I shuddered.

I admit when the captain pronounced those words of doom, my gaze first darted to Litzia, whose inner mind I never thought wholly concealed from Aurora’s heart-penetrating eyes. But the one who was shaken the most, moreso than Litzia’s aught betrayal of agitation, was the shifting pair of white.

“What be it?” loudly, clearly, ringing like a ship bell, the captain asked as she marched to the pair, “What be your name, knight?”

As with aught who is subjected to her bright gaze, the knight cast her face to the ground, and yet for all the trembling note, her voice was full of determination, “I am called Acis, your faithful servant, if you’d have I, Mistress.”

“Would I? Rather, would you? Your name is by your own choosing, Acis, she who was Hyacinth once. You were twin to my Galanthus, by way of a shared soul. But I see that is no more.”

“No more, Mistress. For I have regained what was once lost. But all the same I am Acis, pledge-sister to Galanthus - my cherished pair. And for your claim over my sister, so do I swear my allegiance to you till the end of time.”

“You? She who came from the line that dared mutinied against me? Is that not part of who you are? The forsaken existence that you for foolishness regained?”

“Even so, Mistress. My fate is in your hands. Do you allow me a chance to atone for my kin’s sins, I will do my utmost to soar again for you.”

“I allow not, what then?”

It was too much. My heart ached for her, even as the girl was too terrified to feel her own pain. She who had once rent her soul for Galanthus, and has little else to her name. It is not fair that she should be denied that hard-sought reward after all this. But who am I to speak of fairness? The captain’s justice is her own, and upon which she dictates her rulings, and those we mortals do not protest. It would be better of use to plead a storm away or implore the seasons to an early change.

I am only a mortal.

“Then I shall gainsay you.”

So stated the voice from an unexpected quarter. The white wyverness and indeed her wonted flat tone.

“You, Galanthus?” the captain asked, the corner of her mouth curled - a sign that she was either bemused or angered.

“Yes, I.”

“You, Galanthus?” she repeated, “With what strength and by what course? You are one of those few who have seen into Fate’s patterned palm and the world’s intricate design, wyvern of mine. You know well what you can and cannot do. So tell me dear, how do you think you may gainsay I?”

At a loss for words, Galanthus glared back. And yet in that glare, I did not see the searing hatred I had once marked in Litzia in like situation. It was something else, something rather like a childish tantrum, much more unreasonable and in all ways thoughtless. And by that I know she meant every word she had uttered. Litzia would not mutiny thoughtlessly, for she was aware of her powerlessness, and would abide and bide her time. But the white wyverness heeded not the signs of danger, being far more simple in thoughts and actions. And ever she had a singular way of being direct.

I thought right.

Galanthus drew back, holding tight her sister’s hand, her face flustered by an immeasurable rage.

“I don’t care!” she cried. Clear and concise. “I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care and I don’t care! I don’t care whatever that you say, Aurora! I don’t care what Fate designs! I don’t even care what is right! If I must quit my charge to be with the one I want, then I swear to you, and you may depend upon my word, even as your own prophecy! For I would!”

“Your charge? You cannot possibly mean that, Galanthus!” the captain hissed as her bright eyes widened in astonishment, shining all the more intensively upon the wyverness’ pale visage. “Crave it all you may, Galanthus, your duty compels your existence! You cannot abandon it for all that be your earnest wish! Cross me not in this, for you know ‘tis true. ‘Tis beyond mere witlessness! ‘Tis dumber than stone and rocks wanting to cry and laugh! You embarrass yourself with your childishness!”

“Obvious to me those stones and rocks did not want it enough!”

“I shall have you whipped and confined for a thousand years, Galanthus!”

“I. Do. Not. C-“

“Peace, Galanthus!” Acis seized the wyverness in terror, putting a hand over her mouth. “So be it! Let me suffer alone if that is how my fate should be! But not you too!”

Galanthus bit the knight’s hand.

“You be quiet!” her released mouth spat, “Aurora, how unreasonable you are! You know well she did naught to you. The mutiny was on her family alone! Of what import are stock and ties when already she had proven her loyalty and prowess in your service? My word, you are utterly unreasonable! What reason have you!”

“What reason have I?” the captain bellowed, “My own reason, and my own decree that I have passed! You have been in my crew long enough to perceive how that much suffices! Has your wit escaped you entire to speak such nonsense?”

The wyverness bit her lips. She knew all the things that the captain had said were true. The unreasonable one was her to expect sound reasons beyond fancy and whims from one such as Aurora. One does not argue with one’s Gods over what’s right and wrong.

And still... One may always beg and plead, for that much is ever within the rights of us mortals.

