Revaramek hurtled through the sky, wreathed in blue lightning and the acrid smell of burning vellum. He had never known such speed. Even in his deepest dive, the ground never seemed to rush as swiftly upwards as it now sped away beneath him. The wind pressed against him, battered him in ways unfamiliar even to a creature who knew the sky so well. The dragon flicked his flight membranes closed to protect his eyes, angled his head as he would during a dive to make breathing easier.

Though he hated having to tell Mirelle to let go, Revaramek was glad he’d done so. He doubted he could have kept hold of her with the weight of so much wind bearing down against him. He’d folded his wings as soon as he’d started accelerating, and now dared not open them for fear they’d break. Not that he believed he could free himself from whatever hold Asterbury had on him.

The dragon tested his limbs, stretching each and splaying his paws. He wriggled his body, lashed his tail. Everything worked and yet he could not free himself from the unseen hands holding him aloft. Not that he was sure he wanted too, with all the electricity crackling around him. Bolts of blue arched over his back, surged beneath his belly. Near-constant forked spears of indigo cut swaths through the sky on either side of him. Immense, fluttering blue-white sparks trailed in their wake.

“Asterbury!” The wind carried him Aylaryl’s voice from somewhere ahead, beyond the crackling shroud. “Be careful! Look what you’re doing!”

“I don’t care!” Asterbury’s voice sounded different. It held a strange sort of despondency lost within its furious rage.

“I know that isn’t true! Look around! You’re going to blast us into the wrong world, and then what? How will you finish your work then? What if we’re stuck there, with no way home? How will you end this?”

Wrong world?

Revaramek turned his head, wondering what Aylaryl wanted Asterbury to see. The brilliance of the near-constantly renewing bolts of lightning hurt his eyes, searing themselves into his brain. He craned his neck, careful not to put his muzzle too close to the pulsating energy. At just the right angle, what he saw nearly stopped the dragon’s heart. The sky itself tore apart, burning away like fabric, like vellum under flame. Just as swiftly, it knit itself back together again, only to be torn asunder once more. Each tear poured forth a burst of blue-white sparks, fluttering for a moment before they dissolved to nothingness. And each spark shone for a moment, a shard of mirrored glass reflecting another world.

At first, beyond the ripped veil there was only darkness. But when the shining mirror-shards and sparks erupted from the blackness, each reflected sand dunes and cracked red earth. The next lightning spear that tore open the sky brought with it fragments of a familiar swamp, puzzle pieces of black water and dead trees. Each after that brought with it something new. Flashes of story-book castles. Wooden cabins in the snow. A towering fortress carved into a mountain. A beach and blue water. Shining crystal towers all in a row, impossibly tall. A black stone street with colorful metal vehicles zipping by. A city by a lake with an island, at the edge of an endless waste.

Every time the lightning that carried them cracked anew through the sky, there was another glimpse of another world until Revaramek could take no more. He squeezed his eyes shut. His head spun, and soon, his stomach tightened, lurching inside. He balled up his forepaws, hugging them to his belly, willing himself not to retch. It didn’t work. With a gagging heave, the dragon emptied his belly all over the marsh.

Only when he had nothing left in his stomach did the dragon open his eyes again. He tried to focus on the ground to calm himself, but blue streaks and flashes of light scorched the air beneath him too. He fixed his gaze beyond them, but the earth below rushed past him in such a blur it only left him further disoriented. He feared if Asterbury suddenly released him from his power now, he’d shatter his wings as soon as he opened them and plummet to his death.

For the first time in all his life, Revaramek was afraid of flight. Was this what flying was once like for Mirelle? To be hoisted aloft not by your own wings, or by someone who would keep you safe, but by some indifferent force, afraid they’d release you to plummet at any moment? A hint of guilt born of new understanding twisted itself around his heart, squeezing tight. To think he’d laughed at the way she screamed when he first snatched her into the sky.

What would Mirelle do?

