Karegar lay near the edge. Atonaligar followed his younger companion down to the ground.

“Take him,” he bade the other two. “We’ll take him back to the Citadel.” Dalirra and Rosutarr nodded. Dalirra pulled a large net, enchanted so the ropes could not be broken, from her back. The dragons worked on spreading it out, then rolling Karegar onto it. Each then grabbed a corner in their talons and took to the skies once more.

***

When he woke again, he found himself encased in a stone prison. Even from within, Karegar knew what this place was. The Citadel. He had never been inside the building himself, but he’d heard the stories. He’d been a librarian at the Great Library, just across the path. Karegar tried to rise, but was unable. his wounds still ached and protested. He cursed himself.

Going rogue could be punishable by death, even if one came back from the brink of total animalism. He knew that he would die. Even though the human child had pulled him from the edge of madness, he’d already done so much destruction, and the Citadel was cruel and merciless.

Smoke billowed from his nostrils, obscuring his vision, but he could hear the talons scraping against stone as another approached him. The steel door before him screeched open, and a hulking gold-scaled dragon entered the room. He knew this dragon.

“Atonaligar” he whispered in awe. The dragon said nothing, just studying Karegar. Karegar backed against the wall. A metal band wrapped around his neck, nearly constricting him, and his claws had been filed to the point of uselessness. He had no way to defend himself should the older dragon decide to hurt him in some way.

When finally Atonaligar spoke, Karegar jumped. “Why, rogue?” he said like a disappointed parent. Karegar couldn’t answer, an overwhelming sense of fear suffocating his words. Atonaligar continued.

“I can see the gleam of intelligence is back in your eyes; I can see that you are once again sane. What drove you to such madness?”

Finally, Karegar found his words. “I was on a trip to my hometown near the border,” he started with a hushed voice. “For a break from the library. I’d earned it, they’d said. I took my family with me. The phoenixes arrived not long after. They burned everything. My family, they… they didn’t make it.” Karegar stopped, water pooling in his eyes.

“That tracks,” Atonaligar said. No sympathy encroached in his gaze. The golden dragon had dealt with hundreds of these cases and this was nothing new. Karegar attempted to banish his self-pity.

“I didn’t want to,” Karegar tried. Atonaligar frowned.

“Most who go rogue don’t want to. What makes you so special?” The colossal dragon stepped forward, slamming a talon into the stone below. “You know I’ve dealt with many of your like. Possibly thousands! Yet you find yourself different? Yes, you managed to fight off the rage. But you killed hundreds of humans, and that cannot be redeemable. There is nothing you could do to bring back those people who share a similar sentience to ourselves. You were a dragon of knowledge, you know what I mean. We live for so long, yet the lives of the bipeds span a few decades at best. There shouldn’t be any reason to cut that any shorter, yet you did. You decimated them, and here you are, begging for forgiveness. I ca-” the dragon’s rant cut short as both whipped about to face the corner of the room.

The skins there, meant to be the sole spot of comfort, of rest, rustled. A small head emerged from between them; a human child. Karegar recognized this child, the one that had saved his sanity, yet refused to react. He didn’t want to give Atonaligar anything to go on.

“What is this?” the gold dragon asked, eyes softening. Karegar remained silent, but he stared at the kid. It pulled itself free of the skins and sat before Karegar.

“Don’t hurt him,” the little one said. The golden dragon leaned down to be nearly eye level with the child.

“And what makes you say that?” Atonaligar asked. Before the child could answer, a green dragon burst into the cell. Karegar knew this one too, as she frequently visited the library. Dalirra.

“Sir, phoenixes have arrived at the capital,” she said to Atonaligar. Dalirra glanced at Karegar, and he thought he saw a glint of pity, but it could’ve been his imagination.

Atonaligar faced Karegar once more. “We will continue this later. As for you, child, Dalirra will take you to a ward designed for humans where you can stay until we can find where you belong.” He then left the room, his scales clattering. Dalirra hesitated a moment.

“I’m sorry. You were always the one I turned to for knowledge,” she whispered as she beckoned the child to follow. It refused with a shake of its head. Dalirra glanced behind herself to where Atonaligar vanished, then back to the kid. “Please, little one. I’m sure you noticed no one wants to anger Atonaligar?”

“Let the child stay,” Karegar said now. “I will attempt to care for it until you return from the fight. Just… return before Atonaligar does?” The younger green dragon seemed torn, but she ultimately followed Atonaligar out of the cell. Karegar turned to the kid.

