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“You were the last person who should have feared me, who should have feared power!”
With every step she took backwards, feet bare against the sharp, rocky ground, it was as if a new memory unravelled. Every movement brought a new sense of clarity; when she raised her arms to protect her face, she suddenly remembered that, if she brought them down, pushed to the left, and uttered a long-forgotten word, it was a new spell. It was as unnerving and unpredictable to her as it was to him, and she could see the surprise in his eyes, however black they were, mirroring her own.
He'd always known she had power, but the extent of it…
…had she been hiding it all this time?
His movements were his own, but he could feel a different will behind the magic now, pushing forwards; his spells were stronger, his movements a lot sharper. It was reminiscent of his brief standoff against the Katolis guards back before his imprisonment, and the sensations certainly weren’t lost on him.
Aaravos was bolstering his power. He was going for the kill.
Aran, to give her credit, didn’t give an inch; she braced her foot forwards and grimaced as her hands, both moving in separate but strong patterns, weaved a sign he didn’t readily recognise. Aaravos, however, was more than prepared; the water conjured by the woman was immediately engulfed by the flames summoned through his staff, and he pressed forwards through the steam to lash out at her, the curved end of the weapon slicing through the air she had occupied only seconds before.
“You will not stop me,” he breathed, eyes on her as she stumbled back, hands raising slowly before her once again. “Not when I’m so close, Aran, not even you will stop me!” She was panting heavily, that stray strand of hair once again falling in front of her face, as it so often did. He used to brush it back behind her ear, he remembered, when no one else was around to see. When it was just the two of them, locked away in that chamber below the castle, when she could be herself without hesitation because it was only him around…
This was all meant to have gone so differently.
She was meant to be standing by his side, not against him.
How had it come to this?
“Viren, please-” her voice was strained, but her gaze was intense as ever. “Circumstances have changed, everything is different now! You have to stop this, stop it now-!”
Her will is failing her; strike her now, swiftly-!
He couldn’t remember when he’d started obeying Aaravos’s commands like a common soldier, but recognised that it was simply the fact that the endgame was within reach that he was so willing to do so. Every hit, every spell, every blast of pure primal power was fuelled by the knowledge that the dragonling was so close, that the future of humanity was almost secure. Ultimate power was within his grasp, and, with the little Moonshadow girl immobilised within the ice…all that stood between him and absolution was this woman that he might have once loved.
He would put humanity above her. Every single time.
He cut through her next attack, sparks scattering from the surface of his staff before pressing forwards again; magic was all well and good, he knew, but a sword to the face was a sword to the face, and no amount of primal magic would fix that. Aran’s face had always been so incredibly pretty…even contorted in the way it was in that moment, even as her eyes blackened with the Dark Magic she reached into…he respected it, in a way. She wasn’t like him; she was born an elf, whatever kind she may have been, and as such, she had access to the incredible Arcanum that would allow her to cast primal magic. But still, even with all of that…she didn’t shy away from the might of the darker arts.
She wasn’t prideful like the others.
And yet, she would still go before the fall.
The spell was formidable, and one he knew well; he only just managed to sidestep it, the sleeve of his robe slicing in two as it just crossed the threshold of the magic’s boundaries; her hands lowered again, quickly, but just a fraction too late. He planted his foot between hers and forced the staff, horizontal, upwards into her face. The hand-guard struck her between the eyes and she gasped, one of her feet falling back a step to regain her balance. Her eyes were closed for only a second, shut tight against the pain of being hit so hard, before they opened wide as he sunk the end of the staff right through her chest.
Time seemed to pause for a brief second. Somewhere in the background, either a few feet away or a thousand, he could hear the guttural and heart-breaking cry of the Moonshadow girl, but her words were lost to him. He could only stop, blink for a moment, stare into her eyes as she let out the smallest of gasps, one hand gripping his shoulder as the other held on tightly to the handle of the staff which pressed against her skin. It had pierced straight through her; the metal tip was visible to him over her shoulder, beads of startlingly-red blood dribbling down the carvings and dripping onto the floor.
The drips were loud, he recalled in that time.
Deafening.
