“When Dreams Die”

Chapter Five

The truth is revealed; all is seen—when dreams die, all that is left is reality.

The elevator beeped to alert the travelers that they reached the intended floor, and Wildwing exited first, storming down the corridor after the doors open. He came to a particular cell where two bedraggled and sodden Firehawks sat, utterly bored. Once Drysith asserted his threat, Wildwing decided to keep them both continuously wet to stop either from stealing Nosedive without the boy’s consent. If Nosedive wanted to go to Flarasia and live with his mother, then that was his brother’s choice to make. Nosedive was right about that, but at the moment, none of that mattered.

“Open it,” Wildwing commanded, and Tanya rushed to the control panel. The lime green lasers disappeared a moment later, allowing the leader to stride forward. “Look, I’m going to make this simple. The Saurians have Nosedive.”

“You mean Prince Kres,” Drysith corrected.

Wildwing simply rose his gauntlet and pointed it directly toward the older drake. “Listen to me and listen well, Drysith, or else I will shoot you and force your partner to tell me the answer to my question.”

Drysith narrowed his eyes; his voice lowered dangerously. “Do not touch her.”

“Then don’t push me,” Wildwing argued. “All I need to know is how to find my brother. There has to be a way to follow the Fire to him.”

A scoffing, dry laugh sounded from the Firehawk’s beak as he leaned back against the cell’s wall. “There is no way to find the Son of Fire without his Flare Warriors. I am sorry to say, but you cannot help him.”

Flare Warrior seemed to pique everyone’s attention, and Canard rushed to his best friend’s side. “What’s a Flare Warrior?”

“I do not see why you need to know but very well.” Drysith took a deep breath. “Flare Warriors are two most important people to the goddess or in the case of Kres, the Son of Fire. It is the two people in life the goddess or her son cannot live without. They are chosen by the Son and the Fire when loyalty has been proven and love sequestered—by both parties. The love and loyalty must be mutual. The Fire and the Son must be willing to give their lives for the Flare Warriors, and the Flare Warriors must be willing in return.”

“A symbiotic relationship,” Tanya muttered.

Drysith nodded. “Yes. When a Flare Warrior is chosen, a part of the Fire and/or the Son’s soul is actually given to the Flare Warrior, so that he or she cannot be killed unless the Son and/or the Fire is. Vice versa. Therefore, the Son and/or the Fire cannot die unless the Flare Warriors are also killed. It is a way to protect the Fire and the Son.

“In the case of Fire, however, who is immortal, her guards live a full, normal lifetime, and when they die of old age, then they are replaced.”

Duke tried to keep a straight face and failed horribly. “Flare Warriors don’t happen to—oh, I don’t know—receive a taint when they are chosen, do they?”

Drysith nodded and rolled up his arm’s sleeve to reveal a blue fire droplet crossed by an icicle. “Yes, we do. Even those who harm the Son and/or the Fire—Flare Squelchers, they are called—also receive a taint, but it is slightly different. The purpose of them is different, too. Their lives help to keep the Fire and/or Son alive, for if Fire is ever taken from the Fire and/or Son, the squelchers’ lives are first taken in the place of the Fire and/or Son, thus sustaining their lives.

“But as I said, there is no reason you need to know.”

“And how would you find the Fire if she was in danger?” Wildwing pressed, relief threatening to shake his voice. Only by the grace of the Stars did it remain firm. “How do we find my brother?”

“As I said, it doesn’t matter, but if you must…” He grabbed Sparx’s sleeve and rolled it up. To Wildwing’s surprise, she did not have a taint. “The Flare Warriors must call upon the Fire within them, especially the Fire has been planted by the taint and the Son. It would lead them to their charge.”

“But what if the Flare Warriors were both not Firehawks?” Mallory interjected.

Drysith met her glare, then gasped, looking up at both Wildwing and Canard. “No…it isn’t possible—You can’t be…”

Together, Wildwing and Canard rolled up their sleeves to reveal their taints to Drysith. The warrior in his own right struggled to his feet and tried not to fall flat on his face with the amount of water running off his body. A wet finger brushed over both the mallards’ glowing, blue taints, and he closed his eyes as if interpreting what they meant. Opening them once more, Drysith stared at them, grave, unrelenting, and very frightened.

“According to Flarren, one boy—a Damien—has died, which means that the Saurians have actually been able to drain the boy of Fire. We must get to him immediately.”

“We got that already,” Tanya complained, her hands upon her hips. “But we have to find him first.”

“Only one before has had Ice Drakes as his guardians, and he—” Drysith held his breath before Sparx gasped, pressing a hand over her beak.

“No, Drysith. It cannot be… We can’t let it be. Flarren will never survive.”

“What happened?” Wildwing urged, and when neither Firehawk answered, Grin interceded solemnly, “The Son of Fire died.”

Wildwing’s heart failed and curled his hands into fists. “I don’t care what has happened, only what will, and I will not allow my brother to die. So, Drysith, Sparx, pull yourself together because I’m going to save my brother, and I need your help.”

Drysith stared at Wildwing for a moment, as if seeing the Ice Drake for the first time. His eyes softened. His beak dropped with a nod, and he felt to one knee, like he had in front of Nosedive less than a day before. “Our help you have, King Raen, for it is through your sacrifice we are even here today.”

King Raen, Kres, Ice Drakes…it was too much for Wildwing to handle, but he needn’t fear. Drysith once more rose to feet and yelled, “We will need water! Lots of water!”

*^*^*

Kres perked up as he heard feet approaching, but he didn’t move when Raen came to sit next him on the bank of the lava river. “How was your talk with Mother?”

A prolonged sigh sounded from Raen’s beak, and he never turned to Kres’s searching eyes. “The Goddess has ordered her army to march along side Isylaca’s to combat the Saurians.”

“They will still outnumber us.”

“But at least we will have a fighting chance, and this way, we will not be waiting for them to invade.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence passed before Kres looked back his brother, the older drake never meeting his eyes. “So, what can I do to help?”

Raen’s eyes closed, and he looked in so much pain. What was wrong with his brother?

“Kres…I think it’s better if you stayed here.”

Oh. That’s what. “Is that what Mother and you were fighting about?”

“You heard?” Raen sputtered.

“The whole kingdom practically heard, but no, I didn’t hear any words, if that’s what you meant. Just the muffled voices.”

His brother’s temporary excitement faded once more, and that unfathomable sadness lingered in his eyes. “Look, kiddo, as much I want you by my side, I’d be selfish putting you in that danger. Here, you’ll be safe in the warmth and with your mother—away from the battle.”

“So that’s it?” Kres’s voice stained. “You just rush off into battle and leave me here to wait to see if you’re dead or alive?”

“It’s not what I want but yes.” He averted his eyes in shame. “That is it.”

Kres growled and looked away, too, fuming. “But you are coming back, right? Aren’t you?”

“Would there be a point?” Raen seemed to plead, causing Kres to whirl about.

