Not many would know what the term faihithu means. It is what the Lower Realm inhabitants would call a 'blood feud,' or a familial struggle. We used this word often in the years between the Arrival and the First Fall, but never after, for the destruction of the Sky Plane caused great loss, greater pains, and even greater change to the world as we know it. In the long life I have lived, I learned of all the languages, all the traditions, and all of the values; and everything I have learned, and everything I have done, has been in the name of Dúleardi, my mistress, the goddess of nature and balance.

For a change, I've decided to do something for myself. My whole existence has been one of stoicism; though each disaster, each birth, every betrothal, all of the wars and bloodshed have stained their likeness into my heart and mind. I have suffered quietly, but no more. I have renounced my role in the world to live as I wish, and gods be damned if I am to suffer any greater pains than a hundred thousand lifetimes from here on out. I wish to love, and be loved. I wish to bide my time without worrying about the future. I wish to exist.

Since giving up my powers and immortality, I have gained true emotion, which included boredom; not that I didn't appreciate my freedom, in fact, quite the opposite. I enjoyed my boredom, and in my boredom I went through my belongings to find parchments and journals, ancient diaries and logbooks, and, quite fondly, a love letter from a certain young man, written for a stubborn, foolish woman who would, with a very long wait, finally give in to desire.

With these papers, I have decided to organize a timeline of events dating as far back as I could find. The earliest, it seems, is a dusty old journal with its spine torn to shreds and the pages jutting out of the boar-skin cover due to age and, admittedly, poor storage. The owner of this very old journal was a drake from Clan Dius, an ancient and royal clan descended from the dragons of an even older time. His name was Rathnar erh Arkthana, and though I did not know of him I did know his father, Arkthana the Red, who was, indeed, a third cousin to the royal line, marking Rathnar as a noble himself.

The journal itself is written in an ancient tongue used by the drakes of the Sky Plane during those early years. In my free time, I have found it quite relaxing to translate the journal as I sip on marigold tea, listening to my husband tend to the garden he grew. Today, just as all days, he asks me his silly triad of questions.

"Do you love me?" he asks, and I respond with an 'I do.'

"Would you ever choose otherwise?" and I would respond with 'never.'

"Do you regret your decision?"

"Not at all," I responded this time, touching his scarred face with my hand," and you need never ask."

He would ask me again tomorrow.

Y.2514

In Caercíene, the flags are raised. The banners of Clan Dius– a white streak over a golden sun on a triangular cloth, led by Caertydin, and Red Sky– a rectangular flag with ribbons, a red sun and a black horizon, led by Azarül, sit evenly on poles afront the giant, granite hall we use to hold council. The Cailles are the last to arrive, their eldest sage, Hakbalut Resmit, leading the fifty men down the cobblestone pathway from the east gate. He held aloft a branch, from what tree I did not know, and tied near the top where the leaves were at its thinnest was a snow rabbit pelt, tied to the branch by its long ears.

We waited forever, it seemed, as the mages walked as fast as slugs. When I looked closer, they seemed to bless the ground with saltpeter for almost every step; a ritual, I suppose, but not one that I understood. I don't think anyone aside from the Cailles understood, but we waited with respect, regardless. I remember thinking, at the very least they could have hired a lute-player, or at least sung… or made any kind of noise, for that matter, and I looked to my friend, Arncael, who showed me with his gaze that he thought the very same thing.

At long last, the ritual was complete. Our introductory ritual was to start, and we of the Dius clan turned dutifully to our sister clan, raised our swords, then sheathed them in their scabbards. The Red Sky did the same and, unlike the Cailles, the ritual was quickly over. Following our respective leaders, we made our way into the hall and found our seats. Ale was brought amidst the quiet conversations, of which all were of the same topic, and I grabbed two pints from the servant, who bowed her respects to me and I responded with a nod. I gave one to Arncael, who pushed his blonde hair out from his face to drink.

