Hekate cuddles a crudely made straw doll that the little feldrok girl had when she was still a slave to Morthybargaron. She kept it tucked away in the small cubby hole in the wall of the stables, which continue to stink even months after the Keep was abandoned by the dragons.
Geirahoel watches Hekate treasure the loosely defined ‘doll’, her expression twisted with horror and disappointment. The dragon makes a mental note for herself to speak to Daniel immediately upon their return and ensure Hekate wants for nothing.
The orange dragon knew Hekate was abused, and she did nothing to defend the helpless child. However, seeing what Hekate was able to treasure, or rather, what she had to cling to in order to keep some form of her sanity and child-like hope; it all has Geirahoel deeply upset at herself, as well as all of the other dragons.
The fact that Hekate has not killed them all in revenge is not lost on Geirahoel, and never has it been more blatantly obvious in the dragon’s mind.
“H-Hekate… m-may I?” murmurs the dragon finally. She’s not really sure what she’s saying or why, but it felt like the right thing to do.
The feldrok girl cocks her head, a little surprised. She smiles gently, however, and she hands the doll over gingerly.
Geirahoel holds it just as preciously, studying the doll for a moment. A few strands of straw were used to tie the parts that define its shape, making legs, arms, a head, and ‘horns’ or ‘ears’. It’s difficult to tell which. It looks like there’s a face formed by dark finger smudges, as well as a simple round mouth. But, due to the filth, Geirahoel could just be seeing what she wants to see on the doll.
She replies softly as she hands it back, “It’s… cute. Did you make it yourself?”
Hekate shakes her head, still staring at the doll now that it’s returned, a placid smile spread across her face. “No. I just remember having it for as long as I can remember.” She touches its backside, saying softly, “It used to have a tail… But I lost it.” She pouts, seemingly recalling the event. “One of the stupid gulpoxen ate it.” She scoffs, grumbling a little sarcastically, “I hope he appreciated it when it happened to him.”
Geirahoel knows she should laugh. It’s funny enough that she normally would. But, she’s still hung up on the pitiful doll being Hekate’s one and only ‘treasure’ after all the time she spent being kicked around and ordered to do ridiculous things. No one, save the singular soul that created the doll, had even a shred of kindness to extend to a wretched little waif that didn’t deserve any of the cruelty she endured. She’s glad Hekate spoke up for the eggs. The little feldrok empress is right.
Geirahoel asks softly, “Does… the doll have a name?”
Hekate smiles with a light scoff, and Geirahoel cocks her head, a little confused. The feldrok girl continues to tug at the dragon’s heart strings. “No… I didn’t know that names were something that can just be given.” She smiles up at Geirahoel brightly, disarming the dragon. “I guess I’ll have to give her one, now.”
The auburn-haired woman smiles in return. “Certainly.”
“I’ll do it when I’ve had some time to think,” remarks Hekate as she puts the doll away in her bag. “I was worried she would be gone, so I didn’t really give it any thought.”
“No rush, I’m sure. I’m glad you were able to find it.”
Hekate nods proudly. “Mm-hmm! Thanks!”
The dragon still feels horrible guilt gripping her soul, but she keeps a neutral expression as Hekate looks around. “The acolytes really let this place go, didn’t they?” She snickers, adding facetiously, “Though, I guess it was one of my tasks, too…” She starts marching towards the tunnel they came in by, and Geirahoel watches for a moment. She takes one last look at the cubby hole that Hekate got stuck trying to climb into. A pitiful little nest for a mistreated child, and yet, she can still smile and laugh.
Maybe Hekate really is stronger than all of us…
***
Hekate exits her small little escape tunnel and back into the main corridor of the Dragon’s Keep. The air is instantly more fresh and relieving, and she takes a moment to appreciate it.
Geirahoel flops out of the tunnel, falling to her hands and knees as she pants heavily. “Finally… I… I think the smell is clinging to my clothes…”
“Mm-hmm. You get used to it. It’s everyone else that will just call you stinky.”