“What do you mean, ‘Would there be a point?’ Hello!” He pointed down at himself. “Point! Point!”

“Kres, the war may take months if not years. By the time I return, you’ll probably already be assimilated, and how am I supposed to survive here?” He motioned to the sweat dripping down his face and saturating his tunic. “I can barely stay conscious as it is. This isn’t like Isylaca where I can bundle you up in a thousand levels of clothes.”

“Then I’ll go back with you, and—”

“And who says I want you to?”

Kres blinked, blindsided. He heard that wrong. He had to have heard that wrong.

“The world is changing, little brother. Once the war is over and hopefully we’re victorious, then what? I will still have to go back and face the Council of Nobles, and what will I tell them? That I put my baby brother ahead of the needs of the kingdom?”

Raen had put him above Isylaca. “But—”

“But,” Raen agreed with a rigid nod, “if you stay here, then I can tell the council that you died giving your life in the trade, and the Saurians attacked us anyway. Then, my reasoning will even be proven, and they cannot find a reason to hang me for treason.”

“But what about the generals?” Kres found himself blurting. “Won’t they say you risked your entire army to save me?”

Raen scoffed, “I’m the king. They will say what I tell them to say. That is the order of things, little brother.”

“Then explain to me the order of this!” Kres shouted, no longer able to contain the hurt that seared his soul. “Explain to me how just on the way here you told me you feared losing me, and now you’re practically rejoicing in forcing me to stay here?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Raen corrected calmly, his beak hardly moving, his eyes focused still on the city. “I’m tell you how it must be. You have a duty here, and I have a duty in Isylaca. There is no common ground.”

“Then what about your love for me and mine for you?” Tears spilled from his eyes and coursed his cheeks before he could force them back. Was he losing his brother? ”Where is that calculated into your brilliant thinking?”

Raen closed his eyes for one moment, took a sharp inhale of air, then revealed, “Who said there was ever any love, Kres?”

No…Kres grabbed the sides of his head and ducked to hide his tearstained face, but the pain searing of the bond he’d depended upon, cherished, reveled in his entire life was too great. And the truth finally revealed—dirty, hurtful, and bloody. “You used me, you traitorous bastard! All that time, you manipulated me better than our father! You thought you could use me to rule all Flarasia if you got close to me, pretended to love me and give a shit, and when it came down to it, you just wanted the kingdom for yourself. That’s why you wanted me—to manipulate my mother into giving you her forces, so she wouldn’t have any. Is that it?”

“I have your mother’s forces, Kres. No, that was not my plan.” Raen’s voice held no emotion.

“Then what was it?” The little brother gasped, then clenched his teeth in rage. “It was my mother, wasn’t it? Now that you know my mother’s immortal and I will never rule over Flarasia, that means you can never ask me to hand over Flarasia to you!”

Raen didn’t even have the decency to look at him, and Kres struck out, dispelling his anger and hurt and fear. Never flinching, the king of Isylaca accepted the blow full force, even though it burned with blue fire with an intensity Kres never directed before. The punch no doubt hurt the king, who clutched the seared cheek and groaned upon the ground, but Kres didn’t care as he stormed off, tears plummeting from his chin.

No…that was his problem. He did care, but he wouldn’t any longer. Neither would he give Raen the satisfaction of looking back nor listen to the king’s sobs, for if he would have, he would have heard the demoralized and demented howls that could only resonated from one who had lost a child.

*^*^*

“Come again?” Canard said, one eyebrow furled.

Wildwing, too, hadn’t liked the explanation of just what would happen, but under the circumstances, they had no choice. Throughout most of his life, the older brother carried the fear of one day losing his brother to the Firehawks. When the Saurians came, the fear grew anew. Now that his brother endured unknown tortures and possibly even death, Wildwing refused to stand by and allow Nosedive to be taken from him.

Never again.

“It should be fine,” Sparx offered with a wide smile and a pat of Canard’s shoulder. “As long as Kres is still alive, then his Fire will bleed through you, telling you where he is. If not—well, he can’t be dead, or else you’d be dead. So! It should be okay but just in case—”

Wildwing glanced over his shoulder to see Grin, Mallory, Duke, and Tanya all holding buckets of water. Wonderful.

Taking a huge sigh, the older brother reached out to Canard, while the tan mallard extended his arms. They clasped he each other by the forearms, holding onto in fear for Nosedive and waited for Drysith’s hand to engulf in blue fire. Then, a hand he pressed upon each taint.

In a roar of fire, Wildwing felt no pain, just a rush of heat as the blue flame engulfed both he and Canard. The enchanting music that plagued his brother’s childhood, taunting him, attempting to make contact, now swirled about he and Canard, and from the blue flames formed the Fire Mistress. Her worried face concerned Wildwing—frightened him—but he kept calm and focused.

He had to find his brother.

Exposed before her like Nosedive had been, her flame embraced them with desire, licking their feathers and roaming their bodies to discover their true identities. While they might be called Wildwing and Canard now, they were truly King Raen and Guardian Calder—the Flare Warriors of the Son of the Fire.

The Fire Mistress came before them and whispered, “I am sorry for the pain I caused you. Please, find my son. Please…” Then, with a kiss upon each’s brow, the flame dissipated but not before leaving each of them with a uniform similar to Drysith’s and Sparx’s, black with orange flames up the side of his breaches, black calf-high boots, the orange sleeves on their tunics, and the sword hanging from their belts.

Wildwing’s eyes snapped open, and he whirled toward the team. “We have to get to the Aerowing. I know where Kres is.”

In between Wildwing’s command and the ream reacting, Drake One chose that moment to blare, though no one jumped this time. Apparently, the last few days of craziness had finally accustomed the team to weird.

Duke flipped up his comm. unit when Wildwing failed to do so. The Fire Mistress—no, Wildwing knew now, Goddess Flarasia, Fire herself—seemingly took both his and Canard’s.

“A disturbance at Lotsa Oil.”

“First Orbital Industries and now an oil company,” Mallory groaned. “What are they up to?”

“We’ll find out shortly,” Wildwing promised. “Tanya, Grin, Mallory—take the Migrator. Duke, you’ll—”

“No.”

Wildwing turned half-way about to see Drysith. “No?”

“He’s right,” Sparx interjected. “Mallory and Duke must come with us. They are a part of this, as are the others, but they particularly served as Fire Warriors to Flarren. They should be a part of this.”

Mallory let out a scoffing laugh. “What? You can’t be serious—Ah!” She jumped back from Sparx’s flaming hand that grabbed hers, but surprisingly, the military commando’s hand was unscathed. “But…how?”

Drysith shrugged and unsheathed his sword. “I do not know, and I do not presume to know how the Goddess thinks. I simply follow her directions, but if you are here, then you are for a reason, Mallory.”

Every moment they sat and debated was another moment wasted, and perhaps, another moment Nosedive—Kres—was to death.