"I told you to braid it," I growled at him," I tire of you doing that."

He laughed. "If so little a thing bothers you, I don't believe you should be in this room." I ignored him.

"I'm here in hopes we can end these deliberations. I don't care what we do, but we should get it over with."

"You do care," he patted my shoulder," you just have a hard time expressing it. Tell me, in which way do you lean on the matter?"

I scratched my beard. The council had gathered to decide whether to expand our lands to the Lower Realm through Tala'anaim, or to stay in the Sky Plane. In recollection, I can't remember being asked the question myself, but Arncael had a habit of asking me such questions, which kept our talks generally fresh and invigorating. This time, I shrugged, unsure at first how to answer him.

"I don't know," I said, still contemplating the question," who knows what would happen if we went down there. We do not know anything, only stories from those who visited. I've heard there is constant warring and restlessness. We have enough quarrels in our own clans to have to worry about any more troubles."

Arncael smiled in response. "But we are growing. We need more space. Imagine it. New lands to explore, new folk to meet. New food, new ale. New trees and new skies."

"New enemies," I growled, but Arncael pretended not to hear me. He was uncomfortably optimistic about this, but the commander was a genuinely benevolent spirit, cursed to be a warrior in a blessedly peaceful time. He opened his mouth to say something else but a whistle sounded, then a booming voice asked the room to be silent. I looked around, watching those who stood take their seats, and my eyes rested on the Red Sky side of the room, specifically on a moon-white drake who stood inspecting the details on the archway of the entrance to the hall. I stood, cocking my head for Arncael to follow me, and we made our way to the back of the hall while everyone settled.

The white drake turned as we approached, his crimson red eyes causing me to jolt slightly, and Arncael tripped into me as I did, spilling his ale with a curse. I apologized, lied about there being a rat that crossed over my foot, then continued on to greet the drake with a murmuring Arncael trailing behind.

I bowed my head to the drake, respectfully. "Good evening."

The drake said nothing for a moment, instead making me slightly uncomfortable with his piercing eyes. They were as if a black scar had formed on a ruby and was extremely intense to look at. Finally, he blinked slowly, like a house cat accepting its owner's embrace.

"It is," he replied with a gruff baritone. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"I am Rathnar erh Arkthana of Clan Dius," I told him. I noticed a muscle in his neck flex at the mention of my father's name.

"Arkthana the Red?"

"The very same." I replied. He smiled warmly. It seemed he wanted to know who my comrade was, so Arncael bowed.

"Commander Arncael Cheanathar," Arncael gave him his full title," of Clan Dius. I lead the king's household troops. Rathnar here is a budding youngling, who will one day take on my role. I've looked after him since his father's death during the… Fatalis."

I shifted my stance uncomfortably at the mention. The Fatalis was a different sort of council. In fact, it wasn't so much a council; rather, it was a series of challenges one must face in order to become fully fledged.

"What smaller clan were you from, then?" the white drake asked. I hesitated, unsure of how he knew of my heritage without any strong indicators. I felt a small wave of anger rise in my chest, assuming he had intentionally insulted me, but it sooner left when I took a moment to deduce the truth. It could have been Arncael's words, or the mention of my father, who had a reputation, though none but the king and a few witnesses sworn to secrecy would know of what happened.

"My apologies, but," I said with a furrowed brow," you have not given us your name yet. I believe the information you seek can only be found on… warmer terms." The white drake blinked at me, this time in surprise.

"Forgive me, I forgot etiquette for a moment," he said, then bowed his head," I am the Lord Caraghan."

Arncael and I exchanged glances.

"The… White Snake?" Arncael asked, and Caraghan replied with a nod.

"That is what I am called. Now, will you tell me what clan you came from to join Clan Dius?" He redirected the conversation back to me, and I shifted my stance again. Of course, I had to answer now, as it would be seen as equally rude not to reply.

"Clan Bant."

