A resounding trumpet notes from all around as something screeches above my head with victory as hundreds of hundreds are released from their mindless slavery.

A smile tips my lips as my heart becomes full. The wolf retreats to leave bare skin as peace and joy overwhelms me and leaves me bare before the world… and for once, I care not about the scars on my back or the wounds dribbling blood. I hardly feel them at all.

My ears swivel, taking note of sounds: groans and cries of relief and pain mixed with muttering and clanking as the jingoist shift uneasily in their full armor with the ladders discarded on the ground.

The dragons are mostly grounded, ranging from twenty feet to fifty feet away from me and just rising to shaky feet. Roars, screeches, and wails reach my ears from above as wyverns and leonoavis circle, their joyful cries reaching into the depths of my soul as I send a thanks up to them, unsure if they can hear it, but grateful to them all the same.

The mangy wolves behind me lay on the ground, shaking their heads and pawing at their ears. The humans are splayed on the ground, some sitting up, but all moving with motions that are their own. Some are staring at their moving hands with glee, laughing and crying at the same time.

Others are curled into a ball, shaking with sobs.

The jingoist in their sharp armor and purple capes remain over sixty feet from us. Many of them remain frozen, some still on the ground from the blast, their mouths gaping and their hands shaking on their weapons that are tipped to the ground. Some already stream back across the purple bridge to the trees, grabbing what they can and running.

Can’t say I blame them. They did just get their hind ends handed to them on a platter.

The men in robes stand between us and the jingoist, a row of about fifteen that have their hoods up. They all have different colored robes with shapes I know to be their rank in gold lettering on their breast. The robes are dirty from the battle, but they stand with backs ramrod straight and only their chins showing beneath the hoods. One steps forward.

He is the one who stopped my attack earlier. The one who spoke to me and held my soul in his hands… and although he likely could have killed me, he did not. Just as I chose not to kill his companions who stand behind him.

I stand on shaking legs and pull my belt tighter, hoping to keep public exposure to a minimum. It’s enough that my bare torso streaked with blood and scars are being seen by thousands. I’d rather not give them a further show.

Shasta slips her hand into mine. I smile down at her, and she grins back, hopping up and down in happiness.

“Thank you, Shasta,” I say, squeezing her hand and smiling down at the tiny girl.

Her eyes grow warm and bright while her grin splits her face. “You welcome, Uncle Ro.”

From the mouths of babes.

Berserk come from around the edges of Videlia, being too large to fit inside, they protected the back of Videlia and remained prepared as a surprise for the ground when the came time. Whelp, now it’s time. The Were on their back have fangs bared, their eyes slit and flashing as they race to join me and Shasta before the Army.

The gates at our backs open and horses thunder through, the men on their backs both the gristled and burly soldiers plus the men and women of the town with clean cheeks and braids. They give wide berths to the still somewhat dazed dragons, some of which take to the skies after eating the jingoist on their backs. But many remain, their eyes fixed on the purple caped men before us.

I recognize Leo, David, and General Brackenridge spearheading the charge of cavalry. Leo’s tiny form on the back of a massive charger makes me grin. Men and women stream from behind the cavalry, hundreds marching in patched leather and weapons but with heads held high. A chant reaches my ears, in time with the strike of fist to chest and rising above the rhythmic pound of hooves upon the ground.

“Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.”

I can’t help my grin at the pristine rows of fifty, each with their own archers nestled in the center, pikemen in front, and swordsmen in the back. Many of those men and women I recognize, including a large, burly blacksmith who actually took me by surprise and beat me with four other men.

A proud smile turns my lips, and I feel the reverberations of their chant and their pounding steps all the way down to my soul, moving me in a way I haven’t been moved since the first time Jed and Barry piled on me in a group hug.

These are the men and women of my heart. I trained them how to fight and they taught me that good remains in many of all races.

And today, we forged a bond in blood.

The horses snort to a halt mere feet behind me, lining up five to six hundred strong, with about one thousand men and women coming to a stop behind them.

General Brackenridge nods at me, his face turned in his perpetual scowl beneath his helm.

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David leans on his saddle horn, his horse a bay farm mount meant to plow fields, but his massive muscles make him a prime charger all the same. David holds a flag that waves in the wind, one with a black dragon roaring before a wheatfield on a deep maroon background. It snaps open and I see a circle of flame surrounding the dragon with each of the major races’ emblems stamped onto it. The Old Sigil of the High Kings. My jaw drops and I struggle to keep my mind on the current battle.

How long have they been planning this? David sees me eyeing the flag and winks, then turns his gaze back to his granddaughter, his eyes pinching in concern even as he tries to keep an easy smile on his face. Concern flavors the air above the stench of the battlefield.

“Well now, little one, I do believe it’s time for you to go see your mother.”

“Mamay’s better?” Shasta asks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she sniffles, and I’m reminded that despite her faith and confidence, she is still a tiny girl who has been through Sixth over and over, but comes through each brighter than ever. Someday I want to grow up to be just like her.

David nods, his own eyes glistening. His weathered face turns in a smile beneath a dark grey beard. “Aye, dear. And she’s asking for her favorite munchkin.”

