High in the sky, the dragon's roars shook the heavens and earth, like a crude imitation of human song, screeching and dissonant. In those sounds, the knights seemed to catch fragments of words: "playmate," "hide-and-seek," "blessing," and "warmth."
But how could an evil dragon speak human words? How could it sing? How could a monster that slaughtered people, invaded Mondstadt, and spread poison be a friend to humanity?
Though the knights heard those faintly familiar syllables in Durin's roar, they refused to believe it. To them, it was merely a deception.
Watching Deputy Grand Master Rostam race ahead, luring the dragon toward the snowy mountains, the knights felt their blood stir. Their fear began to fade.
"We can't let Deputy Grand Master face this alone—"
"Let's help him—"
"Damn dragon, stop mimicking human speech—you're not worthy—"
"May Grand Master Arundolyn arrive soon—"
"May Lord Barbatos appear—"
At this moment, their only hope was Arundolyn and the Anemo Archon.
They set aside their bows and, shouting to draw the dragon's attention, spurred their horses after Rostam and the beast. But even all their combined strength was less than a tenth of Durin's. If Durin wished, it could simply swoop down, crush them underfoot, and slaughter them one by one. Even Rostam could only struggle before death.
Yet strangely, Durin's intent was not to kill. It wanted to play with them. It wanted to sing for them.
Seeing the knights racing frantically, Durin flew with all its might, as if competing in a race. It tried to spread its "blessing" upon the land, upon the knights, just as Rhinedottir had taught it.
And so the knights galloped across the fields, while Durin pursued from above. Sometimes they played hide‑and‑seek among the trees; Durin would simply beat its wings, summoning gales that uprooted whole groves.
Whenever Durin nearly caught a knight, it would shower him with its "blessing," not harming him with its claws or fangs, but playing with him—then moving on to chase another.
Durin was overjoyed. Finally, someone was willing to play with it. And their voices were beautiful—like the songs it had heard on the snowy mountain, filled with freedom.
It opened its great maw and tried to mimic the songs it had once heard.
"Let me see the blue sky, let me see the green earth, let me see the birds flying free—"
"Free god of wind—"
That was the song Durin had learned on the mountain, carried by the wind. In its joy, it tried to imitate the human melody. It loved playing with these knights.
But Durin was a dragon, not a bard. Its attempts came out as hoarse, garbled roars, barely recognizable. Only faint words could be heard: freedom, forest, wind god…
To the knights, those sounds were nothing but angry howls, signals of slaughter.
Hearing them, Rostam shouted orders, "Spread out! Don't cluster! Head for the forest—try to lure the dragon toward the snowy mountains! If we can stall it, keep it from reaching Mondstadt, we've won!"
But no matter how he called, no replies came. A grim thought seized him. He turned.
Behind him, warhorses were blackened by the poison, slowing, collapsing. Knights, tainted by the venom, screamed as their bodies turned black. One by one, they fell. The few still alive were rotting from the poison.
"Deputy Grand Master, we can't go on—"
"Protect Mondstadt—protect our families—"
"I—I can't hold on—Will we be remembered as heroes?"
"Don't let the dragon reach Mondstadt—"
"You must hold on, Deputy Grand Master—"
"Where is Grand Master Arundolyn? Why hasn't he come?"
"Where is Barbatos, the god we believe in? Why hasn't he shown himself?"
"Has the Anemo Archon abandoned us?"
"Is this how we die?"
"How bitter—"
One by one, the knights fell, their voices fading. They had no strength left. Their cries were no more than bitter whispers.
Rostam couldn't hear them. Their comrades couldn't hear them. And somewhere, neither could the Anemo Archon.
In their final moments, these young knights, newly sworn to the Order, felt their faith waver. Why did Barbatos not come? After years of prayers, of offerings, of seeking his protection—where was he when they needed him most?