=92nd Year of the Eighth Era= 30 minutes from Vi'nto
The battalion trudged onward through the quiet darkness, the faint silhouette of Vi'nto barely visible against the backdrop of the cloud-covered night. The flicker of watchfires dotted the outpost walls, casting an eerie glow across the surrounding landscape—a solemn reminder of both safety and the countless battles fought to protect it. To many, this outpost was a beacon of rest. But for others, rest would come too late.
Laphisto and Nes'ver moved carefully, every step measured as they carried a bloodied, makeshift stretcher between them. The young dragon lying across it was barely conscious, his scales pale and bloodied. His breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps, one wing twisted awkwardly, and blood soaked through the makeshift bandages around his torso.
“Hang in there,” Laphisto said quietly, his gaze shifting down to meet the recruit’s. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”
The young dragon stirred at his words, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he seemed to recognize Laphisto, a faint spark of awareness glimmering in his gaze. “I don’t want to die here,” he murmured, his voice a thin, trembling thread. “I just want to go home. My mother... she’s waiting for me.”
Laphisto felt the recruit’s words hit like a blow to the chest, sadness cutting through his practiced resolve. This young recruit, barely old enough to be a soldier, was clinging to life with a desperate plea. He tightened his grip on the stretcher, as if by holding it more firmly, he could somehow keep the recruit tethered to this world a little longer. He knew his words could be empty promises, yet he couldn’t bear to let doubt settle in the recruit’s final thoughts.
Nes'ver, steadying the other side of the stretcher, caught Laphisto’s eye, his own expression filled with a quiet, unspoken sorrow. “Keep talking to him,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Don’t let him fade. Give him something to focus on.”
Laphisto nodded, bending closer to the recruit, his voice soft but filled with steady reassurance. “Tell me about home,” he urged. “What’s it like? What would you do if you were there right now?”
The recruit’s eyes drifted, his gaze settling on the darkened sky above as if trying to draw strength from memories just out of reach. “Home...” he whispered, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Green fields... a garden… My mother... she has this little patch of flowers she’s always tending to.” His voice grew fainter, as if even the memories were slipping away. “And honey cakes... She always makes them for me... when I come home.”
“You’ll see her again,” Laphisto promised, though his own heart weighed heavily with doubt. “You’ll get back to that garden, and those honey cakes. Just hold on a little longer.”
The recruit’s gaze softened, his breathing slowing as he clung to the image Laphisto painted. “She... she’d be so proud... knowing I was here. That I tried.”
A tightness gripped Laphisto’s chest, anger and sorrow pooling beneath the surface. This young dragon, barely trained, had been thrust into a battle he wasn’t prepared for—none of them were. He glanced at Nes'ver, seeing the shared frustration mirrored in his friend’s eyes.
As they walked, Vi'nto’s outpost loomed closer, its rugged walls lit by the steady, flickering torches. The clang of distant hammers and low murmurs drifted from behind the walls, a reminder of the outpost’s constant state of repair. Yet while the sight should have brought them relief, it only stirred up a storm of questions in Laphisto’s mind.
“This isn’t right,” he murmured to Nes'ver, his voice laced with frustration. “Why were we deployed so soon? Most of us didn’t even complete our full training. And these new recruits… they’ve barely had five years. It used to be fifteen years before a dragon even saw the front lines.”
Nes'ver’s expression darkened, his tone bitter. “Someone in command decided that half-trained soldiers were good enough, or that they had no other choice. But these dragons—they’re barely out of adolescence. And for what? To fill ranks? To fight in battles they don’t understand?”
Laphisto nodded, his gaze dropping to the young dragon whose life seemed to be slipping away with every labored breath. “None of us should be out here like this. War or not, they’re sacrificing lives without even giving them a chance to survive.”
The recruit shifted slightly, whispering, “You... you think... I’ll make it back?”
Laphisto looked down at him, his own words caught somewhere between honesty and hope. He gripped the recruit’s claw, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Yes,” he said firmly, though a hollow feeling gnawed at him. “You’ll make it back. You’ll see her again. Just stay with us.”
