“And what does my spider bring me today?” Kallis’ voice was smooth from where he sat on his throne, chin resting delicately on his fingers. His cloak spilled out around his feet like a pool of blood, his legs kicked out and crossed neatly over it.
Severina stood only a foot away, her shadow-black eyes unnerving even in the bright light of the throne room. “Only good news, my king.” From the cloak that wrapped around her frame she stretched out a pale hand, a small folded paper folded neatly in her palm. She took a step toward the throne, stretching it out for Kallis to take. “Word from our eastern ally.” She fell back once it was out of her fingers, her arm disappearing into the folds of her cloak again.
“How is their little rebellion going, I wonder?” Kallis’ voice was a bare murmur as he flicked his gaze over the pages, reading quickly. His smirk grew as he finished it, handing it wordlessly to the man seated on his left. Just as wordlessly, Zervos took it.
“They pretend, still, to be our friend,” Severina noted. “But this suits us well.”
Kallis grinned. “Indeed it does,” he agreed. “Zervos’ men are still prepared on the border. They won’t pass unless we wish them to, and I don’t think I do. Zervos?”
“They have waited this long,” Zervos agreed, hand and paper falling to his lap. “They will realize the mistake of not attacking sooner, when we were still ignorant.”
“Shall I keep my ear trained on their kingdom?” Severina stepped forward to take the paper from Zervos, eyes trained on Kallis. “Or are we through with their games?”
Kallis tapped his fingers against his throne, thoughtful. “Pay attention to them,” he decided. “Just in case they surprise me.” They won’t, he didn’t add, but the other two knew him well enough to think it themselves. “I’m keen to see where this goes.”
Severina dipped her head in understanding and was gone. In her absence, the hall was filled with silence. Then:
“We’ll have to kill them.”
“I know.”
“They were your allies, once.”
“I know.”
Kallis turned to Zervos, face unreadable. “Would you kill them?” he asked.
Zervos’ gaze was just as flat. He didn’t hesitate. “For our kingdom, I would. Without pause.”
If Kallis was satisfied with this answer, he didn’t show it. He rose from the throne, silent but for the swish of his cloak. “Send a letter to your kinsman,” he said over his shoulder. “They must be ready for war.”
Zervos’ words were too silent to be carried to Kallis’ back. “My people are always ready for war.”
In retrospect, Bran should have known to expect it. In times of crisis, trust was a precious thing. It left you too quickly, and you were left standing in the shadows in an attempt at finding any light. But Bran was surrounded by light. Did that make finding the truth in it more challenging?
As one, the guards and Bran made their way through the halls. Blood and bodies made for new decorations on the white marble and porcelain. Bran tried not to look at too many faces; their would be time for grieving when this was through.
The palace was large, and the trek though it was only lengthened by the need for stealth and silence. They crept around corners, peered through windows, and fought when they ran into the enemy. But it was only one or two in the halls, and they were easy to be rid of. Where was the rest of this army? They had managed to kill most of the royal family so quickly, and yet now it was too silent.
“Highness,” the spiral around his neck murmured, whispering into his ear. “Do not reply, but I fear the usurpers are among us.”
Bran stiffened. He flicked his ear in acknowledgement, eyes glancing between the small group of guards he now crept through the castle with.
“I think it is why we do not find any now. They will lead you somewhere quiet and kill you.” The spiral slithered around his neck until she was looking behind them. “Only two of our number I trust.”
Bran’s voice was barely a whisper. “And you?” “I have only ever defended you, Highness.” She did not move from her spot, but he felt her fidget. “I will attack them,” she promised. “I am fast - it is why I was chosen to be on your person.”
Not risking too much movement, Bran only shook his head slightly. They turned a corridor, one of the guards looking at him and ushering him ahead. Bran waited until they were going down a straight corridor again before speaking. “I will not risk your life so easily. We all must live if we are to keep the castle.”