The feldrok girl makes the joke, but even now, she can feel the imposing pressure of the end of the hallway. She knows he’s not there. She watched Geirahoel incinerate all that remains of Morthybargaron, banishing him to oblivion.
And yet, she can’t shake the feeling that something foreboding is resting at the end of the hallway.
Geirahoel groans as she tries to brush herself off, climbing back to her feet. “I’ll never take… livestock… handlers for granted again.”
Hekate nods. “Mm-hmm. Hey, by the way…”
“What is it?” asks the orange dragon cautiously, sensing Hekate’s looming question.
“Do… you feel that?” Hekate points towards the ‘throne room’, and Geirahoel looks down the corridor in that direction. She studies everything she can, cocking her head a bit to listen as well, in case it’s something audible.
“Nothing that seems abnormal to me,” replies the young woman.
“I see… M-Maybe it’s just me…”
“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. This is your mission for closure.”
“I thought you wanted to come destroy stuff separately,” retorts Hekate.
Geirahoel rolls her eyes. “That was obviously a lie. Well, not really a lie… It was a convenient truth that gave me an excuse, but…” She smiles softly. “I didn’t want you to come entirely alone. Something’s been bothering you, and it’s something you apparently can’t tell Daniel.”
Hekate nods sheepishly. “I… don’t want him to worry. He has enough to deal with as it is.”
“We both know that he would drop everything if you needed him for something. He’d do the same for the rest of us, other than dropping whatever thing it is for you.”
Hekate looks to the side. “What if…?” She trails off, finally shaking her head as she abandons the question.
“I can’t help if you don’t ask,” replies Geirahoel.
The feldrok teen refuses gently. “I appreciate it, but don’t worry about it. It was a stupid question.” Hekate starts walking towards the throne room cautiously. She has her doll, she has Geirahoel, and she has Daniel’s equipment if she needs anything.
Daniel would tell me that I can do this, and then he’d lead the way. I need to make myself more useful, though, or he’ll leave me behind.
Geirahoel falls into step a couple of paces behind Hekate, observing the corridor curiously. “I never realized how big this place actually is.”
Hekate nods, her gaze fixated on the path ahead. Her ears pivot and tilt, listening all around them alertly. She barely heard Choul before he attacked, and anything could be lurking in the depths of Shaiulvalgarro’s Hoard. It was abandoned for months, other than the members of the Unity of the Great Dragons, but if a monster snuck in at night, or if the worst comes to pass and Morthybargaron is still alive somehow…
Hekate shakes her head clear of the thought. She responds to Geirahoel’s idle banter, “It’s about the same to me…”
The orange dragon snickers lightly. “I suppose so. Maybe a little smaller, since you’ve gotten fatter.”
“I’m not fat!” whines Hekate.
The dragon smirks, and the ravenette realizes what the green-eyed dragon is doing. She’s trying to distract Hekate away from her anxiety.
It’s working for now, but the evil feeling is growing stronger. It doesn’t actually have a sound, but feels like noise to Hekate, in addition to the pressure.
As they reach the door, Hekate comes to a stop and can’t move. Geirahoel looks at her, asking, “It’s beyond the door, isn’t it?”
Hekate’s trembling head nods. Her whole body is quaking.
“I don’t understand. I don’t feel anything.”
“It’s not in the room…” whispers Hekate, terrified of whatever it is.
“I thought you said…”
“F-Further…” murmurs the terrified little empress.
Geirahoel shows concern for the state of her friend, and she studies the door. It’s probable that Morthybargaron sealed the throne room, since it was actually his private quarters.
Still, Hekate can’t form any thoughts. She feels like the door is impossible to open. It has grown in size before her eyes, threatening her with doom if she passes through.
All that lies on the other side of the door is hate.