With Vi'nto now just steps away, its sturdy gates looming under the torchlight, Laphisto’s resolve hardened. He didn’t know what the night or even the morning would bring, only that each decision felt heavier, each promise harder to keep. For this young dragon—and for all of them—Laphisto knew they needed to make it matter. Survival was only the beginning; what mattered was finding purpose in the fight, in giving these young dragons more than just an early taste of war.
He would carry this dragon to safety, if only to honor the hope he had sparked, to make this young recruit’s final moments one of comfort, to ensure that his journey held meaning—even if only for one soldier.
As the battalion arrived at Vi’nto, Bra’vas and the outpost commander exchanged words at the gate. The older dragon, his scarred face etched with skepticism, surveyed the reinforcements. Around them, Vi’nto’s walls bore signs of relentless wear—repeatedly mended stones and patched wood, faintly tinted with smoke. Against this backdrop, dragons moved in a practiced rhythm, reinforcing the strained defenses, their movements a testament to resilience, even as weariness darkened their eyes.
“These are our reinforcements?” the commander muttered, eyeing the mud-streaked dragons as they entered the outpost. His gaze lingered on the youngest among them, barely past adolescence yet already bearing scars. “Half-dead and still wet behind the ears. Barely more than hatchlings.”
Bra’vas met the commander’s gaze, unflinching. “They’ve seen battle,” he replied, his voice measured but resolute. “They didn’t hesitate. That’s enough.”
The commander sneered. “Battle, maybe. But training? That’s another matter. You don’t win wars with raw bravery alone. These walls have seen seasoned dragons fall. Fresh recruits—” He waved a dismissive claw. “Let’s hope they last longer than the last batch.”
With a huff, the commander turned, his cloak trailing dust as he moved away to oversee the repairs. Bra’vas watched him go, his eyes hardening as he returned to his battalion, signaling them to unload supplies and tend to the wounded.
Laphisto carefully lowered the makeshift stretcher he and Nes’ver had carried, reluctantly letting go as the healers moved in, their hands swift and steady. The young dragon barely stirred as they lifted him, and Laphisto’s gaze lingered, an ache twisting in his chest.
Nearby, he spotted Elantrie adjusting her armor with unsteady fingers, her scales dulled from exhaustion and mana drain. Noticing the faint tremor in her hands, he saw in her posture the toll the battle had taken. He approached her with quiet purpose.
“Elantrie,” he began, his voice steady, laced with concern, “you need to take it easy.”
She looked up, her gaze steady but weary. “It’s just fatigue, Diva'tori. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“No,” he replied, his tone firmer. “It’s more than that. I saw you out there. You’ve been pushing yourself, draining your mana far past your limit. If it hadn’t been for Nes'ver—”
She straightened, jaw set, but he continued, softening his tone. “Remember Belgras? He thought he could handle anything, that he had to. He was a Gift of Dra'ko, Elantrie—stronger than most of us. But even he pushed too far, believing he could fix what Ká'orse destroyed. He burned himself out, and now he’s remembered only as a cautionary tale.”
To Laphisto, Belgras’s story wasn’t just a tale; it was a warning that even the strongest could fall by overstepping their limits. Seeing Elantrie teeter on that same edge stirred unease he couldn’t ignore.
For a moment, her gaze softened, and he thought she might understand his concern. But her expression hardened, the familiar resolve sparking in her eyes.
“Thank you for your concern,” she replied, her voice edged with control, “but I don’t need reminders of what happens when we push ourselves. This is what I trained for, Diva'tori. If I can’t give everything I have out there, then why am I even here?”
His frustration bubbled up. “Because you’re part of this battalion, and we’re stronger together. If you burn yourself out, there’ll be no one left to hold the line with us when the next fight comes.”
She glanced away, crossing her arms as if to shield herself. “Maybe I’d rather give everything now, while I still can,” she muttered, as if every battle were a chance to prove something she couldn’t quite put into words. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand,” he replied, softening his voice, his gaze steady and unwavering.
