The days continued to pass in the city of sand and sun. One night had been enough to leave half of its inhabitants homeless, many families incomplete, and the town itself confused and scared.

Even so, in the underground chambers of the queen’s palace, it was a time of celebration. Two dragon princes had fallen, and dragons, in general, would no longer be a threat to humans, elves, or dwarves, not even to themselves. Little Eri was the main reason for this. Everyone around her seemed to compete to take care of her during the days she was weak after what would be called the “night of the three dawns.” When the attack began, the explosion of the green prince, and the true one that had come with peace.

Eri had already been in bed for three days; not even her orange fire could help her recover. She had made a superhuman effort, or even a draconian one, in the words of Queen Clessa and Lady Meracina. Those two were not well either; elven magic did not heal their human bodies well, and the queen had exhausted herself leading the reconstruction efforts while the countess had both legs shattered. They were supposed to be able to heal their bodies with their fire, but they had decided against it. The eyes of the people were on them, and if they appeared in public completely healed, their secrets would be in danger.

Freydelhart had to be away from his daughter that day. It was his duty to honor his apprentices for their bravery… and for their sacrifice. According to Pellegrin’s tradition, warriors were sent off with their steel in hand. According to the dragon slayers’ tradition, a weapon with the names of the fallen engraved on it was given to one of the survivors, or names were added to one that already had them. Frey was, besides a soldier, a blacksmith. The first thing he had learned to do when he joined the order under King Alistor’s protection at the age of seven was precisely that. The plan was to take the weapons of the fallen, break a piece of each one, and forge a weapon with the steel for the one the survivors chose as their representative. And that was how the hero of Artemia spent his day.

He looked at his own greatsword, which bore the names of at least ten comrades he had bid farewell to by striking steel, along with the elven runes that enchanted it, allowing it to pierce dragon scales and be summoned from wherever it was and returned to the armory of Artemia with minimal magic. There, at the end, was the name of Jimmer of Kostarren, his best friend, his second-in-command, his brother. The news had reached them on the back of a hippogriff the day before. That night, they informed Valderant, and the three of them—Frey, Runa, and Val—mourned the man who had survived all their battles with dragons only to fall to an illness. They had found him in the officers’ hall in the morning, surrounded by reports with a pint of Cormin’s light beer in his hand. Loyal and hardworking to the end. He had never married and was a war orphan; he knew that one day he might end his days without warning and aimed to ensure that few would mourn him. Unfortunately for him, he had endured many years, and everyone who knew him would mourn him, even if they were far away.

It didn’t take a dragon to end the time a man has on earth; it was the kind of thing one knows until one realizes that it could never truly be known until it happened.

He finished, following Pellegrin’s tradition, engraving the names of the five young men on a scimitar and prepared to summon the rest of the apprentices to the temple courtyard where they trained for the ceremony. The bodies had already been buried days before, so they would symbolically bury their weapons in that same courtyard.

When everyone had gathered, he appeared before them with his sunburned bare torso, his brown hair disheveled and dirty with soot, contrary to his usual perfectionism.

“Soldiers!” he said with a restrained voice, not showing his emotions. “I stand before you with humility; each of you is a hero, and as such, you deserve my personal recognition, that of the order, and that of the nations, now sisters of Pellegrin and Artemia! Let the one you have chosen to represent you in this ceremony step forward!”

Oregdor stepped forward from among the ranks of apprentices. Frey was a bit surprised; he had expected Bestenar.

“The souls of your fallen comrades will accompany you from now on, guiding your arm and giving it strength. Accept this symbol on behalf of all, so that they never forget that the path to victory is paved with the blood of those who fight by our side.”

Oregdor took it without saying a word, nodded humbly, and raised it to signal the others to proceed to cover with sand the holes where the remains of the fallen’s weapons lay.

The ceremony ended immediately. Everyone returned to their assigned tasks, rebuilding or caring for the wounded and refugees. The temple had filled with people after the attack.

Frey returned to the palace, walking slowly.

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Oregdor walked back to the docks, knowing his father Jamdar would surely need him to unload another barge of supplies from Axandor. Bestenar was waiting for him behind one of the temple columns.

“Your Highness, I didn’t expect to see you. You weren’t at the ceremony,” Oregdor teased.

“No, it wasn’t my place. If I had shown up, you would have made sure I received that scimitar, and it doesn’t belong to me.”

“Why not? That dragon you killed could have finished us all. We wouldn’t have even known what to do. You had the idea to lure it away until it attacked Parel…”

“I didn’t know what to do either. Besides, I had an advantage with that enchanted sword from the peasant.”