“Slave!” booms a voice that only Hekate seems to be able to hear. She jumps with a start, her eyes watering. “Why I ever suffer a disgusting little monster like you to live is beyond me. Well? Why are you standing around? Get out of my sight and obey!”
She tries to summon her courage. I’m stronger now. I can… I can…
“I can smell you from the other side of the door, Slave. You disgust me in every possible way. You hideous creature.”
Hekate recoils, trying to retreat from the flames that… aren't actually there. Her heart is pounding in her ears, and her skin is cold and clammy. She can feel sweat forming all over. Her breathing is becoming ragged.
I thought I was ready for this!? I'm fool! Please don't kill me! I-I-I want to live! I want to be with Daniel!
“If you look at me like that again, I’ll…!”
Hekate is ripped out of the terror by a hand squeezing hers. “Hekate! Listen to me! Focus on me! There’s nothing here!”
Somehow, the feldrok girl ended up against one of the walls away from the door, curled into a ball and sobbing. Geirahoel is holding her hand with one of her own, while her other palm is gently cupping Hekate’s cheek. “Stay with me Hekate. I… I don’t know how to help. There’s nothing here. I don’t sense any magic, and…”
The feldrok empress whimpers, “I’m sorry!” She begins sobbing into her hands, and the orange dragon jerks herself in stuttering motions, trying to decide what to do. She finally hugs Hekate to her chest, cooing with inexperienced caregiving skills, “It’s not you who should be apologizing. I… I should have done something… Anything. I’m sorry…”
Hekate cries into Geirahoel’s chest for a long while. The dragon does her best to console the teen. There is nothing Hekate needs to apologize for. The world owes her a great debt, and it’s more surprising she isn’t out for revenge. Especially now that she has so much raw magic power from the Devourer.
Geirahoel finally says softly, “We can go back. I’ll tell Xyreko not to move…”
“No…” replies Hekate softly as she finally tries to recover her resolve. “I have to do this. I have to face it.”
She gently extracts herself from the dragon’s embrace, unable to look at her yet. “Th-Thanks…”
Geirahoel is quiet as she gives thought to the right response. She crosses her arms and looks up and away haughtily. “I told you, it’s not really any of my business. I only consoled someone younger than me. Nothing has changed.”
Hekate sniffles as she smiles, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Yeah… Nothing has changed.” Because you were never a bad person, Geira.
The two climb to their feet together, and Hekate approaches the door again. Geirahoel hesitates, unsure if she should give Hekate her independence, or offer the young girl help. She settles on following Hekate, rather than guiding or pressuring her, since that’s exactly why she left Daniel out of this personal journey.
Hekate is thankful for the dragon’s consideration. It’s reassuring having someone with her, but as long as the young feldrok can branch out, then she won’t be helpless if Daniel is the one that needs help.
The ravenette clenches her fists one last time and then moves quickly so she can’t stop herself. She shoves the door open, and the same voice booms, “You dare enter here without permission, Slave!?”
Hekate’s eyes have closed instinctively, trying to protect her.
She knows very well that it doesn’t work.
But, as she takes a few steps forward into the room, no pain ever comes. Not this time.
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She cracks one eye open to warily peek around the room.
The room is understandably huge, being the largest space in the Dragon’s Keep. Morthybargaron kept it at a fairly dark level of light to mask some of his more subtle movements when he lashed out. The room is spooky, and Hekate’s gaze is drawn to a specific spot.
Blood is faintly splattered, and black fur is scattered and matted by the mix of dried blood and built up dust. Blood-stained pieces of gold, various jewels, and other rocks are scattered around as well.
Hekate comes to a stop to study the spot, and Geirahoel shifts uncomfortably as she looks as well.
A nameless little feldrok girl is curled in a ball, sobbing in pain. Her fur is unevenly patchy on her tail, and blood is running down her back and arms.
I didn’t even do what he said I did that time. What was it?
“He blamed you for the bowels still being in one of the meals…” murmurs Geirahoel. “Even though it was the acolytes that prepared the food.”
