Ethan pulled up a dead stump of tree just beyond his camp as he pondered Lamphrey’s question.

What will I do when Kaedmon’s Law is broken?

If he was being honest, he hadn’t really thought about it.

So, staring at the still awestruck villagers below their camp, he told the waiting lizardwoman the truth:

“Make them – all of them - see that harmony’s not impossible.”

“Coexistence, then?” Lamphrey pondered aloud. “Sire, is that not naïve?”

He glanced over at her with as intimidating a glare as a bipedal salamander wearing a wizard’s hat could have.

“Forgive me, Sire,” she said with a bow. “My people are long-suffering, as are the rest of those who live under Sanctum. At times, my own prejudices come through.”

Ethan breathed a small sigh as he watched her crouch, placing her simple oaken staff before her. She watched the humans with him, but through very different eyes.

“What do you think, then?” Ethan asked her suddenly, his mind preoccupied with the memory of the burning, flaring hatred he perceived in every villager’s eyes as their festival reached its crescendo. “If you were me, how would you re-write Kaedmon’s Law?”

She spoke without turning to face him. It seemed, right now, that the old lizard’s eyes were not trained on the village below, but on the horizon that stretched beyond it. To their destination. To the oceans of Argwyll. And possibly to realms beyond.

“Take my words as you wish, Archon Ethan,” she said. “They are the words of a woman who is well past her prime. Words of regret, mixed with deep sorrow. I am old enough to remember those who came before you. We Tialax have the longest lifespans of any Argwyllian race – second only to the dragons whose scales were burned to cinders long ago.”

Ethan watched her grip at her own scaled arms. He assumed that her kind had some sort of reverence for the dragons in Argwylian history. Perhaps she descended from a line of dragon priestesses or something.

Then it hit him. Something that was so obvious.

“You served Gyko, didn’t you?” he asked her. “And I’m betting you served the Archon before her, too.”

She looked at him now, eyes filled with pride that defied her advanced age.

“I served them all, my Archon,” she said. “I was there at the beginning. And I shall be here till the End.”

He blinked, and tried his best to lower the temperature of the conversation. “Hopefully, that’s a long way away yet. I’m looking to change the world, not break it into pieces.”

She looked at him for what seemed like a very long time.

“It is your right,” she shrugged. “I am merely a Dreamwalker who offers guidance to those who feel lost. And I sense that perhaps you feel this way right now, Sire.”

Ethan recoiled. This gal was acting like his bloody councilor all of a sudden.

But, then again…was that really such a bad thing? He’d been like the therapist for his hybrid buds on more than a few occasions.

Sys, he asked. Is what she’s saying true?

I don’t remember her.

But then, every Archon’s System is newly reinstated upon installation and awakening. Almost like Kaedmon feels you would have too much of an advantage if I could communicate how your past incarnations failed.

Instead, all I have are the feelings, Ethan. The emotional turmoil of failure without knowing how it can be avoided.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Your System speaks true,” Lamphrey confirmed. “In the first Age of Karfangg, my Sisters were the first of Argwyll to pronounce the divinity of our Lord, and recognize him as Archon.”

“Oh yeah. Karfanng was a dragon, right?”

“First of his kind,” Lamphrey sighed. “And the last.”

Both of them looked out as the life of Triant faded away. Children were tucked into bed, clutching their favorite toys and the memories of the festival. Everyone seemed to sleep softly. Except the two monsters looking on.

“Hate is difficult, yes?” Lamphrey said. “It made the humans powerful, and it now makes us powerful. But it is a bad cycle, is it not?”

“What do you mean?”

Lamphrey held up her hands, gesturing as she spoke. “Force answers force. War breeds war. Death creates more death. It is a cycle that seems inescapable. And at its head are Archon and Lightborn.”

The lizardwoman spoke as though she’d entered a trance. Her eyes closed over, her head lolled to the side, and her tongue slathered over her slitted mouth.

And despite how…bizarre this all was. Ethan couldn’t help but listen.