"And which one was that?" He asked me rather coldly, as if he was judging my blood. I took my time inhaling some air, showing my irritation of the subject.

"Bant was the last to see Fatalis as a.. family ritual. Clan Dius and Red Sky send their offspring into the wild until the challenges are completed. The old ways, like the Bant way, had me fight my father to the death. It was a brutal, yet decisive way of strengthening the clan."

"All the good it did you," Caraghan stated wryly. I crossed my arms in a civil way to try and sate my rising fury.

"Did I do something to offend you?" I asked him, and he shook his head, holding up a hand to calm me.

"I've just a fascination for strength," he explained," since we're on the subject, I strongly believe the old ways of Fatalis should stay in effect. If the king wishes to explore the Lower Realm, what defense do we have against the unknown?"

"We are drakes," Arncael answered," I'd like to believe there is nothing stronger."

Caraghan's eyes seemed to shift when the lord looked at him. "Only a fool would believe that. There is always someone, or something, stronger than you."

"Stronger than the White Snake, even?"

The voice came from behind Caraghan. The newcomer had a blue-green sheen to his scales, which were, in fact, brown at the base. He brought two companions with him, both considerably younger than he was. I guessed they were his sons, and I did not need to ask for an introduction.

"My apologies for intruding," he said with a smile, then bowed respectfully. "I am Fiachialmar of the Red Sky. No need to reintroduce yourselves. The whole room is quiet, I could hear you from where I was standing. Which wasn't far, mind you."

"Old wyrm," Caraghan growled under his breath, but the copper drake didn't seem to notice.

"These are my sons," Fiachialmar chirped," Tsu'caro, the eldest, is the white one here. Inherited my famous, shimmering, goldenrod eyes. Gorgeous, are they not? And ah, the one acting as if a fart is permanently stale under his nose is Berun, my youngest."

"Old wyrm," Berun scoffed under his breath, but Fiachialmar didn't seem to notice. I smiled, then both Arncael and I bowed out respects to all three, but Berun spat at my feet, receiving a smack to the back of his head by his brother.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"I apologize for him," Tsu'caro said softly," my brother is… ill-tempered."

"No need," I waved him off," I don't really take younglings seriously."

Berun squinted at me but, before he could retort, the old sage Hakbalut began to speak, and we were driven to silence.

"In accordance with the laws of the land," Hakbalut seemed to wheeze between words, but he was understandable for the most part," we are gathered here as one tribe, as what is discussed affects every one of us. The Cailles will hear both sides of the debate before deliberating amongst ourselves on which argument is stronger. Those others in attendance, be they from Clan Dius or from Red Sky, may vote individually, and their clans not hold their words against them."

This garnered some murmurs. The old man had a hard time explaining things, and when the Cailles sent up a representative to speak to Hakbalut, he seemed to accept simplifying his words.

"After all is said, each drake here will cast their votes, with no prejudice. This will be decided by casting fire from the palms of your hands. If you yet cannot cast fire, you are not allowed to vote."

A few growls from the younger drakes in attendance were audible, but Azarül of the Red Sky growled, and the room fell silent.

"Before we begin," Hakbalut groaned, as old men would," tradition dictates the settlement of disputes from either clan. You may voice them now."

Arncael and I took this moment to continue talking with Caraghan and Fiachialmar. We asked both if they had any disputes first, but they denied any claims and we fell back to speaking casually, yet quietly.

"Would you care for some ale, Lord Caraghan?" I asked him; an effort to mend any disdain either of us had. He nodded, thanked me, and I called over a servant who promptly poured two more cups of ale. I halted her to ask Fiachialmar as well, but he declined, and I let her go.

"So where do you stand on the debate?" I asked both Caraghan and Fiachialmar. Neither one of them spoke at first, probably to allow the other to speak, but then Caraghan sighed.

"I do not mind going to the Lower Realms," he said," but my reasons are my own."

