The sun had barely risen when the guild hall of Deerfell opened its doors, lanterns still burning low inside. Most adventurers were either dead drunk or dead asleep, but Loid was already leaning on the counter, arms folded. His hair was a mess, his coat wrinkled, his eyes sharp despite the lack of rest. The young receptionist blinked up at him in confusion.
"You want… a banner?" she asked, tilting her head. "A really big one?"
Loid cleared his throat. "Yes. The largest Elarion kingdom banner you can get your hands on. Big enough to be seen from half a mile away."
The receptionist set down her quill. "May I ask why?"
Loid hesitated, scratching at the back of his neck. His words came slower this time. "Because if we fly into a military camp on what we're about to ride, they'll panic. Probably shoot first, ask questions later. A banner might solve that."
The woman frowned. "What… exactly are you riding?"
Loid exhaled through his nose. "…A dracolisk."
The silence stretched.
"A... dracolisk?" she repeated, voice quivering between disbelief and worry.
"Yeah," Loid said flatly. "Ashwing Dracolisk, to be precise. Big. Black scales, glowing cracks, eyes like molten pits. Eats armies for breakfast."
The receptionist blinked twice, then stammered, "I know what dracolisk are but I never heard of a ashwing dracolisk... when did you acquire something like that?"
Loid shrugged, forcing a smirk. "We have our ways."
She studied his face, opened her mouth to pry further, then thought better of it. After a long pause, she simply nodded. "…I'll see what I can do."
A quarter hour later, she returned with a folded bundle nearly as tall as herself. The crimson-and-gold of Elarion shimmered in the morning light. Loid accepted it with both hands, expression softening for the briefest moment.
"Thanks," he muttered.
The receptionist gave him a cautious smile. "I… won't ask."
"Good," Loid said, already turning to leave.
---
By midday, the group had gathered in the forest clearing just beyond Deerfell's walls. Loid held up the banner, the pole longer than he was tall. He glanced at Angela.
"Here. You'll hold it while we ride. Make sure it's high, obvious. The last thing we need is being mistaken for a wild threat."
Angela took the banner in one hand, testing its weight. She smirked faintly. "A flag bearer now, am I?"
"Think of it as intimidation," Loid said. "A dracolisk carrying the kingdom's banner? No one will miss the message."
Angela planted the pole against the ground, the cloth unfurling with a crack of fabric. "Fair enough. I'll keep it steady."
Isolde raised her hand. Ash flared, cracks of molten light tearing into the air. The Ashwing Dracolisk erupted into existence, wings blotting out the sun. Its molten eyes burned as it lowered its head, smoke curling from its jaws.
Loid muttered, half in awe, half in nerves. "Every time I see it, it feels less like a summon and more like an ancient beast."
The group mounted swiftly, Angela in the lead with the banner, Selvara silent behind her, Isolde pressed against the beast's warm scales, Loid clambering up last.
The dracolisk crouched low, then launched itself skyward. Trees bowed and snapped from the force of its takeoff.
As they soared eastward, the banner streamed behind them in a long golden streak, visible for miles.
---
The eastern war camp was a sprawl of canvas, timber, and smoke. Soldiers in battered mail trudged between tents. Adventurers leaned on spears, cleaning blood from armor that hadn't dried since yesterday. And in the center, the scholars, robed, perfumed, untouched by mud or blood, clustered in their designated quarter like a world apart.
The resentment was thick as smoke. Soldiers muttered when the scholars passed. Adventurers spat. None dared throw a punch, not yet.
"Look at them," one scholar whispered bitterly to another, his tone sharp. "They glare as if we've done nothing. As if this war doesn't grind us down too."
His companion snorted. "They've lost men, yes. But without us? Half the barriers would've failed. Half the strategy would've collapsed. Let them sneer."
"Easy to say when you're not on the front lines," another cut in. His voice trembled with pent-up rage. "We sit here drawing glyphs while they die in droves. And then what? When the count comes up short, they point fingers at us. Convenient scapegoats."
A fourth scholar laughed bitterly. "It wasn't for the Five, we'd already have corpses among us. Don't pretend otherwise."
The name cut through the group like a blade, the Five Prodigies.
As if summoned by the words, Silas appeared, tall and sharp-faced, emerald sigils glowing faintly along his arms. He sneered down at the gathered scholars, voice carrying like a whip.
"You useless fucks," Silas barked, eyes locking on the adventurer who had muttered. He grabbed the adventurer by the collar and hauled him upright with terrifying ease. "Who the hell do you think you are? Criticizing me? Me? Do you even realize who keeps you breathing out here?"
The adventurer stammered, face pale. "I--- I didn't mean---"
Silas shook him once, hard enough to rattle teeth. "Are you a prodigy? No? Then shut your mouth before I shut it for you."
"Enough, Silas." Malek's voice cut through the tension like a cold blade. The second prodigy strode forward, calm but iron-edged, his silver hair catching the light. "We are in a war, not a pissing contest. You want to waste energy strangling your own comrades?"
Silas snarled, but didn't release his grip. "Comrades? These parasites sit in tents while soldiers die buying them time. They're nothing but leeches."
Cassian arrived next, his armor immaculate, his smile a cruel slash. "And so what if they are?" he drawled, stepping to Silas's side. "These iron-rank cowards dare open their mouths against us, emerald prodigies. They should be grateful we tolerate their existence."
Malek's eyes narrowed. "Grateful? You mean grateful for the soldiers you let die to cover your retreat?"
Cassian's smile faltered into a snarl. "Watch your tongue."
Silas dropped the scholar at last, shoving him aside like trash. He turned on Malek, fists clenched. "You dare accuse me of cowardice? Say it again, and I'll make sure your pretty face is the next thing buried in this camp."
"Try me," Malek said coldly.
The air snapped with tension. Soldiers nearby stopped mid-step. Adventurers leaned on their weapons, muttering. The other scholars shrank back, watching with wide eyes.
Two more figures arrived, Elera and Selene, the remaining prodigies. Elera, with hair like fire, slipped between Silas and Malek, her hand firm against Silas's chest. Selene, quiet and sharp-eyed, rested her palm on Cassian's wrist.
"That's enough," Elera said, her voice sharp with command. "You think the enemy cares if we're at each other's throats? You want to kill each other, wait until after we've survived this war."
Cassian's lip curled, but he pulled back. Silas glared daggers at Malek, chest heaving.
Malek only folded his arms. "When this war is over, we'll revisit this."
The silence that followed was brittle, fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest word.
And then the alarm horns blared.
"Beast! Beast descending from the west!" a scout screamed from the watchtower. "Wingspan, seventy feet at least! Headed straight for the camp!"
Chaos erupted. Soldiers scrambled for ballistae. Adventurers drew weapons. Even the prodigies whipped their heads skyward.
The camp commander burst from his tent, cloak half-fastened, shouting, "Positions! Form ranks! Protect the scholars!"
All eyes turned to the western horizon.
And there, blotting out the sun, came the Ashwing Dracolisk. Wings like jagged stone. Eyes like molten pits. Smoke trailing in long, writhing ribbons.
But it wasn't the beast alone that froze the camp.
It was the banner.
High above its riders, the crimson-and-gold of Elarion rippled in the wind, snapping proudly in the sun.
A monster. A fortress. And a message:
This was no wild beast.
This was a weapon.