“No.”

The word slices through me and Swiftrunner both.

“That is,” Palka adds. “Not yet.”

We stare at the ancient features of the Brine Dragon, and, perhaps sensing that we don’t quite know what to say, she opens her toothy mouth to expand on her decision:

“You saw the shrine murals as you descended here, did you not?”

I think back to the frescos and depictions of the elves running around the forests, fighting off humans, and the final image of them praying at a deep, blue pond…

I nod.

“They tell the history of the grove,” Palka explains. “Glenheim – a place cut off from the petty politics of Arwyll. A civilization in the bowels of a great mushroom working illusory magics that I have maintained since first I awoke and found the ancestors of those whom you have met outside. The Elves. They were so like me, Raziel. Singular. Female – and hunted. Hunted by humans for trophies and for…less noble purposes.”

I see sorrow overtake her proud, regal features.

Once again, I promise I couldn’t make this up.

“It is the way of humankind to make war on this earth,” Palka continues. “Whether they chose my kind as their enemies, or elves, or giants, or toads – or even your own species – it matters not. To them, the only order in this world is born from a series of false dichotomies: good vs evil, right vs wrong, force vs passivity. Lightborn vs Darkseed…”

She looks at me again – eyes weary, and wary.

Is she afraid…of me?

“Your predecessor came here looking for war,” she says. “I offered him peace. He refused.”

“The Greycloak’s muster…” Swiftrunner mumbles beside me. “The army that was betrayed by General Thorn. The last Lightborn must have come here looking for reinforcements.”

“Of course,” Palka nods. “He came here, as the Lightborn always does, and demanded soldiers from within our walls. He was…imperious in his methods. When we rejected his war efforts, he threatened violence.”

Her tone of sorrow hits me, and I bow my head in shame. That’s what I’ve been feeling in my gut all this time, isn’t it? Guilt. Not fear. Somewhere in the back of heart that’s pumping the blood of the old Lightborn, there’s a sense of regret, isn’t there?

“I…I’m sorry.”

I say it without thinking. It’s all I can really say, though it might be pointless to say it.

Palka considers me again with a slight snuff that puffs out another twinkling cloud of aquamarine dust.

“A word that means nothing to most humans. But not to you,” she says. “Because though the blood of the Lightborn runs in your veins, within you beats the heart of a dog.”

She raises one aged claw out of the pool and stretches an onyx nail towards me.

Strangely, I don’t run for my life. Or crap myself. Strangely enough, I’m calm as a stone.

Because in a way, yeah, I get it. Who would choose a life of constant battle?

Humans, apparently…

“You are not like him,” Palka continues with a slight nod of her massive snout. “You are not like those who have come before and bled our people dry. By ancient pact - The Greymane Concordat - I am bound to offer aid to the LIghtborn. Yet, perhaps you and I can make a different pact.”

Her claw flicks out – sharp nails that could slice through my skin in a matter of seconds.

“When I first woke in this pool, the Elves of this grove prayed to me for salvation from the horrors of the human world. With the magic that runs beneath my scales, I obliged. Since then, we have lived a life of harmony. My Glenmaiden guards ensure our protection from any who would attempt to pierce our walls within and without. And only one of our family can find Glenheim – a little magical trick I am particularly proud of.”

The nail hovers over my paw, and I slowly come to realize what she’s getting at.

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“You know what happened to the army of your predecessor?” she asks. “Slaughtered to the man. Betrayed by their own – destroyed by the hubris of a single human. We felt our Sisters – those the Lightborn had taken from us – scream as they died out there. Their final thoughts were of home. Of their family, and of me who could not protect them.”

There it is again – that feeling of intense shame radiating from the pit of my stomach.

It’s true, isn’t it? Whoever you were, Mr old-news Lightborn, you screwed up big time…

“I still hear their screams,” Palka says in a dead whisper. “The screams of all my Children who have suffered because of the humans, and their unending war.”

Swiftrunner cautiously steps forward.

To be honest, I’d almost forgotten he was here.

“The war against the Darkseed is everyone’s war,” he says. “I am no lover of humankind, but If Raziel doesn’t defeat this evil, then it means the end for this whole world. Including you.”

Swifty, I want some of what you’ve been drinking. Once again, I gotta give you credit for having the balls to talk back to a damn dragon.

Palka, however, bows her head. There’s no fury in her response.

“Every war is a choice. Just like peace. We of Glenheim have chosen peace.”

I lick my lips, staring at the nail that’s still hovering before me.

“Then why not just send me on my way?”