“So he’s a peasant to you again… What does he have to do to earn your respect? Give you his daughter in marriage?”

Bestenar reacted by punching Oregdor in the face, knocking him to the ground.

“Wow,” Oregdor said, laughing as he sat up. “Maybe now I’ll fear your threats a little.” He began to stand up. “At least your fists are more sincere than your words. If you got offended, it means that girl is already like a sister to you. I heard what happened in Meyrin. The master hit you for suggesting you could marry his daughter. And look at you now.”

Bestenar couldn’t respond. How could he? He had given himself away.

“The worst part,” Oregdor continued, “is that it was never really far-fetched. You’re not that many years apart. At that time, if your father were another man, he would have considered the master’s reaction a dishonor. Don’t get mad, but now I think they might ask you in the future. I met you in Artemia, and you’ve changed a lot since then.”

Bestenar’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he mocked.

“And then, Oregdor, how is it to see the true form of the love of your life?”

“And how else would it be?” he smiled while placing a hand on his shoulder. “It was like seeing her without makeup the next morning.”

Bestenar’s eyes widened for a moment before bursting into laughter. Both laughed together for a good while at the implication.

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Meraxes couldn’t leave that chair because of her broken legs, and the elf wouldn’t stop talking; it was the twelfth time she had asked.

“Damn it, Runaesthera, no, there are no more dragon princes, I’m sure. Caramin, can you please explain it to her again?”

Caramin was once again in that body that was delicate even for a human; it was incredible how she managed to be imposing despite it.

“Have patience, Mera, and please, even though we are in confidence, call me ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty,’ and my name is Clessa at worst. I still want to keep my secret among my people for a few more years, thank you. As for you, Princess Runa, now that Eri has all our powers, not even I can challenge her. Every dragon in the world will submit to her. Even if there were a lesser dragon with delusions of superiority,” she looked at her with those eyes that always said two or three things at once, while her words said five or six, “like my dear Meracina, her power can now consume a dragon’s fire in an instant. Look at her, she’s struggling not to take ours, but don’t worry, she’ll get used to it in a few days.”

Was that what they called motherhood? Humans and elves went crazy when they had children, especially that half-breed. For a dragon, that feeling was foreign; she herself had incubated some eggs, and they had all hatched well. But she had no idea where her offspring might be; it was even possible they had been part of one of the two sides during the battle and had fallen. She didn’t care. In contrast, Runaesthera had not left Eri’s side for three days except to occasionally visit the latrine.

“Mommy,” the young lady was awake; she had been sleeping most of the time these days. “Can Koro come? I’m bored.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” she replied in that overly sweet tone. “Your friend is busy with his parents; his mom got a little hurt, and they’re also taking care of Peony, the poor filly can’t stand up.”

The young lady sighed resignedly; it seemed she couldn’t stand up either at the moment.

“A unicorn,” said Caramin, crossing her legs and arms. “The last time I saw one was thousands of years ago. They are essentially fairies. That girl is literally the center of the world; all races owe her something, it seems. Even the goddess of peace has sent her emissary. That silver lance was undoubtedly the heroine’s, the first queen of Artemia. Without her, without this girl, we wouldn’t be here today. Where did she even come from? There had never been a dragon like that.”

Silence fell. What could they even respond? The girl was one mystery after another, and no one cared. The desire to protect her sometimes outweighed ambition and greed.

“In any case,” Runaesthera said suddenly, “now that there is no more threat, I would like to return home with my family. Your Majesty, we trust that even without Eri, you can now protect your city without our help.”

“I’m afraid, dear,” she replied, her smile wider than ever, “that I still need you. I no longer have my absolute command, and Eri freed all my dragons from servitude. Some loyal ones, a charm, stayed, but look at my people. We weren’t prepared, and we can’t know if some lesser dragon might try to attack us.”

“In that case, wouldn’t it be enough to take your true form to dominate or scare them away?”

Meraxes never thought she would see Caramin in such a suggestive pose despite her nature; she was red with embarrassment.

“You see, my dear princess, for at least a year, more or less, I can’t calculate human time well, I won’t be able to return to my original body. I’m pregnant, and I’m afraid the ether might harm my baby if I change. I will even ask for an anklet like Mera’s to prevent an accident if you have the kindness to make me one.”

Everyone in the room, even the young lady who surely didn’t fully understand the situation, looked at the queen with eyes wide like owls. An instinct more powerful than themselves led Runa and Mera to take her hands and ask in unison.

“How?”

Red as if regaining her scales, she replied.

“It’s just… I can’t say no to my young Ori either.”