Lightning thundered above them, forming a tear into the air itself. It crackled with strange energy, coming from the Silver Moon. Liron couldn't see much more, a shock wave passing through them. It destroyed nothing, but a sudden hot pain emerged in their heads, all falling to their knees. He clasped his hands around his ears, feeling like Drom had plunged burning needles into them.
Liron's vision faded, lights dancing at the edge of his sight. They conquered all, a blinding mess of colors. He screamed, his entire being devoured and torn apart by whatever had attacked them. But the pain and the colors vanished, replaced by a new view. He wasn't in Eisenrahm anymore. That much Liron could tell. His blurred vision came back into focus only slowly.
Silver sand surrounded him. The ground appeared dry and dead. He tried to look around, but he noticed quickly that his head wouldn't follow his order. No, his eyes moved on their own, slow and sluggish. Live came back to them, and Liron realized that somehow, he was looking from someone else's eyes.
He hadn't the time to drown in fear because of that, as he noticed the battle marks. Whatever fight had occurred here had shattered this place asunder. Deep cuts and furrows scarring the landscape, entire sections blown apart. From the scale alone, Eisenrahm and Lichtwald would be gone. The neighboring town, too.
Something hit the ground hard. Whoever Liron looked out of tried to twist around. By the way they struggled, they had been badly injured. Liron never saw one glimpse of their body, though. Finally, the person succeeded in seeing who had fallen.
A shredded figure covered in blood and deep wounds lay on his back, crawling backward. His long gray hair was matted, dirt hanging in it. A massive golden wing lurked out from underneath his back. Liron's stomach rebelled at seeing it. Countless arms and heads protruded out of it as if men were trapped inside the gold. The closer he came, the more details Liron noticed. Those men had wings of their own, all caught inside the massive body.
"Liron, stop!" the man cried.
Liron's mind stopped working. He must have misheard. But then he noticed the heavy steps and saw the figure standing above the fallen. Liron tried to laugh, but nothing came out. He could only watch as a perfect lookalike of him raised a broken blade and slashed off the abomination of a wing.
While at least ten years older, this man was clearly Liron. His face had hardened, the first wrinkles at his eyes. He kept his black hair shorter than Liron's, having a beard to accompany it. Similar to the fallen, he was more dead than alive. Some corpses the wolves had left behind looked better than him. The remnants of his armor had a striking similarity to Lance's. His right arm barely hung on to his shoulders, with nothing but a handful of sinew attaching it to him. His flesh was scorched black on several spots, a deep cut accompanying each of them.
The fallen had a battered blade in his hand, throwing it away. "I yield, Liron, I yield! You have won!"
Despite his injuries, the man stomped down on the fallen, hard enough to break something. Liron hadn't noticed up until now, but while the man looked like an older version of himself, they had different eyes. Liron shared the same pale blue eyes as his sister, but this stranger had eyes of emerald. A green so rich and beautiful, it demanded awe from everybody that would lose themselves in them.
The stranger raised his broken blade high. What a horrid thing. Like the wing, several bodies formed the sword. It had a grayish shine to it, fingers and arms creating its two edges. It even had eyes, glaring at the fallen. Despite its disgusting appearance, it had a rhythm to, the limbs making the blade flowing into one another. They appeared to mimic a symbol of sorts.
"Yes," the stranger said, "I have."
The fallen realized his begging was in vain. He jerked around, staring at who Liron was watching the entire ordeal out of. Seeing the man's face, no ten feet away, Liron didn't need long to recognize him. He had seen him on several posters and art shown at several midnight masses. The current Scion of their heavenly Father. The man sworn to fight against the enemy of mankind, leading all faithful to battle. Augustus the Fourth, the Emperor of the Divine Empire of Harras' Scion.
"Listen, my subjects," he addressed the person watching him. "Liron Sturm has betrayed us! Kill him while you have time! Don't let him…"
Liron rammed his broken blade into Augustus's chest. The Emperor twitched, glaring at the sword deep in his body. He mouthed something to Liron before collapsing, the life fading out of his eyes fast. Liron closed them, a somber look on his face. He studied the dead Emperor for a moment, his gaze moving up to the watcher. He appeared tired.
…
Liron took in a deep breath, his body arching as air filled his lungs again. Fire blazed through his veins, fading within seconds after waking up in his body again. The vision had ceased, and he was lying on the ground. He touched his face, dumbfounded by what had just happened.
As the implications of the vision settled in, Liron's mind screamed at him to rise. He jerked upwards, falling over again, dizzy. The world spun around him. He feared throwing up, but after slapping himself a few times, he regained control. Grunting, he struggled on his knees, panting as if he had sprinted through Eisenrahm.
