I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee the coronation of the descendant of the Lion King.
Such were the words that span endlessly through the great dragon’s head as he flew through the skies, the wind howling around him.
Far below, the desert swept past, the only landmarks visible at such a great distance being the flower-patches of mabeasts.
His two sets of wings beat slightly out of sync with each other, the thump-whump sound they made as they displaced air sounding somewhat like a heartbeat.
I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee the coronation of the descendant of the Lion King.
He did not know how long the heir had been calling him. He had only noticed the call during one of his rare bouts of sanity, and even then, had almost forgotten what it meant.
But the very moment he did remember, he had thrown himself off the tower, and started flying towards the call.
I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee the coronation of the descendant of the Lion King.
But his sanity could only last so long before the fog returned. It was all the once-great dragon could do to repeat the words of his covenants again and again, hoping that the repetition might engrave them deep into his mind, that he might still be able to fulfil his role, even in the depths of madness.
In his weakest moments, when he knew enough to know how far he had fallen, he feared that the effort would be in vain. It would be another hundred years before the boy arrived. In that time… would he forget even more? Would he be any more than a beast at that point?
He felt his mind drifting further away every year. Even when flying, he lost focus, and his memories began to bleed together.
Why doth Farsale summon mineself so urgently? Hath disaster befallen them? Doth the Witch of Greed again trouble the world? No… Mineself trapped her… did I not?
His eyes closed in thought, and when he reopened them, the desert was gone, replaced with a rocky grassland.
I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee the coronation of the descendant of the Lion King.
He was still repeating his mantra, a reminder of his mission. He had to remember it. But it was fading from his thoughts, holding little meaning to him.
Hath Vollachia began to march again? To my recollection, they used magic circles to deactivate mine barrier. Mineself couldn’t see them, not until Gionis managed to break through the fog.
The fog had been lighter in those days, and once cleared, it remained so for many months before it crept back. That had only been sixty years previously. How rapidly he had degraded.
He reached for his barrier, the enormous magical construct tensing and vibrating as it informed him of Lugunica’s state.
Every person, every illness, every misfortune, it was all transmitted through the strands of magic towards him, like he was the spider in a massive web.
It was working, there were no areas of nothingness. He had worried over nothing.
He stopped in midair, uncertain of his purpose now. The barrier was fine, it did not require maintenance. Then… why was he so far from the Watchtower? Why was he flying away from it, from his duty to protect the seal?
I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee the coronation of the descendant of the Lion King.
The words repeated through his mind twice before he comprehended them, and he once again became aware of the magic call reaching out to him, and the urgency the call contained.
He abruptly began moving again, trying to focus on the call. He couldn’t let himself falter again. Not after he had already let them wait so long. Not when… when Farsale needed him so urgently.
He closed his eyes again, and when he opened them, he was already past the mountains, and had reached the edge of the Lifaus plains.
In the far distance, he could make out the massive tree that towered over the plains, like a ‘skyscraper’ made of wood. Volcanica had doubted him when the boy… when Flugel had first said the word, but now that it had grown so large, he couldn’t help but agree. It truly did seem to scrape against the sky when seen from the ground.
It had likely grown taller since Volcanica had last landed by its side to take a look. He’d like to see it again someday. Perhaps when the boy’s mission was finished.
To the east, Mount Cordor stood tall, the lone peak providing the dragon with his most important landmark. Just beyond it lay the capital, where Volcanica would be able to solve the issues that were troubling the people.
I am Volcanica. In accordance with the ancient covenant, I hath come to oversee—
Then he felt pain, and he was falling.
It shot through his mind like a hot knife, the fog screaming away as he became more aware of himself than he had been in decades.
He had been injured before, in the battle with Sekhmet, when sealing Satella, during combat with other dragons, but never so abruptly.
Hath Envy escaped? Doth she walk here? Did I fail?
He tried to stabilise himself in the air, his wings beating furiously, but that only succeeded in sending him spiralling. A moment later, he realised why.
The membranes of his left wings had been shredded. They were lighter than the rest of his body, and far easier to damage.
He could heal them, but not in the middle of combat. He’d have to land.
His head moved, his eyes shifting, trying to spot the black field that heralded her arrival, but he saw nothing.
He reached out to feel the world through his gate, and then he sensed mana. A veritable storm of wind mana, shooting towards him like an arrow from the heavens.