“Fine, fine! Tanya, you and Grin head to the lab. Don’t get over your heads, though. Whatever Dragaunus is trying to steal, it has to be constructed at the Raptor. That’s where we’re headed.”

“Uh, Wildwing?” Duke asked suddenly, stopping the whole group from moving. “Perhaps now would be a good time to tell us just what the hell is going on here!”

*^*^*

Kres simply sat in his mother’s study. Like Raen’s back home, it was richly decorated, though with black, shimmering ash counters and walls, elaborate orange accents on the couches, and blues streamed here and there. He barely noticed, though, as he held his head up by his bent elbow on the windowsill, simply staring out into the city.

He wiped the tears that had formed his eyes and looked away. Raen had left almost a day prior, and still, he couldn’t even fathom the hurt tearing through his being. How could Raen have said such a thing, felt as such? Raen loved him; he knew it. He’d done so much for Kres; that couldn’t have been done for nothing more than a wanton desire of Flarasia. He wouldn’t have held and rocked the boy at night when the castle became too cold, and they needed the fire to warm Kres and keep him alive. Raen wouldn’t have worn such a heavy cloak for no other reason to protect him, for it hampered the king in battle. His brother wouldn’t had always been there to save him from his father’s drunken outrage or…or…It didn’t make sense. All that was for power?

“Emberling, you have been sat there too many times,” his mother consoled, leaning her elbows upon his back and using her soft fingers to play with his hair. “Come away from the window and talk to me. There is still so much I want to know.”

“We spoke for hours yesterday, and the day before…” He dropped his elbow and focused upon the windowsill. “Mother, what I don’t understand is how Raen could say that. I know he doesn’t feel that way. I just…do.”

Her breath tasseled his hair when she exhaled, and she whirled him from the windowsill, catching her hand upon something on the rock. Her hissing caught her attention—and the blue blood that dropped to the floor.

Blue blood—Goddess, his mother actually bled blue?

“Just a scratch,” she said before putting her blue-bloodied finger to her beak. Then, she crouched down before him and took his cheeks in her dainty hands with a gentle smile. “Honey, listen to me. We’re different from those Ice Drakes, from Raen and the Frostfeather House. You maybe a part of them, but you aren’t one of them. You are my little emberling, the Son of Fire, a Firehawk. We are people of peace, not war, and all the Ice Drakes want is more. They already took you. Don’t let them keep you.”

Kissing him upon the forehead and then touching the bottom of his beak, she smiled gently and left him alone.

Kres slumped once more, then turned back to the windowsill. For the first time, he saw the crimson left upon it. Huh. He hadn’t seen that before, but then again, he had heard shattered glass during his mother and brother’s fight…

He looked back at where his mother left, then down at the drops of blue blood on the floor. The blood on the windowsill wasn’t his mother’s.

It was Raen’s.

What would Raen had been so mad about to break a glass?

Kres started to breath deeply, anger and fear and disbelief mixing within him. He launched out his seat and hurried out into the hallway.

A hand snatched his elbow. “Wait, my prince.”

Kres began to struggle, but before he could, a second hand grabbed his left arm—and he realized the grip—his brother’s most loyal guards.

“Narys, Rynce? W—What are you doing here?”

The two guards looked down the hallways before ushering the prince back into his mother’s study and shutting the door behind them quietly. They physically lifted the prince over the back of the spine of the couch before planting him on its cushions. Hastily situating themselves before the prince, they explained, “The king ordered us to stay and protect you, and thus we shall.”

“But that makes no sense,” Kres stated flatly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the spine of the couch. “Raen told me pointblank he wanted nothing to do with me other than to take over my mother’s kingdom, which he can’t do now.”

Narys—or Rynce? They weren’t twins, but he didn’t know who was who—leaned forward. “Forgive me, my prince.” Then, he slapped the boy up the side of his head. “What is wrong with you? Raen only said those things because he had to. The Goddess forced him to.”

“What? Oh, come on—”

A second slap. “We do not have much time before your mother once more comes looking for you. Just so you know, he did not order us to bring back to him, for he loves you too much to ever want to usurp your happiness. However, he did not want to leave you without any guards for your safety.”

“Why we are interfering is simply because you have hurt, and thus, as your protectors, we must stop someone from hurting you,” Rynce said shortly. “Your mother refused to give Raen her army unless he told you he didn’t love you.”

Kres rubbed his forehead and felt an ache weighing down upon his head. “Okay, let’s say I believe you, though I must be crazy. Why didn’t Raen just tell me what Mother said to him?”

“Because the deal was to stop you from ever leaving Flarasia,” one of the guards divulged, “and the only way to do that was to stop you from wanting to see Raen. Hence, she had to stop you from loving Raen, and to do that, you had to think Raen didn’t love you.”

Nyrse motioned with his hands as he spoke. “But you must understand. Raen thought he was doing it for your own good. The Saurians will undoubtedly attack Flarasia if they are not repelled by us, which Isylaca couldn’t do without the help of Flarasia.”

“So by getting my mother’s army, Raen can stop the Saurians from taking over Isylaca and then coming into Flarasia, where they would once more torture me.”

“Right.”

“Yes.”

Kres was right. His head did hurt, but he knew one thing. He couldn’t sit there and do nothing while his brother believed himself hated and heading into battle.

Thus, when entered her study a little over an hour with a knock on the door and an angelic, “Kres?” all she found it empty.

*^*^*
With a few interruptions from Drysith and Sparx, Wildwing spoke until his tongue bled dry, and once he finished, he pressed his back against the crimson wall of the Raptor’s corridor and glanced left and right down the one perpendicular.

Duke was, of course, the first one to ask, “Okay, so let me get this straight. We’re here to rescue a son of a goddess?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Canard agreed with a shrug.

Mallory smacked herself in the forehead. “As if our lives couldn’t get anymore weird—and Nosedive?”

Wildwing shrugged. “Who else do you know who’s as special as my little brother?”

Mallory met Duke’s gaze, and they really couldn’t object. Wildwing was right.

The older brother motioned for the others to stay, then followed the blue mist left for him. As soon as he arrived safely across the corridor, he gestured, and the others came. Canard’s eyes ricocheted to the blue mist as well, and they reached a doorway in which the mists disappeared within a few minutes. The doors refused to automatically open, so without the patience to let Duke open it, Wildwing blasted it open—and cringed.

Seared to a blackened ash mass was a rather large lizard, at least seven feet tall with an oversized head and crimson-scaled feet. No other features were even distinguishable.

Dragaunus.

“Apparently, when you have the power of the son of a goddess, you don’t take orders very well,” Duke commented.

Sparx snickered, but one look from Drysith sentenced her to silence.

“Be careful, team,” Wildwing advised, moving about the dead overlord. “Wraith doesn’t seem the type to give any mercy, so be ready for him to try to kill.”

“Because that is so much different from what the Saurians usually try to do to us.”

