Thankfully the Crimson she rescued survived the night. At first he was aggressive, thinking of himself as her prisoner. Whining, pleading, moaning. It took an incredibly long time to convince him that they were just hiding for the night. Arin would prove her Crimson citizenship if she knew how to unmerge with Scor.

            As the sun began to rise Arin took off again, the weak Crimson resting in her claws. She had to get him back to the capital. Mila will probably scream at her, but she was willing to risk it for his health.

            “Thank you again,” the Crimson muttered as he woke up in her arms. “Thankfully if we reach the capital in a few hours I’ll be just fine.”

            “Good. I still can’t believe I was able to save you and defeat Croun! All by myself!”

            “Pretty impressive.” He grunted, “how much farther is it?”

            “Well I’m following the river now so it can’t be that long.”

            He groaned, adjusting his grip on his sides. “Please hurry, this is quite uncomfortable.”

            She sped up. Her wings ached, everything ached. She wanted to swoop down to drink some water but the Crimson would suffer from the delay. The castle began to appear over the horizon. The flags beckoned them home. She sighed relieved, continuing to beat her wings in thunderous beats.

            “We’re here. I’m going to drop you off before leaving.”

            “Why would you leave? You are a Crimson right?”

            “No one really thinks of me as one. As someone once called me, I’m just a pariah . . .”

            “Well the way you fought of course you’re a Crimson! You almost died for us! What kind of fool would say you aren’t one of us?”

            “Mila.”

            There was silence as the rest of the castle came into view. “Wait . . . are you that mythical savior everyone talks about?” She answered with silence. “What were you thinking? Why would you fight with us?!”

            “My friends convinced me—”

            “Running is a good idea. Mila is going to skin you alive for this.”

            “That’s not helping.”

            Arin dove, wings neatly folded by her sides. He wrapped his arms around her fingers, trembling in her cupped hands. She spread her wings as she neared the ground, jerking herself upwards.

            The first courtyard was crowded with Crimsons, in the center of this ring of spectators was Oshwa, Mila, and one of the leading Crimsons from the attack. Oshwa was busy rubbing his talons against the Sphere of Visions as if he was searching for something.

            Cradling the Crimson in one arm, Arin bravely approached her nemesis. Crimsons could only gape at her as she entered the ring. They were staring at the sun on her chest. She gently placed the warrior on the ground. The attack’s leader knelt next to him, checking to see if he was alive. Many continued to stare at her.

            “I managed to save him for you.”

            “Thank you! Thank you so much!” he hugged the injured Crimson tightly. “Someone help me carry him inside!”

           As the wounded Crimson was carried inside, he looked back at Arin saddened. Mila and the rest of the Crimsons faced to Arin once more.

            “Thank you for aiding us. We are in your debt.” Mila did a quick bow to her. Slowly she backed away, shaking her head. “What’s wrong? Please, stay for a while and we’ll make you feel comfortable. We will tend to your injuries, if you would like.”

            “No, you don’t get it.”

            “Then please tell us. We always have our arms open welcoming dragons and people like you.”

            She turned to him growling. A few stumbled back, drawing their swords. “It’s me, Arin, you dimwit, and there’s no need to attack me. I only came to drop him off before leaving.”

            “Y—you’re Arin? That’s not possible. Arin is selfish and wouldn’t ever do anything to help us! And she’s a despicable human!”

            “It really is me.” She spread her wings wide, preparing to run.

            “I’m not believing that a stupid human like her is you, no offense.”

            “It’s true, Mila!” Loid pushed his way to the front. “I was there. I watched it happen.”

            “You snuck out even though you weren’t asked to go?” His eyes drifted back to Arin. “This is your fault isn’t it? You bewitched their thoughts so they would break the rules and get themselves killed! Make sure she can’t escape!”

            “No! Sir, it’s my fault!” Loid shouted.

            Before fights could break out she had already lifted off. Mila frantically searched for Gage so he could chase her. By the time anyone was mounted, Arin was gone.

***

            Finding a portal back to the Reality Dimension seemed impossible. It probably was impossible. She would have to ask a Crimson, or maybe an Other, for help.

            Arin gave up, resting in a small clearing. Her wingspan was bigger than the small nest she lied in. Tears streamed down her snout as she released her screams of rage.

            How can he be so inconsiderate? I saved that Crimson and the whole group and this is how I’m thanked? Curse those Crimsons! Why do they hate me? I’ve done nothing wrong! She slammed a fist against the ground, thinking she heard something crack under her. By desiring separation once more, the two unmerged. Arin continued to wail.