“Aran-”
Her expression was swiftly changing from shock and pain to fury and frustration, her grip on the handle loosening with every passing second; she tried to open her mouth, but at that point he took a swift step backwards, pulling the bladed edge from her flesh. She stumbled forwards and he grabbed her, dropping to her knees to hold her upright as he frowned in confusion.
He’d killed her.
Without even thinking, he’d…killed her.
The snake-like creature on his shoulder was moving, probably to avoid being unpleasantly crushed between their bodies as she began to slump; he watched as it crawled over her arm, whispering things he couldn’t hear. All he could feel, all he could sense, was the fading life in his arms and the growing realisation of his actions, actions he had taken to achieve a certain goal, a goal that was worth this pitiful sacrifice.
If he didn’t do what he came here to do, then her death was meaningless.
He would not allow her death to be without meaning.
“V-Viren-”
He forced himself away from her, letting her slip to the ground as he straightened up again. The creature wrapped itself firmly around his shoulders as he turned away, the bloodied end of his staff tapping against the rocky ground as he left her curled up in pain, her hands pressed to the wound on her chest. There was only one way the dragonling could have fled from the lair of its parents, and that was up; it was still young, young enough so it wouldn’t be able to fly yet. It would be cornered at the top of the Spire, with nowhere to flee and no one to protect it.
Aran had been its last line of defence.
He’d won.
* * *
“Get up, please, PLEASE get up-!”
Her head hurt.
Everything was…red. Red and hot and just so…so painful. Her mouth was dry, and her hand was wet. Water? No, not water, it was too hot to be water…
She gasped loudly, raising her head as Rayla cried out once more, straining against the ice in which she’d been encased. Viren…Viren had ran her through. Ran her through with the staff…ran her through with his staff…something about that was important, but her chest hurt so bad that her brain wasn’t working and she thought she might pass out. But passing out would mean never waking up, and there was no time for that; mortality could wait until later, she forced herself to think, as she hauled herself onto her knees. She could still hear Rayla, yelling, pleading, begging, but she was struggling to focus. Still clutching the wound, she let out a slow breath and raised her hand. She could make out the blood on her fingers, bright crimson against the deep purple of her skin, and swallowed down a ball of copper before opening her mouth again.
“Sol…solaris-!”
One of the torches which had fallen from its bracket burst into flame; she groaned and collapsed back onto the floor, head swimming. She could hear the little pitter patter of feet on the rocky floor, and a grunt that had become so familiar to her over the years; that Glow Toad pet the young prince had always carried around with him was far more intelligent than she gave him credit for, as he was already ambling towards the ice with the torch in his mouth. The torch would free Rayla from the ice, solve one problem…
The other was this massive hole in her chest.
His staff. He’d stabbed her with his staff…
…Except it wasn’t his staff.
…It was hers.
She gasped, her hand flying back to the wound; she remembered. She remembered everything; she remembered the feel of the pieces coming together, the forging of the silver and the carving of the runes. She remembered the sensation of the oil, of the tempering of the metal and the heat on her face and the sweat on her skin, she remembered how she’d dedicated her life at that point to the creation of that staff, and remembered how she had fought so hard…to forget.
That staff was born out of misery and betrayal and a desperate need for distraction, and yet, even through all of that, whoever she was back when she made it…
…She had been clever. Oh, whoever she had been all of those years ago, she had been so very clever.
She swallowed back another one of those painful balls of metal and bile as she forced herself to sit up, panting with the exertion. She could see Rayla now, hacking away at the ice with her blade as she melted it away with the torch, and when their eyes met, she could see how they widened.
“Aran, you’re-!”
“S-Solaris Ignus-”
She raised her hand again, shakily, and the ice began to trickle away in little streams of water. Rayla quickly tossed the torch away and used her blade to pry her leg free; in a handful of seconds, she tumbled to the ground and got her feet under her, sprinting to her side as she slumped again, her hand immediately gripping her arm.