Wildwing decided to ignore Mallory’s comment and opened the next door—only to be met with hunter drones all pointing their lasers at the team. Before them stood Siege, a demonic smirk upon his malicious face.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Flare Warriors, huh? We’ve been waiting for you.”

*^*^*

Raen sat firmly upon his horse, peering from the base of the mountains at the long plains ahead of him, which led to the Saurian compound. If he squinted, he could just see it.

A consoling cupped his and squeezed tightly, granting little comfort, however. He turned to Tasha, who now wore a cloak over her purple gown.

She smiled gently at him. “It will alright, your grace. We will win the battle before us and stop the Saurian conquest of our people.”

“But what about everything else?”

Tasha glanced behind her to see the long rows of soldiers, both Ice Drakes and Firehawks. “Kres will know; he must. He cannot be foolish enough to believe what you said to him.”

“Even if he doesn’t,” Calder said from Raen’s opposite side, “you made a sacrifice, your grace. You did the hardest thing any brother or parent could do to save the ones you love. There is no shame in that.”

“No honor, either, Calder.” Then, the king reached over impulsively to grab hold of his sword and unsheathe it. Handing it to Calder, Raen declared, “When this over, I want you to succeed me.”

Calder’s eyes went wide, and the hold upon Raen’s hand slackened.

“Y—Your grace?”

“R—Raen? P-Please…Don’t…” Tasha stammered.

He shhhed her gently with a hand upon her cheek and turned once more to Calder. “My brother said something about you, Calder, which I will not repeat, but he told me about one specific characteristic that I admire. Even though you knew you were doing wrong, you were doing it for the right reasons. I have always tried my best to do what was right for the right reasons, and many times, I find myself unable to do anything. If I would have never listened to the council…tried to still rule…Kres would still be at my side. Now, I will do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons.” Raen felt Tasha’s hand touch his, but his free one still curled to a fist. “Victory or loss, I am either dead at the end of this battle, or I will kill each and every one of the nobles for the lost of my brother. Either way, I will not be fit to rule, and I wish you and Lady Tasha to take over in my stead. Can I trust you to do so?”

Calder seemed to debate for only a moment before riding about Raen to hand the sword to Tasha. At first, she refused, but then Calder pushed. “My apologizes, your grace, but I will be with you if or when you die or kill.”

The sword clunked to the rocky ground, and Tasha shrugged. “I guess it is official. Isylaca will have to hold elections for the first time. After all, when that’s all over, we’ll have to save Kres. Any mother will want what is best for her son, not this. Never this mental agony.”

Raen leaned over to Tasha and kissed her, heatedly, passionately. Though he knew for a long time she felt this way about him, until this moment, he never shared the feeling. But she learned long ago, he knew, that the way to get to him was through his brother, his son in some ways, and no doubt, she had succeeded.

When he finished, he turned to Calder and bowed to the guardian who forever looked over his brother. “Kres told me what you did, and I can never truly repay you or thank you properly.”

Calder blinked, then averted his eyes with shame. “What I committed was high treason, your grace. I should have been hung years ago.”

“I appointed you long ago to watch over my brother, no matter what. I meant from all evils—including my father.”

Meeting Calder’s guilt-ridden eyes, Raen nodded once, and the guardian’s face eased. He returned the nod.

Then, for the last time, king, lady, and guardian marched together into the field of battle to become nothing less than equals.

*^*^*

Why Saurians embraced world domination and wanton violence, Tanya thanked the Stars she didn’t know. If she did, then perhaps she would have reached the same level of insanity, which she never wanted. Years ago, that actually might have been a possibility. She cared for virtually no one but her family and her machines, and with unbelievable high IQ…but things turned out differently. Thanks the Stars.

Watching intently, Tanya decided she and Grin could take the Chameleon. After all, he was all alone in the office with not even a hunter drone to help him. He grumbled under his breath as he put together the machine, something akin to an explosion. Why would the Saurians want to explode an oil—

Oh! Oh!

“The Fire, Grin!” Tanya practically shrieked. “They want to explode the oil to make more Fire!”

“If they have stolen Fire from our little friend,” Grin interrupted, “then they wish to steal more in order to conquer the world.”

Tanya powered her omnitool and focused it upon the machine—only for Grin’s massive hand to cover her weapon.

“You cannot. If it explodes, it will ignite the oil, taking half of Anaheim. We must disable it.”

“I agree with Nosedive,” Tanya grumbled as she mounted her Duckcycle. “We should move to San Diego.”

*^*^*^

At one time, Wildwing would have be nervous, even screamed for others to take cover, but with the hunter drones and Siege blocking his way to his brother, the older brother and Flare Warrior only fumed.

“Well, I hate to be late for my own party,” he spat and raised the ice shield knew instinctively would be on his arm, just like before. The hunter drones opened fire, but many of their shots just ricocheted back into their units, rending them defective.

Behind him, pucks fired passed and tore apart more of the hunter drones, allowing Wildwing the pleasure of taking some of his frustration out on Siege. He ducked the blaster shot, then with a kick disarmed the lizard. When Siege whirled, Wildwing jumped over his table, then brought his own blaster to Siege’s stomach and depressed the triggered.
Unlike a puck launcher, which usually just left a bruise, fire burned from the edge, whirling about Siege and consuming the Saurian until there was nothing more of him than there was Dagaunus.

Wildwing stared down at the barrel, then back at Siege. He hated killing, and he never made an excuse for it. Apparently, Drysith wasn’t the same way. The older drake slapped Wildwing on the shoulder, then motioned toward his taint.

“You must do what you must to protect the Son of Fire. He is your charge, and you are his. The lizard threatened the boy, and thus you were threatened. Do not mourn his lost, for if we do not hurry, you might be mourning your brother’s as well.”

Wildwing blinked, unnerved at the words that Drysith spoke, but realizing, for the first time, the older drake called Kres his brother.

Hearing the words and listening to the mean, Wildwing nodded and turned to see Mallory disabling the last of the hunter drones and Canard already following the blue mist. This time, though, the door came rather easily, and when it opened, Wildwing didn’t cringe or gasp. He simply froze.

Nosedive, drenched in his own blood, was hung up like a piñata and already had the stuffing beat out of him, leaving nothing more than a maimed and mangled body. Blue fire shown in patterned open wounds, where it appeared Wraith had torn open Nosedive’s skin, while the boy’s blue fire outline, which once was thick about his body, now seemed to be nothing more than a thin line of dying embers.

Wildwing whirled. “Duke, get him down! Now!”

The former thief complied swiftly, drawing his blade from his shoulder and slicing through the bonds swiftly. Nosedive plummeted, but Wildwing caught him with only a minor grunt, then dropped to the ground to cradle his brother. He nuzzled the boy’s head, hoping Nosedive could feel him, then began to futilely wipe the boy to get rid of the horrid sight of the bloody mass. He only spread the crimson onto his black suit, and thankfully, Nosedive had touched two people in his life.

