Liron chewed his lower lip as On walked towards him. The People's Blade. The only Draconist expected to transcend the Promised Dawn's fame. A Hatchling for less than a year. The youngest Knight Dracon. A prodigy like the society hadn't seen in decades.
By Harras, she was small. Despite being older than him, Liron loomed over her. She kept her hair short and tidy. No sense of elegance. Plain and forgettable. Her features shared the same quality. On had not undergone changes by an Alchemist. She looked like Liron. A simple face meant for a farmer.
None of this mattered to her, though. On paid no mind to the many officials and highborn she walked past. She kept her eyes on the ground, appearing as if sleepwalking. Only as she stopped in front of Liron did light come to them. Standing in his shadow, in the middle of the training ground, her presence towered over him. He had found his superior in her. His instincts demanded that he kneel. To serve the one above him.
But if On hated one thing, it was blind servitude. She greeted Liron with a smile, a foreign sight on her lips. "Liron. It is a pleasure meeting you. I was looking forward to this."
Liron saluted. "It… it is my honor, Lady Knight."
The other important Draconist had yet to visit him. Duty and war demanded their full attention. While On was a master with the blade and Carran death on four wings, her specialty didn't lie in open combat.
She slapped him against the chest. "Never do this again. We are equals."
"Ehr… we're not."
On scoffed, signaling him to follow her as she inspected the training ground. She folded her hands behind her back. How could one radiate nonchalance and strict discipline at the same time?
"Nonsense," she said. "I will not have this babble with my comrade. And especially not Everon's knight. How does it feel being chosen by Blackbone?"
Liron grimaced. "It's… still hard to grasp. I mean, I do recognize the honor… and all that..."
"But?"
"But he hasn't spoken to me yet. And… it's a lot."
"Pressure? Because you have to prove yourself worthy?"
Liron hesitated, nodding.
On stopped, letting the wind brush her face. "I understand. It is common for a dragon to need its time adjusting to a bond after resting for a longer period of time. Everon has not carried a knight for three centuries. Dragons are like old cats. They are gentle and loving and have one or two pieces of wisdom to share, but they are mischievous and stubborn to an extent only an abundance of years can justify.
"Give him time. And more importantly, give yourself time. You are not alone, Liron. We are an order. We do not rely on one member alone despite what the Lorraine plays are claiming. The Society will help with your burden. Train and prosper so you can be the blade of the innocent."
"It's their hand that wields us," Liron said, smiling at reciting his oath.
On shared his smile. "Yes. This is why we are serving."
"I know… I just wish I could at least talk to him. Or summon his Aspect. And become a Dracal."
Every Knight Dracon could summon parts of their dragon and fuse them with their bodies, called an Aspect. A knight could also fuse with their dragon, letting their Aspects become one with their armor. A Dracal. Liron's fingers twitched at the thought alone. Fusing with Blackbone. The Empire would call his praises for generations to come.
"The Union is something special, I agree. But not if rushed. Remember, respect your dragon's wishes. You two share a bond no one else has. It can only flourish if it is treated with patience, understanding, and love.
Liron saluted, making On slap him against his chest again.
She scanned the training ground, frowning. "Where is Lance? He was supposed to meet me."
"Well… he doesn't feel so good right now," Liron said, rubbing the back of his head. The stench of booze seeped through his door as Liron had wanted to knock at it. No point in trying.
"I see," On said, sighing. "Please, be patient with him. Our master can be a difficult man. But he's a good one, too. He needs our help to…"
Liron's vision shattered. Thousands of images rushed in front of his eyes. Countless lives unfolded in front of him. He saw the Tainted Mountains burn, an explosion tearing through Sannara, and dozens of angels freed from their prison. He saw hands of bones reach upward to the sky, trying to claim the Silver Moon, and Ekon devoured by one final war, eradicating the last remnants of life.
Kisses of ember scorched his lips. He begged for more, but all love had died at his hands. A willow awaited his return, but the death's herald had reached them first. A martyr took away his last light, forcing hate into his heart. Wherever he went, rivers of red followed each step. His path led towards a final fate, cursing his existence to become something sad and lesser.
Above it all, the tree stood tall, observing it. Ambition, in its purest form.
Liron wanted to scream, the chaos drowning his thoughts. His mind was filled with lifetimes of suffering, overwhelming him. But he found moments of calmness as his vision led him onto the Silver Moon. Hovering above a burning Ekon, Liron was in front of the Empty Throne. A plain thing crafted from marble. Bloody handprints covered its surface from the ones that had tried and failed to claim it.
None of them were human.
He heard a distant voice, calling a warning to Liron. It screeched, suffering in ways Liron had yet to experience.
But it came too late.
…
Liron woke up with a silent scream. He rasped, sweating. Liron sat up. His dreams were all rather peaceful. Training, learning, and learning of the darkness Lance carried with him. None of them turned into such a nightmare.
Emma had not stirred, snoring. She had moved in her sleep, her legs lying on Liron's lap. He pushed them aside, crawling out of their tent. It was the earliest hours of the day, the Silver Moon about to rise. He stretched, popping his back. The agents who kept watch greeted him. Bran wasn't among them. The bastard still slept in his tent.
After their lovely introduction, Zonis had pulled Liron aside. "I know the boy is difficult," Zonis said, "but he has a good heart. He is distrustful of new recruits. Always. He fears that they might betray us. Poor Bran also struggles with his temper and how other people see him."
"That's a heartwarming story," Liron said, "but the kid's a cunt. Should I just let him walk all over me?"
"Oh no. I know that he needs to learn his lesson. All I am asking is that you be gentle with him. Show him that there are lines that can't be crossed, but don't overdo it. He might not look like it, but he is rather sensitive."
Liron grinned like a wolf, earning a stern look from Zonis. "No, Liron, bad. You have a good heart. So you better listen to it."
"It was just a joke," Liron said, raising his hands.
Zonis studied him, unconvinced. "You don't joke about hurting someone. You are still very young, but you are on the verge of manhood. It is time you learn to handle the responsibility that comes with that. Do you understand me?"
Liron had rolled his eyes, but he had yielded. He couldn't argue with Zonis for too long. The Whisperer was too convincing for that. And it would have broken his heart to do so. Zonis felt like the grandfather he never had. He loved to jest with Angin and Emma, hurling his best insults at her. But being in his vicinity reminded him of what he ought to be. Better and kinder.
He still hated that fucking brute, though. Liron spat into the sand, near Bran's tent. The thought of waking him with a golden shower, drenching him from head to toe, tempted Liron. Zonis would never forgive him for such a thing. Reason enough to not do it.
He walked up to an agent. "Hi, I would go and train a bit. If that's alright with you guys."
"Be my guest," the agent said with a heavy Lors accent. Every Resistance agent he had met was either Nord or spoke Nord fluently. He had forgotten that Nord was one of the many languages spoken in the Empire and Resistance. And one of the more difficult ones. It required harsh sounds, making one meaner and spiteful.
"But you can join Shae. She would like a sparring partner."