Her mouth opened slightly, a spark of vulnerability showing for a brief moment, but she shook her head, her guard snapping back in place. “I don’t need to explain myself. Just… mind your own business, Diva'tori. I know what I’m doing.”
He held his tongue, swallowing the urge to press further, knowing that his words alone wouldn’t break the barrier she’d built. She turned and walked away, her steps steady but slightly unbalanced, her armor catching the torchlight as she disappeared into the shadows of Vi’nto’s worn walls.
Laphisto watched her go, a sense of dread settling heavily in his chest. He didn’t doubt her strength or determination, but her fierce pride and stubborn resilience left him uneasy. Her drive felt like a double-edged blade, a cost none of them could afford if her resolve tipped toward ruin.
As the battalion settled into Vi’nto’s worn rhythms, Laphisto lingered in the shadows, observing his fellow soldiers. The recent battle had left scars, and their numbers had thinned, each empty space adding weight to the somber scene. He spotted Ray'vera moving among them, a steady presence, quietly anchoring the battalion even amid exhaustion. Taking a breath, Laphisto approached, uncertain how his concerns about Elantrie would be received.
“Div’atori,” Ray'vera greeted him, his voice calm but shadowed with weariness. “It’s been a hard loss,” he said, glancing around at the empty spaces among their ranks, then back at Laphisto. “But it seems there’s more on your mind.”
Laphisto nodded, his gaze drifting to where Elantrie was working, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed through her tasks. “I’m worried about Elantrie. She’s been pushing herself far beyond reason—even in training, but it’s only gotten worse. If Nes'ver hadn’t been there to look out for her…” He let the words trail off, the weight of his unspoken fears settling between them.
Ray'vera’s expression grew serious, his gaze steady. “She’s that driven?”
“Or that prideful,” Laphisto replied, frustration slipping through. “I tried to warn her—to remind her of Belgras the Burdened. He thought he could take on Ká'orse’s mistakes alone. In the end, he left behind only a cautionary tale, not the legacy he imagined.”
Ray'vera’s jaw tightened. “Pride can be as deadly as any weapon on the battlefield,” he said quietly. “If she’s truly on that edge, words may not be enough. I’ll take this to Bra’vas.”
Laphisto’s heart sank. “Is that necessary?”
“If she’s endangering herself and others, it may be. Mandatory rest might be the only way to keep her from burning out.” Ray'vera’s tone was resolute. “I’ll advise Bra’vas to put her on leave until her mana stabilizes. And if she resists…” He hesitated, his gaze unwavering. “Then discharge may be the only choice left.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
A mix of relief and guilt swept through Laphisto. He hadn’t wanted this to go so far, but he nodded. “Thank you, Ray'vera,” he murmured, though the words felt heavy. “I know she won’t take it well… but perhaps it’s the only way to protect her.”
Ray'vera placed a firm claw on his shoulder. “You did what you had to, Div’atori. Sometimes, protecting others means making choices they may never understand.” With a final nod, Ray'vera turned and walked toward Bra’vas’s quarters, each step resolute.
Left alone, Laphisto felt a wave of doubt wash over him. He hadn’t expected his concerns to lead to such strict measures. He’d hoped that Ray'vera might talk to her directly, using his respected position to guide her. But now, he’d placed her fate in Bra’vas’s hands. If her pride drove her to resist, dismissal could be the result—a path he hadn’t fully considered.
He watched Elantrie from a distance, unaware of the choices unfolding around her. She was so determined to grow stronger, to become powerful enough to protect her people and avenge her prince—a prince she believed lost. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. He knew he bore some of the blame for her resolve, her relentless pursuit of strength. Her desperation to prove herself, to safeguard a kingdom without its prince—it all traced back to him, to his decision to leave that life behind.
A memory surfaced unbidden: his father’s stern but compassionate gaze as he imparted hard-won wisdom. “There will be times when those you wish to protect see only betrayal in your choices. And you must bear their anger in silence. Duty requires strength beyond mere power.”