And one of us stepped forth, penetrating the ranks of participants arrayed before Aurora. The woman had come while every one of us had been too stricken by the insolent display of Galanthus towards the city’s mistress.

So standing before the captain, Gladiola, our Prima, made a deep bow. And when the alaris’ gait straightened, she resolved her firm gaze under the burning effect of her captain’s. “Mistress, I am but your servant in war, but I vouch for my ala-sister’s loyalty. And aught that you think she is to blame, I as her superior shall take responsibility.”

“What she said,” coming up from behind her pledge-sister, Hortensia curtsied, “I am like to be awfully depressed if my beloved captain were to exile my beloved friend. Is there no way you may reconsider, Your Highness? That such old bonds may be reconciled?”

From behind the captain came an irritated voice in opposition, “You speak out of turn, alares,” said Justitia. “The captain converses with her warriors Acis and Galanthus.”

And still another came from the ranks of the officers, “I do believe as ala-sisters, approved and assigned by the captain, they have a right to intervene, Justitia dear,” Rosa Alba, our commandant, languidly offered.

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“Indeed,” said the captain, “and yet it does not follow that their words hold aught more weight to I than any others.”

“No mere words, ma’am,” now even Valerian went to her. “I bore witness to her valor in our recent battle and daresay what might she possess now is worth more than her bloodline.”

But still the captain was far from persuaded, not even by the words of those among her greatest warriors. On the contrary, for each of us who went, her ire seemed to grow. Carefully chosen speeches made to a Goddess with so great a pride. But Gladiola’s was that of human worth, while Valerian’s the mercy and compassion seldom found in the captain. And all the rest were not so eloquent in navigating the temper of the divines. And yet there was one more, who had never faced the captain so, or tempered by her overwhelming presence daily, for however long she had lived under her influence.

“May I speak, Mistress, though I am lesser than my sisters?” following a curtsy Wisteria said with markable confidence, “Even as you have granted Acis’ mother and mine their last wish in light of past service, so do I pray for a chance for us all to serve under you. It is a final mercy for a story’s end, the proper conclusion to your design.” She bowed deep.

But likewise the captain scorned her plea.

“My design, I alone know, wyvern. And what is or is not proper is yet to be said. You overstep your bounds.”

Still with her tone unchanged, her mien scarce disturbed, the wyverness answered with the manner even of one offering a well-known verse to a fellow poet.

“And I daresay I could discern what you think proper, Mistress,” she said. “‘Twas your hand together with fate’s that have guided our path thus far. How our lives intertwined, the manner our destiny became tied to your vessel, and then what we shall be henceforth, you do know better than aught. That it is a great game you played, and playing still, even this ignorant wyvern in her sheltered station could tell. So if I may one step further cross over my bound, you have never intended to let Acis go in the first place, do you not?”

Now the immortal creature laughed, for it seemed she had received the right answer to her quiz, or rather one she had not expected at all. So the Last of the Dragons threw her head back and grinned dangerously so that her fangs bared. “Clever girl! Daring girl! You ought to care so much for your old friend to utter such perilous conjecture in my presence. But I accede to your courage, where I would not to the earnest beseeching of your ala-sisters!”

Acis drew a breath deep, “Do you mean to permit me into your crew once more, Mistress?”

“Not quite,” the captain smirked, “I but concur that a price exists for your unlikely pardon.”

“If that is a price we...” I blurted out, no longer able to contain myself in the sideline for want of eloquence. “A price I may pay, then I shall, Captain! If you would pardon Acis.” Needless to say, my own plea in particular was passing inane. For though an alaris, I was a slave still, who was worthless and without naught possession that might not be taken away as will by my mistress. And all that she may require me to do, I must obey in a heartbeat. There was naught she could ask of me that the mark itself had not permitted.

“I do not believe the azure speaks for all of you,” the captain said, bemused, “not yet. For you are yet to hear the price, which is a great one indeed. And never do I grant my favors lightly.”

“And I do not speak for aught but myself,” said Acis with quivering lips, “but whatever price you ask, unless it is to severe my pledge, I shall offer right this instant!”

“I stand by the ala I lead, but I do not speak for them on this occasion,” said Gladiola, being aware of what the captain’s warning betokened, “what be the price, Mistress? Give the word and each of us shall decide for her own if it is one she’s willing to pay.”

And so we held our breath, awaiting the sentence, holding out both hope and fear for the friends that we loved. Hope that the pledge between Acis and Galanthus would persevere. Fear that it was not within our strength to make it so.