The spiral hissed. “The castle is forfeit! You cannot hope to hold it. You must live, so that you can fight for it in the future.” Bran felt the spiral loosen from around his neck, the armor lightly scraping against each other. “Stay in your dragon form until you are certain you are safe. Your scales will give you better protection. Only when you are not being followed should you change, and stay like that so you are not recognized.”
Bran could not find the words to stop her. Was it because he knew she made sense? Still, he had to fight his body not to stop her. This sacrifice was a logical one, but it did not hurt him any less to know that she was going to get herself killed so that he may live. This was the truth of being royality.
“Take to the skies. You are faster on wings than legs. Will you run?”
Bran hesitated. And then he nodded.
“Fly safe. Glory to the crown.” The words were the normal words spoken to the royal family, but here they carried more weight. Then she was peeling off of him, quick as a whip, and launched herself at a dragon with her claws outstretched. Just like that, they took to fighting. Other than his protector, Bran couldn’t tell who was one of the usurpers and who wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. A coatl locked eyes with him and bared her teeth, and so Bran charged her with his horns before him. He impaled her against the wall and winced as her blood flecked his scales. Shaking her off, he backpedaled and then charged towards the window.
In a flurry of glass shards and blood, Bran burst through the ornate window. He fell for only a second before his wings unfurled and he caught the air, gliding away.
“After the prince! He must not surv-” The cry was caught off and Bran sent silent thanks to those who fought to defend him. To defend the castle. It would not be in vain.
The sounds of battle were quick to fade out and Bran felt his heart clench. There was no going back, he knew, but it did not stop him from hurting over abandoning the palace. He saw the forests to the right of the palace grounds and flew towards it, seeking refuge among the shadows. He would hide there until he could safely escape, and then he would find his sister and start rebui-
An imperial rose up from underneath him, flying upside down. Their claws ground their way into Bran’s underbelly, latching on and attempting to force him out of the sky. How had he been followed so quietly? And by an imperial no less?
With a roar, Bran slashed at the imperial, his thick claws gouging into their shoulder. He pulled the imperial closer to him to look at them and saw abyssal shadow eyes, dark as ink. Ah, that was how.
“Ra Osdan will carry the kingdom to glory!” the imperial snarled, seemingly unfazed by the wound Bran inflicted. “No more petty peace! We will find victory in his unending hunger!”
This unnerved Bran more than he would care to admit. He’d never heard of this ‘Ra Osdan’, and now apparently this dragon would see to take the throne. Bran matched the imperials snarl and lashed forward with his teeth. He caught the others neck and dug in, blood bursting into his mouth while his attacker roared in pain. Bran felt claws tear into his belly in reply. Stars danced across his vision, but Bran would not be bested. Aela still lived. Some were still loyal to the crown. They would get their home back one day.
Even if Bran would not be there to see it.
Bran brought his claws to the others throat, digging them in tightly while he wrapped his tail around their waist. He leaned in close to be heard over the wind as their bodies plummeted to the ground. “When Ra Osdan is killed, I will fight him in death.” With a bloodied snarl, Bran pierced further into the enemy's neck even as he felt claws slice clean through the flesh of his stomach.
As Bran died, he thought of how lucky he was to die before hitting the ground.
The prince had been married a year before his father died and he took the throne. In all that time, it is said no love fostered between him and his betrothed, and even as the prince became the king, it was with little ceremony and with only the stiff presence of his supposed beloved.
Not everyone fed into this story; some believed the young king and his consort were lovers, destined for one another since their hatching. Kallis was imperious and conniving, and Zervos was serious and firm. This was the true reason behind their formal appearances: they were simply made that way.
Regardless of either theory, the kingdom cherished their royalty. King Kallis was a firm ruler, one who saw what the people needed and knew how to get it, and the consort Zervos was a reliable rock who who do anything to defend his people. They loved their kingdom and were loved in turn.