Canard pulled off his tunic and draped it across the boy’s chest to press down and stop the bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” Wildwing murmured over and over, holding his brother close and nuzzling his bloodied crown every so often. “I’m so sorry. I promise. I’m going to get you out of here and safe.”

“We will,” Canard affirmed, putting a hand upon the Son of Fire’s shoulder.

Smiling slightly, Wildwing nodded, then pushed to his feet to stand—only to feel a sudden drawing on his body and watch as Canard fell back onto his knees, a bluish glow ever so slowly draining from his body.

“Canard?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Mallory asked, bending down to grab Canard’s arm and help to haul the Flare Warrior to his feet.

Wildwing shook off the weakness starting to plague him and held his brother tightly to his chest. “It’s Wraith. He must using Kres’s Fire, and every time he does, he draws more from Kres’s soul and in association, those who are connected to him, including Canard and me.”

Drysith drew his sword and blaster. “We must hurry then. If this Wraith you speak of drains too much of your brother’s Fire, then he will destroy your brother and you along with him. Flarren will not survive, either, and then…”

They would all be killed.

*^*^*

Raen ducked the slash by the Saurian, kicked out with his foot to distance himself, then swung with his sword. If decapitating the lizard wasn’t enough, he fired his blaster just to make sure, then moved onto the next tent, while Calder and Tasha finished off this batch of Saurian royalty before following.

If there was one thing Raen knew, it was how to strategize. He split his army into four units, and each section attacked at the same time and headed straight for the middle. From Calder’s information, that was where Lord Raath was located, and Raen wanted to make sure he made it there first. He wanted to deal with the evil who threatened his brother, who made him harm is only living family.

Horrid shrieks sounded, and Tasha, Calder, and he exchanged bewildered expressions. They ran through the fighters in the tent, many who had not been prepared, then headed into the corridor to see Fire engulf tent after tent.

The Firehawks weren’t warriors, Raen discovered; they were slaughters.

At the moment, with the heat of battle, the pain of losing his brother, and the fear of the enslavement of his kingdom, Raen decided not to care and lunged forth into another tent—only to feel a fist connect with his face and send him sprawling backwards into the corridor.

“Raen!” Calder yelled, all pretenses of royalty gone, as he bent to help his friend stand. “Are you all right?”

Tasha checked his face, where blood began to seep down his chin, but Raen shook off her grip.

“Found Raath…I think,” he growled as he reclaimed his sword, though his blaster landed helpless a few feet to the left.

Sure enough, as they rose to their feet, a monolith Saurian parted the tent’s flaps, crimson with a horn-like head and rippling muscles. His amber eyes glowed, the exact way of his brother’s had blue. In Raath’s, he saw a perverted sense of love and glory; misery and pain used as a way to judge. They focused on Raen as the king wiped the blood from his beak and lifted his sword with the promise of bloodshed.

“Raath, as King of Isylaca, I find you guilty of invasion without premise and the torture and attempted murder of a member of the royal family, which is punishably by death.”

The Saurian lord let out a hefty, braying laugh from the depths of his malevolent soul. “Do you honest believe you have a chance at winning, your grace? You are nothing more than a weakling, a child playing war. Surrender now, and I might decide to leave one spec of ice for you to relish.”

“And that is your mistake, Raath, for you see, I no longer fear you or your forces.”

“And why is that, child?”

Raen heaved his sword off the ground and lunged at Raath. “Because I no longer have anything to lose.”

*^*^*

Kres grabbed onto his stomach and only stayed upon his horse by the grace of the Stars. Rynce and Narys were by his side at a moment’s notice, helping to steady him. However, nothing would if what he thought was happening was truly occurring.

He unconsciously knew his forehead burned with the mark of the Firehawks, and crimpling pain seized control over his muscles.

“We must hurry,” he was able to mutter to the guards. “Raen is dying.”

*^*^*

The throne room door opened, and the sound of the Goddess Flarasia overwhelmed Wildwing, Canard, and Drysith. Unlike the last time the older brother heard it, it was sad, a melancholy perversion of what had been her beautiful beckon—all because of Wraith.

The elderly lizard knelt in the middle of the room, blue flares of fire lifting from his body to crash back into the aura before repeating the wave. Wildwing placed his brother down at the opening and brushed back his hair before whirling. He lifted his blaster, but he doubted it would do any good. If the blasters came from Fire, then what effect would they have on the Son of Fire’s flares?

None, apparently, for Wraith’s fire absorbed the blaze, but the disturbance was enough for the elderly mage to realize their presences.

“Ah, so if it isn’t the king and his brother’s guardian here? Finally, I have waited patiently but no more.”

Wildwing hardly had time to put up his shield before a blast of blue slammed into his chest. The force lived his body off the ground and flung him effortlessly against the wall, forcing the air from his lungs. As he slid to the floor, Drysith and Sparx attacked, their swords burning with orange fire as they leapt.

Wildwing opened his squinted eyes to see Wraith give a tolerant glare, and blue fire consumed his ancient staff. He whirled, jumped, and parried with the ease of one sixty years his younger, and even when Mallory shot a puck boa at him, the mage spread his arms out until a wave of blue fire rippled through the room, knocking Mallory and Duke off of their legs.

Sparx then brought her sword down upon Wraith’s staff, and orange and blue fires and wills fought. Unfortunately for Sparx, the blue Fire, directly from the Goddess Flarasia herself, overcame the orange of a mortal. It crept along the Firehawk’s sword, and when it reached her pale hands, it tore up her arm and engulfed her. A strangled scream bleated from her throat, and she dropped the sword immediately and pulled back, her hands upon her face as she continued to shrieked in pain.

“Sparx!” Drysith shrilled, forgoing his battle to race to her side.

However, as he turned his back on Wraith, the Saurian snarled, “Oh, no one escapes the Fire!” and threw a blast of blue fire at the drake. It connected with his back, flinging him effortlessly and hard into the wall. He crumpled to the floor a moment later, unconscious.

“Why are you doing this, Wraith?” Wildwing argued as he drew his own sword and rushed forward.

“Yeah, why are you draining the kid’s Fire, huh? And why kill Dragaunus?” Canard added.

Together, they moved gracefully in the fight, as if they had fought together forever. The leader sent concerned glances toward Sparx, which fueled his own anger. If he could detach from the fight and tend to her, he would have; however, at the moment, it took both of Flare Warriors of the Son of Fire to even distract Wraith.

“You have a fool, Raen, and you always have been.” The lizard parried an attack of the sword with his staff, then turned and ducked, so Wildwing and Canard hit each other’s blades. The temporary surprise halted their movements, and an bony hand grabbed each’s wrists. Suddenly, Wildwing felt overly weak, so much so that his hand refused to even hold his sword. It clanked to the floor, followed by Canard’s, and he looked up at Wraith’s malicious face as his own blue flare thickened.

“It isn’t your brother’s Fire I want.” His shit-eating grew in malevolence as Wildwing’s legs no longer had the strength to keep him on his feet. Against Wraith’s hold he tugged, but it was no use. Wraith’s hold, elderly and soft, still kept him trapped without any reprieve as embers of fire slowly drained from his glowing taint.