He rolled, losing altitude rapidly, but now facing his opponent.
His eyes picked out a pink blur, and before he even focused on it, he opened his mouth, and the sky turned white.
A stream of pure light erupted from his jaws, burning its way through the air, rendering the world temporarily silent as it burned even sound away.
But the pink blur abruptly changed course, blasting itself clear of his breath with a burst of wind.
Volcanica cut off his breath, and rolled again, diving towards the ground, his addled mind trying to work out who this new enemy was.
Not a witch, there was no trace of the miasma in its mana. Nor could it be a great spirit, this blur had a material form composed of flesh. He would have been able to sense it sooner if it had not.
He landed, the ground trembling as it took his momentum, and then he stood on his hind legs, gazing up at his opponent.
They shot downwards, hitting the ground not far from him, like one of the stars that occasionally fell from the heavens.
The impact threw up a cloud of dust and earth, but a blast of wind quickly scattered it, leaving his enemy exposed to his sight.
“Thou art… the Oni God.”
He wasn’t sure of himself, the face before him was not one he recognised. But now that he could properly see her, he felt certain. Such powerful mana was not something a human body could handle, and the way she pulled mana towards herself was reminiscent of the ability of an Oni. This could only be the strongest among their number.
However…
“Thou lacks thy horns.”
He could clearly make out the spot on her forehead, glowing bright pink, as her body tried to deploy an organ which no longer existed.
The Oni God hissed as she took a step towards him. Her body trembled, her magic having placed a great strain on her.
Flight magic was not unknown to Volcanica, he used it himself for the majority of his ability to fly. It was an elegant blend of Earth, Fire, and Wind, beyond all but the most skilled magic users.
The Oni God had replicated the effect with brute force, relying solely on Wind to blast her into the air and change directions. That must have been how she flew over him, she shot past him and savaged his wings while he was in flight.
Her heretical use of magic had left her body battered and bruised, but the Oni were a tough race. She was still capable of combat.
“Ram needs no horn,” she declared in response to his statement, and the wind around her cried out with bloodlust, ready to fight to the death. “She has her cute sister supporting her, and that is all she needs.”
She lashed out with a blade of wind, but it was just a probing attack, far weaker than the one she had used to shred his wings.
He didn’t even need to actively counter it. The magic simply dissipated on contact with the scales on his neck.
He continued examining her, trying to work out the curiosity of her existence. She had no horns, and yet she was able to use the full power of the Oni God. It was an impossibility. So that was not the full story.
“That object…” he said, eyes drawn to the glimmer of reflected sunlight on her head. She was wearing a tiara of some kind, that seemed to shine with otherworldly light to his eyes. There was mana in it. A metia of some kind.
It was… strengthening a connection? No, forcing awareness of it?
“One horn,” Volcanica realised. “And a sister. Thou art a twin. A connection of Synesthesia.”
Rage flashed the Oni God’s eyes as he said it, and she launched another blade of wind at him, this time not holding back in the slightest.
Volcanica opened his mouth, and erased the attack with light.
The Oni God shot to the side to avoid being caught in the blast, and not a second too soon.
His breath disintegrated the ground where she had been standing, and continued onward, carving a deep groove into the Earth. He deactivated it a little late. He used to be able to allow his breath to leave untouched anything he did not expressly wish to be annihilated. In the past, he had bathed cities in dragonfire and only removed the invaders, leaving the buildings and citizens unharmed.
Such a feat was now beyond him, with the fog corrupting his thoughts. He would not be able to use it to counter her magic, not if he wanted to keep her unharmed.
“You will not touch Ram’s sister!” the Oni God cried, hurling another blast of wind at him.
Volcanica reached out with his mind, and twisted the space in front of the magic. It flew straight and true, but once it reached the area in his grasp, it diverted its course, flying up into the sky.
Rending space was the most unusual of Flugel’s ideas, but it was a technique that had proved its usefulness many times.
“Mineself hath no interest in thy sister,” Volcanica stated. “It is merely to sate mine curiosity.”
He whipped out his tail, and the ground in front of the Oni God exploded, cutting her dash to the side short.
“And unto that curiosity, for what reason have you attacked Mineself here?” he asked.
But the pain of his wings was already fading as his membranes knitted back together, and the fog had started to rise at the edge of his thoughts.
Why did he have to ask what her intentions were? She was the Oni God, she meant to annihilate all things. She had been a necessary creation back in the days of the Witches, but now? She was a threat to the world, nothing more, and nothing less.