The kingdom itself was seated in the heart of the Sunbeam Ruins, the marbled walls and towers built loftily in the windswept plains between the Hewn City and the Promenade. It was a place of knowledge and study, but it was not all within the light’s view. The dragons there were sly things, cunning and quick. It was in their nature, it was in the very crown. The dragons were clever simply because they always had been.
Perhaps, then, this was why so much mystery was within those walls. Who could best keep a secret than those intelligent enough to dodge the answer?
I wish I didn’t get really invested in my own lore for weeks and then abandon it for months. I still have so many stories to write, but maybe I’ll get them done soon. I did add more dragons to Vaeral though. Kallis and Zervos needed some new friends.
Valdis is the high priest of Promachus, and a heavy influence in its societal view of unity and helping those who cannot survive on their own. He is a proud and wise man, but behind his patient smiles and compassion for his “family” in Plague, he holds a deep-seeded hatred for dragons that bear the emerald green eyes of the Viridian Labyrinth. Rumors that circulate in the kingdom’s underbelly advise children of the Gladekeeper to not wander too far from their loved ones or the watchful eyes of the guards while visiting the capitol, lest they be swept away, never to be seen again.
TW: mentions of kidnapping, torture and slavery (I think that covers it? I’m not sure, please let me know if you think anything should be added!)
Stolen away from her family at a young age, Unknown can’t remember much about the lands where she was born. What she does remember is scorching heat, smoke filling her lungs, and chains searing into her flesh, weighing her down until she could no longer find it within herself to struggle against them.
Years passed in the darkness until the chains moved and hands pushed at her sides, forcing her to her shaky feet. She emerged from the prison which had stolen her youth and found herself… changed. Once black scales were now flickering embers and lava coursed through her veins like an infection, but it was the emblem burning brightly across her wing caused her heart to seize. The Lightweaver had forsaken her.
Her captors paraded her around Sornieth with others like her, boasting of their experiments, “As loyal as a Guardian to their Charge with twice the size and strength!” But she didn’t feel strong—in fact her bones felt charred beneath her skin, as though they would wither into dust at any moment—and she certainly felt no loyalty to those who had kept her from the light.
Contemplating making a new subgroup... I’ve already got so many though! But I was inspired by some art I saw yesterday, and I’ve already got ideas coming in for this. Hm, choices choices.
Lochan didn’t turn to face the voice, instead staring into the cosmos with an inscrutable look. He recognized the voice as his brother, the gold-dusted and wise Atlas who always seemed to know when Lochan was planning on sneaking away.
“And will you give yourself away this time?” Atlas asked, coming to stand beside his brother. “As you did last time?”
“No,” Lochan murmured, his crests twitching. Unlike the Fae whose likeness he borrowed, he did not use them to display emotion. “But I sense something out there that needs witness.”
“Something?”
Lochan hummed an affirmation. “I do not believe those mortal beings can handle it on their own.” He looked to Atlas now. “I sense a reckoning approaching, and it was not made by our hand.”
“Gahros, then.” Atlas spoke of the void-eyed god of chaos and destruction, a constant thorn in their side.
“No, this seems...beyond him. Do you not feel it?” Lochan’s eyes were wide open, unblinking. To most, he had an endless stare, but Atlas knew Lochan missed nothing with those eyes, nor with his ears. Constantly, he was taking in information.
“Not as you do, brother.”
Lochan ruffled his wings, preparing for flight. “Something is coming,” he said, with foreboding in his voice, “and we will need to prepare.” He lifted off, flying into the winking abyss in pursuit of Sornieth. Atlas watched him go, face stony. Perhaps he would begin preparing, then.
Bran was shocked, and it was this that kept him rooted in spot for longer than he would later care to admit. A better prince would have lept into action, but Bran’s kingdom was one of peace. Such violence was an atrocity on their land, and not something he was familiar with dealing with.