“Very well,” the captain said and drew back, so that we of Ala Estival would form a line at attention before her. “It might have already occurred to you that your oath is binding. And all that I may ask shall regardless be done to your utmost. So you may wonder if there is aught else to offer with your loyalty and mortal capabilities.

“But what of that which lies beyond? Loyalty has its limits and does not reach places mere courage cannot avail. And what of mortality? The oath binds only unto death, and will not aid nor empower the way of the pledge. Nay, there is a limit to the services you may render. So verily I say unto you, if you must demand a favor from a god, then prepare to perform an equal deed!”

“What is this deed you speak of, Mistress?” asked Gladiola, “We cannot fetch the stars nor paint the moon for you. Nor may we overturn the sky, reverse the hour hand or please all gods. But surely you know that, and still you ask, then it ought to be something within our ability.”

“That is true, Gladiola. There is one thing you lot may do that is not yet in my power to compel.”

“If I may, Your Godhead,” Hortensia said, “A task within our ability to perform, yet you cannot command us to? It does not occur to me that such a thing could possibly exist.”

A strained voice came from beside, “They are few, indeed, but perchance there are some, that each individual possesses and yet forbidden even from the hands of Gods.” It was the first time Litzia had spoken since we landed on the platform. And I could perceive disgust in her face, even as one she had worn in that cavern upon hearing Galanthus’ story.

“Our souls!” I muttered.

I saw then her reason for dread and anger. Already branded by the mark of slavery and deprived of freedom, now even her only remaining means of resistance was being threatened by the enslaver.

The captain laughed at my pledge-sister’s despair.

“Oh my dear one,” said the captain, “do you think of I as some devil in a fairy tale, preying on lowly mortal souls to sustain its existence of ether?”

So she said, but there was no denying her involvement with Acis’ soul. It was her instrument that had extracted and stored the girl named Hyacinth’s souls for many years. And yet, ‘twas true too, that in the end that soul was restored, in some way bolstered.

“Nay,” Aurora continued, “it crosses my nature to toy with mortal souls. What use have I for you lot if you stand before me not as individuals but mindless slaves? Sooner I would birth more stars to the early morning night and create servants in my image. Nay, your worth lies elsewhere, alares.”

At this point, her voice suddenly lowered. And though we who stood before her could hear still every word she uttered, no longer did they echo the great mountains. What was to be said was for our ears alone.

“Very well, I shall speak plainer, for what I will now say is mayhap beyond your comprehension. I speak of a task, a singular task, that you will choose to render me. ‘Tis a binding task, that though your heart may be against it, and your soul grieves as the body does move, you are to see it done without fail. But not now. It is not yet time I disclose its nature. Though this much suffices: when I am no longer here among you, when by some twist of fate that I am slain, my power banished from this world and your oaths dissolved, then the covenant established this day shall come into effect, and bind you to a mission I might no longer command. Do you mark that well? Then the time for decision comes: weigh now your choices, do you stand by your beloved sister and abide by a binding future when I am no more?”

All of us were stricken. For the captain spoke true. It was beyond our comprehension. Immortality means just so: that which cannot die, and may persevere till the end of time. And verily our captain was one, of all the Gods the only still soared this sky. The Last of the Dragons, Lady Aurora of the Dawn. Her failing would be the eternal darkness, for the sun would rise no more, or in such ways naught of us could yet imagine. What fate had she just prophesied? What awaits us all, when the night reigns at last for-ever more?

And for all that dread for a world without light, there was the mysterious mission she said. It is like to be a promise made for once one’s limbs are cut off, and could hardly avail oneself, and yet must serve another’s purpose. What is it that she craves even from beyond immortal grave?

But nay, I went too far with my imagination. To begin with, there was no possible world where an immortal may fail. They may retreat from our place to wherever they dwell in the beyond. But to perish completely, forcefully - slain by the hand of another - is something beyond our mortal ken.

And yet there were those who dared speak of such blasphemy, even prophesied it.

I gave Litzia a look. She must know it too, deep down, how vain is her desire for vengeance. But she had heard that notion spoken, and had considered it.

And to my horror, the captain landed her gaze on my pledge-sister also. She knew. She knew it all, I realized, all those thoughts of mutiny in the wyverness’ head. She knew all along, and would deprive the wyvern of her last hope for freedom. Insanity though that hope may be. Not her soul, but her future. Not even by slaying the Dragon might Litzia escape her grasp. For who could say what the nature of that mission could be? Which is like to be worse than aught atrocities we had ever committed in her service. Something like an ultimate revenge upon the world that had had her murdered.

Knowing and seeing all that, how could I blame Litzia when I looked upon and saw the answer plainly writ on her visage: that she would not pay the great price, not even for Acis’ or anyone’s sake.