“Like two spokes on a wheel…” she said. “One rises, the other falls, and on and on and on it goes while everyone is crushed underneath. It is a divine miracle that the world still remains. But perhaps the times are suddenly changing.”

She turned, still in her state of blindness, and ran her fingers down the veil that covered her face.

“You are not a being of hate,” she said. “You walk among the humans and you feel…sorrow for them. Not anger. You are not like the cat, who is all fur and fury. Nor like the Hopla, who fights to protect her home. Nor are you like the stoic wolf, who fights to avenge his loved one. No. You fight in a different way. You fight, but you do not turn your enemy into something Other than your Self. You do not turn them into a shadow upon the wall…a monster to scare children…and to teach them to be afraid. To hate. And to worship that detestable shadow like a God.”

Her eyes then jerked open. She had abruptly been freed from the spell she was under.

And Ethan was looking right at her.

“I apologize, Sire,” she said. “At times, the spirit takes me.”

Ethan blinked. All that was…a lot to digest.

“…you never answered my question,” he said. “What would you replace Kaedmon’s Law is? How would you stop the Cycle?”

She licked her lips, eyes darting to the sleeping hybrids and back.

“The world could be yours, Sire,” she said. “You would be fit to rule it. Not only that, but you would have the right.”

Ethan slumped back on the stump. He almost surprised himself with the fact that he’d never really considered that.

Setting myself up as a God, eh? he thought. Is that why you came with us?

I have to admit…it does sound tempting. Immortality must be nice.

Ethan thought about it. He thought about having every mind in the world under his thumb. Having complete control, this time. A new start, with his every thought and word becoming enshrined as a universal standard.

But then his eyes flashed to his sleeping comrades, and the humans in their village, and lizardwoman bent before him, trying to read his thoughts.

“You can do it, Sire,” she said. “Only you. The path has been paved. When the Prophet Jun’Ei’s secrets have been learned, this entire world will be within your grasp. You need only reach out and take it.”

Ethan let a small puff of air escape his Host’s throat.

“And that would solve everything, huh? Hate? War? Death? All those problems would just go away so long as the right person’s in charge?”

“Where there is difference, there is hate, Sire. That is a law older even than Kaedmon’s.”

Maybe there was some truth in that. Everything the ancient snake said had the ring of certainty to it. It was like her every word and phrase, every movement of her scaly limbs, had been practiced meticulously throughout time.

So, when he looked right at her and said, “you’re wrong,” he couldn’t even give a valid reason.

“It’s an interesting theory,” he explained. “Hell, I saw so much shit in my own world that I stopped watching the news at a certain point. Stopped keeping up with current events. Spent most of my time escaping into other worlds. Makes sense – doesn’t it? Thing is, at a certain point, you always gotta come back. And if you’ve done nothing to help sort out some of the problems in the world, you can’t exactly blame it for being a shitty place. At that point, it’s kinda on you.”

He stood up suddenly to stretch his limbs, silhouetted against Argwyll’s pale moonlit sky. Now the fires had faded. The Skylamps were gone. The stars were out, and so even in darkness there was light.

And in this light, Ethan saw Lamphrey’s snake-like pupils dilate.

“Heh, got me all philosophical,” he laughed. “Guess that’s just what happens at 2am when two friends are camped out under the stars.”

Lamphrey bowed again.

“I merely propose my guidance to you of course, Sire,” she said. “Your decisions are entirely your own.”

She took her leave then, not bothering to dust the stray grass off her robe. Ethan looked after her, wondering exactly why she’d chosen to join them when she did. Had she been biding her time, perhaps? Had she been waiting for something?

“Lamphrey!” he shouted after her. “It’s not so hopeless for us! Stick with me, and I’ll show you.”

He saw the snake-woman turn and nod, a smiling spread across her face.

But what he did not hear was the reply she whispered back beneath her shadowed veil:

“You have not seen what true hatred is, Ethan Hawke,” she said. “But you will see, and you will learn. The world will be your teacher.”