"Meaning?" I pressed him. He looked at me, his eyes again sending shivers down my spine.

"As I've stated before, I have a particular interest in strength," he answered," I wish to find those worthy of my time, and end them. It is as simple as that."

I had to respect his answer. He was a warrior, through and through. One, I've heard, who could shift into a gargantuan snake at will. I almost asked, but then decided I'd better not, as it was a question he had surely answered more than a handful of times, and did not need to answer again. Unfortunately, Arncael would not care to ask.

"So is it true?" Arncael asked energetically," can you transform?"

Caraghan closed his eyes, but did not answer. Fiachialmar chuckled, then asked Berun to get him a chair as he'd become weary of standing.

"Are you sure you would not like some water, at least?" I asked him, but he waved his hand.

"I have two sons who can do my bidding," he jested," if not to continue my line, what else are they for?"

I smiled at him, but his smile turned to a frown as his gaze fell behind me. Caraghan unfurled his arms.

"What is the little fool doing?!" Caraghan hissed in surprise.

I turned, lowering my pint with awe as we watched the young Berun make his way to Hakbalut. The old man stared as Berun began to speak to him, but we could not hear anything.

"Berun?!" Fiachialmar shouted.

Hakbalut looked over to us, but he wasn't staring at his father; he was staring at me. After a moment's awkward silence, Hakbalut asked him a question, and Berun nodded. I saw Hakbalut's brow raise in tired submission, then he raised his arms.

"Young Berun of the Red Sky wishes to make a challenge."

The room fell silent. Fiachialmar's breath became uneasy. Berun turned to look at me with a ferocious grin.

"He claims," Hakbalut announced," Rothnar erh Arkthana of Clan Dius insulted him, and therefore issues a challenge."

Murmurs spread across the room. Fiachialmar was furious. Caraghan's jaw fell agape. Arncael spit out the ale he was drinking.

"Do you have anything to say to this, Rothnar?"

It took me a heartbeat to understand what was happening as all eyes laid upon me. I looked to Arncael, who did nothing, then to my conversation partners who, just the same, offered me no help.

"My… lord Hakbalut," I said in stunned confusion," I do not believe I have offended the young drake. I had not spoken to him at all, but if there was something I did that might have done so, then I do apologize."

"Indeed, Lord Hakbalut," Tsu'caro, the white-scaled youngling offered his assistance," I was standing here myself as a witness. My brother just has a knack for starting problems he cannot solve."

This received some laughter from the council. Berun looked furious, though did not wish to give up on his accusations. As he began again, he was, this time, jeered down from the dais and, since he did not wish to face me after such humiliation, pushed his way outside. Fiachialmar excused himself, then he and Tsu'caro followed.

"What an embarrassment," Caraghan growled," I trust you do not believe the Red Sky are all dishonorable wretches."

"I don't believe you are," I agreed," as for Berun, I just think he is young; Trying to prove himself as a warrior. Perhaps he looks up to you, in a way."

Caraghan spat in derision. "The pup should be glad he did not challenge me. I would not have let him get away with his insolence. He is weak, both in mind and spirit."

I put a hand out to calm him. "He is young. Let him get his first scars, then he will learn humility."

Hakbalut announced then that the time for challenges was over. There were a few content parties; some fights scheduled for tomorrow, as well as some scorn from those who lost their cases to another, having to return property or pay fees to the accusers or to the accused who, in king, also relished in their success. There was one I found interesting; Someone from Clan Dius accused another from Red Sky of stealing their wife, and wanted revenge for that insult. That fight, to be sure, I'd put coin on, as the one who had been challenged was twice as big; plus, I was sure, the wife did not love her original mate, and was forced to the arrangement via some political means, such as a payment for land. I do not think I would lose my coin, and it was unfortunate I had to bet against my clan mate, who I probably would not see again after tomorrow; but such was life.