“I, I don’t understand,” the girl breathed, eyes flickering to the bloodied mess on her gown. “He went right through you, you…you should be dead-”
“I put a safeguard…on that staff.” Her voice was weak, but her grip tightened on her shoulder; Rayla’s expression became set, and she nodded firmly as she gripped her arms, helping her to her feet. She swayed slightly; the blood seemed to have stopped coming, but there was still so much of it, so much clinging to her robes and her skin and her hair…she braced her legs, still trembling from the cold, to help the woman remain upright, and swallowed.
“A…a safeguard?”
She nodded, letting out another little breath as she placed her hand on her shoulder; surprisingly, she managed to stand alone, letting Rayla move out from under her arm and let her stand freely. Nonetheless, she could still feel her hands on her biceps, keeping her steady, keeping in her line of sight. Eye contact was made, but Aran could barely register it; the pain, the pain of being ran through like that…
…No magic could so easily take that away.
“That staff…it’s a conduit for magic,” she groaned, hand gripping Rayla’s forearm tightly. “I made it that way, but I was so afraid, so afraid at what it could do…so I built in the only protection I could in the time I had. It can’t kill, Rayla, not in the way it was just used…I didn’t make a weapon for slaughter, I made it f-for magic, for life…”
“…It can’t…kill-?”
“Through magic it can do anything, as can we all…but the staff itself cannot take a life. It’s…inelegant. And in my youth, I…despised such a concept.”
Rayla’s brows furrowed, but her lips ceased whatever words they hoped to form as Aran groaned, buckling over as she clutched her chest tightly. She reached out to her, but her fingers stilled before they touched her bloodied shoulder, face crumpling.
“I don’t-” her voice caught slightly. “Aran, I, I don’t know what to do-!”
“We have to stop him!”
Rayla’s eyes widened as Aran looked at her, tears in her startlingly violet eyes. She realised, in that moment, how similar their irises were, but how different they appeared against the sclera; her own were a pale blue tone against the white, but the black of which Aran’s own sat upon…it really made all the difference in the dusky cool tones of the dragons’ lair.
“…We have to stop him, Rayla,” she breathed, blinking the tears away as quickly as they had formed. “If he consumes the dragon prince, if he takes his power…he’ll be unstoppable. And not just through his lifetime, no, but through a thousand human lifespans, he’ll be untouchable.”
“What do we do?”
“We do whatever we can.”
Rayla nodded firmly, hands moving to the blades strapped to the base of her spine; Aran gestured for her to go first, groaning as she clutched at the wound on her chest. She didn’t expect the girl to tell her to stay where she was; Viren was a monster, and if he wasn’t stopped in this moment, then he would win every moment from now on. There was no time to stay put, to rest, to recover; this was where their lives were on the line.
The last Dragonguard.
Rayla moved faster than her, as expected; Aran strained to keep pace, but the pain was excruciating. The hole in her chest had already closed, but she’d lost enough blood to make her woozy and keep her head spinning. All of the memories that had returned to her were as hazy as her perception of the present, and she was struggling to align them.
She’d made the staff…made the staff because she’d…hurt. And she’d hurt…because…someone had betrayed her. Someone she’d loved. And she’d made a weapon of such power because she needed to focus her attention on something that didn’t burn her so much…it was a challenge. A challenge she’d needed.
Her eyes widened as she stumbled out into the cold mountain air.
Aaravos.
Rayla glanced back as she sprinted up the stairs; Aran had frozen, eyes wide as her fingers slipped from the fabric on her chest. Frustrated, she jumped down the last few steps she’d climbed, fingers gripping her wrist tightly.
“Aran, we have to go-!”
The realisation in her eyes was impossible to miss; Rayla had seen fear before, had known fear before. Hell, they were only in this mess because she’d recognised fear in another’s eyes, but this…this was different. For a brief second, Aran’s eyes met her own, before her fingers curled tightly over hers.
“I remember.”
Without another word, and with strength that surprised her completely, she pushed Rayla back up the stairs; nodding in understanding, the girl began to sprint once again, confident now that the other would keep some kind of pace. Her heart was pounding in her ears, every step feeling as if she were trying to run through water; what could she even do? Part of her hoped Aran, as skilled a mage as she was, would have an idea, a mighty primal spell that would put an end to Viren and all of his scheming. But that part of her was kept firmly in check by the reasonable, practical side of her; no matter how powerful the woman behind her was, she was still horribly injured and in immeasurable pain, as well as whatever she was feeling inside.
