The palace wall stood tall above the chaos. Smoke curled from the lower streets, thin at first, then thicker as the fighting spread. The sound below was no longer scattered. It had become a rhythm. Steel against steel. Men shouting. Horses screaming.
War had settled in. King Derion walked along the stone path with steady steps, his robe brushing against the ground behind him. At his side moved Lord William, silent and watchful, and Aturo, commander of the royal guard, whose hand never left the hilt of his sword.
They reached the edge. The wall was already lined. Archers stood shoulder to shoulder, bows drawn, arrows pulled tight against the string. Their arms trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from the strain of waiting too long. Their eyes fixed forward.
On the army below. On Robert. Derion stepped forward until he stood at the very edge. The wind lifted slightly, brushing against his face, carrying with it the scent of dust, sweat, and distant blood.
His lips curved. Robert had stopped. Right at the gate. Not advancing. Not retreating. Just sitting there, his horse still, his army behind him like a dark wave waiting to crash.
And his eyes locked on the king. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade. The noise dimmed. The movement blurred.
It was just them. Uncle and nephew. King and traitor. Derion smiled. "My dear nephew," he called out, his voice carrying easily over the distance, strong and clear. "You have crossed the line."
He paused, letting the words settle. "Now I won't be able to forgive you."
Robert did not move. Then slowly, he smiled back.
Not wide. Not loud. Just enough to show he understood exactly what this was. "I am not here to demand your forgiveness," Robert replied, his voice just as steady, just as clear. "I am here to declare judgement."
For a second, there was silence. Then, Derion laughed.
Loud, and sharp.
The kind of laughter that cut through the air and made men shift where they stood.
"Hahahahaha!"
He tilted his head slightly, looking down at Robert as though seeing him for the first time. "I never knew you had become a clown."
The laughter faded, but the amusement did not leave his face. It hardened instead. His eyes narrowed. "Very well then," he said, his voice dropping. "Since you are so eager to die by fire, i will gladly grant you your wish."
His jaw tightened. "I might as well just grant you your wish."
The air shifted. Subtle, but enough. Even the archers seemed to feel it. Derion inhaled slowly. Then spoke.
"Deke deke subreina!" The ancient words rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, deep and commanding. They seemed to sink into the air, into the stone, into the sky itself.
A call. A bond. A command.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he finished. He waited.
Below, Robert moved. Not forward. Not backward. His expression remains calm and undisturbed. He simply folded his arms across his chest.
Waiting, and watching. The seconds passed. Then stretched. The wind remained the same.
The sky unchanged. No roar. No shadow. No rush of wings tearing through the air.
Nothing. Derion's smile lingered. For a moment longer than it should have. Then it faded.
His eyes flicked upward. The sky was empty. His brows drew together slightly. "Clarion didn't answer my call?" The words slipped out, low, almost to himself.
Below, Robert's smile deepened. "What is going on, uncle?" he called out, his voice carrying a hint of something sharper now. "Have your old friend abandoned you?"
A murmur ran through the men on the wall. Small, and uneasy.
Derion's hand clenched into a fist. Then he raised his voice again.
This time, it was louder, and stronger. "Deke! Deke! Subreina!" The words rang out, heavier this time, edged with force.
He waited again. The sky remained still. The breeze did not shift. Clarion did not come.
Something flickered in Derion's eyes. Quick, and sharp. His legs trembled. Just slightly.
"What is going on with Clarion?" he muttered, his voice tight now. "He has never failed to answer me before now."
His gaze snapped back to Robert. That smile again. Calm, and certain. As if he was very sure Clarion will not answer his call.
"Uncle," Robert said, his tone almost gentle now, almost mocking in its softness. "Even your beast won't answer you now."
He tilted his head slightly. "I would advise you to surrender yourself. You death will be swift and clean."
The words hung in the air. Derion shook his head slowly. "Only in your dream."
He turned sharply. "Aturo!" he whispered. The commander stepped forward immediately. "Your Grace."
"You are in charge here," Derion said. His voice had changed again. Faster now. Tighter. "I will be back."
He did not wait for a response. He moved quickly. Faster than before. The calm was gone. Something was wrong, and he could feel it in his bones.
He could feel it now, crawling under his skin, pressing against his thoughts. Something was wrong.
He descended from the wall, his steps echoing through the stone corridors as he moved deeper into the palace. Guards stepped aside instantly. None dared speak.
The further he went, the quieter it became. Until he reached it. The entrance to Dragon Bay.
The great pit. He slowed. Just slightly. Then stepped inside. The air was different here.
Heavier, still, too still. His eyes scanned the vast space. And then, they found Clarion..The dragon lay on the ground.
Massive, still, too still.
Derion froze. For a moment, his mind refused to understand what his eyes were seeing.
Then he moved. Fast. Down the slope, his boots slipped slightly against the stone as he rushed toward the creature.
"Clarion!" His voice broke. Just a little. He reached the dragon and dropped to his knees beside it. His hand pressed against its scales.
Cold. No movement. No breath. Nothing. His chest tightened. His hand trembled as it remained on the dragon's body.
Slowly his gaze shifted. The other dragons. Two more. Lying still. Silent, and dead.
His heart shook. Something inside him cracked. He had lost his wife. He had buried that grief deep, locked it away, survived it.
But this, this was different. This was not something he could push aside. This was part of him.
Gone.
His body gave in. He collapsed fully to the ground beside Clarion. A sound tore from his throat.
Raw, and broken. He sobbed. Not quietly. Not controlled. He wailed. The sound echoed through the pit, heavy and hollow, bouncing off the stone walls and returning to him again and again.
Time blurred. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Then slowly, the sound faded. The grief twisted. Hardened. His breathing slowed.
His hands clenched against the ground. "They murdered my beloved wife." he muttered, his voice low, shaking with something darker now.
"And now." His jaw tightened. "They have murdered my dragon." He pushed himself up.
Slowly.
Unsteady for a moment. Then firm. "They have killed me." His eyes hardened.
Cold, and empty.
"But I will make sure." His grip tightened. "They all die with me." He turned. And walked. Back to the wall. Each step heavier than the last. Each step is more certain.
When he returned, the battle below had grown fiercer. Smoke rose higher. The sound of fighting had climbed into a roar.
Aturo turned as he approached. "Your Grace"
"Get the black water ready."nThe words cut through everything.
Aturo froze. His mouth fell open. "Your Grace!" he screamed. There was no hiding the shock in his voice.
He knew what that meant. Black water did not choose. It did not spare. It consumed. The city. The enemy. Even the king's own men.
Everything, and everyone.
Derion's gaze snapped to him. Sharp, final. Aturo swallowed. Then bowed quickly. "Yes, Your Grace."
He turned and hurried away, his steps uneven, almost stumbling. Derion stepped forward again. Back to the edge. Back to Robert.
His hand lifted. Pointing. Accusing. "You murdered my dragon." His voice carried, filled with something raw and burning.
He paused.
His fist tightened. "I will burn you all to ashes." His chest rose. "Dragon or no dragon."
The words had barely left his mouth. When it happened. A sudden force.
Sharp, and violent. A blade drove through his back. Straight through. Piercing his heart.
Derion jerked. His body stiffened. Blood spilled from his mouth, warm and thick, trailing down his chin.
For a moment, he did not understand. His hand twitched. His breath caught. Then slowly, he turned.
The movement was heavy. Pain exploded through him with every inch he forced his body to move.
His eyes found the one behind him. And froze. Not from the blade. Not from the pain. But from the face.
The sight hit harder than the steel buried in his chest. Something shattered in his gaze. Something deeper than flesh. And in that moment. The king broke.