Hekate looks at the orange dragon emotionlessly. That’s right. I was too filthy to be allowed to handle food.
She looks at the spot again, and the ghostly and pitiful little feldrok crawls away, disappearing into a hole in the wall, leaving a trail of smeared blood.
Hekate swallows her fear. She is able to look all the way around, and there are no signs of any living thing, let alone the one living being she fears above all others.
The one who could order her to kill the person she loves most in the world.
She steps away from the painful scene, which happened only a couple of weeks before she was sent to the Citadel. They didn’t even bother to clean it up. But, then, why? He constantly snarled how foul I smelled, how much my fur disgusted him… Did… Did it… bring him joy?
She trembles at the thought, but she hears the calm and patient footsteps behind her. Geirahoel is neither trying to provide commentary nor excuses. She is simply patiently accompanying Hekate as she faces her past.
Rather, the dragon seems almost more disgusted than Hekate. She sucks her teeth, remarking, “We should have made him suffer more. I see that now.”
Hekate manages to crack a small smile. “You did the right thing. Keeping him alive meant he could escape and eventually come back for revenge.” She touches one of the statues that towers over her; a statue carved by the acolytes to depict the majesty and ferocity of Morthybargaron. “As you said, we both knew him. He would definitely come back for revenge.”
Geirahoel is quiet for a moment. She murmurs with a subdued ferocity of her own, “Let me know when you’re done so I can destroy it.”
The feldrok teen giggles. “Almost. I just want to find…” She approaches the large padded pedestal that Morthybargaron often rested upon. She trembles at the sight, though it’s far more relieving to see it empty than occupied.
The ravenette stares at it for a long time. Her ears twitch lightly when Geirahoel hums in thought, though she doesn’t say anything yet.
Hekate faces her dragon companion, and Geirahoel looks at her attentively.
“Do… you think I should do away with the dais?” asks Hekate sincerely.
This confuses Geirahoel at first. She then asks, “You mean the raised platform thing our audience seats are on?”
Hekate nods. “They’re our thrones, but…” She looks at Morthybargaron. She murmurs, “My… only example of leadership…”
Geirahoel takes an obviously deep breath. With a suddenness that startles Hekate, a lance of fire explodes out from next to her and incinerates the entire padding and begins melting the dais that the dragon tyrant once sat high upon.
The room starts to noticeably heat up. After all, magically-enhanced dragon fire is hot enough to melt or outright burn seemingly anything. Given enough time, it’s believed it could even melt sharmelkolle.
When Hekate is just beginning to sweat from the heat, the fire breath cuts off, leaving behind a pooling puddle of amalgamated materials that never should have melted. The intense heat of the igneous substance continues to melt down the dais as it flows onto the floor, melting the stone like little more than butter.
“Forgive me,” states Geirahoel as she wipes her lips with her sleeve with surprisingly elegant posture. Ignityal is highly flammable, so it’s likely her saliva, which protects her mouth and teeth from her own flames if the fuel-air mixture blows back into her mouth. “It stunk of disgusting beast.”
Hekate flinches. Those are words she heard far more than anything else. When Morthybargaron treated her like a living being, it was as a wretched beast; foul-smelling and ugly, and a blight on the Dragon’s Keep. Never could Hekate understand why he would have kept her around before she learned that she’s a feldrok.
That’s right… I’m a feldrok. The only thing that could become stronger than a dragon. He was afraid of me. But, he also wanted to use me.
The feldrok empress looks at her dragon counterpart. The auburn-haired beauty looks at her ‘innocently’, asking with a seemingly guileless and cute tone, “What?”
Hekate can’t help but laugh, and she indulges in the humor of the moment for a long time, letting out all of her stress through joyous guffaws.
Geirahoel smiles gently, content that she was able to cheer up Hekate.
The young empress then asks, “Then, should I take that as a ‘yes’ to my question?”