Without even waiting for an answer, he opened his mouth, and blasted her again, this time aiming to take her life.
She hurled herself into the air with a burst of Wind, but Volcanica tracked her movements, bringing the beam of his breath up to follow her.
She fled, blasting herself to and fro to avoid the beam, and Volcanica continued trying to bring it to bear on her, causing it to light up the sky, a line of light that would be visible across the entire plain.
Finally, she darted down so she was in line with the horizon, and Volcanica was forced to cut off his attack. He couldn’t risk accidentally sweeping his breath over a village or town and erasing it.
That would break his covenant.
His opponent took the opportunity to land, the connection between the sisters flaring as she drew more heavily on it. Volcanica focused on her again, a trace of confusion piercing the fog, bringing him up from his brief madness.
This… she wasn’t the Oni God he knew. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realised until now, but the previous Oni God had never shown such restraint in combat. Nor had he ever heard of the Oni God having siblings. They should have been the first to die when the madness overtook her.
Was he wrong? Was this truly the same entity?
“Tell Mineself, what is thy name?” he asked.
The Oni glared up at him.
“I am Ram. Rem’s older sister, and maid of Roswaal K. Mathers.”
Roswaal.
That name tugged at the fog, but Volcanica couldn’t place it. Had he ever known a Roswaal? Perhaps it was a common name.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
His opponent had already refilled her Od with mana through the connection. That was an effective, if unusual, strategy to fight him. He was accustomed to turning the surrounding mana away from those he fought, preventing opposing mages from recovering their strength.
The fact that this opponent had a source of mana beyond his ability to manipulate made her a slightly more competent threat.
But…
Isn’t talking things out and trying to find common ground the best way to resolve our differences?
Farsale would disapprove of him killing her just because of that.
“For what reason hath thou attacked Mineself?”
The Oni… no, Ram. He had asked for her name, so he should use it. At least until he forgot it.
Ram scowled at him.
“Ram wants to. There is no other reason.”
She was lying. Her stance was more defensive than aggressive, leaning more on her back foot, hunched slightly, her hands raised to guard her body rather than outstretched. The way she had positioned herself, the sweat on her brow, and the glint of fear in her eyes all betrayed her true feelings on the fight. She was not the type to throw herself wholeheartedly into combat simply for the sake of it.
But the resolute way she stood before him, the way she brandished the claw-like nails sharpening on her hands, and the overwhelming determination in her gaze marked her resolve. She was not fighting for the sake of it. Nor did she hate him. She simply had to win for reasons beyond Volcanica’s grasp.
“Surely there is something thee desires,” Volcanica’s voice rumbled. “A reason to fight so hard to challenge Mineself. Speak thy mind.”
She responded with blades of wind, aimed for his still-healing wings.
Mana surged from him, breaking the spells, and exerting pressure down on the wayward Oni, but she fled the area of his control before he could force her to the ground.
“Is it thy horn? The blood of dragons can heal many injuries and illnesses,” Volcanica continued, whipping his tail around and carving a groove into the earth, throwing up dirt and dust. “There is no doubt mine could return it to thee.”
“Ram needs no horn!” she hissed, as she threw herself out of the way of his tail, and shaped mana into a new form, an arrow of wind that tore through the aura of mana he was emitting.
He twisted space around it, and it flew off into the distance, exploding when it made contact with the ground.
“An illness, mayhaps?” Volcanica surmised. “Thy sister, or perhaps thy master.”
Once upon a time, he would have offered to heal them himself, but he didn’t know if he could anymore. If he made a contract like that, would he be able to fulfil it? Would he remember to?
“There is no illness!” Ram shouted back at him, shaping and firing a new spell. This one was a set of five projectiles, each taking a different path through the air to reach him. They were tearing through his aura, but they were far weaker than the other blasts she had let out.
He ignored them, and they impacted his scales.
But to his surprise, he didn’t feel them dissipate on contact, rather, they were able to land on his body directly and scratch the surface of his scales.
“That troubles Mineself. For what reason then are thou here, fighting with such determination?”
Ram did not answer, instead throwing another flurry of magic at his undamaged wings on his right side.
He flicked out mana to distort space, sending the spell flying, but it swirled and switched directions as soon as it left his aura, homing back in on his wings.
He had to wrap his tail in mana and bat it apart in order to counter it.