“Because I will not have it said that Palka and the Elves of Glenheim did not do their part,” she replies with swelling pride. “My Glenmaidens have served me since time immemorial. Their skills with the blade are unmatched even by the most weathered of the Greycloaks. Tell me, Raziel, is it truly them whom you seek? They – who would sacrifice everything to claim their small victory? They, whose army fell once already against the tide of darkness?”

I look down at the rippling waters to find, in my reflection, doubt.

“All I ask of you is this,” Palka continues with an air of finality. “Remain here with us for a time. Let my Glenmaidens train you. Learn our ways. Learn how to crush your enemies. And, when the time comes, and the desire to fulfil your quest still beasts within your heart, return to me and I shall speed you on your way to the fortress of the Greys. Right now, I am afraid you shall not make it. Even,” she adds, casting a sidelong look at Swiftrunner, “with help by your side.”

My reflection catches me again. Doubt.

“And in return?” I ask.

“Rescind the Lightborn’s pact on my people,” she says. “Forge a new pact with me as only you can. Give up your claim to the Elves of Glenheim and I swear that you shall leave this grove a warrior who may strike down the Darkseed single-handedly if you so choose. No one else must die for this cause. No one else must suffer in the name of good vs evil.”

I consider the offer. Training in exchange for…freedom.

“Raziel…” Swiftrunner whispers to me, regarding the dragon’s narrowed eye-slits. “Think carefully on this. We will need support if we have any hope of defeating the Darkseed.”

Swifty…what you’re saying is true. But, come on. Who are we kidding? Is it really fair for two dogs to march into someone’s home and demand they send their people off to die?

I am not going to become the first doggie-politician.

“That’s true,” I tell him. “But, Swift, let’s think about the support we’ve had so far, shall we? The Jagged-Clan wolves. Result? Flight from their home. You basically becoming an exile.”

“We chose that!” He rails. “I chose that.”

“And Aethel?” I ask him. “Did he really choose to give his life to save us or did he just think that’s what he was supposed to do? Because…because I’m the super special Lightborn.”

Swiftrunner looks at me. Sadness wells up in his eyes.

And between us both, Palka watches.

“No one else dies because of me,” I say, turning my attention back to her. “I’m done running away, and I’m done letting other people fight my battles for me. You want a promise that I’ll leave your people alone? You can have it. You can tell everyone that this Lightborn isn’t going to let anyone else suffer.”

I feel Swiftrunner’s paw rise to grab mine just as I make contact with Palka’s shimmering nail.

Too late.

He recoils back as a glimmer of light passes between us – my tiny fluffy pads and her enormous talon are bathed in it. Almost like a shooting star gathering at the tips of our nails.

Then the moment passes, and she looks on me with a new face.

“It is done,” she says simply.

I spare a glance at Swiftrunner’s bowed face.

“Raziel…”

Let the new relationship between the Elves of Glenheim and the Lightborn Raziel be known to all! Palka’s voice echoes in our minds. Our champion has risen, and shall be provided for. He shall train with our finest Glenmaidens, be afforded every luxury of our realm, and when he goes to defeat the vile Darkseed, he shall do so with the name of Glenheim on his lips!

Even above, I can hear the general cheer that rises up from the Elves. And, honestly, I smile for the first time in days.

Maybe I’m finally doing something right, here.

“Apologies,” Palka huffs. “I tend to be a touch theatrical in my old age. Return now to the surface, brave warriors. Lightborn Raziel, ready yourself for the commencement of your training. Tomorrow morning you shall cross steel with the finest swordswomen in all of Arwyll.”

I give a slight bow before the door is thrown open behind us, and Palka begins to sink back into the depths of her pool.

“Ah!”

A voice from behind the door as it is thrown back. I turn and cock my head at the dimly lit hallway, seeing the Elven Myrathellon’s blushing face.

“I – I was not – that is – ahem. I have been instructed by the Mistress to bring you back to the surface. Fall in!”

With military discipline she begins marching off, Swiftrunner’s sagging form following her before mine.

Poor guy, I think. I didn’t mean to get harsh with you. But you don’t know what it’s like, Swift. You don’t know how it feels – having death on your paws…

“Lightborn?” Palka’s voice asks from within her crystal pool. “We would ask one final question of you.”

I cock my head back at her.

“Give us the name of the one who slew Aethel,” she asks, bubbles rising beneath her descending snout. “We would know the wretch who slew the Belchometrist.”

I shudder as I answer. That’s a name I don’t think I could ever forget.

“Her name was Seneca,” I say.

And for a moment, I can swear that those eyes widen in stark alarm. Then I blink, and the dragon’s head is nowhere to be seen.

Thank you, Raziel, she murmurs in my brain. Good night.