“You are nothing like the tyrant, or I would kill you. That’s what this was supposed to mean,” retorts the dragon, a little disappointed that Hekate missed that hint from the destruction of Morthybargaron’s dais-like seat.
Still, it brings a soft smile to Hekate’s lips.
The auburn-haired dragon flips her hand through her hair briefly, adding with her usual ‘dismissive’ and ‘haughty’ tone, “Hmph! I don’t know why you’re smiling. I was tired of smelling such awful things. It was worse than the stables.”
That’s a lie, thinks Hekate to herself.
Dragons do have a distinct scent, most notably flavored with the faint odor given off by ignityal, which is unique to dragons and drakes. But, it’s a somewhat sweet smell, rather than offensive. Even their venom is unsettlingly appetizing, as if to make it more palatable for the dragons themselves.
However, Geirahoel’s defense of Hekate now, no matter how late it may be, is more than welcome.
“Your nose is better than mine,” replies Hekate gently.
“Mm… Regardless,...” The dragon walks away from the dais, saying dismissively, “What you do in that silly audience chamber is have fun at the expense of our potential enemies. You do not lord your status over anyone.”
“I don’t have status,” retorts Hekate. “It’s all just… make believe…”
“Pfft!” snorts Geirahoel. She smirks at the young naive girl with her. “Who do you think the red tyrant was before he became the Lord of Dragons?” She crosses her arms and looks up at the ceiling. “My brother was more suitable for that role. The idiot.”
Hekate is stunned by these statements, each possessing their own gravity. It’s likely true, since the dragons don’t really have tiers aside from ‘Greater’ and ‘lesser’ dragons, annotated mainly by their level of mana, which are distinctly different. As one of the youngest greater dragons, Geirahoel is youthful, even though she’s far older than Hekate.
“Wait! You… have a brother?”
The orange dragon consort frowns and huffs. “That’s all I’ll say about it. He’s a fool, and I want nothing to do with him. I’d melt him like that stupid pedestal if he was here.”
“Alright…” Hekate joins Geirahoel in continuing towards the back.
The oppressive evil seems to be emanating like a near-tangible aura from beyond the back wall. Treasure is piled high, but Hekate notices something immediately behind the pile of gold in every shape and size, since dragons have no need, desire, or care for coins specifically.
What she noticed, however, is something familiar from the last hour or so; a doorway that is etched into the stone and seemingly impassable in spite of the intentional form of an entryway being carved into the stone.
And, likewise, the same symbols and glyphs are what make it truly familiar.
It is one of Shaiulvalgarro’s specifically secured doorways that even Morthybargaron couldn’t figure out how to get through.
“A doorway?” murmurs Geirahoel. She snickers deviously, and Hekate can’t help but laugh along.
The feldrok girl remarks, “Looks like another one of the old ruler’s secret doorways.”
“Indeed. Can you imagine?” asks Geirahoel facetiously.
When Hekate looks at her curiously, the auburn-haired dragon continues deviously, “All those centuries, and there was a door right here under his tail that he could not open.” She approaches the wall, touching where the unmarred doorway suddenly gives way to deep gashes in the stone of the wall around it. “The self-proclaimed strongest dragon in the world helpless before a simple door. I cannot wait to watch Daniel open it.”
Hekate scoffs and snickers softly.
Likely, just as with the other stone gate they observed, a certain threshold activates the magic to reset the wall and gate to their former selves. In this case, it’s probable that Morthybargaron, in a fit of anger or frustration at either the door or something else unrelated, slashed the door with his claws, following through across the wall as well. The door immediately regenerated itself, while the wall remained marred because the threshold for the spell wasn’t reached.