            “You’re bleeding. Sit up,” Scor placed his snout under her, lifting her chest off the ground. Where her wrist was lied a locket, the chain shattered in a million tiny fragments. “Look!”

            As she continued to sob Scor tried to pry it open, eager to see what was inside. His wagging tail swept leaves aside. He gasped, shaking Arin to get her attention.

            “Arin, we have to return this!” She wiped her tears away looking at the picture placed inside. It was a painting of the Crimson’s family. His beautiful wife and daughter were hugging him tightly. “Do we return it?”

            “No.”

            “Why not? He never did anything wrong to us!”

            “True but almost all of the Crimsons hate me! Why should I help them?”

            “I mean . . . well . . .”

            “I’m waiting for a reason.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

            Scor frowned before releasing a stressed breath. “Well, first of all you dragged me into this mess. I could have a loving partner who doesn’t complain all of the time! Instead I’m stuck with you. I don’t even know how we merged yesterday!” Arin glared at him, wiping her tears away. “Second of all, this Crimson is in a war where he is not guaranteed a tomorrow. This little picture is all he has of his home! I think he should be allowed to feast his eyes on this again. I mean you know what it is like missing family, do you think this Crimson deserves that loneliness?”

            Arin was quiet, rubbing at her eyes.

            Scor sighed pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Arin. I’m just super stressed right now. I bet you have been through a lot and I understand your anger.”

            She wrapped her arms around him as well. She didn’t want to say anything. Arin buried her face into his bleeding stomach.

            “You’re hurt,” Arin muttered examining his cut.

            “No, we are.” Scor smiled, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure someone will have mercy on us later. For now let’s focus on the locket. Where should I return it?”

            “I?”

            “I didn’t think you would want to come.”

            “Perhaps I should. I know the Crimsons best. Plus, if they were to attack you it is best if we both fight together and merge again if necessary.”

            Scor nodded. “Great. So where should we drop this off?”

            “Well, in the second courtyard is a bunch of tables, we can place that and this heavy armor there. Not like we need it anyways. After that we are going to continue to search for the portal.”

            “I don’t know how we can find a portal but it’ll be worth the effort, just to see you happy. C’mon let’s go and get this over with.” Scor was careful as he lifted off, making sure Arin wouldn’t slip off of the saddle. As they flew she placed the locket in a pouch before unstrapping her dented armor from her chain mail.

            The castle came into view too early. She tried to fit all of her metal plates into the third pouch. Only a few pieces would fit.

            “Ready?” Scor asked as he descended slowly.

            “I’m going to deliver the locket and my armor first, if we run out of time we’ll just hang onto your armor.”

            “Sounds like a plan.” He glided into the empty middle courtyard. Never before has she seen this place empty. Arin didn’t question it, instead she dismounted her partner focusing on her task. Arin dropped the metal plates on the wooden table, placing the locket on top of it.

            Oshwa rushed outside, the Sphere of Visions in his talons. Arin hid behind Scor, who was growling and preparing to attack. Oshwa stopped, throwing his hood back, his expression showed concern?

            “Why are you here?”

            “I—I—I—”

            “We came to return the armor. Look, pal, we aren’t trying to be murderers and thieves. Leave us alone so that we can return everything.”

            “No, bad idea. You need to go!”

            “Why?”

            “While Mila is being berated Coyasko has asked Crimsons to go hunt you down and bring you back here!”

            “Why would he do such a thing?”

            “To protect you. I’m sorry, Arin. I . . . was forced to tell them that you’re here now.”

            Immediately she began to mount Scor, struggling to harness herself. Oshwa tackled her off him, landing in the mud. The two began to wrestle, Oshwa tried to restrain her but fire prevented him. Scor roared batting the soothsayer away with his tail. Arin struggled to climb onto the saddle, her muscles were too tired to do this kind of exercise.

            Before they took off several more Crimsons rushed them, Coyasko and Hawthorne among them. They lifted into the sky but several Crimsons grabbed Scor’s hind legs, trying to pull him down. He beat his wings trying not to hit anyone. Several more latched onto him, successfully dragging him down.

            Arin hopped off, bolting to the doors halfway across the courtyard. Coyasko pursued her, his sword remained in his sheath. Arin was too tired to keep running. She whirled around thrusting her fist forward, fire followed the swing.

            Coyasko released lightning from his fingertips, easily countering her weak ember. While she was charging more flames, a Crimson tackled her from behind, both falling into a deep puddle of mud. She continuously jabbed her elbows into her captor crying.

