We all stare at the thrashing bark-elf bound up before us. It’s only Myra who’s able to process her shock enough to even utter a single word.

“S-Seneca…”

“The very same, my young apprentice,” Seneca replies with spite. “Quite the homecoming you’ve given me. I must say – I do love what you’ve all done with the place.”

She looks up to sneer at Palka.

“Your wings are looking a patch more…clipped than before, dear Mistress.”

“Would that you had been here to defend your home,” Palka replies. “You could have prevented the ruin you see.”

“You deserve all the wounds the last Lightborn gave you, beast!” the she-devil roars, struggling against the sweating Glenmaiden who holds her. “Your wings were ravaged by the last one, and this one will be the death of you.”

Her mad, flaring eyes finally meet mine, and I hunch myself – preparing for a fight that, even with all the protection here – my body thinks is coming.

“Pleasure to see you again, fledgling pup,” she spits. “Shame what happened to your friend. But then, that’s all you Lightborn are really good for, isn’t it? At the end of the day, everyone has to just bend over and die for you.”

My teeth flare, and the elves see it.

I know they do, and you know what? I don’t care.

“Should’ve seen the big brute after I got done with him,” Seneca chuckles. “Or, at least, what was left of him. He cried like a -"

[Blink]

I fly towards her and meet her eyes with my own, my sword drawn, ready to make its cut.

Only the quick hand of Myra manages to stop me.

“Raziel!” she shouts through Seneca’s vile laughter.

“Oh my!” the plant-fiend howls in my rage-filled face. “Did I hurt the poor pup’s feelings?”

I growl into her cackling lips as she blows me a sickening kiss. Myra is only just able to hold me back.

“Talk about him again,” I snap at her. “I dare you.”

“That is enough,” Palka interrupts, her voice cutting through us both. “Aethellos, take this creature from here. We have seen enough of it to last us a lifetime.”

Seneca’s mad eyes shot up to meet the dragon’s, and whatever curses were about to spill from her lips were silenced by the Glenmaiden as she dragged her back to her prison.

“Raziel…” I hear Mia say from behind me.

I look up at them all – seeing fear etched in their faces – and I suddenly feel like a bigger fool than I look. I bow my head, dropping my sword to the ground.

“I…I’m sorry,” I say. “She killed my friend.”

“Our friend, too,” Myra says softly.

“Her exploits,” Palka says. “Such as they are, they are not the reason we have brought her here. As the army of the Darkseed approached, a small team was able to infiltrate their ranks and capture her, alive. Though she struggled, we have made her compliant.”

I shudder, thinking what exactly this great creature considered ‘compliant’ if it was applying the word to something like Seneca.

“Why?” Myra asks through her pained expression. “What do we gain from this, Mistress?”

“I must admit,” Arthelia adds. “For once, I’m in agreement with the young Glenmaiden. I always say: it only takes one rotten apple to spoil a good pie. And that girl? She’s one real bad apple.”

Palka raises her head again to address the whole assembly.

“You who are gathered here are our most trusted children,” she says. “We have elected to reveal our plan to you – our strategy to strangle this Darkseed incursion in its crib.”

She waits, catching us all with the majesty of her speech.

Seems even dragons have a flair for the theatrical.

“We know the weakness of the horde,” Palka continues. “It is, paradoxically, it’s most useful asset. It is one who Seeded them all. The one known as General Thorn.”

The name sends a shiver of recognition down my spine (even if it is pretty dumb).

“I’ve heard that name before,” I say. “He’s the General that betrayed the Greycloaks, right?”

Palka nods sagely as the rest of the elves look on in wonder.

“He is a traitor and an oathbreaker,” she says. “He leads the Darkseed’s Western forces – those closest to its home. They can replenish their numbers easily, and so facing them in an open field is a fool’s errand, as is drawing them into a war of attrition. They are not an enemy that can be whittled down by starvation or lack of morale, and under his leadership they have a clear purpose: conquest.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

I get flashes of me chopping down those twigs back in the Demesne, watching as another simply took its place or grew out of its remains.

“But the strength of their commander will be the horde’s undoing,” Palka goes on. “The Darkseed may change its form every century it arrives, but its core disadvantage remains the same: it is an immobile beast. An entity shackled to the earth it is born from. It requires an envoy to spread its corruption effectively – proxies through which it can house its power and allow its conquest of our world to function.”

My eyes light up, suddenly brimming with understanding. Like she’s read my mind, it’s Myra that’s able to voice the connection:

“So this Thorn is not just a commander,” she says. “But essentially the eyes, ears, and sword of the Darkseed itself.”

Palka nods. “And so much more – he is its propagator. The vehicle through which all its children may be born from the Seeded hearts of mortal beings. He is what the Greycloaks term a ‘Cultivator’”

The moving image of the spiders Swiftrunner and I encountered as we escaped the Demesne fills my mind, and the pain of their companion as it was ‘seeded’ is, for a moment, my own pain.

If that was considered being reborn, then I doubt any of those Seeded folks choose it willingly…

“But how does that make him their greatest weakness?” a Glenmaiden asks.

Palka waits, commanding the attention of the whole room, before she finally arrives at the main point:

“If the Cultivator dies, the Seeded die with them,” she says. “I am told this is similar to an old human adage – ‘cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies.’

She glances at me.

“Hey, I don’t know!”

“So,” Mia jumps in. “What you’re saying is…”

“If this Thorn is slain, his army will wither on the vine.”

