“You made us worried.”

The door was closed, but Rayne and the others could still hear the muffled conversation from within the chamber.

“The rest are outside waiting in the foyer. When you told me Maya was loyal, I didn’t realize what an understatement that was. I half believed she was going to murder Rayne.”

The comment made Rayne squirm with discomfort. Though some of her peers had offered support, she still felt like everyone was condemning her. She wanted to run away.

“Why? It wasn’t her fault,” said the Highlord.

“Some don’t see it that way,” retorted the Queen. “I’m heading to the Bastion. I will demand a full inquiry into what happened. You are to remain here, in bed, confined to this chamber until I return. Am I understood?”

“There’s no need for that, Aliyeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re about as far from fine as you can be. You will not be assigned this task, nor will you be returning to that town—or any other—until I say.”

“Aliyeah—”

“The only words I wish to hear are ‘yes, my queen.’”

“If—”

“Ahem.”

“Yes, my queen,” he relented.

“Good.”

The Dragon Queen walked to the door. A guard opened it immediately. She paused in the threshold. “Lady Malnyx,” she said over her shoulder. “The Highlord is confined. Sit with him until I return.”

“Of course, my queen.” The black dragon bowed.

“And Maya—no matter what he says, neither of you are to leave this chamber.”

“Understood, my queen.”

Aliyeah nodded once. “Cassandra, no one enters except the guard. Do not allow him to leave.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Cam, you’re coming with me.”

Maya pressed her hand to Devon’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I feel like a hot coal in Algidia.”

“Since when do you visit the white dragons?” Maya snickered, but something quickly drew her attention. She sniffed the air and turned her head away from Devon toward the doorway.

“What do you want?” she hissed threateningly.

Devon, still blurry from the poison, couldn’t make out the silhouette in the doorway. He closed his eyes and reached out with his other senses. The scent of sea spray and saltwater wafted toward him.

“Rayne. Come in. Please.”

“Thank you, my lord,” her voice shook with anxiety.

Maya glowered at her, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Frost escaped her nostrils, tinged with a faint sulphuric stench.

Rayne edged into view, standing a few feet away. Her cheeks were red and puffy; her eyes bloodshot. It looked as if she had been crying only moments before.

“How are you feeling, Devon?” she asked.

“I’m good,” he croaked. “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.” He coughed. “I must confess though—I’ve never experienced a poison like this.” He paused, frowning as he tried to summon a memory that slipped through his mind. He tapped the bed. “Sit. Plenty of room.”

Rayne glanced warily at Maya.

“I’m sure. Sit. That’s an order.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She rounded the bed and sat beside him, stiff and uncomfortable.

“I know what you’re thinking. You blame yourself. Don’t. There’s nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome.”

Rayne lowered her head.

“I beg to differ, my lord. She could have died protecting you. That’s the job,” the black dragon growled.

“Darlin’, it wouldn’t have mattered who was there. I can’t rightly explain it… my head’s still scrambled. But there was more to this assassination than you realize. The result would have been the same.”

“Correction, my lord—it was an assassination. The attempt succeeded.” Maya scowled.

“That’s enough.” He scolded her sharply. Then to Rayne: “Listen to me. I do not hold you responsible. And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

Rayne knew he was trying to ease her guilt—but she also knew his opinion wasn’t the only one that mattered. The looks of disapproval from her peers told her otherwise.

“Answer me this. If you knew you could have prevented the attack by sacrificing your life for mine, would you have done it?”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “Without hesitation, my lord.”

“Harumph,” Maya snorted.

Devon clasped the bronze dragon’s hand firmly.

“We’ve been together a long time. You volunteered to join me on the Prime during my banishment—with no guarantee you’d ever return. You have always answered my summons. You’ve earned my trust.”

“I feel like I’ve lost my own,” she said quietly.

Devon trembled, a shock of pain jolting through him. “Hearing you say that wounds me worse than any blade.” He grimaced and shifted. “I’m lucky to have you. Grateful. I’m not an easy liege to look after.”

“Well, that I agree with,” Maya muttered.

“I…” Rayne’s voice broke, her swollen eyes glistening. “I’m sorry. I failed you. While you don’t hold me responsible, I do. Maya’s right.” She turned away. “You trusted me—and I failed.”

“No. You’re not listening.” Devon’s voice rose in frustration before he coughed raggedly. “Don’t give up on yourself. I’ll not give up on you. Ever.”

Rayne smiled weakly. “Thank you, Devon. You should rest. If you need me…” She squeezed his hand. “…just call.”

He winked. “I shall.”

Rayne stood and stepped quietly away. She offered a polite nod to Maya, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Devon let his head sink back into the pillow, exhausted.

Maya looked at him and grunted softly. “Stubborn idiot,” she said affectionately. She turned her attention to Rayne and the others hovering near the threshold. “You heard the queen. Only the guards are permitted to enter.”