Rayla didn’t know much about Viren and Aran, but she could only guess they had been close once.
And now…now they had to kill him.
The pinnacle of the Storm Spire was dark, the air surrounding them muggy and dark and charged with the unmistakable tang of Dark Magic; with a horrible drop in her stomach, Rayla realised immediately why the feel of it was so strong. Zym, the poor dragonling, was struggling feebly against the tempest, captured in a twisting funnel of deep purples and blacks as his life was drained slowly from his meek little form. If there were any blood left within her face, it surely drained away; without thinking, without even glancing back at Aran, she pulled the blades from their holsters and grit her teeth.
An assassin should not act with emotion.
But she felt fury.
An assassin should not act out of passion.
She would not let Zym die.
Life is precious, and an assassin should not take it lightly.
She was going to kill Viren, and she was going to do it now.
The next few moments passed by before she’d even registered them. Her feet made no sound on the rocky steps as she charged across the Spire to Viren’s form, and her blades didn’t even whistle as she raised them. She was barely five feet from him, invisible to all senses except for a small yell of fury in the final second, when he suddenly turned, hand held outwards with two fingers raised; he didn’t utter a single spell, didn’t make a single sigil, but the weight of the power that struck her was undeniable. The breath left her chest as she flew backwards blades tumbling from her hands before hitting the rock hard.
For a moment, everything went white, a small ringing in her ears as she whimpered, hand going to her spine. Her blades were gone; they might have even tumbled over the edge of the Spire, lost to the winds forever, but she had absolutely no idea. All she could think of now, the only thought in her mind…
…How could she kill him…without her weapons?
She forced herself back onto her feet, still breathless from where she’d connected with the rock. Viren was facing her now, staff held so casually in his hand as he drained the life from the poor dragonling, fist clenched at his side.
“…You’re too late,” he said slowly, eyes trained on her as she swayed slightly, body buffeted by the tempest around them. “I’ve already won.”
* * *
Rayla’s blade barely missed Callum’s outstretched fingers as it sliced cleanly through the stone floor in front of him. His heart leapt from his stomach to his throat as it did so, fingers tightening for a moment around Aran’s wrist; he’d met her halfway up to the pinnacle of the Spire, and, after being swiftly told to disregard to blood on her gown, had helped haul her up the last few steps after Rayla.
Up here, the sense of dread was thick; he could see Viren, tainted by the very magic he used, see what he was doing to poor Zym, and there, to the side…Rayla. His heart dropped again as Aran slipped her wrist from his fingers, instead gripping his sleeve and pulling him up with her. There was a renewed frenzy to her movements now, a sudden burst of energy despite the amount of blood on her clothes, and it wasn’t hard to see why;
Callum knew the look Rayla had in her eyes.
He knew…what she was about to do.
Just as they both reached the final step to the summit, Aran’s fingers released him; he went to reach out, to call out for Rayla and make her stop, to make her think what she was about to do through, when before he could even form a single syllable-
“BROTHER!”
She had always been so soft. So gentle. She’d never once raised her voice, never been loud in any capacity above a laugh, never once gotten angry. And yet…he had never heard such fury before. He almost stumbled, almost turned to look at Aran with utter disbelief that that kind of sound could come from her mouth, but time was moving against him. The single word made Viren turn, shock evident on his face at the sound of her voice; the distraction her yell had caused was just enough, leaving him wholly unprepared for the moment where Rayla, a resigned look of fear on her face, pitched herself forward, clearing the entire summit in a single second.
. . .
Callum’s scream seemed to follow them over the edge, his breath choking out in a cry of anguish as the girl’s body collided with the mage’s; her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as the impact of her body threw them backwards, sending them both plummeting over the side of the mountain, and into the abyss below.
“No, no, no, no, no, RAYLA-!”
Callum sprinted over to the side, staring in disbelief as their bodies, screams of fear coming from both pairs of lips, vanished into the cloud below; he blinked away tears of shock, his breath catching in his chest.