Laphisto had forsaken the title of prince, the legacy of a Gift of Dra'ko, faking his death to carve out his own path—a life not defined by birthright. He wanted a legacy of his own making, not one handed to him by a kingdom’s expectations. Yet, in leaving, he’d left behind a void others felt deeply, none more than Elantrie. She trained tirelessly, fought fiercely, all for a land left without its leader. The weight of his choice pressed down on him, a reminder that no title, no disguise, could shield him from the responsibility he bore.
Looking back at Elantrie, he felt a renewed pang of responsibility. Her fierce pride, her reckless determination, stemmed in part from the absence of a leader she didn’t know still lived. The weight of his birthright settled over him, heavier than any armor he had ever worn. Even hidden under the guise of Div’atori, he couldn’t outrun the consequences of his actions, nor the impact they had on those he sought to protect.
Clenching his hands into fists, he took a deep, steadying breath. He would face her anger, her bitterness, if it came to that. Perhaps she would see him as the one who had betrayed her trust, who had turned her over to Bra’vas. But for her survival, and for the battalion’s, he would bear that weight in silence. His father’s words, once an unwanted lecture, now echoed within him as a painful truth he couldn’t deny.
Straightening, he prepared himself for whatever fallout awaited him. This was the cost of duty, of loyalty. And as he turned back to the outpost, he felt the weight of his role settle fully on his shoulders, ready to bear whatever judgment or isolation his choices demanded.
As a soft glow from the torches cast flickering shadows on the fortress walls, Laphisto and Nes'ver worked in steady silence, reinforcing the worn barricades one careful stroke at a time, their rhythm a small comfort in the aftermath of battle. But beneath the calm, tension brewed within Laphisto, pressing on his chest like a weight, stirred by the consequences of his earlier decision.
He sensed her approach even before her silhouette broke through the torchlight. Elantrie strode toward them, her movements sharp with purpose, eyes narrowed, anger radiating from her in waves. She halted just short of them, arms crossed tightly, her gaze locking onto Laphisto with an intensity that felt like a physical blow.
“So this is where your loyalty lies, ‘Div’atori,’” she began, her voice simmering with accusation. “Running to Bra’vas, going behind my back like I’m some child who needs watching. Is this what you do? Act like you’re one of us, only to turn around and betray us?”
Nes'ver glanced up, uneasy, his gaze flicking between them. He could see her fury was too deep to calm with a simple word, and he stayed silent, watching.
Laphisto met her glare, keeping his voice calm though shadows of his own emotions stirred beneath the surface. “Elantrie, it wasn’t about betraying you. I was only trying to help. You’re pushing yourself too far.”
“Help?” she spat, taking a sharp step closer. “You’ve only proven what I suspected all along—that you’re nothing but a thrice seveali. An outcast, through and through.” She sneered, her tone twisting the word “seveali” like a blade. “I thought maybe, just maybe, you could be trusted. That you might actually be one of us. But I was wrong.”
Her words struck deeper than he cared to show, but he held her gaze. “If that’s all you see, Elantrie, then maybe you’re the one who’s blind,” he replied, his tone steady but strained, a faint edge of hurt creeping into his words. “I spoke up because you’re endangering yourself—and putting the rest of us at risk too.”
Her laugh was sharp and bitter. “Protect me? Spare me your noble act, Div’atori. I know exactly why Hazori and the others keep you around. It’s pity.” She spat the word, each syllable like a lash. “They feel bad for you—a lost cause, abandoned, a stray. Useless.”
Laphisto’s fists tightened, his patience fraying under the weight of her scorn. She meant to wound, he could see that clearly, and she was succeeding. But he wouldn’t back down.
“If you weren’t so weak,” he retorted, his voice low and hardened, “maybe you could have saved your precious prince.” He let the words hang, his gaze unwavering.
The effect was immediate. Hurt flashed across her face, raw and unguarded, before twisting back into anger. She went rigid, fists clenched, her eyes darkening.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, her voice thick with fury and grief. “You have no right to talk about him. He was everything to our kingdom. A real leader—someone who actually belonged somewhere.”
The words hit like fire, bypassing his defenses. But he wasn’t finished. “Maybe if you weren’t so blinded by pride, you’d see what’s in front of you, instead of clinging to ghosts.”