Rayne nodded. “I’ll go. Thank you, Maya.”

“You’re lucky he’s forgiving. If it were my choice, you’d be rotting in the cells.”

Rayne flinched, but didn’t respond. She exited the chamber, her armor clanking faintly.

Maya turned back to Devon and muttered, “Trusting that one’s going to get you killed one day.”

Devon gave a weak chuckle. “Maybe. But I’d rather die trusting someone than live suspecting everyone.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Maybe. But I’m your fool.”

Maya softened slightly, sitting on the edge of the bed. She began carefully inspecting his wounds, checking the salve she had applied earlier. Devon closed his eyes again. He listened to her breathing—steady and slow, much calmer now. It comforted him more than any words.

Outside in the hall, Rayne leaned heavily against the cold stone wall. Her hands were trembling. She pressed them to her chest, struggling to steady her breathing.

She wanted to scream. To sob. To beg forgiveness, she knew would not come from everyone. She had failed her Highlord. No matter what he said, the others would not forget.

A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched, whirling around—but it was only Cassandra, the guard assigned to watch the door.

“You alright?”

Rayne nodded stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

Cassandra gave her a sympathetic look. “You did what you could. We all know it.”

Rayne wasn’t sure if that was true. She mustered a wan smile and headed down the corridor. She needed air—needed to clear her mind before she broke down completely.

Behind her, the heavy doors closed with a dull thud, sealing Devon and Maya inside.

XXXXXXX

“The Dragon Highlord was assassinated! I hold her responsible!” cried the Bronze Queen.

“The Dragon Highlord doesn’t believe it was her fault,” said Aliyeah calmly.

“The Dragon Highlord didn’t think the Sundering of Sanguinar was her fault either! Tell me—if the Highlord must keep making excuses for his escorts’ failures, what good are they?!”

The Bronze Queen’s words seared themselves into Rayne’s mind, turning her stomach. She felt something vile rise in her throat. Tears stung her eyes; her breath grew short and labored.

“What did I do?” she moaned in horror as the scenes replayed through her memory. “Oh gods! Oh, gods, please! Don’t let this be real. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I’ll take it back. I’ll do something better. Fix it. Please fix it!” She closed her eyes tightly and prayed to no particular god. “Please. Please. Please.”

The double doors of the chapel burst open with a furious gust of wind. Surreal shafts of light streamed through the stained-glass windows, bathing Rayne in a kaleidoscope of color. She swayed uneasily as the central window above the altar began to warp and undulate like a mirage.

The image of a beautiful angel slowly stepped from the glass, descending toward Rayne. The chapel grew brighter, space and time bending and distorting. Vertigo overtook her as the vision overwhelmed her senses.

The light faded. Billions of stars blossomed from the darkness and began to spiral inward toward a single point—the very origin of space and time. Faster and faster they spun, until they exploded in a flash of pure white light.

Rayne’s eyes snapped open. An old man in tattered wizard robes stood inches away, chuckling.

“Who… who are you?” she gasped.

“I am that I am. You don’t like my face? Evidently not. Maybe you’ll prefer this one…”

The old man’s form rippled, shrinking into a little boy dressed in a peasant’s clothes. Rayne stared at him, bewildered.

“Too young? Then perhaps this.”

The boy became a young man clad in the scarlet finery of Sanguinar.

Rayne caught her breath.

“Better? No. Still incomplete.”

The young man grew further, transforming into Devon, armored as the Highlord himself. But his skin turned pale, then shriveled and decomposed before her eyes. Rayne screamed and covered her face.

The figure only smiled, unfazed.

“What do you want from me?!” she cried through her tears.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m here to set you free.”

Suddenly, the doors slammed shut behind her, leaving Rayne alone. She ran to them, but they were locked. Distraught, she searched the chapel until she spotted a small window—just wide enough to squeeze through.

Clambering onto the narrow ledge high above the moat, she clutched the stone, heart pounding.

“Need some help?” came a familiar voice.

The old man was already on the ledge, waiting.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I might ask you the same question.”

“I… I’m leaving. I can’t take it anymore—”

“And what exactly is it you can’t take?”

“Everything! Being abandoned, betrayed, humiliated! I feel like I’m in a prison! I can’t stand it! I’d rather die!”

“You’ll be dead soon enough. Why rush it? Why not face the real truth—you can’t stand your own lies.”

“I… I never lied!”

“If you were true to yourself—if your faith were firm—you wouldn’t be trying to run away like this.”

“I am true! To Bahamut! To my Queen! To the Highlord! They know how much I love them! That’s all that matters to me!”

“How can you claim to love Bahamut while throwing away the greatest gift he gave you? Life is a gift, Rayne. A gift from the gods. You know what he would say if he stood here now? ‘What are you doing to me, Rayne?’”

Rayne slumped, exhausted and numb. “You’re right… I shouldn’t do this.”