“Why have you come with me? Why do you defy those that keep the peace?” he asked the tot. The child just grinned.

***

Atonaligar flew towards the phoenixes, face grim. The birds of flame tore across the sky, burning the very wind itself. An entire flight flew behind him, some hundred dragons, all prepared for combat. Other flights would join him shortly, but it seemed that Atonaligar would be leading the charge.

Rosutarr flew beside him. “There must be several thousand of them,” the young blue said. An older red dragon, on Atonaligar’s other side, spoke up. “We must defend the Citadel regardless. We’ve pushed back the phoenixes before, we can do it again.”

“Yes, Vendevirra, we have. But what makes them attack us again?” Rosutarr countered.

Atonaligar lost the argument of his comrades in his thoughts. He remembered the last war against the phoenixes, the burning scars and the crippling pain that flared any time he moved too much. There weren't many left from that time; even though dragons won that war, it came with a heavy price. Only twelve had survived to rebuild their kingdom, their marble halls and starlit columns. Atonaligar was the last remaining dragon from those twelve, the rest had died in some other conflict or had passed away quietly. He had even fought in the war, which was obvious. Shattered scales that still clung to his hide shown in several places, evidence of the searing heat of the firebirds. Blackened skin lay underneath some newer scales and in other places, no scales grew to replace the ones he’d lost.

He knew that this would be no different.

The phoenixes screeched, a scream that split the sky; that tore the world asunder.

He was afraid.

The dragons around him roared a challenge, inviting the phoenixes to combat.

He knew they would die.

The firebirds swooped ever closer, outnumbering his flight several times over.

He heard the call of other dragons, distant, but there. He glanced around to see more flights catching up to his own.

It wasn’t enough.

This battle would be a massacre.

“Up!” Atonaligar shouted an instant before they collided with the phoenixes. Firebirds crashed into the unprotected bellies of some of the dragons, but the rest soared above the phalanx of flame. “Blow your fire!”

The dragons around him spewed forth their flames, the tongues of heat licking at the great birds. It did nothing. Atonaligar knew it wouldn’t. Many had died in the last war, blowing their dragonfire. But he did know that even though the phoenixes wouldn’t be harmed, he knew they could still feel the heat.

“Keep your distance,” he bade his flight. He needed to occupy as many of the phoenixes as he could so the other flights could flank the massive army of birds.

“Keep blowing dragonfire!” he shouted above the shrieks of the birds. “Don’t let them-” He stopped as a phoenix charged him. He tried to swerve away, but he was too old, too slow. The bird grabbed him in its talons.

Pain. Atonaligar screamed as more of his scales cracked in the heat; as talons dug deep gouges into his sides. Atonaligar squirmed in its grip, blasting dragonfire. The bird squawked and released him.

“Dalirra! Rosutarr!” he cried, smoke wafting from his scales and nostrils. These two he trusted. Two he had taken under his wing, trained to be among the fierce knights that protected the king or queen.

The squires appeared at his side. “Go north! Find the griffons and the people of Osnena! Seek their aid,” he told them. If the dragons were to be exterminated, hopefully sending these two would at least spare their lives. As the squires winged away north, Atonaligar turned to face his enemies once more.

If he were to die today, he would do so in battle. Let history remember him as a valiant hero.

***

“If the phoenixes are attacking, then we could all very well be as good as dead,” Karegar muttered, musing. “There must’ve been something in the library that helped us fight the phoenixes so long ago.”

He paced across the cell, wearing a path into the stone in his thoughts. The child sat upon the bed of skins, watching and listening. “Do you think that I could help?” it asked eventually.

“What do you, a toddler, think that you can do? I can’t even do anything myself! It would take hundreds of thousands of dragons to push back the army of firebirds, and our current populus is only a couple thousand,” Karegar shot back, angry at his inaction.

The little human stood up, seemingly indignant. “I am not a toddler!” she shouted, stomping her foot. “I may be short, but I am a grown woman of nineteen winters! I’m tired of being mistreated wherever I go, even in the land of dragons! The people back in Osnena made me serve, a slave, and malnourished me, and I refuse to let it continue. So be nice, or I’ll leave you here to rot.”

Karegar grimaced during her tirade. Even in the library, a building of knowledge, he hadn’t known much about humans. Not many dragons did. While there were some settlements within the reach of the Citadel, most lived in Osnena, a large country that spanned the majority of the north. All he did know was that they weren’t very tall, plus a couple quirks of their culture.