No.
No.
Aran was beside him, still clutching the bloodied patch on her chest as she watched him, watched him with both sorrow and sadness. But there was a little something else there, a little…curiosity in her expression. Callum stared right back at her before he shook his head slowly, letting out a deep breath before quickly pulling the strap of his book over his shoulder. She took it from him, wordlessly, as he stared back into the sky below, before finally swallowing.
“…Will I-” he began, blinking away tears as he looked at her again. Her expression was unreadable as she held his book tightly, the cover gauged with four large slashes from the battle below, eyes on his own as the seconds ticked by.
“Why don’t you find out?”
As if he needed any more convincing; with a slight nod, and a lack of hesitation she envied, the young prince took a running leap and threw himself over the edge of the Spire, vanishing into the clouds like Rayla and Viren before him. Aran simply remained where she stood, still holding his book tightly; she ran her thumb, crusted with dried blood, over the spine, pausing only when she felt the dragonling brush against her ankle. She paused, but then slowly lowered her hand to her side as she looked down; the little thing was weak, so small and so drained from the spell he had been so recently entangled in, mewing pitifully but making absolutely no protest at being picked up. The staff, that…cursed staff, the source of so much of her pain and suffering, had tumbled from Viren’s hand when Rayla had tackled him. It lay there, now, discarded atop the Spire with her blood still oxidising on the curve of the blade.
“…”
With the baby dragon tucked in the crook of her arm and the strap of Callum’s book over her shoulder, she turned away from the staff and the abyss before her; she sensed magic within the young prince when she and Soren had arrived at the Spire the day before, an undeniable connection to the Sky Arcanum. If he were truly intent on survival, if he put his heart and soul into the spell she knew he needed…then she didn’t doubt he would succeed.
He’d save Rayla.
And…Viren would…
“I will not forget whose side you chose today, dear sister.”
She frowned, the young dragon whimpering under her arm as she stopped walking, her hand hanging against the cover of Callum’s book. She supposed this…misty, ethereal, not-quite-ghostlike shadow before her had been what Viren had seen all this time, like trying to see a face through water, but said face was undeniable.
Familiar.
Aaravos.
“…I hope you don’t,” she replied slowly, shifting the dragon slightly; he let out a soft mewl, nudging his nose against her collarbone in frustration. Indeed, it was obvious that he was confused, that he was lost; he couldn’t see or hear the shadow of her brother despite his proximity to him, and in his eyes, she must have been talking to herself.
She supposed that would have been amusing, once.
“You don’t want to go to war with me, Amaranthae.”
“You just lost your war.”
“This was merely the beginning.” Ghost or no, there was no faking that shine in his eyes, the smirk she knew so well; it promised trouble, promised mayhem, promised hurt. “I have safeguards in place, guarantees of succession…dear Viren let me out of that cursed mirror of yours, sweet sister, and you can’t put me back in there now.”
His words would have angered her should she have had the energy, should she have not hurt so much. Her eyes remained locked on his, the dragonling still held tightly under her arm as she slowly stepped around him, not once breaking eye contact. Still, he smirked, hands behind his back as he turned with her, finally coming to a stop when she had rounded him completely, standing with her back to the stairs as opposed to the abyss from before.
There was no trust here.
“I look forwards to our next meeting, Amaranthae,” he said slowly, bowing his head towards her as he pressed his hand to his chest, bringing her attention to the garish eclipse over his heart. “When I return to Xadia, when I walk among you all once more…I do so look forward to finishing what we started, all those centuries ago.”
He might have vanished as she turned away from him; he might have faded into dust or simply drifted away with the wind, but she had no way of knowing. She simply began to descend the stairs, breathing heavily as she held the little dragon close, Callum’s book still swinging from her shoulder.
With the immediate threat gone, there was more for her to do, now. So much more she could do, so much more she could offer…the sounds of fighting below had completely faded, signifying the end of the battle. Viren, Aaravos…both of them, they had lost the day, and had lost any days they might have gained from victory. The dragon prince lived, and his mother…
Her heart skipped its next beat as the realisation hit, the memory of the mighty beast locked in slumber within the mountain on which she stood wriggling its way back into her mind.