Elantrie’s fury erupted, and before he could brace himself, she shoved him back with a strength that surprised him. He stumbled, feeling the force of her anger, the depth of her resentment in that single act.
“You don’t get to say that!” she shouted, her voice carrying through the quiet outpost, echoing against the stone walls. “You’re a seveali, Div'atori. A cast-off. No family, no legacy. You don’t know what it’s like to actually belong. You’re nothing.”
Her words struck deeper, igniting something buried within him. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Is that what you think? That I don’t know what it means to protect something bigger than myself? You don’t know the half of it, Elantrie.”
They stood locked in a silent standoff, both breathing heavily. The fury in their eyes had drawn the attention of nearby soldiers, who watched the exchange with hesitant curiosity. But neither Elantrie nor Laphisto noticed; they were too consumed by their emotions.
Nes'ver finally stepped forward, his hands raised. “Enough, both of you,” he urged, his voice tense as his eyes moved between them. “This isn’t helping anyone. Just… step back.”
His words fell on deaf ears. Elantrie’s gaze only grew colder. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I knew I couldn’t trust you. Once a seveali, always a seveali. You’re a curse to everyone around you. No loyalty, no honor.”
The word—“curse”—cut deeper than all the others. An unbidden fury surged through Laphisto, obliterating his restraint.
Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his voice a low growl. “If you want to talk about loyalty, Elantrie, maybe you should start by listening to those who try to protect you, instead of lashing out like a child.”
For a brief moment, his grip softened, as if a flicker of guilt passed through him. But Elantrie twisted her arm free, fire blazing in her eyes, her face inches from his. “You’re hiding behind everyone’s pity, Div'atori. A broken, useless outcast pretending to be someone worth something.”
Her words landed like a blow, his heart pounding with frustration, regret, and guilt. He stepped back, willing himself to leave the confrontation, to end it. As Laphisto turned to walk away, Elantrie’s voice sliced through the quiet, sharp and biting.
“What’s wrong, Div’atori? Running away like the coward you are?”
He halted mid-step, turning back slowly, his eyes narrowing as he met her gaze. “Careful, Elantrie,” he warned, voice taut with barely restrained anger. “Say one more word, and you’ll regret it.”
A sneer spread across her face, unyielding and defiant. “Regret it? Please. What can you even do, seveali?”
In a flash, he closed the distance, his fist colliding with her jaw. Her head snapped to the side as she staggered, a hand flying to her face, her eyes wide with surprise. But she recovered quickly, and with a furious growl, she lunged forward, swinging her own fist with a fierce precision that struck Laphisto square in the cheek. Pain exploded across his face, but he retaliated without hesitation, landing a hard right hook to her ribs, forcing a sharp gasp from her as she doubled over.
Their confrontation erupted into an all-out brawl, each hit raw and unrestrained. Laphisto struck again, landing a punch to her side, only for Elantrie to respond with a knee to his gut, leaving him breathless. She followed up by driving her elbow down on his back, but he twisted, grabbing her arm and wrenching her off balance. As she stumbled, he aimed another fierce punch, catching her across the jaw.
Elantrie wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth, a look of steely determination in her eyes. She threw herself back at him, fists swinging with renewed fury. She landed a blow to his shoulder, and he answered with a brutal uppercut to her ribs, each strike reflecting the pent-up resentment between them.
Around them, a few soldiers had gathered, watching in stunned silence as the two combatants exchanged blows.
“Are they really fighting?” one soldier murmured, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Div’atori and Elantrie? What in Dra’ko’s name happened to make them go at each other like this?” another whispered.
Nes'ver hovered nearby, his expression tight with worry as he watched for an opening to intervene. “Enough, you two!” he shouted, desperation in his voice as he tried to move between them. “This isn’t worth it—just stop!”
But his words went unheard. Laphisto landed a punch to her shoulder, sending her reeling back, and she retaliated with a swift jab to his stomach, leaving him winded. He stumbled but quickly regained his footing, eyes blazing with renewed intensity as he drove a punch into her side, feeling the force of impact reverberate up his arm.