The entire crowd had collapsed. They all moaned, sounding like their head was smashed in by a hammer. Even Lance and Kasper lay flat. The guardian of Nordland didn't move much, working his jaw. The Draconist had fallen on his face, grimacing as he set himself up on his elbows, fighting hard to keep his nose out of the dirt. His dragon had vanished, disappearing into her spirit form.
Lance's and Liron's eyes locked. No three feet separating them. Based on the way his expression changed, clenched like a fist about to explode in his opponent's stomach, he'd had the same vision. Lance uttered something, his tongue refusing to work properly. But Liron didn't need to hear it.
He struggled up on his legs. The first steps, Liron wished for the cold and dirty embrace of the ground again. The ones after that, he got used to walking again, feeling confident that he wouldn't collapse in himself. And with that, Liron had the strength to run.
"Stop, heretic!" Lance called after him.
The hair on Liron's arms stood up. As he fled, he stomped on a few people. He hoped his family wasn't among them. As he made it out of the crowd, hurrying through Eisenrahm, the severity of his situation became clear to him. Whatever had happened here, the Emperor had sentenced him to death.
The sky had returned to its usual self, with no hint of the strange power tearing it apart. While the world hadn't ended, Liron's had. Eisenrahm was empty, no one in sight. This was at least something, as this way no one would see him and where he would go.
Liron struggled to come up with a plan. If Lance or anyone else got their hands on him, he would be turned into a Sinner. He held his stomach at the thought alone. Perhaps not even that. Perhaps they would just execute him, no punishment harsher than one's life ending without the opportunity to sacrifice it for something greater.
While he couldn't begin to think of a plan, he knew he couldn't stay here. But he also needed some equipment. Liron burst into their house, slamming through the door. He dashed into his room, pulling out his backpack. He rushed through their home, taking everything that appeared useful into it. Food, all their waterskins, extra clothes, his thickest winter coat, and the knife his mother had given him.
As he was done, he heard the first calls echo through town. He didn't have much time, his head start shrinking. He opened the door leading to their garden and grabbed their axe. Beyond their fence, there weren't any more houses. If he sprinted fast enough, he might reach the forest. But it was too obvious, and it would be easy to follow his track.
While not taking it, he could at least make pursuers believe he did. Liron left the two doors open, running out the way he came. He sprinted behind a house across the street, glancing from behind it. The first people came running towards his house. They still hadn't recovered yet, stumbling over their feet. They would need a few minutes before reaching his position.
Liron would have killed for a bit more knowledge. Where were Lance and the soldiers? Could he resummon Illaxia? Why did Liron recover so fast while the rest still suffered from the weakness?
Except for the last question, all were answered with a dragon's roar. Lacking the strength from when they arrived, it was a declaration nonetheless. He wouldn't escape them. Not now. As Liron leaned against the wall, hugging his axe, he slid down onto his ass. He started to pant again, his breathing as panicked as when the wolves attacked. At least then he had the help of…
"Angin…" a voice whispered.
Liron screeched, rolling away, axe held in front of him. His eyes searched his surroundings, but he found nothing. "Angin," the voice said again.
As Liron turned around, thinking he found the stranger behind his back, he fathomed the voice was in his head. A reasonable time to turn mad.
"Find Angin…" the voice said, weak and fragile. Whoever spoke, he sounded like a man who hadn't had a drop of water in days. "He… will help. He… is… a friend."
The Alchemist? Liron's finger scratched the handle of his axe, recalling every bit of information he had on the eccentric man. Their last conversation stood out, his disdain for the Empire and its higher-ranking members on open display. The voice didn't need to tell him the truth about Angin, Liron swallowing hard. A member of the Resistance here in Eisenrahm?
Every instinct told him to only cross paths with him again to end the traitor's life, all stories of the Resistance's savagery and heretic nature replaying in his head. But he had become a traitor as well. Liron hammered his fist against his legs, filling them with life again. His hair stood up, all thoughts about what Angin really was pushed away, focusing on the good sides he had witnessed and hoping they were more than lies.
As Liron ran along the house's wall, remaining hidden in the shadows, the voice in his head called again. "Stop!"
Liron pressed himself against the wall, Illaxia's roar sounding from above, flying high. Her flight had lost the grace it had before, struggling to remain airborne, but she soared through the air. She would have seen him if not for the voice. Liron watched the dragon pass by, sprinting over the street to the next house, hiding in its shadow.