It was a guards cry of outrage and distress that woke Bran, and he finally started to breathe again. “Highness,” he heard the guard say, the soft tink of metal coming closer, “Away from the windows. Guards!” He felt the the strong arms of the guardian tug him back, felt the familiar cloth of the guard’s blue cape brush against his side. The sound of others rushing to the room were frantic and loud in the otherwise empty hall.
Bran refocused once he felt the guard shake him. “-to the king and queen!” The guardian was speaking to Bran in urgent tones, and the other guards were bustling around them.
“What?” Bran said, trying to piece together what the guardian had said.
“We need to take you to King Amardalis and the queen,” the guardian repeated, motioning the other guards to help. A spiral coiled itself around Bran’s neck, her unique armor sliding together to act as a barrier between the soft skin of his throat and any outside projectiles. Bran registered her protection with a blink before the other guards were bustling him forward. The hall was swarming now, and a handful formed a circle around the prince as they led him down the hall.
“My sisters!” Bran cried out, almost bringing the entire group to a halt. He felt the metal of armor pressing into his hind legs. He started to turn, but was obstructed.
“They’re being brought to the king as well,” a guard explained, Water eyes attempting to soothe him. “They’re under the protection of the guard as well.” With more insistence, he was ushered down the hall.
Bran’s mind raced. What had Orick been about to tell him? It had to have been why he was killed, and why he was so anxious. But if it was so important, then he should have woken someone, or approached the princesses. The two younger girls weren’t as responsible for the kingdom as Bran was - being the heir - or as his parents were, but they had a voice to speak with when it came to important matters. Amidst his grief over the loss of a trusted ally, he also felt a spark of anger. How had this come to happen?
They rounded the corner into the royal residential halls, but were stopped short by anxious and worried guards. Bran’s party was brought to a halt by a stout imperial with ivory eyes.
“What is it, Pierce?” the guardian leading Bran’s group said, sounding reasonably distressed.
“It’s the king and queen,” Pierce replied, eyes darting to Bran’s. “They’ve been killed.”
Bran felt a lot of things in that moment. Shock, primarily. How had things gone so bad so quickly? And anger - so, so much anger - that this had happened at all. He grabbed at the second, and let it propel him forward.
“Where are my sisters?” he demanded first, looking at all the tense faces around him. “They need to be taken somewhere safe. Alert the staff of the castle, and find out where these dragons came from.” He tugged at the spiral on his neck, but she only tightened her grip. “Find me some answers.”
“Here!” a voice called from down the hall. All heads turned to the new arrivals, a handful of guards and one of Bran’s sisters. They were all covered in blood, and there was a frantic look in his sister’s eyes.
“Aela?” he asked, rushing over. The guards moved to let him through. “Are you okay? Where’s Thedra?”
“They’re in the castle,” one of the guards answered for her. He looked at Bran, then the other guards. “A whole slew of them. They’re slaughtering there way through the halls. We- We were not fast enough, and there wasn’t enough of us. Thedra was killed quickly, and we barely escaped with a handful of dragons.”
Bran tugged the silent Aela over to him, and pointed his tail at the guards. “I want most of you to scour the castle, help out anyone you can. Evacuate the staff, keep our dragons alive.”
“What about you?” a thin-faced pearlcatcher asked. He looked up at Bran with wide eyes. “You’re the heir. You cannot die here, Bran.”
“A few must stay with you,” another guard replied, pointing at a few of the stronger dragons. “We’ll find a way out of the castle together.”
“No,” Bran replied. “I must stay here. They cannot take the palace.” He drew Aela back and she peered up at him with wide eyes. “Will you go with the guards, Aela? They can get you out of here safely.”
Aela hesitated, looking unblinkingly up at Bran. Then she nodded once and brushed her snout against Bran’s cheek. “Stay safe,” she whispered. She pulled back. “Please.”
Bran nodded, and then watched her go. He stood there a moment, and then signalled to his dragons. “Let’s go.”