This was getting to be a troublesome fight. He would have preferred to simply fly away, but his wings were still healing, and they were taking quite a while, considering all the mana he was diverting to his aura.
Then perhaps he should take it a bit more seriously. If she wouldn’t tell him why she needed to fight him, or why she needed to defeat him, he couldn’t help her. He’d try and subdue her quickly, then get back to what he was doing.
…what had he been doing?
Ram took advantage of his momentary confusion to cast another spell, sending dozens of wind blades careening around him, attacking him from all angles.
His body surged with mana, and he let out a shockwave that blasted all the spells apart, then rippled outwards in an expanding dome, leaving no space for the Oni to dodge.
She was thrown backward, and though she tried to stabilise herself with her Wind, she still hit the ground hard, and rolled a fair distance before she stopped.
Volcanica lifted his head to the heavens, drawing himself up to his full height, and roared.
His aura, which had fully suffused itself into his surroundings, made contact with the barrier he had placed over Lugunica all those centuries ago. He twisted it, establishing a new section over the entire region, and spun a new barrier together from strands of mana.
The air crackled as he brought it into being, mana rushing down towards him, sealing the tears in his wings.
“No!”
He heard the Oni’s shout, confirming that she was alive. That was well. Farsale would be upset if he had killed one of his citizens. Volcanica would have to ask him to see what she wanted.
“Is that truly you? Disbelief.”
A familiar voice, so very familiar, echoed in the great dragon’s mind. It was like a ghost from the past.
But it wasn’t an illusion of his failing mind. He detected a presence within his barrier, a gate within range of his own.
And most of all, he smelled it. The miasma of a Witch Factor.
That alone was almost enough for him to breathe his fire down on the speaker, but before he could, the particulars of the scent drifted through his mind.
This wasn’t Envy. Nor was it another of the Seven. And it was a man’s voice anyway, this couldn’t be one the Witches that he had been so cautious of.
He peered down, and he saw a young man with blue hair and a monocle, looking up at him with pity in his eyes.
“To have fallen so far, to have a soul so corroded… Sorrowful.”
“Thou…” Volcancia breathed, the fog rippling in his mind as he saw someone he hadn’t in centuries. They had not known each other well, but Volcanica was certain they had met in the past. “Thou art…?”
“A fellow believer in a world beyond us,” the man said. “A steward of the end of the age, as you were. Camaraderie.”
“That factor… thou art Melancholy,” Volcanica finally remembered. “The Warlock, Hector.”
His mouth opened, and his breath began to light up.
“Loss of thought and memories, the death of the mind. Regret,” the man said. “I was wrong, you cannot survive until the final moments. Under a life of hundreds of years, your soul has cracked. Your mission, your final trial… I will steward it. Promise.”
Volcanica breathed out, and the light erased the ground where the man had been standing.
But he had moved. He had already been moving when Volcanica opened his mouth.
“What are you doing!?” the Oni cried out.
He was standing by her side now, looking up at him with deep sadness.
“You’re supposed to be looking after Rem! She can’t defend herself!”
“She is safe,” the man insisted. “You are not. Prioritisation.”
“I can do this myself!”
“Possibly. However, Lord Roswaal insisted I accompany you, that I might see this for myself. Foresight.”
He touched a hand to his monocle. “He wanted you to have aid, just in case. Compassion.”
Ram hissed, then looked up at Volcanica, desperate fury in her eyes. Fear for her sister, who she believed was at risk, and for her mission, which she wasn’t sure she could accomplish alone.
“That it would come to this… Melancholy.”
Without warning, an invisible force impacted Volcanica’s wings, right on a section that had just healed, reopening the wound and expanding the tear on the membrane.
Volcanica let out a low rumble, the draconic equivalent of a growl, and reached out with his mana.
Ram shot forward at his temporary distraction, closing the distance between them, launching more attacks from further inside his aura. She was holding nothing back now, and seemed to have figured out exactly how to get past the defensive magic of his scales.
Her blades of wind drew lines across his skin, cracking his scales, causing the first real injuries Volcanica had felt in centuries.
He roared, and whipped his wings out, blasting another shockwave in all directions, but this time the Oni was able to create a makeshift shield of wind to blunt the worst of the attack.
He whipped his tail out at her, causing her to swerve and get out of the way, and then launched herself at it, sinking her claws past his scales and into his flesh.
He flicked his tail to dislodge her, and drops of his blood went with her.