Guided by the voice, Liron hopped from hiding spot to the next one, dodging the search party on his track. Emma and his parents crossed his mind, but they never lingered for too long. His attention was needed elsewhere.
Liron's clothes stuck to his skin, drenched in sweat. He fought with his collar. His mother hadn't had the chance yet to repair it, but it still strangled his neck. He had to focus on his breathing if he wanted to get any. He hadn't much time for it, though, spending his escape towards the pub panting and short of breath.
As he reached the vicinity of the building, no one was around it. Eisenrahm had recovered enough to hunt for him in earnest. Calls echoed through the town, his former neighbors yelling for his head. Liron couldn't make out much, but Ravenspawn haunted the air, spat out like a curse. Lance sought the town from above, a hawk waiting for his moment to strike.
"N… now!" the voice called. Its final bit of strength failed it, ceasing altogether.
Liron ground his teeth, slapping himself in the face. "Come on, you fucking bastard," he told himself, breaking out in a sprint.
The Knight Dracon was nowhere near, but this was the longest stretch Liron had to cross without hiding. He could hear the shouts already, some asshole spotting him. His mind promised him rains of arrows followed by dragon fire. Not every dragon spat fire, but Illaxia was known for the inferno she unleashed on the Empire's enemies.
Despite his growing sense of doom, Liron reached the pub. All caution forgotten, Liron burst through the doors, collapsing on all fours. He smiled, no arrowhead or flames touching his ass. The pub was the most presentable building in Eisenrahm, except for the forge. It had a rustic charm to it, the interior crafted out of finer wood. The creaking floor greeted every guest like a dearly missed friend. The walls smelled of greasy food and spilled beer, the scent of smoked pipes from last night lingering. The pub did not have much space, with tables and chairs all crammed together. Near the counter, a little space was kept free for musicians. Liron had many fond memories of Emma stealing the show with her lute playing.
All this homely feeling, and Liron could give no fucks about them. The pub looked like a storm had hit. Tables and chairs thrown over. Liron didn't need much time to figure out the few present here collapsed due to the vision, smashing into the furniture. How many had died due to it, falling over at the worst moment?
With even more to burden his mind, Liron had calmed himself enough to stand up. He massaged his neck, finding his voice again. Whether the Alchemist would still be here, Liron had no idea. He hadn't seen him at Lance's arrival. Made sense as a Resistance member wouldn't come close to Knight Dracon if they valued their lives. Even if the chance of discovery might be slight, a man like Angin would not risk it.
"A…" Liron began.
Before he could even finish, a hand slapped on his mouth, dragging him into a dark corner. Liron raged against the arm holding him, trying to wrestle his hands holding the axe free. A long strand of black hair fell in front of his eyes, and he heard Angin hushing him.
They waited there before the owner of the pub, Mr. Schnauzer, emerged from the kitchen, wiping blood away from his forehead with a napkin.
"Oh, better hurry," he said to himself, hurrying towards the exit.
As the thicker man did, he grabbed his coat hanging at a clothes hook, right next to where they hid. Angin let go of Liron's hand, pulling out a wooden rod. It looked like a baton, runes carved into it. Liron knew this to be a weapon, cringing at the thought of poor old Mr. Schnauzer dying because of him. He was one of the few that was always nice to Liron.
But Mr. Schnauzer was all over the place, as so often. He never noticed them, muttering something to himself as he hurried out of the pub. Angin signaled Liron to stay in the corner, the Alchemist glimpsing out of the window.
"By Harras's cock," Angin laughed, turning to Liron. "You have blown past all my expectations for you!"
"W… what?" Liron asked.
Angin's once beautiful black hair was an utter mess, in desperate need of grooming. The Alchemist appeared like he had just woken up. His skin lacked the shine it had during the hunt. Angin pushed his hair backward, grabbing Liron by the shoulder.
"Oh, my boy," Angin said, "where do we even start?! This is absolutely insane!"
Liron hadn't known what to expect, but Angin had blown past his ones, too. "Th… the dream… do you know what… that was?"
"No clue," Angin laughed. A mother watching her newborn children couldn't appear more delighted. "I can't even begin to tell you what happened to us. But what I know for certain, my dear boy, is that you just became the most wanted man alive inside the Empire."
Liron had guessed as much, but having it confirmed made it hit even harder. He melted underneath Angin's iron grip, wanting to vanish through the floor and hide there for the rest of his probably short life. "Oh," Liron breathed, close to fainting. "Yo… and that's good?"
Angin nodded. "It was not what I came for, but you are precisely what I was looking for!"