The Saurian’s eyes, though, showed what he truly wanted, what he had been denied of for almost a millennium.

“The Power of Flarasia,” Wildwing murmured.

Wraith’s smirk demonized. “Yes, the power of a goddess—to retrieve what I’ve lost, Raen, just like you wanted to do all those centuries ago.”

*^*^*

Raen breathed heavily, a hand upon his torn and bleeding stomach, his sword pointed into the ground holding him somewhat erect. He heaved in ragged breaths through his open beak to once more regain his strength, but nothing he could do would stop the depleting sensation or the blue embers that disappeared from both his and Calder’s taints.

“You cannot win, petulant child,” Raath announced, seemingly unhurt while he could hardly breathe; Calder stood not far from him, bleeding from the shoulder and leg; and crimson rushed from a wound on Tasha’s face while she struggled to find the strength to simply hold her sword.

“I have your Fire within my hands, the Flare Warriors of the Son of Fire, and soon, I’ll have the Son, himself, here.” Raath stalked forward, forcing Raen to tug his sword from the now soft Isylaca ground, which the Firehawks helped to warm. “Face it, your grace. I have you and your kingdom. Your forces cannot defeat mine, and when they are through, I will take Flarasia and her people.”

How could Raath had—? As Raath swiped, Raen ducked and kicked out, knocking the Saurian overlord back a few paces.

“Calder, Tasha, search the tent! Find the mage draining us!”

Calder’s face contorted with his surprise, but he left swiftly. Tasha, however, seemed more hesitant. “Will you be—”

“I’ll be fine! Go!” he lied. After all, he fought Lord Raath, the bane his life since the Saurians came into Isylaca almost sixteen years earlier.

“Tell me—grr!—something, Raath!” Raen demanded, catching the overlord’s claws with his sword. “Why attack us? What did we do that was so horrible that you needed to destroy all drakes—Ice and Fire alike?”

Raath whirled his other hand, tearing through Raen’s unprotected back when the prince turned to swipe his elbow. “You truly do not know, do you?”

Agony—nothing less than that—raced through Raen’s muscles and bled out of his maimed flesh, but the swipe could have reached his heart if not for the heavy cloak upon his shoulders. Thankfully, it absorbed some of the claws and stopped their true length from reaching him.

“It was a little under twenty year ago your people killed one of our children.” Raath grabbed the cape, and Raen detached it from his body to save himself from suffocation. “He was a helpless, innocent boy, and your people slaughtered him for trespassing—a small violation.”

Rolling upon the ground—and hissing—the king distanced himself from the overlord. “What?”

Raath stopped his attack for a moment, and for the first time, the two royals faced each in rationale diplomacy. “My mage’s first and only son—stolen simply for crossing the border of our nations. How can you call that just?”

“I don’t,” Raen explained through his huffing. When he finally regained his breath, he raised his voice to speak over the explosions, the Fire, and the screams. “I never condone undo punishment, and I try to run my kingdom fairly. That doesn’t mean I don’t make mistakes, but my grace…I wasn’t king at that time.”

“Yes, I am aware. It was your father. We, like you, have always attempted to be peaceful, but when it happened, when I saw the evil your people were capable of, I realized that I could not wait for you to take over my land, especially when my mage noticed what Friesen did to the Firehawks, too.”

“I don’t understand, your grace.”

“The Son of Fire, he is the product of the rape of Flarasia by your father for nothing short of power over the Firehawks. How could you expect me to wait for that to happen to my kingdom, my own daughter?”

Raen, first born of Friesen, King of Isylaca, looked down at his own sword, tainted with the blood of innocents. The Saurians had done the wrong thing for the right reasons—invading to stop injustice and pain that could happen to their people. It was the same reason Raen left Kres with his mother, the same reason Calder almost killed his brother and actually did kill King Friesen—to stop the king from hurting his own son—the same reason why Raen now stood before Raath upon the battle field.

To save those they loved.

But it was wrong—all wrong.

This all happened because of the Ice Drakes, because of his people—because of his father.

Raen stepped forward and lifted his sword to his face, then dropped it to Raath’s feet. “Since you are here, then both of our people are guilty of atrocities, my lord, but I am not my father’s son. I do not uphold the same principles he did. You have nothing to fear from me or my people, as I feel we have nothing to fear from you. My brother has returned to his mother, and the Firehawks have joined us in attempting to repeal your invasion. An alliance shall be forged, so what happened to your mage’s son and to Goddess Flarasia will never occur again.”

He put out his hand.

Raath met the hand with suspicion, but when his eyes met those of Raen, determined, stern, and ever just, the Saurian clasped it.

“Never again, your grace.”

“Never again, my lord.”

And a blast of blue fire blast through Raath’s chest.

Raen stumbled backwards, carnage splashing upon his body and painting him crimson. Frantic, he wiped to get the macabre substance off of him, to free him of its disgusting smell, feel—everything!

“NO!”

Raising his head, Raen saw a decrepit mage standing over the blown-out overlord, his legs straddling the chest—where it used to be only—only a hole quickly filling with blood. About the mage’s body glowed a vibrant blue fire, glowing more intensely than his own right now, almost more powerful than Kres’s. Crimson seeped from the mage’s own wounds, sword slashes, fingernail scratches, and tan and peach feathers.

No.

Tasha and Calder.

The mage raised his hand; crimson dripped from the fingernails. “If Friesen does not have to pay for what he did to my son, then you shall, but this war will not be over. Not until Friesen’s sins are atoned.”

“My father harmed many, mage, and what has been taken from you cannot be returned.”

“But it can!” The mage’s hands shook as he came forward, causing Raen to back step at his fiercely burning hand. “The power of a goddess—It can bring him back, change the natural order of things! And you—you are in the way, Flare Warrior, and thus, you shall die.”

Then, insanely, he threw a blast of blue fire, which Raen narrowly ducked. The king quickly rolled upon the ground and snatched his sword from Raath’s feet, then whirled. Swiping, he met Wraith’s staff, which glowed ominously with the power given to Calder and him by his brother—somehow.

Raen let go first when he felt a weakness weigh down upon him and stumbled out of the near vicinity of the mage.

“Yes, ah, that is it.” The mage wafted his hand before him, swirling the blue embers about his fingers before they seeped into the flames about his body. “Power. Sweet power.”

The king felt his knees buckle, weakness making his legs stiff and heavy, but he couldn’t give in. While he still had power, he needed to act, needed to fight—

For his kingdom.

For Calder.

For Tasha.

For his brother.

Kres.

Thus, lifting his swords, Raen dove at the mage with all his remaining strength. “YE-AHHHH!”

His sword came down, but his slash only met the mage’s staff—and then a flare of blue fire flung him back and slamming into the ground. Laying motionless from the crippling pain in his back, Raen lightly touched his chest. Nothing, not even a scratch or the blown-out hole he’d expected to receive like Raath had.