“I apologize for my ignorance. I merely stress, aware that I am doomed, whether it be death by phoenix or by my fellow dragons.” Karegar sat, watching the pale human girl.

“What if you weren’t, though,” the girl said conspiratorially, her anger abating. “You said yourself, there must be something in the library. I could slip through the bars and look,” she said.

“Do you know where the library is?” Karegar asked, barely letting his hope rise.

“No, but I’m sure I could find it.”

“It’s across from the Citadel. There should be something that allows you to cross the gap. Look for anything related to phoenixes, artifacts, and dragon magic,” he bade her. “Come back soon…” he hesitated, not knowing what to call her.

“Emory,” she supplied for him.

“Come back soon, Emory.” She nodded and pushed herself through the bars.

He hoped and he wished, that anything now could help him. There was a book in the library that gave descriptions on most, if not all, species in the world. Karegar could barely remember the entry on phoenixes, but he remembered that it mentioned a few artifacts that weakened the phoenixes in some way. One of them was used in the last war, a war that happened before his birth. That artifact was destroyed in the final moments. He hoped there was another.

As for dragon magic, he knew there were dragon mages before that war. There was none now, the knowledge of the magic vanished when the last of the mages had perished. Maybe there was a clue hidden within ink and parchment.

He wished that magic could be found again, that there was still a surviving relic to fight the battle to come. He hoped Emory, his new ally, would return soon.

***

The battle was lasting longer than he thought. The fight a few days ago was a culling. Many dragons had fallen from the sky, butchered and burnt by phoenixes. Never to fly again. Atonaligar mourned for the lost souls.

The remaining dragons holed up within their city, Myivede, awaiting the inevitable. He hoped that his squires would return with aid. If they did not succeed, dragonkind would fade from the world.

He was regretting leaving Karegar in his prison now. He was sure that the younger dragon would’ve found something that could fight these terrors. If he was being honest with himself, it was the shepherds of knowledge that had even given dragons a chance in the last war.

Atonaligar watched the firebirds streak across the sky, like large comets coming to strike the earth. Dragonkind did not have much longer left, he saw, as one bird lit upon a dwelling near the Citadel, rendering the stone aflame. He stared at the claws, some much like them had rent his sides, and the flames of their bodies had shattered many more scales. At this rate, Atonaligar would show more skin than scales.

He clung to the last hope he had. He had to. He had to hope that his squires would return with the griffons and people of Osnena in tow.

Like Karegar, he knew they were doomed.

***

Dalirra touched her wingtip to Rosutarr’s, catching his attention. “Do you think that the people of Osnena can help?”

“I can only hope,” he told her. “Honestly, though, I place more faith in the griffons.”

Dalirra nodded. She felt the same. Griffons were fierce beings with lightning in their maws. She’d always dreamed of seeing them someday, but dragons rarely ventured beyond the border of their kingdom, and she wasn’t a trendsetter.

With the capital of Osnena in sight, the two swooped to the ground by the gates. Two human guards stood by, awaiting them. Stone walls encased the city. These walls didn’t pose an obstacle for dragons, but the people of Osnena were constantly harassed by undead and minotaurs. It was appropriate, however, to not pass over the walls, as a sign of peaceful intentions.

The guards crossed their glaives before the two dragons, barring entry. Rosutarr began speaking with them. “May I request an audience with your republic?” he inquired simply. The guards continued to stand without moving. Rosutarr continued nervously.

“I can appreciate the stoicism, but I must insist, this matter is rather urgent.” Dalirra saw a flicker of a shadow in the battlements, what she hoped was a messenger moving away and not the precursor to death.

“Please?”

“Rosutarr! I’m sure someone’s on the way to let them know we await,” Dalirra scolded. Rosutarr groaned.

“So we wait,” he said wearily.

***

Emory slid back between the bars. Karegar was asleep at the moment, she realized, when she saw the dark mass upon the bed of skins. She set the books down by the cell door and hopped over to the dragon.

“Karegar, wake up,” she said, tapping his snout. “I found a couple books that may be what you wanted.” He didn’t stir.

“Karegar!” she shouted instead. This roused him. Emory darted back to the books, gathered them, and showed them to Karegar as he opened his eyes with a snick.

