Fire represented more than just an element, it was the only element that consumes, that directly transforms. It came of the breath of a Dragon, or so the Scorched book of the Rad es Maalas claimed. Celyd held a torch in his hand, the only one among the band of five hundred who didn't wield a sword.

He watched through glazed yellow eyes as the son of the King of the West killed without mercy, driving his sword through helpless women, unarmed men and innocent children. The village they purged was the third, a tip from a rival village proclaimed them worshippers of the moon, tied to the sea and the Leviathans, the Dragons' nemesis. A forbidden religion.

Never mind that the intel came from a rival village, those who competed with the village being purged at the fish market. The Prince of the West did not require proof in order to act, all he needed was suspicion. And woe unto anyone who pointed out the flaw in his reasoning.

So here Celyd found himself, holding a torch from the Citadel, a torch whose flames came from the heart of the Citadel, where a Dragon's flame is forever kept alive. It is to this flame that those purging and those being purged bore witness to the presence of Sin, and it is by this flame that those being purged were cleansed free of their stain.

Prince Benji, the pride of the West. His chiseled jaw, large eyes and high cheekbones made women at the Citadel swoon. Seeing his twenty fifth oscillation, he was destined to be heir to the throne of the West. Adept in combat, brave beyond a doubt. It was rumored that he once stood before a Dragon and lived. Prince Benji was the very image of power and greatness the West worshipped. It is through him that hope is born anew, a hope that spoke of conquering the East. His blood lust was worshipped as a sign of strength, and his prowess in battle marked him a chosen one of Sin.

Yet here he was, ripping pregnant women open, beheading children and driving his sword through shriveled old men. Celyd hated the Prince, hated his father who raised him in this way, and most of all he hated himself for being a part of the monstrosity of the Rad es Maalas.

"Gather the survivors!" The Prince commanded. Tired from swinging his sword. Blood stained his silver armor, coated his face and streamed down his beard. The survivors were gathered, each of them weeping, some of them had to be dragged from the corpses of their departed loved ones. They were ten score, the survivors, the frailest, those who couldn't run, who just lay on the ground and awaited death. They were gathered at the village square, huddled together like pigs, as if they weren't part of the Rad es Maalas.

Celyd's part was coming up. He didn't carry a sword, being a Priest of the Citadel, it was his duty to carry the torch. The flame, the breath of the Dragon.

Prince Benji walked over to where Celyd stood, noting his shriveled look, the Prince smiled. "You should be happy, priest, this here is what your faith stands for." He kicked over a dismembered child's limb. "Here, take a good look priest. This is what marks the corner stone of your religion, this is the wage for those who choose not to be like us, those who risk the wrath of the Dragons." He leaned his face closer, Celyd could smell the iron tinge of blood upon the Prince. "Why should many suffer for the sins of the few?"

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A sudden rage took Celyd, he spoke out of turn, a slight that might mean the end of his life. "These villagers might not be moon worshippers," Celyd hesitated, but pushed on after his words were met by silence from Prince Benji. "The rival village might have just used you to clear the market field of a rival."

"Oh really now?" Prince Benji said while motioning for one of the soldiers. "That woman there, clutching her child, bring the child to me." He commanded. The soldier briskly carried out the Prince's command. The woman wept, begged, dove for her child. She had to be restrained by two soldiers.

The Prince unsheathed a dagger from his waist belt, placed a palm on the child's shaky shoulders. "Woman." He spoke to the child's mother, she nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Are you moon worshippers?"

The woman shook her head in the negative before speaking. "No we aren't my Lord."

The Prince shifted his hand to the child's head, tilted the head to bare the neck. He placed the tip of his dagger on the child's jugular. "I will repeat the question, are you moon worshippers?"

The woman started screaming. "Yes! Yes we are! Please let my son go. Please! Take me instead! Kill me instead."

Prince Benji turned to Celyd. "Apparently, I wasn't wrong." He spoke as he drove the dagger into the child. Blood sprouted in a jet, the child dropped to the ground, a pool of blood drifted from him. The mother screamed and clawed at her eyes.

"Douse them in oil." Prince Benji commanded. The soldiers moved to obey. The huddled villagers had canisters of Rankf Leviathan oil poured on them, they screamed, they begged, they asked for mercy but were offered none. The soldiers moved mechanically, having done this all before.

"The carnage is necessary, but do not be dismayed by the results of this purge, say, there's another village down south, has a whore. In my assessment of your inability to stomach death, we will go there where there shall be only one death. Then we'll head back to the Citadel." Prince Benji said, as if the death of one more person was a gift to him. "And I shall also forgive the insult you just uttered against me, Celyd." The Prince added.

It was at that moment that Celyd doubted his religion, all the teachings under the Citadel masters, all the careful consuming of tomes of books. The memorizing of the three hundred Principles that guided a man to live with Sin. Everything that defined who he was, things he'd imbued into his very being from his youth to his old age, now all of that seemed like utter bullshit. Staring at the trembling villagers doused in oil, he realized that he hated himself and hated his religion and all that it stood for.

"Do your part, Priest." Prince Benji commanded.

Celyd observed the orange flame upon the torch in hand. He turned his eyes to meet the clear yellow eyes of Prince Benji. With one word, he could end himself. With one word, he could prevent the death of the villagers by his hand. Sure they'll still die, probably with him among them but he wouldn't be the hand that sets the flame. He wouldn't be the reason behind their death. The village was in a clearing surrounded by trees, built well to prevent a Dragon's direct line of vision. A flock of birds moved from the tree line, flying high into the sky, without a fear of who dwelt there.

Fear. He was a coward, that much was true. He moved forward, nothing in his stride spoke of certainty. He stood above the gathered villagers on the ground, the torch in hand. The soldiers to the sides stared at him, behind him he knew the Prince's eyes were trained on him.

He sighed and lowered the flame. Screams sounded as fire consumed.

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