Pushing off with his strong legs, Pyronax soared upward. His soldiers, without removing the net thrown over me, also left the village. People, discussing the scene of the murder of the little dragoness, gradually dispersed to their homes. Lisa and her father ran up to me. The girl, wiping away tears with her palms, helped me get out of the net.

Barely able to move, I rushed to Chiquita, as if every moment could change the situation. In my head, my heart was pounding at a furious pace, and I desperately hoped that there was still a chance to save her. I was ready to try everything that could help. Perhaps I could bring her back, maybe there was some chance in this.

I had never revived the dead and did not have any elixirs with me that could quickly heal wounds. Images from movies and TV series popped into my mind, where mages and witchers would put their hands on wounds, whisper spells, and the sick would miraculously heal. I tried to repeat this, but the result was disastrous.

My hands trembled as I carefully touched Chiquita's wounds. My voice was hoarse and wavering, and I tried in vain to apply the warmth of my magic to her. But instead of feeling life striving to restore itself, I felt only increasing cold instead of the expected warmth.

I repeated the spells, absorbing all the emotions I could, trying to bring at least a little hope to this hopeless situation. The wounds did not heal, the skin remained cold and dead. Instead of the warm light that should have surrounded it, I felt a creeping frost covering my hands and penetrating every cell of my body. It was not just cold; it was a deadly cold that seemed to suck in the last sparks of hope.

Maleus came up to me, his face distorted by pain and fatigue. He sat down next to me, and although his eyes showed the deepest sorrow, he tried to speak in a soothing tone. It seemed to me that he had aged a lot.

"I know that this is hard for you," he began, placing his hand on my shoulder. His voice was hoarse with emotion, but there was still a sincere attempt to comfort in it. - "You tried to save her. I saw it. Everyone saw it. The dragon was too strong, and unfortunately, we all could not do anything. You did everything you could."

I could not answer. My feelings were too overwhelmed with pain and grief to make any sound. Maleus continued, his voice sounding bitter and sympathetic.

"Chiquita left a mark on our hearts, even though her stay here was so short. She was a part of our lives, if only briefly. Your loss is not just your loss. We all mourn this little dragoness." I saw Maleus swallow hard, holding back tears. He glanced to the side, where his little daughter was still crying, unable to calm down from grief.

"My daughter..." He looked at me again. "She can't stop, can't find peace. We all experience this loss in our way. The whole village remembers Chiquita and will remember. But you are not alone in your pain. We are with you. Time will heal our spiritual wounds, we must gather ourselves and think about how we can take revenge on this creature." I listened to Maleus' words, but they could not extinguish the flames of self-flagellation that burned me from within. I was still sitting on the ground, despair, and guilt consuming every part of my being. I knew that I would meet a dragon, but now that it happened, I was completely unprepared. Why, despite all the time spent in Orqualia, had I not developed any strategy or tactics for this battle? I knew that dragons were immune to magic, but why, when I found myself on the ground under his paw, did I not transform into an electric eel? The electric eel could hurt the dragon, its armor is metalized. Why didn't I use this opportunity to at least damage it a little?

Or why, in this terrible situation, didn't I turn into a creature covered in sharp needles to pierce its vile paw? I could have at least tried to inflict damage, but instead, every moment was wasted. Why didn't I prepare a single spell in advance, didn't think through how to defend myself? All my thoughts were occupied with the fact that I relied on the sword, which, unfortunately, broke at the most critical moment.

My mistakes and omissions weighed on me, and I could not shake the feeling that everything that happened was only my fault. Chiquita died because of my inexperience because I was not prepared for this meeting.

Maleus said:

"I will dig a hole."

His words sounded so simple and ordinary as if there was no other option. But in my head exploded: "No!" She deserved better. Her entire journey, her sacrifice, should not be forgotten beneath the rough earth. And then I realized that my answer - to burn her body - had suddenly popped into my head. Was it my thought? Or had someone suggested it to me? Maybe the stress was driving me crazy because it was not the first time I caught myself thinking such strange thoughts.

The blacksmith was waiting for my decision.

"We will burn her," I said, my voice trembling treacherously. "It would be right."

Fire has always been associated with purification, with the final stage of transition from one world to another. The Vikings burned their fallen warriors, sending their souls to the gods. In India, the ancient tradition of burning bodies was an expression of the belief in reincarnation. Isn't fire liberating? It destroys the flesh, but at the same time releases the soul. And isn't that what she deserves - freedom, passage to another world where pain and suffering will no longer reach her?

I could not allow her small body to rot underground, abandoned and forgotten. Fire could give her something more - purification, respect, eternal memory.