“I believe I found the books you wanted,” she said again, hefting the huge books up. They were intended for dragons to read, not humans, so it had been quite the journey here from the library. It’d even been a challenge to get the books in the first place. One of them had been on a shelf high on the shelf. There’d been no ladder, as dragons could fly up and select the book and glide back down. She’d ended up climbing the shelves.

Karegar grabbed one. One that was entitled Creatures, Nephilim, and Seraphim of the Gray Age. “Yes, this is it,” he murmured. “Thank you, Emory.” She grinned. She liked this bookish dragon, and she wanted to help. Maybe the dragons of Ita would treat her better than the people of Osnena.

Karegar set the book down and began to flip through the pages. Emory read over his arm. There were entries about the humans, the griffons, even the Salvanae, dragons from the south that were wingless, bearded, and serpentine. Other entries included gods, demons, and cambions. Karegar finally stopped on the page about phoenixes. He read the excerpt aloud.

“Phoenixes, the birds of flame and denizens of the sun god. First appearing in 773, these birds were aggressive and cruel. Created to destroy the dragons of Ita, who worshiped Draco, the dragon of stars, the sun god’s eternal enemy.

Draco and the god of the moons created artifacts to protect their children from the sun god’s light. The Stardisk, a bronze mirror that would reflect the light of Draco and extinguish the phoenixes’ fire. The Moonblade, a longsword that was impervious to the flame. Lastly, Draco gave a select few a small sliver of his power, creating the dragon mages.”

“Okay,” Emory drawled. “Vague. Doesn’t tell us how to do anything.”

“Which is why I requested the other books as well. There is also an addendum here,” he said. “In the last war against the phoenixes, the Stardisk was unfortunately destroyed, and the mages are all gone. The Moonblade is kept within the Citadel at the time of writing.” Karegar frowned.

“Perhaps we should move on to magic?” Emory asked. She lifted the other book. “Maybe there’s something in this one that’ll help.” Karegar sighed, set aside Creatures, Nephilim, and Seraphim of the Gray Age, and took the book Emory was now struggling to hold up. He set it on the ground before him, and began to read.

***

Dalirra and Rosutarr stood before the ruling council of Osnena. The room was silent. The two dragons exchanged a glance, with the people in the twelve seats observing them. They had waited a while at the gates, and they waited even longer here.

“Speak,” one of the council members said. Rosutarr completely froze up. He hadn’t had much to do with humans before, and even though they didn’t have wings, claws, or even scales, these twelve were intimidating. So it was Dalirra who spoke.

“We’ve come here to seek your aid. Ita is under attack from phoenixes as we speak. We face several thousand of the flaming birds, meeting them with a mere force of a few hundred.”

The council remained silent after her quick request. The twelve members slowly began to shake their heads.

“I’m sorry,” one of the members began. “We cannot afford to help you.” The two dragons deflated. “We ourselves are dealing with an attack, this one from the minotaurs. We are unable to spare resources to help our neighbors. We do hope you find some help somewhere. Maybe the griffons can help. One of their ambassadors is here, try asking them?”

Rosutarr began to back away. “We understand,” he said. “We appreciate being allowed some of your time.” Once the dragons were out in the hallway, which, as it was designed for humans, was a little cramped. Both dragons pulled their wings in and hung their heads low.

“Do you happen to know where the griffon ambassador is?” Rosutarr asked Dalirra. She shook her head and flagged down a guard. She asked much the same question as Rosutarr had.

“She is in the guest rooms. I can lead you there,” the guard offered. Dalirra gestured for him to lead the way.

***

Emory reached up and brushed Karegar’s snout. “So the magic had come through a bond between human and dragon?”

“It’s what the book says,” Karegar said.

“Why haven't any other dragons tried it?”

“There’s very few humans that choose to live in Ita. Many that do fear dragons regardless,” he answered. He stood and approached the door. “In addition, most dragons fear magic after what happened in the war. They would not seek to gain it themselves.”

“What happened in the war?” Emory asked, curious.

“Many mages killed themselves with violent explosions to scythe through phoenixes like barley. Many dragons have… an elevated sense of self-preservation.”

Emory was silent a beat. “Oh.”

“We shall try this, nonetheless. We could be Ita’s last hope.” He turned and leaned down to her. With a snick, his green eyes closed. Emory reached up once more, carefully placing a hand upon the end of his dark snout. Nothing happened.

“I don’t-” she began. A rush of unfamiliar feelings swept over her, knocking her off her feet. A swirl of voices raced through her head, foreign and uncomfortable. Her hands automatically rose to clutch her head as it seemed to split apart. The voices sneered. The voices cooed. The voices spoke softly, and they shouted. The pain spread through her head like dragonfire.