When he grew old enough to learn the difference between the deities, Dyn felt greatly betrayed. Everything he loved was arcane, the magic flowed through his veins; so why was he born under the Windsinger’s skies?
His best friend, Malachi, sweet as he is, likes to tease him about it relentlessly. Every day he comes up with another reason—each more insane than the last—for why the Windsinger stole little baby Dyn from the Arcanist. He’s even made up a constellation for it. Dyn thinks it’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him.
On the first day, Bran recalls having slept in late. That didn’t normally happen often for him, and he feels that this was perhaps key in everything that happened after. Bran slept in, and no one came to wake him, and he woke to the sun in his face in a way that felt unfamiliar. He was usually out of bed by the time the warmth hit his pillows, but now it is what woke him. The sunlight was like a caress against his skin, and it was almost enough to convince him to pursue this newfound laziness, but he knew his duties.
He was in no rush as he pulled himself from bed, and Bran stretched each of his long legs as the sheets twisted and fell from his sides. He gave a mighty yawn, the rows of his teeth glinting in the sunlight, just as his wings did when he stretched them. When they caught the light, they almost looked like the stained glass that decorated the palace halls.
“Are you awake at last, Bran?” The voice that spoke outside his door was familiar, and it was accompanied by a knock. His close friend and trusted servant, Adjis, waited just outside the door.
Bran smiled with good humor. “At last,” he replied in echo, shuffling his wings back into place. “Why didn’t you wake me?” He turned to greet his friend as the other imperial moved into the room, holding the door open behind him with his haunches. Where Bran was light and shimmering genes, Adjis was muted browns and sleek scales. He looked as fine as an otter, and just as slippery too. His face was thinner than Bran’s, and always looked pensive. Perhaps in another life he’d have been a thief, or a rogue.
“It seems the castle is experiencing a lazy day today,” Adjis replied. “Not even the king and queen have left their rooms yet, although your sisters have already begun wandering through the halls.” Adjis looked amused at this last bit of news as he watched Bran dress in the fine silks and jewelry that sang with his nobility.
Bran barked out a laugh, using his tail to place his prince’s circlet around his ears and antlers. “Then it’s a wonder indeed that the castle rests. I’d of expected those two to have shook the very foundation already.”
Adjis matched Bran’s smile, and then nodded beyond the door. “Best hurry. I think Orick is getting impatient waiting around to deliver his news.”
“His news?”
“Yes, he’s apparently returned from a mission granted to him by the queen. I hardly noticed he was missing, he’s always so silent.” Adjis moved to leave the room, speaking over his shoulder, “He’s waiting in the grand conference room for you, and his feathers are all ruffled so you’d best meet him. Before your sisters take it upon themselves. Lightweaver knows we don’t need their - ah - wisdom.”
Bran laughed in lieu of a farewell, the door closing soundlessly behind Adjis. He was quick to finish getting dressed, and he slipped out of the door only moments later. The hall was decidedly quieter than normal, with only a few guards roaming the stone corridors. They all dipped their heads respectfully as Bran passed, but continued about their duties. No reason to stop unless Bran spoke to them, and he seldom did that these days.
The doors to the conference room were slightly ajar, and Bran brushed them fully open with a wing before stepping in. Orick was already there, the pearlcatcher’s paws clasped together in impatience. He stepped forward quickly as Bran entered, his brows knotting together.
“Finally,” he breathed, sounding relieved. “I have urgent news from Ortland. You-” Glass shattered from the window, and the dull thud of an arrow piercing flesh reverberated in the room. Orick’s eyes widened in shock before he collapsed at Bran’s feet, blood seeping into the grout of the freshly polished tile. He didn’t get back up. He’d been assassinated.
“No.” Alphonse wasn’t taking this well “NO.” While Devi was detailing the situation, he’d started crying, but the smaller dragon sat there through the entire explanation until he was given the chance to speak. Well, yell, really. Al hadn’t done much yet than scream ‘no’ at her a few times, sobbing hysterically. And Devi was pretty sure he’d stopped listening about halfway through.