"Now, Azarül of the Red Sky wishes to speak his mind on the debate at hand," Hakbalut announced. The room, dutifully, fell silent, as all were interested in what would be said. Azarül, his bright red scales reflecting the torches around the room, stood solemn and proud, as a leader should. He walked to the podium on the dais, bowed his respects to both Hakbalut and Caertydin, then cleared his throat before looking over the room.

"Brothers and sisters," Azarül spoke with a rumbling voice, akin to Caraghan," and honorable guests of the Caille Sect. I am grateful for the chance to be heard, but I doubt many of you would be content with what I have to say."

He paused, allowing the room to soak in his words. Most in the hall were eager for what he would say next, and I noticed Caraghan began to rest his eyes. Surely, he knew what was on Azarül's agenda, and more than likely supported it.

"It pains me to say this, so I will not hesitate," Azarül said. He turned to look at the king and stared him dead in the eyes. "If you wish to descend to the Lower Realm, so be it, but the Red Sky will not follow you."

There were a few gasps in the hall and a wave of murmurs began to roll from one wall to the other. King Caertydin, I noted, remained calm, challenging Azarül's sorrow-filled gaze. It seemed he would not intervene with Azarül's speech, so the red drake continued.

"Aside from petty squabbles, there is peace. What wars we waged or battles we fought have led to this moment, for the two clans to be here together, and discuss these matters in harmony," Azarül paused. He did not take his eyes off of the king for one instant.

"Those who live below will not accept us, there will be war again, and we have come too far to see our kin killed in droves as they have been in times past…"

"You cannot agree with this," I whispered to Caraghan.

"I don't," he agreed," but like I said, my reasons for going to the Lower Realm differ from yours. I have spoken with Azarül on this subject, and accepted his decision."

"...and it is also with great remorse that I, Azarül of the Red Sky, declare, and insist on my right to claim the throne."

There was a mixed, yet energetic reaction to Azarül's words. Clan Dius, the most loyal of us, began to shout their strong disagreements, while the more level-headed kin decided it was well within his right to announce his claim to the throne. He was, after all, cousin to the king, and a descendant of Caertydin's grandfather, Serpedius, The Black Fang. The Red Sky kinsfolk, as expected, cheered and applauded Azarül, who looked modest, yet pained.

Caertydin stood. "You are, indeed, well within your right to challenge my kingship. Though I believe you are mistaken in the manner of which you choose to do so, Lord Azarül."

"Cousin, believe me, I would not challenge you otherwise," Azarül stated," I shall rephrase. If you wish to go to the Lower Realms, there must be someone to take your burden here."

"I do not have plans to relinquish my power in the Sky Plane," Caertydin growled.

"And I do not think it wise to risk what we have now on a gamble," Azarül said patiently," those who wish to leave may do so, but Tala'anaim should remain closed."

There it was; Azarül's thoughts out in the open. Looking around the hall, I could see the mood shift into Azarül's favor. It was true we lived in a relatively peaceful manner, and changing that caused a different kind of fear, and when once I saw the explorative excitement in the faces of my clan, now I saw hesitation and despair.

The new silence broke when shouting arose from outside the hall. No one had closed the doors, so the noises bounced off the walls and into every curious ear until a dark, young drake burst into the hall leaving dark scratches in doorframe.

"Coward!" He yelled, pointing his shaking arm at me. "a'Lacabras! Coward!"

Caraghan grabbed my shoulder, then moved to stand in front of me. He was no longer relaxed, yet seemed to bulk in stature.

"Leave, or I will kill you myself."

Arncael had a hand on his sword hilt, but I motioned for him not to do anything. Caertydin and Azarül seemed to forget the argument they were having as they looked down on us in surprise.

"I do not know what I did to offend you, Berun erh Fiachialmar," I growled," but if you call me a coward again, I will put you down like a lame horse."