“Hmm…the power has no harming effects upon you…?” the mage inquired, coming to stand over the trembling king. “Then, perhaps, I need to use the Dark Saurian Power.”

With the Saurian muttering in a language the king failed to recognize, Raen swiped his foot, catching the mage’s legs and bringing him down. The precious moments of reprieve allowed Raen to whirl and once more seize the hilt of his sword and turn to bury it in the mage’s chest cavity—

—only for a rippling orange glow of fire to tear through his chest.

Pain—overwhelming, excruciating, agony—met with a macabre scream and then nothing.

….

“Raen, come back to me. Please…”

Warmth, an overwhelming sensation of heat and fire burned within his very chest, allowing the darkness that descended upon him to slowly dissipate. In a distance, he still heard the horrific cacophony of war, but it sounded so far away, like he wasn’t part of it.

Bloodcurdling screams—he knew them well, but from where, he couldn’t quite place.

Wet—droplets upon his cheeks—his first feeling before the grass ruffled under his hand and the caked blood crackled upon his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Raen. Forgive me…come back…please…”

And air was forced through his lungs. His vibrant eyes snapped opened, and breath burst from his beak, forcing him to gasp and his back to arch. Then, his frame slammed to the ground once more, and his heart beat—thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Hope and warmth urged him to open his eyes and see the loving smile of the angelic figure looking down upon him—a boy, hardly sixteen, his eyes mortal but burning with a Fire not known to those. His blonde hair had been freed from its plaits and whirled freely about his face, while the crimson smudged his cheeks. Tears trickled unrestricted from his eyes and plunged from his beak to fall onto Raen’s cheek, helping to bring him back from the dead.

“You cannot die without me, Raen, as I cannot die without you,” the boy promised, and the blue fire about his body weakened until it was only a thin line. Then, his eyes dulled, no longer full of Fire, and he muttered weakly, “I’m so sorry…”

“No!” Raen hurried to his knees and caught his brother’s body before it fell. “No—Stars, Kres! No!”

“He is not dead—not yet.”

Raen whirled about to see Calder standing before him, his eyes focused upon the fight before him—Raen’s most loyal guards squaring off with the mage. It wasn’t long before they were killed, leaving Raen and Calder alone to fight them.

“But you—”

“Died—or so I thought. Apparently your brother gave us his Fire—his life—so we could defeat the bastard, but…”

It wouldn’t be enough for long. By the thin line of Fire about Calder’s frame and his own, Raen knew the spirit of one of them could not sustain all three, and eventually, Kres’s soul would run out of Fire.

His anger burning the fire about his body more vibrantly, Raen looked down at his dying brother and wanted nothing more to hold him until they were all gone, but the mage wouldn’t allow it. And Raen wouldn’t waste Kres’s last selfish act.

Then, with tears coursing his cheeks, washing away his brother’s own tears, Raen planted a tender kiss upon his little brother’s brow, right where the mark of the Firehawks burned, and whispered, “I love you, little brother.”

He only hoped Kres heard him.

Snatching his bloodied and slashed cloak off the field, he laid his brother down upon it, then reclaimed his sword and watched as the mage did away with the last of his loyal guards. They had finally given him their ultimate sacrifice, their deaths allowing him a last few precious moments with his little brother. Now, so would the mage give his.

With a battle cry, Calder and Raen attacked the mage, slashing at him with their swords, taking blood when they could, but still, the mage stole their energy, stole Kres’s Fire. There seemed to be no one way to stop him—

—until the blue fire about their bodies glowed stronger than ever before, and through them, so did the mage’s.

Raen swiveled back to see a golden-haired female kneeling in her son’s blood, her hands flat against Kres’s chest and fueling his Fire with her.

After all, she was Fire.

Flarasia.

“Finish him! Now!”

What the mage had wanted, completely and utterly, Flarasia gave him. Pure, unadulterated power of the a goddess, something a mortal could not handle.

The mage’s fighting increased in intensity, but the blasts coming from his fingers could hardly be directed with so much power. His strength allowed him to slap Raen across the face and break bones, but somehow, the Flare Warrior couldn’t feel it. He whirled with the momentum and elbowed Wraith in the stomach, while Canard did the same to the back of the Saurian’s head. Together, as they split and slashed down with their swords, breaking the mage’s staff, then whirled.

Swords buried deep within the mage’s gut, and slowly, fire embers, blue and liquidly, seeped from his stomach.

“No!” the mage screamed, as the blue embers dripped upon Raen’s sword, but still the power within him swelled, the flares about his body swirling violently. “This isn’t over! I will come back stronger —stronger than I did before!”

“You already tried that,” Calder spat, putting a hand over his eyes to block out the intense light. “I killed you before and now look what happened.”

The mage shook his head fruitfully as the embers caught fire upon his flesh, and his body, itself, began to burn. “You are not free, Raen. I will remember you, and one day, I will take my revenge—upon you, upon your people, upon the damned Son of Fire!”

He fell to his knees, his hands uncrossing from his chest, causing a supernova blast. A rush of heat washed over him, then gave out all together, only leaving the cool wind of the Isylaca plains. The tents, the Saurians were gone, leaving only the Firehawks and Ice Drakes.

As the forces realized the war was over, they cheered and threw down their swords, but the damage had already been done, the price too great.

Raen looked toward the goddess, his eyes falling to the forsaken figure of his brother, and rushed to his side. He touched his brother’s arm, but its warmth, despite the Fire surrounding his body, never heated his skin. It couldn’t.

Kres was dead.

*^*^*

“Ah, finally—the power of Flarasia—you are here.”

“No, yet!” A sword tore through Wraith’s side, and his hands immediately dropped Wildwing’s and Canard’s wrists.

“Come on!” Mallory ushered, grabbing Wildwing’s arm and helping him to stand. Duke did the same to Canard, taking them out of the way of Wraith.

The mage whirled turn Drysith, who tugged his sword from Wraith’s side, his eyes burning with the blue Fire given to him by the goddess. “You will pay for what you have done to my daughter.”

Wildwing’s eyes widened. Sparx was—?

“She was in my way, and she has not been gifted by the goddess as you have been.” His eyebrow arched, and he glanced about the room. “Ah, who here is the other Flare Warrior for Flarasia? Perhaps he or she needs to be extinguished.”

“No, Wraith, not this time.” Even weak, Wildwing pushed off of Mallory and met Wraith’s eyes evenly. “You stole my brother once. I will not allow you to do that again or steal anyone else’s loved one. This time, it ends, Wraith.”

“So, you wish to be the first.” Wraith lunged, firing a flare at Mallory to knock her out of the way and then pounced upon Wildwing, forcing him to the ground.

Wildwing felt the heat in his chest again as it connected, felt the hand pressing down hard to burn through his tunic and feathers to reach his heart, yet the Fire refused. It burned about Wildwing, actually conformed his frame, but it never burned him.

