“You will be a knight, probably one of the best. Would you like that?”

Jaren remembered those words, bright and bold, the kind look and steady gaze that came with it had captivated him in his youth. That man lay before him now, his body covered in wounds and his eyes lifeless. His hands still reached out towards the altar, clasped in his final moments of supplication.

A strange sense of the unreal came over Jaren. Ever since Dane had taken him into his household Jaren had known him as king, never supplicant to any. His word was binding, his mere requests were law, yet here, he died with his back exposed to his enemies while he prayed to some ancient deity. Jaren knew from his studies whom this deity was. This was not the lawgiver goddess, the hearthkeeper Arinth whose grand cathedral this ancient shrine had nondescriptly been ensconced within.This god was far more powerful, far more ancient. Jaren could feel his blood surging at the sight of the graven images, that new power that refused to let him die crying out to that ancient being. Derkomai, the first dragon, progenitor of all dragonkind.

The humans of the Derkoman kingdom may worship Arinth, but the kingdom belonged to Derkomai. The histories spoke of a duty to the dragons and their kin. The people of Derkoman had been oppressed where they came from and when they arrived here, it was the dragons of this land that had ennobled them. Arinth was given dominion over them to rule over their daily lives, but a connection was required. The king of Derkoman had always been the priest of Derkomai and leader of his cult among the humans. When the dragons woke, the king was the direct counsel to them.

Looking at the body of his liege, Jaren shuddered once again. It had been days since that fateful message yet the pain had not dulled. His kingdom was gone. The people had left through portals he could not follow and the buildings were soot covered ruins. His sensation of the goddess was dulled, the font of power that he drew from to power her divine blessings had dried up sometime during the fighting. His king lay before him, his first friend, the first to look upon the small orphan and recognize him as valuable. Not just valuable, but priceless. Dane had been the first to demand more from him and expect great things from him. Dane had given him meaning and a place.

Now he was gone. His body lay broken before that altar. His regal robes tattered and torn. It had never occurred to Jaren that his king, his friend, could ever look so weak. He had always been strong, one of the strongest Jaren had known. When he was younger, and he had had time for such frivolous thoughts, Jaren had often despaired at the thought of never catching up to Dane. A veritable wall before him, yet now the wall was cracked and broken.

What was Jaren now without Dane or Derkoman, without king and country. He had built his whole life around those two things and he had been rewarded for it. Wealth, admiration, fame; all of these things had come to him as he pursued his role as a Knight of the kingdom and servant of the king, but now he had neither of those things and all that had been his were in ruins.

A bleak mood passed over him as he sat near his fallen friend and watched the shadows play across his face. One part of him wished for death, while a more primal part, fueled by this newly awakened power in his blood, urged him to live on. But what was he to do? Other than choosing to follow Dane he had never truly chosen for himself before. The service required of him had granted him purpose and comforted him with its order. If he was uncertain of his purpose he would seek out his giver, his liege. But now, what was there for him? His king was dead, his people out of reach. Even his enemies had fled far enough that his fatigued body couldn’t readily reach them.

“Well, there is one thing I can do now. Probably the last I can do for you, my struggle-friend, my giver of treasure.”

He lifted up his liege. The weight was nothing to him, he hadn’t bothered to check his progress but he knew that he had achieved much for the gods to reward him over the last few days. He had grown strong once again due to the enemies he had slain. The battle madness core to the path they had granted him in that battle had been easy to comprehend in his state and his growth had not been slowed. Instinctively he knew that whichever Job it was, it was unsuitable for long term service, instead suitable for a brilliant flash of power before finding an early grave. Yet, while the battle madness it granted should have driven him to the death he had hoped for, the primal vitality in his blood had surged and denied it.

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He shook his head to clear his thoughts. All of that was something to consider in another time. For now, he could not care less about any of it. He carried his lord into the undisturbed catacombs beneath the cathedral. The powerful abjurations cast upon the stones had discouraged the invaders from intruding here. A calm came upon Jaren as he proceeded further, passing between rows of the noble dead of the kingdom. Along with the royalty and great nobles of the kingdom, the other great paragons had been laid to rest here. No matter what station they held in life, if their contribution to the kingdom was great enough this was their final resting place.

Rows of cubbies with the remains of these great people stretched out before him and even in the pitch darkness he could see them with clarity, another new change wrought by that power in his blood. He travelled for a while before coming to a stop in an area with fresher corpses. These were the heroes of the war that they had been able to bring back. Knights, mages, priests, soldiers, and even civilians of many stripes had been laid here in this part of the space. It saddened Jaren to see faces he recognized, their decay stymied by some aspect of the spells preserving this place.

Several stone embalming tables were placed in the corridor here. Jaren laid his friend’s corpse upon one of them. The others already had the corpses of the other men and women who had died within the cathedral that day; this hadn’t been Jaren’s first trip down here. Jaren didn’t know the embalmer’s trade, but knew that rigor mortis should have set in for these people already, yet it had taken little effort to move their corpse into proper resting positions. He did the same now for his friend, father, brother.

He stood there and his mind went silent for a while as he surveyed the room. He took in the details of each person laying there, their wounds, their expressions. He prayed shortly for each of them, mechanically following his formal training from the temple of Arinth. When he was done he felt a sense of melancholy once again. He knew that this place belonged to the dead and those that tended them, so he left. Once outside he saw the night sky and ruins of the city through the broken walls of the cathedral. He sat on the steps and watched the smoke drift up from the various places where coals still burned hot.

“What will you do now child?”

A voice, powerful, yet calming, matronly, yet full of vibrant youth, came from behind him. He turned and saw an ancient creature, her black scales crossed with ancient battle scars. She rested comfortably, with her four legs folded underneath her and tail curled around her, in a posture akin to a cat. Her wings were folded to her body, and her head extended on her elongated neck to examine him. There was no malice in her eyes, but rather he got the sense that they held concern for him.

He couldn’t tell whether it was his emotional and physical fatigue or her apparent lack of malice that caused him not to be alarmed by her sudden presence. He certainly had not sensed her approach and if she had wanted to ambush him he would have been caught totally off guard, something highly unlikely for a man with his skills. Yet, the situation did not seem alarming to him. Instead, her presence exerted a calming influence on him.

It only took him a moment to recognize what she was, but the question she asked stumped him. He truly didn’t know how to answer it. Rather, he had no answer, nor did he know how he was going to come to that answer. The bleakness he had felt before started to settle upon him once again. The colors around him seemed to dim further and he felt tired. He had fought for days and he truly felt drained. Now in the presence of this dragon, he finally felt that he could rest.

She watched him for a moment before speaking. “You do not need to answer me now. You are tired and I am sure you are hungry. You are also dirty and your armor is in tatters. You are one of mine, so I will bring you back with me. Rest now.”

Her voice contained power in it, it was no true magical compulsion but rather a compassion that gave it greater weight. His fatigue washed over him and he couldn’t help but slowly fall asleep. As he did so, he felt her mouth close around him before gently lifting him up.