"Coward," Berun returned the growl, and that decided the matter. Fiachialmar and Tsu'caro stood stunned at the doorway, a look of utter fear on the father's face. I turned to the clan leaders, unsheathed my sword, then waited for a response.

"To be called a coward," Azarül sighed," is an insult. To be called a coward twice is a challenge, and to be called a coward thrice is a death sentence. You may do as you wish."

"Wait!" Fiachialmar yelled. He found the will to move, then stood in front of his errant son.

"I will take your challenge, in his stead."

I just stared at him. "I do not have a quarrel with you. It is unfortunate, but I will do what I must to protect my honor."

"It so happens," Fiachialmar winced," that I have a quarrel with you. Berun is my flesh and blood. I will be without a son if you are to win. So I must protect my honor."

"Father, don't you dare–" Berun starter, but Fiachialmar turned and struck him across the face.

"You foolish pup!" Fiachialmar hissed," I told you to leave well enough alone!"

Berun remained silent, holding his bleeding lip. Fiachialmar turned around to face me again.

"a'Lacabras. And I will not take no for an answer, or you truly are a coward."

That was that. I looked at the chieftains, who both nodded, then accepted Fiachialmar's challenge to the death.

"Tomorrow, at dusk," I told him, and Fiachialmar turned, grabbed his son's shoulder, then left the hall with Tsu'caro trailing behind.

The matter of Tala'anaim would be put on hold, as the events that transpired ruined the focal point of the day. Arncael and I went to find Fiachialmar in the night, bringing ale with us as a peace offering. The elder drake smiled in warm greeting, then invited us intl his tent. I asked after his sons and he said the two were sent on a hunting trip into the woods.

"That's good," I breathed," I don't think I could stand to look at him right now."

"Nor I," Fiachialmar nodded," which is why I sent him away."

We drank in silence for a few moments, listening to the moving bits and pieces of the night. Some drunk folk walked by the tent every now and then, sloshing in their armor as the mist of the night turned to rain. The noises of the droplets hitting the tarp on top of Fiachialmar's tent eased my nerves before we began to converse again.

"You must know," the old wyrm said," I, too, was of Clan Bant." The surprise on both of our faces made Fiachialmar chuckle.

"Why did you not say anything?" Arncael asked.

"I did not think it was worth mentioning until now," the elder replied," because it may be why Berun despises you so."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Your father and I were very close once. Very close, indeed," Fiachialmar said. He drifted a bit as if he began reminiscing, but I nudged his cup with mine and he snapped back to attention.

"But he was not a kind person," he continued," and showed it often. He married this female, a young one, who bore you, I suppose…"

He fell silent again, but I urged him to continue.

"...and after all the beatings and all of the scars he left on her, I had no choice but to intervene. It was too late by that point, unfortunately.. he got her on the scalp on one occasion, made her prone to seizures. I took her with me, away from that clan and to Azarül, who took us in without a second thought. And… we fell in love."

He took a drink from his cup, then wiped the residue off of his lips. " She bore Tsu'caro, then later Berun. But a rather large seizure seemed to overpower her one day, and she succumbed."

"I am… sorry to hear that," I said, unsure of what else to say. "Does that make.. Berun and Tsu'caro my half-brothers?"

He nodded. " Tsu'caro understands, but Berun follows his heart, rather than his head. The two overheard me speaking of it one day, a rather private conversation, but you know how kids are… Anyway, Berun believes since you are the son of Arkthana, that you are at fault for his mother's death as well. I told him to ignore it, and that we would speak with you on the matter at a better time, but his thoughts must have bested him."

"I do not wish to fight you," I said.

"You have no choice now," he said with a smile," but it is better this way. Perhaps the pup will grow to be an excellent warrior, hm?"

I nodded at that. Arncael found he had nothing to add to the conversation, and I began to feel like we were intruding, so we bid Fiachialmar farewell.

"I will see you tomorrow," Fiachialmar said," and may the gods bless the victor."