Building a funeral pyre turned out to be a simple matter. Every hand in the village found its job, every resident contributed, lifting logs, stacking branches, and dense brushwood. The mighty blacksmith Maleus with a stern face chopped wood, and Nix, without saying a word, helped more actively than anyone, throwing fresh logs for the future fire. No one refused, no one complained. There was only silence, saturated with grief.

Only I and my furry translators remained on the sidelines. Tush and Tina, like small creatures, despite their simple being, also understood the significance of what was happening. They could not find a place for themselves. It turned out that they had recently formed a small family of Ursi, and if Tush's words were to be believed, they were expecting an addition. Joy for them smoldered in me like a tiny spark, but its light was almost drowned in the darkness of sadness.

I picked up Tina, her fur was warm and soft, as if trying to warm my broken heart. Tina spoke in a thin but soothing voice:

"She didn't have to come out, you hid her safely. But Chiquita knew that her appearance in the square could have ended in tragedy, and she came out anyway, despising death. You must be worthy of her courage. Behave as a real man should. Swear to avenge her and fulfill your oath."

Her words pierced me to the depths of my soul. A storm raged in my heart. The feeling of guilt for Chiquita's lost life tormented me. I could not protect her, although I promised. I let her down... And all that remains is a warm memory and a sad oath.

The pyre had been carefully and reverently constructed, a truncated pyramid of branches and logs. Every detail seemed to be imbued with grief and respect, as if every piece of wood knew of her sacrifice. The villagers worked silently, but I could not bring myself to move closer to help move her small body.

I was paralyzed by the fear of touching her as if that touch might finally acknowledge her passing. One of the villagers, with an expression of respect and sadness on his face, brought a lit torch to the pyre, but the moment the flame touched the wood, I was no longer sure whether it was the torch that had caused it... or whether the fire had burst from my hand. It all happened so quickly and so slowly at the same time that reality seemed distorted. For a moment, it seemed as if I had caused the flames myself, that some of my inner grief had spilled out into that fire.

The flames shot up furiously, lighting up the night sky with orange and red flashes. And although I looked at the blazing fire in which her body was disappearing, the fire did not warm me. On the contrary, the cold grew stronger, penetrating me to the very bones.

The fire flared up, howling in the night as if the air itself was crying with grief. The flames embraced the small body of the dragoness, and I, standing next to it, felt my heart breaking. It seemed that the fire was devouring not her, but me, burning me from the inside.

It was unbearable to stay. My consciousness was pulling me away, away from this nightmare. But my legs did not move, as if they were chained to the ground. I closed my eyes, trying to escape from reality, but then I heard her quiet, barely perceptible voice.

"Do not be afraid," she whispered, her voice sounding as if the wind had brought it from far away. — "Death is not the worst thing. I have met my mother, and now I am under her protection. Here, where I am, the dragons no longer threaten me. Everything will be fine."

Her words were warmer than fire, they comforted me in a way no one else could. The pain seemed to recede but did not disappear completely. It will remain with me, as a reminder of her courage and her sacrifice.

I did not wait for the ritual to end. Feeling the weight fall on my shoulders, I fled the village, hiding in the fields. Falling into the tall grass, I stared at the stars, hoping that their light would bring at least a drop of comfort. But the constellations looked completely different than in my world. Here they did not seem familiar, all the forms were alien, like myself, stuck in this distant, alien land. Somewhere far away, on Earth, they might remember me, but not this world, and not her.

It's hard to lose friends. Especially those to whom you've become attached with all your heart, who have become a part of your life. At such moments, it seems that nothing can fill the void they leave. And even if I return home one day, the pain will remain with me, like an inevitable shadow, like a trace in the soul that neither time nor distance can erase.

I remembered the words Oceania had told me:

"You are a magician. You have a thousand ways to save yourself and your friends. Why are you hesitating?"

This thought haunted me. After all, how many times, playing computer games, I die only because I forgot about the arsenal I had? How many times did I catch myself thinking: if only I had thrown a grenade in time or changed the unloaded shotgun for a pistol - everything could have been different? The situation was the same here.

"Oceania," I called out to my mentor. "Can you improve me? Improve my reaction, make my brain think faster?"

Oceania, as always, showed herself to be a wise and kind mentor, speaking calmly and penetratingly. Her voice, soft and warm, penetrated straight into my soul, enveloping my consciousness.