“Don’t you get it, Wraith?” Wildwing snarled, maneuvering his right hand down his pant leg to grab hold of his blaster. “While you may have stolen the Fire, it isn’t yours, and that Fire chose me to protect it because it cannot bear to lose you. You think it would kill me?”

Lifting up the blaster, he pointed it directly into Wraith’s stomach and depressed—but the fire only seeped into the mage’s aura. “Face it, Raen. This time, you have lost, and your brother’s power—the goddess’s power—is finally mine. Surrender, and I will make merciful for Kres.”

“I can’t say the same for you.”

A flare of blue Fire surged over Wraith’s back, too intense for even the mage to handle, and he shrieked, falling to the floor.

Wildwing looked past the trembling mage to see the boy. His brother’s unnaturally blue eyes burned with flames as he stared unrelenting at Wraith, his flames returned to him, though the wounds in his skin still glowed.

As did the mark of the Firehawks upon his brow.

Kres was alive.

Thank the Stars, the Goddess, anyone!

Behind Kres, Sparx slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, her body seemingly unmarred by Wraith’s attack. She seemed dazed, slightly befuddled, but not at all hurt.

“You have no comprehension, Wraith. My mother’s power can’t harm those who have her gift. They are her people, chosen by her to protect, and you cannot ever change that, just like you cannot change your son’s death. I’m sorry, but that is the natural order of things.”

“Order! How can you spout about order?” Wraith lunged forward with his staff. “You are here, and I am here—again!”

“That is because you stole the power given to me by my mother!” Flipping, Nosedive reclaimed his brother’s sword and met Wraith’s attack forthwith. “She saturated your body with it in attempts to destroy you, and instead, you used some of it to reach immortality, which is given to everyone touched by Mother’s Fire.”

“So that I may finally have my revenge!”

“And what has it gotten you?” Nosedive disarmed Wraith with a downward slash, then kicked the mage in the stomach, forcing him down to the ground. “A life without your son. You could have been with him now, but instead, you chose this path. You sent the Saurians into Dimensional Limbo, where they went insane—how you wanted them the first time, so they would take over Isylaca. Then they came back later at the time of Drake DuCaine, and yet that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

“Who are you to judge?” Wraith swirled his fingers, and suddenly, the blue midst once more drained from Nosedive’s aura. “Your brother wished to bring you back—”

“—and my mother stopped him—my own mother.” Nosedive dropped the sword and slowly staggered back before crumbling to the floor. “You know how hard it is to lose a child, and yet, both my brother and mother were forced to endure the time apart.”

“Why?” Wraith asked, pushing to his feet and sauntering over to trembling teen. He stood over the boy, stealing his Fire. “Why would she do such a thing, if she is a goddess?”

*^*^*
“What!”

The goddess, herself, was in sobs, hunched over her son’s body, her glow still feeding his to feed Raen’s and Calder’s. “It isn’t natural. I could bring him back, but it would not be right. He would know it was wrong and be uncomfortable. For his sake and his alone, I cannot bring him back.”

“B—But what does that matter if he’s comfort? He’d be alive!” Calder fought. “The rest doesn’t matter!”

“The rest always matters, boy. It will always matter, for such is life. What is the sense of bringing him back for my own selfish want since you will join him shortly?” She petted her son’s cold face, her own tears saturating it. “I am sorry, your grace, my son’s guardian, but the only reason you live now is because I feed you my Fire through my son, or else you would died along with him. His energy, depleted from your fight with Wraith, would not have supported all three of you.”

She looked at Raen, then touched his cheek. “I was selfish, and now, I must be endure this absence ever longer. It was wrong of me to hurt you and my son so, but cannot you see why? Can you at least understand?”

“I understand, Goddess, more than you know.” Raen met her gaze, then looked down at his brother. “More than you know, and I truly feel sorry for your lost.”

“Our lost,” and collasping in sobs over her son, his body engulfed in blue flames. “But we will meet again….one day…”

Raen watched, a hand upon her shoulder until the last ember was gone—and then so was he and Calder.

*^*^*

“My mother,” Kres began, using the remaining strength he had to lunge forward and grab Wraith’s staff, “knew the difference between what was right and wrong. She had the power to do wrong, but she chose the path of the righteous. It was what would bring her the least pain, as it would have brought you.”

Kres closed his eyes and felt the concentration of energy, the draw upon him, then simply tugged back. The wave of power brought him to his knees, though Wraith fought to remain standing. His mouth lingered open in a silent gasp as the power he’d been given a millennium ago fled his body, leaving him bereft.

As the mage collapsed to the ground, a hand upon his chest, Kres cupped his hands, where a blue ball of Fire formed, at first soft in color and richness but quickly darkening as he weaved it.

“Don’t you see, Wraith? You cannot win by fighting for the wrong reasons. Revenge only taints the soul. You were once a good mage; of that, I have no doubt. Yet, you allowed evil to consume you, and what was left was is you have today—nothing. However, even if you were to be forgiven, you attacked innocents. I cannot let that pass.”

Kres felt a hand upon his shoulder, feeding me Fire and strength. He glanced up to see his brother’s warm face before a hand cupped his cheek. Raen had come to his side as he had done for his brother a millennium before. “I might not have the strength your mother had, but perhaps I may be able to help.”

“Me, too,” Calder added, kneeling down to Kres’s side and taking the boy’s hand. “After all, we have your Fire.”

Ducsque came to his side, followed by Mallory. “Might as well join in if what you said is true, kid,” he smirked, a hand upon Mallory’s shoulder as she touched Kres. Finally, Drysith came to his side, and a wash of heat—Fire, pure but scathed by the pain of lost—flooded his being.

The glow of Fire upon Kres’s body increased its thickness, and this time, he was the one with the power, and he needed to use it—for the right reasons with the right actions.

“By the same token, however, you have a millennium of agony—both physical and mental, and I must be just, as only a goddess can be. Therefore, as Kres, Son of Fire, Fire Heir of Isylaca and First Heir to Flarasia, and Brother to Raen, King of Isylaca, I condemn you to death—now and for eternity.”

Wraith’s eyes glistened, if for a moment, with relief, and he ducked his head. “You are absolving me?”

“No, I do have the power to do that,” Kres admitted, releasing the ball. “Only your son and the Stars can.”

The ball touched Wraith upon the chest, and in a blinding light, it consumed the Saurian whole, eating his body utterly, effortlessly. When the blue fire faded, nothing remained of Wraith other than his staff.

Kres sighed and instinctively reached for his brother’s hand upon his shoulder, before plummeting into darkness.

*^*^*

“Kres!” Raen lunged forward, wrapping his arms about his brother’s body tightly. At the sight of the weak, barely lit blue flames surrounding his body, the older brother whirled about, “We need to find him Fire! Now!”

Upon the viewer screen, an explosion burst from the oil field.

“I said Fire,” Raen grumbled, “I didn’t mean inferno.”

To Be Continued…