I can feel my eyes bulging without looking at my own reflection in Palka’s pond.

How the hell does she know that?

“So we just need to dispose of him,” Myra says, stepping forward. “But that doesn’t explain why Seneca is here.”

“She is the bait that will lead her master to us,” Palka answers calmly. “Seneca has become…attuned to the Darkseed’s forces. It seems it considers her a valuable asset. We suspected as much. It gives few of its subjects any independence beyond those it chooses as Cultivators. Seneca was granted a fleeting spec of her corrupted mind, and thus she is seen as valuable enough to parley over.”

“P-parley?” I sputter.

The sage dragon nods. “We have communed with the General. It is we who have coordinated this ceasefire.”

Silence in the chamber. Everyone’s hanging off Palka’s every word.

“He is coming here,” she says. “To negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” Myra practically scoffs. “Mistress – he – he is a traitor!”

“Aye,” Arthelia agrees. “And one who wants nothing more than to see us all rotting beneath the dirt.”

“True, my children,” Palka says in response. “And all human traitors share the same flaw: arrogance. He thinks he is coming here to negotiate a deal. He will get his lieutenant back, and in return he has pledged to quit the field of battle this day. He believes we think he shall honor his pledge, because we are old, infirm, and because our hatred of humanity has blinded us.”

She glances in my direction again with a look so cold it chills me to my doggie-bones.

“He believes we are an honor-bound people who care not a jot for this world or the people in it. But, like all humans filled with hubris, he is wrong. We will not honor our deal.”

The dragon turns fully to face me now, and I suddenly understand what she’s going to ask before she even opens her fang-covered mouth.

“You want me to kill him.”

The Elves share mute looks of surprise as the sentence leaves my lips. Even Myra looks shocked by the very notion of her great, venerable Mistress employing such underhanded tactics.

But the dragon grins and licks her scaly lips as she responds.

“Yes.”

“Out of the question,” Myra snaps. “Mistress – you would leave our entire sanctuary open to this – this demon?”

“He will not make it far into our realm, Mythara. The Lightborn shall end him before he has a chance.”

I look from her to the other Elves in the chamber, who slowly, reservedly, nod in agreement.

“N-no!” Myra shouts. “You can’t expect Raziel to do this. How can you ask him to assassinate this creature alone? How do we know he can even beat him?”

“Have you not heard the stories they tell of the Lightborn’s prowess against the minions of the Darkseed?” Palka replies, cooly. “He can sear their flesh with a mere swish of his blade. He already struck a mortal blow to the corrupted Seneca, as his companion tells it.”

“B-but we –“ Myra falters, looking at her fellow Glenmaidens for help and finding none. “We can’t just endanger his life. This Thorn could simply capture him and retreat – surely killing the Lightborn means more to him than securing Seneca!”

“We have traversed the mind of this creature of darkness,” Palka responds, deflecting Myra’s every argument with the cool air of one who had prescient knowledge at her disposal. “Seneca is at the forefront of his thoughts. But he underestimates you, Raziel. I do not see the desire to capture or destroy you within his consciousness, though I am sure it is the most burning desire of his Master. Perhaps he views the Lightborn as a lesser opponent due to your new form. But he is wrong. You only need lift your blade against him to prove it.”

Myra’s mouth opens and closes, as though trying to clutch at some unseen argument that could get me out of this.

But the hand that places itself on her shoulder to steady her surprises even me.

“Sis,” Mia says. “Maybe this is the best way.”

Myra turns slowly to regard her sisters sad face.

“Mia…”

“Haven’t you been training him this whole time?” she asks her, smiling softly like she was administering aid to a child. “Don’t you think he’s ready for this? And this way, no one else has to die. Not like last time…”

Myra stares at her sister dumbfounded, her arms dropping to her sides.

“Mia,” she says. “It’s…it’s not fair. It’s not fair to ask him to just solve the world’s problems all by himself. Not when the army of the enemy is knocking on our doorstep.”

“Who’s enemy, Sis?” Mia says, staring at the ground. “Ours or his?”

I blink up at her. But she’s not looking at me.

“Mia…” Myra begins, but her sister’s tear-stained face cuts her off.

“He’s the reason they’re here!” she shouts.

The statement echoes round the chamber, rebounding off the moist walls and coming back to pierce my ears again, and again, and again…

It’s my fault.

The other Elves say nothing. Palka doesn’t rebuke her. They all just look away.

Of course they do, you idiot, I think. What? You thought they actually cared about you? You’re just a dumb Corgi who’s only brought them pain. That’s all. And now it’s your job to fix it.

“That’s…”Myra mumbles feebly. “That’s not fair! You have to-”

“Ok.”

The words stumble out of my mouth as I walk forward and address only the waiting face of the dragon, who’s been staring at me, I realize now, the whole damn time.

“This is why you brought me here after all, right?”

Maybe it’s barely seen by the others, but I see the dragon’s lips rise gently into a smile. Maybe she thinks I don’t see it. But I do. I recognize it as any animal recognizes the thoughts of another.

I catch my reflection again in the rippling pool below, and this time see a very different dog from the one who walked in here, full of hope that maybe Myra would join him on the road, on a grand quest that might really save this world.

He was even, dare I say it, a little excited.

But now? Nah. I am what I gotta be, right? I’m what this world needs me to be. An ‘Asset’ right, Mr Pale Man?

So as Myra tries to gingerly reach out to me, I ignore her. I shake her away and look only at Palka, and I say the words that she needs me to say:

“I’ll do it.”