"You are perfect," she said, "you do not need any improvements. The problem is not in you, but in the fact that you have not fully explored your capabilities. You have not trained enough. Think about it, you have repeatedly watched competitions between two people." Her words hinted at boxers.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"This is not a deadly competition, each of the fighters claims to win. But remember how many hours these people spend honing their blows, practicing dodges. Or did you think that magic would do everything for you?"

I was silent, realizing that she was right.

"I can invade your consciousness, make your reaction as fast as lightning. But I'm not sure that this will make you better. After all, your main quality is the purity of your soul and thoughts. These are your pillars. They are what give you strength and lead you to perfection. Everything else is just tools that require work and time to become truly effective."

I thought, looking at the expanses in front of me, and a question arose in my mind. I gathered all my thoughts and turned to Oceania:

"Chiquita wanted to learn to fly, but she never succeeded. Can I fly like a bird?"

In response, Oceania said, her voice was incredibly loud, but only I heard it:

"Imagine wings and fly! Just remember - the higher you fly, the more painful it will be for you to fall."

I closed my eyes, concentrating on the image that arose before me. In my mind's eye, I saw huge white wings spreading out from my back.

"Angelus alarum! - Angel wings!"

Something big twisted into my back, and I arched. The wings began to grow. With each flap, they became more and more real. My back was twisted by a spasm, I felt an incredible itch and a sense of the presence of something alive. It seemed that something alien was awakening, trying to get out.

My back continued to burn with unbearable pain, but with each new movement, this pain transformed into something deeper, as if my inner world had opened up along with the wings. I looked up, and the world around me became less rigid and limited. I flew up, and every gust of wind, every flutter of feathers reminded me of the freedom that I did not even realize, dreaming about.

The wings, as if alive, responded to my every move. I moved in the air, not feeling the boundaries. The flight was not only physical but also spiritual liberation. I felt my fears and doubts unfurling along with my wings as if they were disappearing into the vast expanses of the sky.

I rose carefully into the air, remembering Oceania's warning. My wings, despite their grandeur, barely touched the grass with their toes. I felt each wingbeat slowing down as if the grass clinging to my feet did not want to let me go into the sky. Mentally, I tried to control every movement, which made the flight constrained and slow.

Perhaps Chiquita tried to fly the same way I was now, and her efforts were just as clumsy. Suddenly, when I thought of the little dragoness, my wings seemed to sense freedom and with incredible strength lifted me high into the sky.

A picture full of contrasts unfolded beneath me: the hills surrounding the village, the dying fire in which Chiquita's body lay, the fields waiting for diligent workers. I saw a mountain that had been hit by a meteorite, leaving a deep mark. Suddenly, before I could even comprehend what was happening, my wings were already guiding me to the cave where Perina, the little dragoness's mother, rested.

I landed near the entrance to the cave and carefully walked inside. The wings folded behind me did not hinder my movement. I barely felt them, as if they had returned to their original position. But I knew that they were still with me, and this certainty was as solid as stone.

It was dark inside the cave, and yet I saw the dragoness's grave, a large earthen mound. At that moment, I felt the weight of my thoughts and words. Coming closer, I knelt and began to speak, although I knew that no one would hear.

"Perina," I began, my voice quiet and full of sadness, "I have come with some hard news. I would not like to disturb your peace, but now that Chiquita is gone, I feel the need to express my condolences. She was so young, so full of life. I could not protect her, and now I do not know how to cope with this loss.

I touched the ground as if seeking comfort in her silent presence. No one answered me...

The training flights continued. I drew pirouettes in the night sky, feeling how each flap of my wings became more and more confident. The wind roared in my ears, and the stars seemed so close that you could touch them. I gained altitude, sharply straightening my body, and launched myself into the first maneuver - a dead loop.

My wings tensed, and the air seemed to freeze as I shot up and then flipped over my head, returning to a horizontal position. Adrenaline was boiling in my veins like fire.

I turned and went into an Immelman, a half loop with a turn. My wings tensed, I rose quickly, flipping in the air, and suddenly found myself facing the stars, heading in the opposite direction. Freedom was felt with every breath.

Next, I decided to try something more drastic. I picked up speed, heading straight for the sky, and suddenly turned sharply - it was a turn on the spot, sharp and fast, like a lightning sword strike. The wind whistled around me, but I was no longer afraid. I knew how to control my wings as if they had always been a part of me.

But I did not stop there. My wings tensed in perfect harmony, and I began to spin around my axis, performing a barrel roll. The world around me spun rapidly, and everything around me turned into blurry silhouettes, but I knew that this was not chaos, but an orderly movement. Every muscle and every feather acted in unison.

I lowered my wings and smoothly went into a figure-eight. Up, down, up again. The sky seemed to accept me, allowing me to draw complex patterns in the air. With each passing moment, I became more confident, mastering the art of flight.