Zubeia.
* * *
She didn’t know what truly transpired after the battle; most of the survivors remained below, surrendering to the harsh realities of war with the removal and disposal of bodies, tending of the wounded, and incarceration of the enemy prisoners. Those who…mattered, for want of a better word, the generals and the mages and the royalty, all ascended the everlasting staircase of the Spire to congregate within the entrance hall, taking a few spare moments to lament over the loss and relieve over the living.
Callum had survived, as she knew he would. He had been babbling excitedly about it, about his first summoning of mage wings, and how the fear within him had been the perfect catalyst for a successful casting; he’d managed to snatch Rayla from the air about halfway down the Spire, carrying her off to safety as Viren tumbled, unaided, to his demise below. His voice, excited and loud, carried so much so above all others in the entrance hall, cutting through the fog that was swarming through Aran’s mind.
In truth, she didn’t have the energy to attempt what she was doing.
But she’d have plenty of time to rest when she was done.
After delivering the young dragon into safe hands, she’d entered the chamber of the Dragon Queen without anyone noticing. It was certainly quieter in here, save for the low, steady pulsing of Zubeia’s breath as still she slept, deeply, unaware of the changing world around her. Aran had hesitated only briefly before stepping from the stone steps into the grass, moving soundlessly across the foliage until she stood against the tip of the slumbering dragon’s nose.
“…I couldn’t even begin to ask your forgiveness for the role I’ve played in the pain you’ve felt,” she breathed slowly, resting both hands against the solid curve of her scales. “…You’ll hate me when you find out, when you understand the hand I had in this whole sorry mess. I chose the side of the humans over Avizandum when the last Magma Titan fell…because I felt their pain. Their loss. Their need to end a single life to save so many more was so much more important a cause than your mate’s bitter hatred of humanity, and I…made my choice. He didn’t pursue, he said, because I’d be so much safer rotting away in the human kingdoms, unaware of who I am, unable to re-enter Xadia on his watch and never being able to break the charm that kept my memories sealed away. My betrayal was never to you, my Queen…though I understand greatly that you won’t see it that way.
I taught Viren the spell that downed Avizandum. He wouldn’t have even known it should I not have told it to him, if I’d just kept my mouth shut, if I didn’t let my feelings control my actions…but…the way they ran, Zubeia, the way they ran from Xadia, and he still came after blood…they were retreating, and he killed three of their human Queens without remorse. I let my fury get the better of me and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
She pressed her forehead gently to the slumbering dragon’s nose, tears dripping down her cheeks as her shoulders began to shake.
“I was there when their King killed yours. I watched it happen. And when they plotted to destroy your egg, I simply stood by and remained silent. I was foolish, I’ve always been so foolish, Zubeia, even before all of this! I remember who I am now, I remember what happened to me, and even a fresh start and a clean slate couldn’t stop me being as naïve as I’ve always been! I’ve always been controlled, manipulated, used for someone else’s bidding because I’ve been too short-sighted to look at the bigger picture! I built the relic staff for my brother to use against the dragons, I built the mirror for the dragons to use against my brother; I’ve been the perpetrator of this endless cycle of violence, and I won’t do it any longer!”
She grimaced, taking a deep, shuddering breath as she pressed her lips to the scales, taking a few moments to compose herself. The tears still came, but her breathing eventually began to slow, eyes opening again as she pressed her hand to her chest, to the spot where the staff had sliced so cleanly through her.
At some point, some point in her troubled and bitter past…she must have had the clarity to think ahead. If she hadn’t, she’d be dead now, bled out on the stone floor of the entrance hall where so many now gathered in victory.
She had the capability of goodness inside of her.
She still had the chance to change.
“…No longer,” she breathed softly, slowly pulling her gown to the side as she knelt in the grass. “…No more, I won’t…I won’t do it anymore.”
She reached out again, gently placing her hands once more against the scales, before bowing her head and closing her eyes; she was truly in no physical shape for such an enchantment, but rest would soon come, she knew.
And she would need it, if she were to help right these wrongs she’d forced upon this broken world.