Page 22 of The Truth

Where the rest of existence was a blur, Helios was clear as glass. The great dragon stood before him, chest puffed, wings spread, frills pricked and shivering.

Stop. Eltoar pushed their minds together. Do not do this.

Helios raged against him, images of burning bodies flickering in their shared minds, of skin melting from bones, memories of the seventh incursion. They had been there. They had flown to Karhal’s Pass to fight alongside their brothers and sisters. But they had been late. And they had watched as the Veyaks spewed acid atop the broken bodies of still-living dragons, watched as the creatures softened the scales and tore at the flesh. And Helios would do now what they did then. He would grant them respite. He would take their pain away and allow their ashes to drift forever in the wind.

A piece of Eltoar and Helios had died that day, died with their kin. In truth a piece of them died every time they witnessed a soul leave this world, but that day was like nothing else.

Eltoar reached out a hand, and Helios roared in defiance. Something passed between them, something Eltoar had never felt before: a separation, a wall of fire and rage.

But in that separation he knew the dragon’s fury, knew Helios’ mind.

I will not stand by and let them die in pain. I will not. No matter the voice that speaks the words that seek to command me. I am Helios, I am fire made flesh.

This is wrong, and I will have no part in it.

A shiver swept through Eltoar as Helios unleashed another roar that shook the air. The dragon shifted forwards, ignoring all who dared stand in his way, and with a tremendous crack of his wings, he lifted himself into the air, leaving Eltoar alone.

As Helios’s mighty wings beat once more, the haze in Eltoar’s mind melted, and the world took shape, voices pouring in. Alvira had her hands on his shoulders, her deep blue eyes staring into his.

“Eltoar!” She shook him, but he looked through her to his soulkin who tore across the sky towards Arathín. And all he could think was one thing: I failed you.

When Eltoar finally pulled himself back Alvira was roaring orders. “Farda, Kollna, Pellenor with me! The rest of you, if you move from this hill the fires of the void would be welcome respite from my wrath.”

As Eltoar turned to look at her, Alvira grabbed him by the shoulders again. “What is he doing?”

When Eltoar didn’t answer, she clapped her hands to his face and held his skull tight. “Eltoar. What is Helios doing?”

“He’s burning the dying. Stopping their pain. The Veyaks kill slow, eat slower… He’s giving them rest.”

Alvira held his gaze for a few moments longer, the look in her eyes softening. Without another word, she mounted Vyldrar and he, Tinua, Meranta, and Shinyara all took to the air in Helios’s wake.

Eltoar closed his eyes and let his mind drift into his soulkin’s. His entire being became rage and wrath. He felt acid burn at his wings, gouge into his scales. But so too did he hear the shrieks as Veyaks burned beneath his fury. Helios savoured the sensation of their blood scratching at his tongue. And when he broke through the cloud of air-thin wings and fragile bodies, he looked down on the part-eaten, still-living bodies of his kin, of dragons broken across the ground both outside and within the city limits. And with a fury granted to him by Varyn himself, Helios ignited the sky and set the world aflame.

Chapter Seven

The Willow Bears the Pain

City of Arathín – Winter, Year 2662 After Doom

The dawn had not yet risen when Alvira stood at the edge of the camp, dipping her cloth once more into the bucket of liquid Kollna had prepared, and scrubbed at the scales beneath her soulkin’s eye where the Veyak acid had sunk into an old wound. The Jotnar had said the acid must be cleaned away before anything could be treated.

Vyldrar’s groans were low and deep as he scratched his snout into the dirt.

“It’s all right,” Alvira whispered, resting a hand on his warm scales.

The truth was that it was not the wounds of the body that caused the dragon such pain, but the wounds of the soul and the heart. What they had seen at Arathín would live with them for all time.

Six dragons had lain in the dirt and the rubble, their hearts still beating, their bodies maimed by acid. And as they lay there, the Veyaks consumed their flesh, tore at them like sacks of meat while the acid worked through their scales and bones.

Their bonds broken, their soulkin slaughtered, the dragon’s cries had been so feeble even Vyldrar’s ears had barely heard them. Bereft of their fury, listless, so apathetic towards life that they hardly moved as they were eaten alive.

Vyldrar turned his head at the heartache that consumed Alvira. The dragon nudged the edge of his snout into her chest, a warmth spreading from his mind to hers.

“What if that were you?” Alvira whispered. “I couldn’t bear it… to leave you to that fate. If Helios hadn’t… If he’d… We would have left them all to die so slowly…”

Dirt crunched beneath footfalls at Alvira’s back. The smell of Eltoar’s heart touched Vyldrar’s nostrils, and the dragon’s eyes shifted, seeing the elf stand behind Alvira, still garbed in full plate.

“How is he?” Alvira asked, dipping the cloth back into the bucket and scrubbing at an etched groove carved into one of Vyldrar’s horns.