Elantrie snarled, wiping blood from her split lip with a taunting smile. “Is that all you’ve got, seveali?” she spat, voice thick with disdain.
Gritting his teeth, he delivered another punch, hitting her square in the ribs. She grunted, gasping slightly but didn’t back down. Instead, she landed a solid kick to his side, nearly knocking him down. The blows continued, each more ferocious than the last—his fists striking her shoulder, her stomach, her ribs, while she responded in kind, her punches finding his jaw, chest, and side.
They fought with an unrestrained intensity, each hit drawing blood, bruises beginning to form. They refused to back down, each blow a challenge, a release of everything unsaid.
As Elantrie swung another punch toward his face, Laphisto caught her wrist mid-air, twisting it just enough to make her wince. He leaned in close, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know anything about me, Elantrie. But if this is how you want it, don’t expect me to hold back.”
Elantrie’s eyes blazed as she wrenched her arm free, her face inches from his, her voice a fierce whisper. “I never asked you to.” She aimed another blow, her fist cracking against his cheek, splitting the skin. Blood trickled down his face, but he ignored it, focusing on her as he drove his fist into her shoulder with brutal force, forcing her to stumble back.
Just as she steadied herself to strike again, a booming voice cut through the night, stopping them both in their tracks.
“That’s enough!”
The crowd parted, revealing Bra’vas and Ray'vera approaching with expressions of stone-cold fury. Bloodied and breathless, Laphisto and Elantrie froze, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they turned to face the unyielding stares of their superiors.
Laphisto and Elantrie slowly lowered their fists, the fire of the fight still simmering in their eyes as they stood face-to-face, chests heaving. The crowd around them grew silent, eyes darting between the two combatants and their approaching commanders. Bra’vas’s imposing figure stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Laphisto and Elantrie with a mixture of disapproval and barely contained fury.
Ray'vera’s expression was harder to read, though a stern line had settled across his face, his gaze weighing the scene with quiet disappointment. He exchanged a look with Bra’vas, who gave a small nod, passing silent judgment.
“What exactly did the two of you think you were accomplishing here?” Bra’vas’s voice cut through the air, each word heavy with restrained anger. “Because from where I stand, it looks like nothing more than a reckless display of pride and lack of discipline.”
Elantrie glanced away, her jaw set, refusing to meet Bra’vas’s gaze. Blood from her split lip trailed down her chin, but she didn’t move to wipe it away. Laphisto kept his eyes forward, his face bruised, a thin line of blood seeping from a cut on his cheek, his shoulders held rigid as he worked to steady his breathing.
Ray'vera stepped forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he looked between the two. “Is there any explanation for this behavior that doesn’t involve disgrace to the battalion?” His tone was low, yet it held a weight that made the surrounding soldiers tense, some casting wary glances at each other.
Neither Laphisto nor Elantrie answered. The silence thickened, the tension palpable.
Finally, Bra’vas broke the silence, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Since neither of you seems inclined to explain yourselves, perhaps a period of reflection will remind you of the discipline expected here.” His gaze flicked to Nes'ver, who had been standing on the sidelines, watching with a mixture of worry and resignation.
“Nes'ver,” Bra’vas continued, his tone hard, “you’re older and should have exercised some authority here. Letting it escalate to this was a failure on your part as well.”
Nes'ver looked stricken, his mouth opening as if to protest, but Ray'vera shot him a silencing look. “Next time, show the leadership that comes with your age,” he said sternly. “Or suffer the consequences with them.”
Bra’vas straightened, looking back at Laphisto and Elantrie. “All three of you will be assigned additional duties for the next two weeks. Consider it a lesson in humility and the cost of uncontrolled tempers.”
Ray'vera added quietly, “Let it be a reminder: no amount of frustration or pride justifies disrupting the order of this battalion. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” they mumbled, the weight of their punishment settling over them. As Bra’vas and Ray'vera turned and strode away, the crowd of soldiers dispersed, leaving Laphisto, Elantrie, and Nes'ver standing in the aftermath of their actions, bruised, battered, and steeped in the quiet shame of their choices.