It had been so long since he had bled. He had almost forgotten he could.
He glanced back at the man. He was holding a staff now, made of a black metal. It felt vaguely magical, but it didn’t seem like a metia.
A dart of wind hit his chest, and he turned his attention back to the Oni.
At some point during her flight, her tiara had been dislodged, but that did not seem to affect the amount of mana she was drawing through her connection with her sister in the slightest. She had already figured out how to maintain the connection without external aid.
She was trying to get close to him, he could see. She was better at close range, where she might be able to get through to his flesh without wasting so much mana modifying her spells so they could get past his defences.
He took a few steps back, lashing out with his tail again, waving his hand and calling on some simpler magics.
The field around them erupted into flames, and Ram had to quickly stop moving and create a shield of wind around her to prevent herself from being burnt.
Volcanica opened his mouth once more, and then—
Pain.
Something had hit him in his chest. Something that had pierced every defence he had, and broken through to his flesh. Not since Envy had he felt such pain.
He roared and whipped his head around, blasting everything, the white light of his dragonfire vaporising the landscape.
But both enemies were still alive. He could feel their gates interacting with his aura.
He looked down, trying to see what damage he had sustained, to see where he had been hit.
It was easy to spot. There was a bar of metal sticking out of his chest, right out of the gap in his scales, the old wound that he had never been able to heal. His ‘reverse scale’ as Flugel had deemed it.
There was some kind of magic woven into it, and not one Volcanica recognized. There was a touch of dragonic work in it, but the basis was different.
It was dulling his pain, already the sharp agony of it sticking into his flesh had faded to a dull ache.
He grabbed it between his claws and pulled it out, flicking it away and sending mana into the wound to heal it. But the magic of the iron had sunk its teeth into him, and was now running amok in his flesh. Subduing and removing it would be a simple matter, except for…
“Al Fura!”
He lifted his arm and created a shield of mana to break the Oni’s spell before it reached him.
He couldn’t afford to take his attention away from the Oni. She already knew how to get past his scales. She would injure him if he took his attention off her for too long.
The fact that the warlock had injured him was unimportant. He no longer had the magic in the staff that allowed it to get through his aura, he was no longer the major threat. The impacts that regularly hit his wings were annoying, but would be easily dealt with once he had subdued the Oni. He couldn’t let the fog drag his attention away.
“El Fura! El Fura!”
Many blades of wind flew out at him, and though he blocked most with shields, some were able to make it through, and his scales cracked open, the spells cutting into flesh, drawing trails of blood through the air.
It didn’t hurt as much as he was expecting. He had known his reverse scale was more sensitive than normal, but he hadn’t realised it was to such an extent.
Still, it did hurt, and he still could not fly away. There was no helping it. He’d have to end the fight himself. Even if he couldn’t quite remember why they were fighting in the first place.
“Al—”
The girl began to speak another spell, but Volcanica was no longer simply waiting for her attacks. He couldn’t seem to land a hit on her with his breath, but dragons had more than one weapon at their disposal.
He took a single step towards her, closing the distance like it was nothing, and one clawed hand swept down.
The girl jumped backward, getting out of the way right before his hand ripped into the ground, sending a massive clump of earth flying to his side.
Before she could stabilise herself, Volcanica reached out to the space around her, intending to use it to crush her.
She was able to sense his intentions, likely due to the mana he had to position around her. She reworked the spell she had already half-casted, lifted her hand to the side, and…
“—Fura!”
She blasted herself clear of the area of effect, right before the ground rippled and shredded itself into fine dust.
She had been using a cutting spell, so it was unavoidable that she would suffer a few injuries from her method of evasion, but Volcanica was surprised at how little blood flew from her form as she tumbled through the air.
She had shredded the sleeves on her left arm, revealing shallow cuts in her flesh, but it seemed the girl had managed to contain the damage to just that.
His tail shot out towards her, the barb-like tip aiming to skewer her, not giving her a moment to breathe, to draw upon her connection to her sister and fully recover her mana.
The girl twisted in mid-air to avoid his strike, then lashed out with a clawed hand to grab his tail. She scrambled to get a foothold, then kicked off, aiming to get right up close to his midsection, still low to the ground in the aftermath of his sweeping attack.
Volcanica brought his hand up, and backhanded her out of the air, landing a direct hit on her for the first time.