Shaiulvalgarro was a name Hekate rarely ever heard, other than the fact that the acolytes would sometimes mention him; especially the much older members that were of races that can live for several centuries, such as the Uhl’tall. He was clearly a skilled and powerful mage among dragons, which are already powerful in the realm of magic. He left behind active spells that Hekate hasn’t seen anywhere else, including the Citadel. The booby-traps in the Citadel were mostly mechanical, likely set by the goblin, ogre, and orc squatters, since Morthybargaron disabled the Citadel’s defenses before he was driven out by Lugrae.
Shaiulvalgarro was clearly a crafty and paranoid dragon, and he used magic to its fullest extent to protect whatever is hidden beyond this wall, as well as several others.
Hekate touches the doorway. To her, it feels icy cold, and she can feel a pull towards the other side. The pressure around her is immense, but she knows it is something separate from Morthybargaron. It is true evil lingering beyond this wall; something hidden away. Since the door was sealed, it must be something Shaiulvalgarro was hiding, but everyone who speaks of him with knowledge of the dragon himself tells of a rather eccentric, but kind being who kept mostly to himself. He could very well be Reignleif’s father, given how their demeanors are similar.
“Well?” asks Geirahoel out of the blue.
“‘Well’ what?” asks Hekate, confused.
“We’re as far as we can go.” The orange dragon smiles gently, her green eyes showing an unusual amount of kindness towards Hekate. “You survived.”
The young feldrok relaxes gently. “Yes… I guess I did… Thank you… for accompanying me.”
“I told you, I came for my own reasons. I’ve only held off for consideration of your feelings. If you’re done, I’d like to begin burning things.”
Hekate snickers warmly. “Haven’t you already begun?” She looks pointedly at the dais. Rather, she is gazing upon the remains of Morthybargaron’s elevated seat. Even now, the heat in the room is stifling because of the liquid stone that lingers where it settled.
“I told you, it smelled abominable,” retorts Geirahoel a little childishly.
Hekate smiles happily. “Well… Avoid burning anything of use to us. Spell scrolls and things.”
“Mmm… I will, but you should join me.”
The fox-eared girl cocks her head, surprised. “Pardon?”
“You heard me. Join me in annihilating that beast’s precious belongings. Let us erase his memory together.”
Hekate blushes. “I…”
“You deserve to more than any of us. Give it a try.”
Hekate fidgets. “I… can’t breathe fire.”
Geirahoel simply smiles gently, and something about her suddenly seems even more mature than ever. She has a level of adoration for Hekate that was never present before. Her tone is inviting and kind. “Then, I suppose we can start from the very beginning.”
Feldroks are considered the most powerful beings in the world, both due to their natural abilities and their capacity for magic.
Hekate herself witnessed Lugrae use multiple elemental breaths to attack a drake, though she was frozen in fear and blacked out sometime through.
Neither Hekate nor Geirahoel know how feldroks fought without magic, but the orange dragon seems set on finding out.
***
Daniel lies on the grass planted around the garden on the Citadel’s roof. The flowers fill the air with sweet scents, and it makes him think of the varying flower garden that has appeared around him. He has gathered all flavors of the spectrum, and he still hasn’t figured out quite how. Roses with thorns, bright and energetic peonies, zinnias with hidden beauty, lilacs, wisteria, and irises.
He knows he’s in an impossible situation. It should be a minefield, and while he’s careful not to disrespect any one individual, his garden is, at least for now, rather harmonious.
A head crowned with two metallic orange horns and a beautiful near-crimson shade of auburn hair pops into his field of view, looking down at him.
The human mechanic is a little surprised, but he easily recognizes his dearly beloved companion, Geirahoel. “Geira-Mukori? Welcome home! I was expecting you and Hekate to be gone longer.”
“We need to talk,” states the orange dragon in human form seriously.
Daniel sits up and faces her properly, worried at first.
Is this it? The time it all crumbles? Is she done with…
“It was worse than I realized, even seeing it from our side…” starts Geirahoel nervously. “Hekate… She…” She looks down, fidgeting. “She treasures a thing made of straw…”
Daniel cocks his head, not quite understanding.