“Stop,” she said through clenched teeth. “Stop.” The whispers intensified. “STOP!”

Blessedly, her head cleared. The voices receded and emotions calmed. The pain in her head became like a campfire. Yet there was something new.

“How are you feeling,” Karegar asked. She jumped at the voice in her head.

“I’m- I’m okay,” she replied aloud. “I think.”

“I’m glad to see that this worked,” he said. Karegar faced the door once more. “Now to try the magic.” He flicked a claw and the lock combusted. He leapt back, startled. “It would appear that it does work.”

“Am I able to speak telepathically too?” Emory asked.

“You should be able to. Project your thoughts.”

“Let’s go then,” she attempted. The midnight dragon nodded and pushed the cell door open.

***

“I will get the griffons to help,” Sarak said. Dalirra and Rosutarr exchanged grins.

“We owe you our thanks,” Rosutarr told the mottled griffon.

“Now, it will take some time to rally the others of Leonis. Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure you two would be safe in Leonis,” Sarak offered.

“I’m sorry,” Dalirra began. “I want to get back to Ita and help what may remain of the army.” Rosutarr glanced at her. While he did want to go back, he also had always wanted to see Leonis. The country wasn’t far, but just like Dalirra, he wasn’t a traveler. He’d spent a good majority of his life training under Atonaligar. He hoped the old dragon was still alive. He remembered the last time he'd seen the golden dragon. He could recall clearly the blackened skin and shattered scales, and he remembered how that first phoenix had snatched him from the air so easily before Atonaligar managed to escape. He shook his head.

“Though I’m sure we could accompany you to Leonis and help convince the others to help,” Rosutarr said, nudging the green dragon next to him. Dalirra frowned, but conceded.

Sarak led the way onto the balcony and took to the skies. The blue and green dragons followed suit, following the griffon to Leonis.

***

“It’s like a world’s end out here,” Emory whispered in his mind. He agreed. Phoenixes blotted out the sky, burning down any dragon they found. Buildings flamed with nigh unquenchable fire, and the shrieks of the firebirds split the air. The world smelled strangely of bacon, with a hint of the sickly sweet odor of decay.

Emory lifted the Moonblade above her head. “Hopefully, we can take a few out.”

Scaled corpses lay burnt and broken on the ground. If they couldn’t do anything soon, Ita would fall to the phoenixes. He didn’t want to see what life could be like, whether it be on the run from them, or under their rule.

Karegar approached the first phoenix cautiously. “I hope you have that blade ready,” he said to the girl on his back. She clutched a neck spine with one hand and the fabled blade in the other. They hadn’t tarried in retrieving the blade, so they didn’t spend much time practicing the newfound magic. They had discovered, however, that both he and Emory were able to use it. The sword, though, was designed for human hands.

Karegar swept a talon towards the phoenix, with the intention of dousing the fire. Instead, water crashed into the bird, nearly knocking it from the sky. It had the desired effect, stripping the bird of its flame. Like this, it looked like a naked, oversized falcon, all the feathers plucked off. Karegar passed closely below it, allowing Emory to cut the bird’s belly. The phoenix shrieked at them. Karegar blasted flames at it and continued to maul the vicious bird.

“Behind us,” Emory shouted in his head. He rolled, and the human girl cut at another phoenix he hadn’t seen approach. The bird was still aflame, but the sword cut skin regardless. Karegar continued to batter the naked one while the other phoenix drew back, surprised.

“Bet you weren’t expecting that,” Emory said from his back. Karegar’s target finally fell, its eyes lifeless. He turned his attention to the other phoenix. Karegar swooped closer to it, hailing it with wind and water. The bird’s flames sputtered and died, so he raked his talons across the bird. Emory reached over his wing and nicked its wing. Karegar blasted it with dragonfire, and it too fell.

“There’s so many,” Emory said. “How are we going to get them all?” Karegar shook his head. He had no answers right now.

They continued to slay the firebirds, barely making a dent in their numbers. While in combat with one, though, the bound pair heard caws from the north. It had to be more phoenixes, Karegar thought. His hope plummeted.

“Karegar,” Emory whispered. “Griffons.” She pointed. Indeed, griffons swooped in from the north, led by two dragons, green and blue. He recognized Dalirra at the front, as well as Sarak, a mottled griffon ambassador who’d stopped by the library before on her visits to the Citadel.