The next day came. The sun peaked into my tent, but I had a splitting headache from a night of drinking with Arncael, who was used to using me for his own desires. The whole night he spent chasing after she-drakes, and it was the ones with swords who seemed to give him his fresh scars; of which he definitely deserved, for when he drunk, he was fond of using his hands as a greeting.

Arncael came to my tent, but he was not happy to. I asked him how his scars were healing but he did not respond.

"You uh," Arncael seemed unable to find the words," you should… come."

"Where to?" I asked him, but he rubbed his neck for a response.

"Lets go," he said instead," you'll see."

I put on my breeches, grabbed my sword and, half-naked, left the tent in a hurry. He led me over to Fiachialmar's tent, but something was off. There were many drakes murmuring outside, and a commotion of voices inside. I looked at Arncael, who shook his head, then, with worry, tried to get into the tent, where I was stopped by two Red Sky members.

"You cannot go in, Dius," one said.

"This is a Red Sky matter," said the other.

"What happened?" I asked.

'Fiachialmar is dead," the first answered," and we are looking for clues. Tracks, signs of struggle, blood. Anything."

"Dead?" I asked, shocked, not expecting an answer. I shook off my fears. "You must let me pass."

"We cannot," the second growled, touching his sword hilt.

"Please!" I begged," I was just with him last night! You must let me through!"

They looked at each other.

"You were last with him?" One of them said, and I nodded.

"Myself, and Arncael."

They stared at me for a moment, but then began to deliberate amongst themselves before moving out of my way.

"Be careful not to touch anything."

After pushing a few drakes out of the way, Arncael and I opened the flap of the tent and went in. I heard some utterances, wondering why Clan Dius was interfering, but I ignored it. Inside was Hakbalut, Tsu'caro, Berun, and Azarül, as well as Fiachialmar's motionless body, stained with blood. Azarül greeted us and we bowed, respectfully. Berun started, immediately.

"It must have been him!"

"Easy, Berun," Azarül put an arm on his shoulder," pray tell, what are you doing here, Clan Dius?"

"We were with him last night," Arncael answered," we came, we talked, then we left. He was kind to us and we…"

"... We are heartbroken," I said softly. Azarül said nothing. Tsu'caro's eyes were narrowed, staring unmoving at his father's corpse. Berun did not take his eyes off me, nor keep his mouth shut.

"You killed him, didn't you?!" Berun accused me. "Admit it! You are only here to save face!"

"We are not," Arncael growled," we liked him. It was already unfortunate Rathnar was slated to fight him today. And it was neither of them who wished to do so." This jab caused Berun to finally lift his hatred for me onto someone else.

"And it was not my decision to take that challenge from me!"

"Enough," Azarül lifted his hands. "I will have to convene with the lord Caertydin on this matter."

"There is no need," I growled.

"Come again?" Azarül said.

"My sword says I did not kill him. You may take it. I had it with me last night."

"That proves nothing," Berun growled," you could have used any old sword."

"That shows your age, young Berun," Azarül chided him. " A warrior drake from Clan Dius' honor is bound by his sword. He cannot use another, whereas we can. But, to clear any suspicions…" Azarül offered his hand. I removed my sword from its scabbard, then handed it to him. He inspected it, commented on the fineness of the steel, then told me he would have one of his elders take a look. He asked for Arncael's blade as well, and my kin offered it without hesitation.

"You may go. I fear if you stay any longer, young Berun would challenge you yet again."

With that, we were dismissed. We bowed our respects, said our condolences, then left the tent to be greeted by brooding judgement by those who had gathered. We heard the doubts and accusations, but tried our best to ignore it as we made our way back to Clan Dius territory.

I was in shambles. Arncael tried to comfort me, but to no avail, and so I asked him to leave me to my thoughts. He left, and I was alone. I tried my best not to think about it, but the only word I could think of was that which I heard outside of Fiachialmar's tent.

"Coward."