I pick Shasta up and put her in front of David. He nods at me. “You are a king now, son. Hope you’re ready for the fallout.”

I give him a lopsided grin tinged with sadness. “Is anyone?”

His mouth spreads in a slow grin. He salutes, spinning his mount around to take Shasta home, the flag streaming behind him.

Horses snort and chew on bits as they paw the ground. General Brackenridge hands me two swords, his customary scowl in place.

I twist them in my grip, nodding my thanks.

He nods back, respect in his gaze. “You were right, wolf. There is always hope. You did well,” he grunts, somewhat begrudgingly.

“Honestly, sir, none of that was me.”

He looks at me, his scowl deepening even as his gaze says he deeply questions my sanity.

You and me both, human, Cynic says.

That’s rich coming from you.

You’re the one with a death wish.

You’re the thousand year old being with a crush on a Shifter while living in another Shifter.

Half-Shifter, he grumbles.

The Leonoavis and wyverns land in front of me, and the dragons behind the army expose their fangs, streamlining their bodies like cats and flaring their wings.

Large thumps come from the other end of the water. I glance behind the jingoist army, my shoulders tightening. What now? Did they have some other hidden device or weapon?

But then… huge black dragons slither through the trees, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing and forcing the retreating jingoist to surrender or be ate. They drop their swords and get on their knees.

Smart, Cynic acknowledges.

The blacks coil just in front of the woods, looking down at the jingoist with contempt. Flash waves from the back of one, the male who stands tall beside his mate, both with swishing tales and looking a bit peaky. There are many behind them and others surrounding them. It seems all we freed have returned.

The jingoist glance behind them and then back at the army from Videlia, fear growing in their widening eyes as they huddle between us, trapped.

A mage steps forward, the one in the black robe with silver lettering on his breast, drawing a snarl to my face. He slowly, almost reverently, pushes back his hood. His eyes are a dark brown and expressionless. The half-moon scar from brow to chin is his most distinguishing feature, the rest is so plain as to be unremarkable. “Powerful. And yet you are a wolf. What are you?” the mage asks, almost to himself, something like awe crossing his features before they go blank once more.

Morgana materializes beside me, making me flinch.

She harrumphs, not even looking at me as she glances around at the thousands of people all around. “No better time for a coronation, I suppose,” she mutters to herself, tapping her cane on the ground.

“Listen up!” Her voice rings through the air, louder than a trumpet. I wince even and wolves whine, rubbing a hand on my ear that is ringing from her shout that was louder than a dragon’s screech.

“This here is the Chosen King of the Allfather and ruler of Avidon. If you all wanna live to see tomorrow, I suggest you surrender now.” She plops something on my head, and I hold still, trying to decide if I should feel up there and see if it’s something nefarious that’s gonna make me loopy like her tea or leave it alone. Knowing Morgana, it could be a snake that’ll bite me, but I don’t feel it wiggling.

Let’s piss off the whole of the continent some more, why don’t ya?

Cynic snorts. Not like you can piss anyone off more than we already have.

I think about it. That’s true, I concede, a grin growing on my face at a thought.

Oh, that's devious. I approve, Cynic comments.

I open my arms and send Beast streaming along the ground, his tendrils dodging my allies and slinking to the jingoist army. Beast purrs, something the dragons and creatures around me return in their own ways.

A few of the creatures, the Golden Leonoavis included, step voluntarily on Beast’s light, their souls connecting with mine. The feel of their souls brushing mine feels like the healing warmth of the moon on my shoulders. I stand taller, feeling their strength flow through me and in turn mine flows through them, somehow making us all stronger for it. Wounds on my body stitch in seconds, leaving me ravenous, but food must wait.

The long-awaited sound of weapons dropping to the ground meets my ears. The jingoist drop their weapons and kneel, beginning with a man in the front who has a blue cape instead of the typical purple.

I stop Beast inches from their line, and he prowls against my hold, not particularly testing me but more waiting. The jingoist recoil from his pooling, teasing light. One releases a girly scream when he’s shoved from behind and lands in the pool. He scrambles back, something wet dribbling from his pants as he cowers within the ranks.

The golden leonoavis turns from watching the jingoist. He’s ten feet from me, his tail slowly waving as he studies me. I am unsure if his tail communicates pleasure like a wolf or displeasure like a cat. Shifter and human alike scramble from his wings as he spreads them out to their impressive twenty foot wingspan.

The leonoavis tucks his wings to his sides, his tail still waving in a slow circle as he steps closer. I study him as he, in turn, does the same. The eyes—which seem to recall the dawn of time itself—dart down to my feet and the light pooling there. He consciously steps into the light with each graceful placement of his paws. His mane is like a lion, but stripped with black and looks almost feathery. The body is lithe but strong, muscles rippling. He looks healthy and almost fat. I smile. So the little bits of meat I asked the Were to put out helped. Good.

He stops in front of me, his tapered, stripped snout as high as my chest. His wings rest at his sides, slicked with blood, but his eyes shimmer with something I cannot exactly define.