Karegar cried with relief. The Itan dragons would continue to live on. Just as the phoenixes had blocked the sun, making their own light, the griffon army was vast enough to do the same.

A thought occurred to him then. How were the griffons to fight the phoenixes? They were just as hapless against their fire. He mulled over the issue some, before an idea rose to mind.

“I have an idea,” he told Emory. He reached out in his mind to the new spot that had formed, what he had taken to recognize as the bond. “Connect with me.” Emory did not ask why, and the moment she did, he felt the bond deepen.

“I’m with you,” the young Osnen girl told him. He closed his eyes and hovered in the sky. He gathered water molecules in the air, bringing them together and forming heavy clouds. The clouds darkened and sagged, growing dense with the weight of water. Then it began to rain.

***

Atonaligar looked up when the first massive raindrop splashed on his snout. He wept with joy when he saw the army of griffons led by his squires. He cried out in glee when he saw Karegar with the human child upon his back, the tot holding a dimly glowing sword and both of them concentrated in thought. He whooped when he saw the rain dousing the phoenixes’ fire. He assumed Karegar and the child were the cause of this magical rain.

So they’d done it. Rosutarr and Dalirra had at least partially succeeded on the mission he had sent them on, and Karegar had found a way to help with magic and history. The griffons tore into the unlit firebirds as the rain continued to fall, the downpour strengthening.

“Dragons of Ita! To arms!” Atonaligar shouted over the rain. “Now we fight!”

The dragons roared a war cry and rose from the various buildings that had given them shelter. They slammed into the forces of phoenixes, ripping the birds apart. It was gruesome and gory, but Atonaligar had little care at that moment. He had suffered them before, and now was a chance for retribution for all the harm they had given him, Karegar, and the other dragons of Ita.

***

Karegar opened his eyes and let the bond’s power recede. The rain had started, it would continue to downpour for some time now. Emory whooped with delight, her hair now soaked. Karegar roared to the sky, glad that he’d found a solution. He watched as griffons and dragons alike swarmed the phoenix armies, and he watched as mutilated birds tumbled from the sky. The phoenixes fought back, but for every dragon or griffon killed, ten phoenixes fell from the sky, never to cause harm again.

He could see the big golden dragon that had given him so much grief recently. Yet he was glad the old one continued to live. After bonding with Emory, he’d found new hope. He cared for the girl, and he knew Atonaligar would recognize his key role in helping fight this battle. He wanted to help this girl grow, and make new discoveries with this new ally at his side.

“Shall we join the fight?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she responded grimly.

***

Atonaligar stood before Karegar and Emory. Karegar grimaced, awaiting the death sentence.

“Thank you both for your efforts,” the big golden dragon said instead. “Karegar, while you have gone rogue before, you have proven that your knowledge and willingness to seek answers is a great asset. And with Emory at your side, we should have little fear of events repeating themselves. You are both free.”

Karegar was shocked. He knew there’d be recognition for the part he played in keeping the remaining dragons alive, but his absolvement of his actions had completely blindsided him. He glanced at Emory, who stood stoically beside him. She gave the black dragon a huge smile.

“Thank you,” Karegar finally said. Atonaligar moved on to his squires.

“And thank you two as well, Dalirra and Rosutarr. You may count yourselves among the ranks of Ita’s bellators,” he said to them. The pair traded a giddy grin. Atonaligar continued on.

“Lastly, but most certainly not least, thank you Sarak and your fellow griffons for aiding us against the phoenixes. Were it not for the armies of Leonis, we would have never stood a chance.” Sarak cawed a polite response that Karegar couldn’t hear from where he stood.

The groups all went separate ways. Sarak and her griffons traveled back north, back to the lands of Leonis. Rosutarr and Dalirra followed Atonaligar and his soldiers back to the Citadel. Karegar and Emory, however, remained on the desiccated street.

“What now?” Emory asked Karegar. He shrugged his wings.

“I suppose we fly out in search of something new,” he told her eventually. While he appreciated the sedentary work of a librarian, Emory had shown him a wild sense of adventure, and he sought to nurture it. “Perhaps we shall start in the south with the Salvanae. Let me grab my notebook, and we can be off.”

The young girl he once thought a toddler hopped upon his back, and Karegar flew back to the library. He did not know where their adventures might lead them, but he was curious to find out, and he would document everything as fastidiously as he could.