SPECTRES AND OTHER ODDITIES
Part 2: The Coming Years
Part 1
Draga had been right.
Draga usually was, in most things, and in this case she felt she really hit the truth on the head. She didn’t just bump into the strange Skydancer once, or twice, or even three times. Time and time again the pair wandered into the same clearing, or stood by the same river, or got caught in the same cave hiding from a storm. Each time, the Skydancer would snort and glare at her, as if she has somehow reigned in the strings of destiny to bring them together. Maybe she had.
It was several weeks before she learned the Skydancer’s name, and before she was able to offer her own. She’d found him fighting a wolf, ghostlike as they were, and aided him. She’d asked him his name then, in the spur of the moment, when they’d been heaving for air as the beast lay dying.
“Dusan,” he said, leveling his dark eyes with her.
“Draga,” she replied.
And that was all it took. They began to travel together, working as a team. Draga was a good tracker, she found things with ease. And Dusan, quick with a blade and even more deadly with his intelligence, only aided in their ease of travel.
They didn’t talk much about the state of being alive, and Draga didn’t press it. She had a feeling Dusan knew, now. She had a feeling he couldn’t have denied it for long.
Despite themselves, they stayed within the darkness of the woods. They weren’t interested in the water lapping at their northern and southern borders, or the veiny land to the west. The east was too bright, and they could never travel there.
It was sometime in their travels that they met a third like them. A Spiral, as electric as the Stormcatcher’s domain, and with deep sockets of pitch black. His face was a skull, his coiled body decorated with unnatural blue bones. Like Dusan, he carried with him eternal light: lanterns, floating in obsidian smoke, that tinted the air an eerie blue.
The Spiral had been found coiled around a tree, his luminescent body mimicing the soft blue glow of the surrounding mushrooms. Perhaps he hoped to be mistaken as one, that eyes would flit over him and think he was nothing more than the fungus that grew alongside the trunks of trees.
Draga spotted him first, and blinked up at him. She didn’t have Dusan’s weariness, and sought to meet this dragon. Another like her, who had been left to fade away in this ethereal state?
The Spiral, upon noticing the attention of Draga, was none too pleased. He slithered down the trunk and moved to run, but Dusan cut him off, sword drawn.
“No harm done to the miss,” the Spiral hissed, looking up at Dusan. He flew with his head low to the ground, inches above the soil. A snake, in the air.
"I wasn’t too worried about that.” Dusan tapped the blade against the bone of the Spiral’s head. “What are you?”
“Dragon,” the Spiral hissed, sounding perplexed. “Like yourself.”
“Yes,” Draga said. “I think you’re quite like us. How long have you been dead?”
Now the Spiral coiled up, rising up into a ball of annoyance. “Not dead!” he hissed. “Merely resting! Enjoying time away from...home!”
“And your body,” Dusan said dryly, sheathing his sword.
“Yes!” the Spiral said, nodding his head. “Rest from body is all.” He coiled tighter, then loosened up. He glanced between the two, head tilted slightly. “You...are dead?”
Dusan didn’t answer, so Draga did. “Yes. For some time now. I am Draga, this is my traveling companion, Dusan.”
The Spiral dipped his head. “Nilam,” he replied. “Scout for the Pack.” He said ‘pack’ with such reverence, and one could imagine his eyes shining, if he had them.
“Taking a break from them, too?” Dusan asked. He looked unimpressed with the whole affair.
Nilam squirmed. “For now,” he replied, sounding uncertain.
“You can travel with us,” Draga offered, face even. She had no intention of continuously picking up strays, but she had questions. It was best to gather any who could answer them, and she’d happily start with those who shared her condition. And Nilam, without much hesitation, happily agreed.