The young dragon does her best to clarify. “It’s supposed to be a doll, I think, but… It’s… She deserves better. And, there’s still something in the keep that bothers her.”
Pleasantly surprised, Daniel remarks gently, “I see… Did she ask for something specific? I have no reservations about giving Hekate anything she wants, but… she has very humble tastes.”
Geirahoel scoffs, though she looks a little distant and disappointed.
Daniel notices the newest smell to enter the garden; the acrid odors of smoke, scorched metal and stone, and incinerated biological fibers.
Daniel’s sense of smell isn’t particularly robust, but his experience in varying fields of industry have given him some taste in regards to the scents specific to those of both destruction and creation. At least, those that are possible within the reach of human beings of the early 21st century on Earth.
The dragon retorts to Daniel’s question, “Her tastes are indeed far too humble.” She crosses her arms under her breasts, looking up at the open sky. “When she’s brave enough, you should take her back to Shaiulvalgarro’s Hoard and open his secret gates. Something behind one of them seemed like it was of interest to Hekate.”
“Any idea what it was?” asks Daniel curiously.
Geirahoel shakes her head regrettably. “No. It was behind one of Shaiulvalgarro’s alleged fake doors. While the red tyrant never wanted to admit it, we all knew they are actual doors. They are protected by powerful magic that Shaiulvalgarro left behind.”
“Shaiul… garro is a dragon?” asks the human mechanic.
Geirahoel grumbles, “Shaiulvalgarro.” She pouts softly, “It’s a Yaulrent name meant for other races…”
“Sorry… I remember the name you gave me when we met, Bystuirikohn.”
Geirahoel recoils in surprise and blushes. She stammers, “Wh-Wh-Wha-!? How did we start talking about me!?”
Daniel laughs, and he returns to the matter she brought up as she drops to her knees to grip his shirt. “Okay, okay! More importantly, do you really think I’ll be able to open them?”
The auburn-haired beauty halts. She stares at him with a skeptical expression, like he’s one of the dumbest people she has ever encountered.
“I’m more afraid they’ll open when you simply touch them,” retorts the dragon dryly.
“I’m not truly immune to magic…”
“And, the spell only reverts everything back to the way it was and expels the attempted intruder to the outside.” She smiles proudly. “Even if you fail at first, I’ll catch you.”
Now, Daniel is the one looking at her with skepticism clear on his face, though his is marked with an amused and slightly-sarcastic smirk.
“I could try blowing it up, but I’m guessing dragon’s fire couldn’t get through the door. So, I’ll have to work on some other methods to try to do it safely. Do… you think Hekate will be alright until then?”
Geirahoel nods. “Yes. We let our anger out on Morthybargaron’s things, and she’s happier here than ever.” She smiles softly. “I think… she was able to make peace with her past, at least a little. As… As long as you… no, as long as we continue to give her the treatment she deserves, I think she’ll be alright.”
Daniel nods. “I have no objections. If you ever stumble across something she wants or expresses interest in, please share it with me.”
“Only if you do the same.” Geirahoel then kisses Daniel, surprising him. She adds softly afterwards, “I… failed Hekate… for her entire life. I tried to help her as much as I could today, but…” She sits up and proclaims confidently, “I should be better at caring for others. I have no excuses if I want to be a proper mother.”
The otherworldly human smiles softly, laying his hand gently on her thigh. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. And, I’m sure Hekate will appreciate you looking after her, just as you have been since we met.”
The orange dragon blushes and smiles. “I-I’ll… I’ll continue to do better…”
The two lay back down on the grass and look up at the sky. While she smells like destruction, she wasn’t destroying the past, so much as clearing the way for a proper future.
History’s lessons seem to have been learned by the surviving dragons, and Hekate represents a second chance at moving forward beyond the mire of an unpleasant series of events.
Morthybargaron is dead, and time will march on without him. It is the responsibility of those who are living to keep moving forward with it.
***