            Scor tried to break free from the ropes restraining him. Her chest tightened. This was her fault.

            “Let us go!” She kneed the Crimson in the face. Arin was released but hands seized her neck, she kicked behind her trying to free herself. Her throat was freed but two feathered arms wrapped around her. It was Hawthorne.

            “We aren’t going to hurt you. We are helping, unbelievably.”

            She rested her head against his stomach wheezing. “No . . . I don’t want to die.”

            “I promise you won’t. Today your torture ends. I’ll take good care of you, we all will. Mila will never torture and yell at you again. You just need to calm down and let us explain.” She refused to relax, unable to stop sobbing over the threat of death hanging over her.

            Finally, she began to relax, muscles loosening. Crimsons made sure Oshwa was unharmed. When she was released the doors opened.

            It was Mila.

            No weapons, no armor. He marched outside, hands shoved in his silk robe’s pockets. To see their king in casual clothing shocked them all.

            “Before you dismiss yourself from my army,” Mila began approaching her calmly, “may I see your Mark?”

            She turned and dashed to Scor. Crimsons blocked her path. No one drew their weapons. No one moved in to hurt her. Behind her Mila had stopped in his tracks, his hands left his pockets. He revealed an odd logo of a spiral trapped within a triangle. He pointed to the black marking.

            “This is a Mark.  After a duo’s first merge, a symbol appears on the partners’ hands. It practically defines their destiny. I wish to see yours if you permit my eyes to see it.”

            She glanced at the black sun on the back of her tan right hand. She covered it with her free hand continuing to back away. “Why are you being nice? What changed over the last few hours?”

            “I realized that I was wrong. I looked at you for what you were, not who you are. As I saw you bring a Crimson back I realized that I was such a fool. I won’t ever expect forgiveness, but please for all of us, show us your Mark.”

            Liar. He is lying. He is trying to get me to lower my guard so he can kill me. In her fury of thoughts Mila began to shuffle closer.

            “You can show it to Hawthorne or Coyasko if it makes you feel better.”

            She exchanged nervous glances with the two. No one rushed her as she stood vulnerable. Slowly she released her Marked hand showing it to Mila in defeat. She lowered her head trying to control her tremulous body.

            She didn’t hear anyone move or speak.

            When Arin glimpsed at Mila she gasped. He was on one knee, head low. He was bowing to her. Around her the other Crimsons had fallen onto one knee as well. She hid her hand again. Was it that bad?

            Scor stood up rushing to her side, a few ropes still constricted against him. No one dared to stop him as he rejoined his partner, nuzzling her muddy side.

            “Hurry now we can escape.” At this everyone jumped to their feet.

            “No! You can’t leave! Do you know what that Mark means?” She shook her head as she mounted her armored partner. Mila took a few steps forward but Scor snarled at him. “Arin, you can’t leave. You—”

            “I don’t care. All of this is some sort of act. You’re just trying to lower my guard so you can hurt me!”

            “Scor, don’t take off!” Coyasko ordered. He growled at him.

            “Well, before I, a disgrace, a—oh what else have you called me?—a sorry excuse, filth, waste, a putrid dog,” she continued to count the insults off on her fingers until Mila began to cry.

            “I’m sorry,” he choked. “I was so wrong to be so harsh to you. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

            “Those are real tears . . .” Scor murmured. He cleared his throat, “so uh, Mila . . . what were you saying about our Mark’s symbolism?”

            He wiped his tears away, “the Fire of Truth, from the prophecy, has a mark of a sun. Just like yours.”

            “I’m a Child of Destiny?” As he nodded she began to laugh. “Me? The chosen one? That is hilarious!”

            “He’s right,” Oshwa supported, flicking mud off of his cloak. “Obviously, you can’t trust him, but you can trust me.”

            She frowned. “Liars.”

            Deep inside her mind she could hear the Green Phoenix giggle. His long-missed voice was almost foreign to her, “they’re right. After all you are a pariah, read the Plaque, can harness fire, and merge. How long do you think you can hide from destiny? The longer you wait the more painful it becomes.”

            Oh so you knew but didn’t bother to tell me? Look I just want to go home, not become the prophesied chosen one. Her memories drifted to the Lightfoots hugging her. As if someone was tampering with her mind the Lightfoots were replaced with the Crimsons.

            “Oh but this is your home now. And these people . . .” his voice began to disappear. Apparently while the Green Phoenix was talking Mila had been as well. “These people are your team.”