Then came the moment for the cobra. I sharply raised my wings, and my body froze in the air for a moment, as if time had stopped. The air around me seemed to become denser, but with a powerful movement of my wings, I regained control and continued on my way, tearing apart the skies and finding my place among the stars.

At some point, I regretted that I had flown without a weapon. Acrobatic moves were certainly important, but I also needed to practice my sword skills in the air. Flapping my wings, I turned around and headed back to the village. The flight was fast and free - the distance that took us a week to cover, I covered in a matter of minutes. Having slowed down near the forge, I landed softly on the ground.

Despite the late hour, the blacksmith and Closure continued to work, the dull ringing of the hammer on the hot iron was heard. Seeing me, Maleus smiled slightly, his tense face softened, but I did not waste time. Without waiting for his greeting, I grabbed the first sword I came across from the ready weapons stand. The blade was heavy and cold in my hand. I did not stop, hiding in the darkness, like a shadow creature.

Now I had the sword.

The air around me, cut by the blade, began to emit an offended whistle as if my unsuccessful blows blamed it for its weakness. Each flap of the wings was accompanied by a jerk, each swing of the sword - a plaintive howl. I knew that one sword might not be enough to truly test my strength.

Then, gathering my will, I shouted into the night sky:

— Gehenna! Hellfire!

At that moment, I was engulfed in flames. But it was not I who was burning. The flames swirled around me like an obedient predator, the fire floated through the air as if it were its element, and enveloped me entirely, turning me into a living, flying torch. I felt the warmth, but it did not burn. The fire did not devour my flesh - it danced around me like a protective cocoon, emphasizing my presence in the sky. Each swing of the sword was now accompanied by a flash of bright fire that reflected in the night darkness as if an answer to the challenge of the universe.

I was not burning, this flame obediently surrounded me, wrapped me, turning me into an entity that moves through the darkness, blazing like a star burning above the earth.

I thought that I could use some protection, light but strong, like the chain mail that warriors wore. At that moment, my body suddenly began to change. I froze, feeling my skin being covered with something new, cold and hard. When I looked at my hand, I saw that it was covered with white, shiny scales, each plate of which was decorated with a thin silver pattern. The scales fit tightly to the body but did not restrict movement, and I realized that this was not just protection - it was a part of me, like wings, like the fire that engulfed me before.

I stabbed myself in the hand protected by the scales but did not feel pain. The blade of the sword slid along the surface without leaving even a scratch. Surprised by this discovery, I decided to conduct a more decisive experiment. "Well, if I'm going to cut off the little finger, at least I won't regret it," I said to myself and raised the sword above the left little finger.

But as the sword came down, the finger instinctively clenched, and the blade flew past without causing any harm. Then I struck the entire hand with the sword. The sword slid over the scales as if they were invulnerable, and the hand remained intact as if covered with impenetrable armor.

I raised the sword again, this time with maximum force. It struck my hand, but instead of pain, I felt only a slight jolt. The scales absorbed the entire blow, as if I were surrounded by some magical chain mail, much stronger than any human weapon.

I saw Pyronax's claws pierce Chiquita's scales with ease, like a hot knife through butter. That image was etched in my memory, haunting me. So scales and a sword alone were not enough to withstand such a force. I needed something more. The sword was already a powerful tool, but now I realized that it might not be enough.

"If only I knew what kind of arsenal dragons possess," - this feeling of regret squeezed into my chest. I do not intend to lose any more friends, I am not ready to watch those dear to me die. After all, who among them can withstand the incinerating stream of dragon fire? Whatever happens next, I must be stronger, more cunning, and more protected.

Having flown through the sky, surrounded by flames, I noticed how worried people in the village raised their heads to the sky. It was unlikely that any of them had ever seen such a sight - a fiery dragon soaring in the night sky. I decided to remove the fire so as not to sow fear among the villagers. They were probably scared by the very thought that it could be something hostile.

To come up with new ways to defend and attack, I needed time and rest. With these thoughts, I landed outside the village and headed back to the yard of the blacksmith. In the silence of the forge, the sounds of hammer blows were no longer heard, everyone who wanted to sleep had long since gone to their beds. The sky was beginning to brighten, heralding the dawn.

I lay down in my place, allowing my body to relax after a tense day. Thoughts were still spinning around the events, but slowly, as if shrouded in something invisible, they began to subside. Sleep covered me with a soft blanket, plunging me into silence and oblivion.

Arian/ [https://i.imgur.com/2CsiFM0.jpeg]