Without warning, the old man shoved her. Rayne shrieked, grabbing wildly at the window frame to steady herself.

“One moment you want to die. The next you cling to life. Do you think life is a toy to be played with and discarded when it no longer pleases you?”

“No! I just— I’m so tired… and lost… I didn’t realize… I just want to be at peace.”

“Death will not give your soul peace. If you want peace, you must first forgive yourself. Only then can others forgive you. I cannot grant you peace, Rayne. But I can offer you a chance to find it. The rest is up to you. I believe in you. Do you believe in me?”

Tears streaked down Rayne’s face. “Who… who are you?”

“Do you accept the chance I offer you?”

“Yes… yes… but—”

The old man pushed her again.

Rayne screamed as she tumbled from the ledge, plunging into the moat far below.

As she sank beneath the dark waters, the clouds above twisted into an apocalyptic dance. Wind and water swallowed her. The roots and grasses of the river entwined her limbs, pulling her deeper, making her one with the earth.

And then, her world went dark.

XXXXXXX

It was near Varithne, a village too small to appear on most maps. It lay in the northern reaches of Darkon, where the terrain was rugged and the populace sparse. In daylight, the land was deceptively beautiful. Few places could rival the allure of its rolling hills, primeval forests, grassy glades, and meadows ablaze with wildflowers. The breezes were gentle, carrying with them the whispers of ancient trees and the perfume of a thousand blooms.

An old man atop a mule-drawn cart rattled along a dirt road toward town. The loose earth crunched under the wooden wheels. It had been a long, slow day at market for Aynruth. All he wanted now was the safety of his home and a hot meal. He glanced down at his hound, Maggie, who trotted beside the cart, keeping pace.

“Almost home,” he said to the dog.

Maggie perked up, sniffed the wind, and then suddenly bolted into the tall grass, barking wildly.

“Maggie, no!” Aynruth shouted.

But Maggie was already gone. Aynruth pulled the cart to a stop and stood, using the height to scan the clearing. There—something lay sprawled in the middle of the grass. A figure, cloaked, dressed like a commoner. Too plain, almost—as if someone had taken great care to strip away anything recognizable.

Aynruth scowled and grabbed the musket from the back of the cart. He shouldered it as he moved cautiously toward the body. “Whoever you are, if this is a trick, I swear to the gods I’ll kill you!” he barked.

He approached slowly, keeping his aim steady. Maggie had gone silent. She sat a few feet away from the prone figure, tail thumping the ground, wearing a look of pride—as if she had done him a great favor.

Even lying down, the creature was tall. Strongly built, with clawed feet and hands, and bronze scales that caught the sunlight in glittering patterns. A blunt snout. Frilled cheeks and ear fins. A crest of hornlike scales ran along the back of its head like ropy hair. Aynruth had never seen one before, but it reminded him of a dragon—if dragons walked on two legs.

He nudged it with the barrel of the musket. The creature stirred, exhaling faintly.

“Well. Not dead,” Aynruth grunted. He looked down at Maggie. “You think we should help it, don’t you?”

Maggie thumped her tail again.

“Alright, girl. If you say so.”

It took some effort to haul the creature onto a makeshift litter and hitch it to the cart. Aynruth muttered under his breath the whole time, but he did it. He dragged the stranger back to his cottage—well-built, sturdy, but simple. A home of substance, not wealth.

By the time they arrived, the scent of stew simmering over the hearth filled the small cabin. The guest stirred.

“Ah! You’re awake. Just in time for supper,” Aynruth said, stirring the pot.

“Whe… where am I?” The voice was gravelly, disoriented.

“I’m Aynruth. You’re in my home.”

The creature shifted, blinking in confusion.

“How… how did I get here?”

“Maggie found you out in a clearing. Had I left you there, you’d have been dead before long. What do they call you?”

The creature hesitated. His mind still foggy. “Ray… Rayne… err…”

Aynruth turned from the cook pot, handed him a bowl of stew. “Well, Reiner. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”

“Thank you,” Reiner said, accepting the bowl with a slight bow of his head. “You must possess a kind soul, to help a stranger like me.”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” Aynruth admitted, eyeing him. “But Maggie took a liking to you, and I trust her judgment. What are you, anyway? Never seen your like before.”

Reiner blinked, the question confusing him. “I… I was born a dragon.”

“Dragonborn, eh? That’s a first for me.” Aynruth chuckled. “What brings you to Varithne?”

Reiner searched his mind for an answer. Fragments swirled—voices, faces, promises. “I… I was told I need to prove my faith.”

“Ah! A holy man! Don’t see many of those ‘round here.” Aynruth laughed. “If folks can get past the horns and the scales, you might find you’re welcome enough. Always room for a healer—or someone who can scare off the bandits.”

Maggie padded over to Reiner and flopped down at his feet, resting her head on his talons.

Reiner looked down at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose… I can stay a while.”