SPECTRES AND OTHER ODDITIES
Part 1: A Beginning, A Ghost, A Lantern in the Dark
She remembers living, once. It’s a strange thing to think of that now, when the memories are so far removed from her that she can barely grasp at them. It feels like clutching silt in a fast-moving river, where the water carries it away, away.
She thinks she was alive, and it’s this that awakens her. Because she was living once, and she is not living now, and yet she wakes up with the ground beneath her and the feel of the wind against her feathers.
Slowly, Draga sits up.
She’s somewhere new. But is it new? She knows that the feel of grass under her feet is familiar to her, but she cannot tell if it’s this grass, if it was in these woods. Here, the sun doesn’t penetrate the treetops. She is in a world of shadow and darkness, and yet it feels altogether welcoming.
When Draga looks around, it’s to find that these woods are not all dark. She sees, at first, a mushroom. It glows joyously, a stubborn blue light in the blanket of night. Beside it grows another, and another, and when Draga finally peers between the trees she sees that these mushrooms make up a constellation beneath the treetops, an ever-glowing spattering of light to guide a dragon along.
Carefully, Draga picks her way through these woods. There is a light, small and naked in the darkness, that she follows and chases. It draws away from her with each step she takes, but knows she will catch it eventually. The source belongs to her, she can tell.
The woods seem endless around her, a maze with no end or beginning, nor walls. Just the way forward, the way back, and the whispers that tempt you off the linear line you’ve paved. Draga sometimes peers into the woods and sees those creatures looking right back, but she is no longer part of those living things. They cannot touch her.
Draga catches up with the light nearly a mile from where she’d started. Here, the woods had begun to peter out. Now ruins, greying and cracked, appear before her. It is within one barely standing shelter that she meets the source of the light.
The light belonged to a dragon. Or, rather, to the lanterns that swayed ominously at his side. It was those lanterns that lit the area now, and lit the Skydancer’s face as he shoved Draga against the stone of the wall and pressed his blade to her throat. Immediately, Draga bared her teeth.
“Why are you following me?” the Skydancer asked, feathered crest flattening to his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Draga ignored the pain of her wings being pressed against the rough stone wall. “Yes,” she snapped back, answering honestly. She frowned at the Skydancer, unmoving, until he slowly released her.
“Leave me alone, Wildclaw. I have a place to be.” He sheathed his sword back into its hilt and gave Draga one last decisive frown before turning to make his way once more through the ruins.
Draga hesitated to follow him, but was once more drawn forward. She shoved herself off of the stone wall and after the Skydancer, using her hands to lift her over the ruined wall after him.
“Wait!” she called, scrabbling to catch up. “I think I know you!”
This caused the Skydancer to slow to a halt, and he turned to regard her with narrowed eyes. “No,” he replied, “I don’t think you do.”
Draga pursed her lips. “I think I do,” she repeated. “But I admit, I don’t know how.” She considered the only thing she did know, and wondered if she should tell him. She would, anyway. “You see, I’m dead.”
The Skydancer stared at her blankly for a moment, and then his frown deepened. “Are you trying to make a fool out of me?” he asked, voice hard.
Draga clenched her teeth together, and then forced herself to relax. “No,” she said, sounding more than a little exasperated. “I speak the truth. I don’t remember much from…before, but I do know that I’m just-” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Just a ghost.”
“That sound ridiculous.”
“Maybe so,” Draga agreed, “but there is nothing in these woods that could touch me or do me harm. Except you, apparently.”
The Skydancer looked affronted. “Are you suggesting that- that I am no longer living, either?” He looked at her imperiously, looking more offended with everything Draga said.
She hesitated. “Yes?”
Without another word, the Skydancer shook his head and continued along the ruins. Draga got the sense that he wouldn’t hesitate to use that sword again if she followed after him, so instead she watched him leave with a furrowed brow. She had the feeling that she would meet him again, and again, and as many times as it took until he recognized that their paths were always going to be alongside one another.