It was only a glancing blow, but the girl was sent flying from the power of it, her body twisting and writhing through the air as she fell.
She hit the ground, but wasn’t able to roll to her feet instantly. Her limbs spasmed as she tried to move, but the few seconds that would take would prove too much.
Volcanica opened his mouth, and his breath began to light.
Her eyes met his, and the crimson orbs blazed. He saw as she realised she couldn’t get herself into a position to get out of the way. Even if she blasted herself clear again, she would not be able to dodge Volcanica’s next attack.
She still gathered her mana, ready to fight to the very end.
He breathed in… and caught the smell of a Witch Factor.
The smell pierced through the fog temporarily, blending with the sight of the pink-haired girl in front of him, and suddenly, he was in another battle, from the distant past.
Sekhmet! Mine breath won’t manage to get past her authority!
He cut his breath off, and unfurled his wings to their maximum, cycling mana through his body to lighten it.
The Great Waterfall. That was the plan. Why doth I stand so far from it? She ambushed me… she must have known.
His wings beat down, and his feet lifted off the ground. However, he didn’t gain altitude rapidly like he usually did.
She’s using her authority to hold Mineself here? She’s grown stronger. Mineself was right. She must be stopped now.
His spacial rend wasn’t going to be particularly effective against the Witch of Sloth, but it would force her to split her attention between offence and defence, and she was far too lazy to do both.
He reached out with his mind, but…
Why is she gathering mana?
“Al Fura!”
A blade of wind shot out from the girl, unhindered by aura or shields, and tore through his side.
Volcanica roared in pain, but not a second after the wound had been dealt, the fog descended upon it, banishing the pain from his thoughts.
He checked over his body in confusion, and found something. There was a magic in his body, one that was dulling his sense of pain. It was working with the fog, and the fog was working with it.
This must be… Echidna! They’re working together!
That must have been where the wind magic came from. But… hadn’t he seen Sekhemt cast it? Or had that been the fog, playing tricks on his memory?
“His soul fades further. Pity.”
The voice was sorrowful, carrying the weight of hundreds of years. Something hit his wings, and he was on the ground again.
Sekhmet had stood up. She almost never did that when she could get away with remaining on the ground. Had she cut her hair? Typhon must have wanted to see her in a new style. But… was she shorter? Volcanica sometimes found it difficult to judge the heights of the smaller folk, but Sekhmet looked a fair bit smaller than usual.
“Al Fura!” she shouted, and another deep gash appeared on his chest, intersecting with his reverse scale.
He roared, and lashed out with a wave of unformed mana.
Sekhmet blasted through it with a sustained burst of wind, then gathered herself for another attack.
When had she learned wind magic? Volcanica had never known her to spend such effort on something.
A niggling doubt appeared around the corners of his mind, through the faintest areas of the fog.
Was this really Sekhmet?
The girl launched herself at him, extending clawed hands coated with wind magic, aiming for his neck.
If she’s not Sekhmet… who is she? And why doth we fight? Farsale said it wasn’t good to fight.
He flicked his tail up to divert her, but she lashed out with a hand and sliced the tip off. Volcanica felt no pain from it. Why didn’t he feel pain? Wasn’t he wounded?
Why art Mineself so far from the Watchtower? Why doth Mineself stand here? Farsale… where art thee?
A pink blur shot past his head, and the fog grew teeth.
It bit into his neck, and Volcanica felt himself stumble, falling to the side. He tried to steady himself with his hand, yet even with the additional support, he was unable to support his weight.
“To die fighting, the dragon’s way… honourable, from a certain point of view.”
A voice said to him. One that was so familiar, yet so distant.
“Farsale?” The dragon asked. “Where art thee? Mineself can’t see thee. Where hath Flugel gone? Why isn’t Reid here? Hoshin? Satella?”
“Unfortunately, our fellows have passed on, or been reduced to a mockery of themselves. It is just us two left. Or perhaps just me. Alone.”
Volcanica’s vision sharpened for a moment, and he saw a blue-haired man, standing by his head.
“...Clind?” he asked, the fog beginning to lighten in his final moments.
“Yes. Worry not, Volcanica. Everything will be cared for in your absence. You may rest. Peace.”
The dragon’s eyes shuddered. He wanted to ask more, to find out what had happened. Was the boy here? Was Satella safe? Had the plan succeeded?
But he lacked the strength to ask any of them.
His eyes slowly drifted closed.
And they never opened again.