Revaramek tried to remember what his friend had done to calm herself. If he recalled correctly, she’d been staring at his forelegs. Well, he could do that too, couldn’t he? He curled his neck to stare at an outstretched forepaw. The way it trembled made him scowl. He hadn’t realized his paws were shaking. It wasn’t very dragon-like to be afraid of flying. Then again, he wasn’t sure he’d call this flying. He lifted his other forepaw, and traced a few shaking fingers across his copper-striped scutes.

He’d always been proud of his markings. Hell, Revaramek had always been proud of every part of himself. And why shouldn’t he be? He was a glorious, handsome dragon, with resplendent colors. Emerald greens and shining copper, with brilliant gold markings to his frills and tail spines. His markings were more vibrant than any other dragon he’d met across the vast marsh. Gods, he thought, he sounded like he was telling himself a damn story.

But wasn’t that what he always did when he was sad, or lonely? Whenever he felt that familiar, hollow sort of sorrow, he’d fill it with an exciting tale. He liked telling stories almost as much as he liked hearing them. So when there was no one around to weave him a tale, he’d just tell himself one. Sometimes that made life better. So maybe he wasn’t really anyone’s overlord. But why should he be some lonely dragon half-forgotten in a marsh and bound by a code of honor learned from a book, when he could be everyone’s overlord, benevolent and beloved?

Revaramek was always happier when he lost himself inside another world, even if it existed only in his head. At least it kept the loneliness at bay. He sighed. If only Aylaryl and the others understood. A dragon’s word had to mean something. A hero was only as good as his word, all the tales were very clear on that.

In his heart, when he’d signed that truce, he was not swearing himself to those knights, or to Jekk, or any one person. He was swearing himself to that whole marsh, that village and everything he once considered his land. He’d agreed to it to save his life, but he’d signed it to be a hero. To be their hero. He thought then that one day, he’d be welcome to walk among them. He’d be a heroic guardian to the marsh villages, just like in the tales. He’d be something Enora and Aylaryl could be proud of. He’d be something…his mother could be proud of.

He’d given his word.

After Aylaryl and the other surviving dragons fled, and the gryphons retreated with her, he was the only beast left in the marsh. When he could, he went to comfort Aylaryl, but he always returned. The truce forbade him from leaving the lands that were once his for too long. At least he had Enora at first, but soon enough, they banished her. And once she was gone, the other maidens stopped visiting.

And then he was alone.

At first, he visited her whenever he could. He helped Enora clear the land and build her home, got to know the gryphons better as the years passed. Revaramek gave Enora all the treasure he’d ever collected. He never told her where he’d gotten it. A little of it he’d stolen himself in his youthful attempts at conquest. A little more he’d stumbled upon his explorations of the marsh. But most of it? Most of it he’d taken from the lairs of dragons lost to the slayers. He didn’t know where they’d gotten it from, but he’d rather it went to ensuring Enora would never want for anything than refilling whatever coffers it originated in.

As years went on, he visited less often. He had given the town his word, and he could not break it. He never wanted to be away for too long in case the village needed him. What if there was a crisis while he was away, and he was not there to protect them? In time, Enora asked him to stay, and Aylaryl asked him to betray his village and help her slay its leaders.

But he had sworn himself their guardian, and he refused to break that oath.

After that, Enora took to wandering, and Aylaryl with her. She was home less often, and his visits became even less frequent. He could not follow them beyond that meadow. He knew one day that town would need him, and he dared not stray too far. The rules of the truce forbid it, but more importantly, the town needed its guardian.

So he waited. And waited. He told himself stories to ease the loneliness, all the while waiting to be called upon to be their hero.

And the years passed.

Just how many of them, he’d never realized. He knew not his own age, he counted not the years, and only when Mirelle made it clear how old Enora truly was, did he realize how long he’d been waiting.

He’d waited his whole life just to be a hero.

And they forgot him.

No. No, he knew that wasn’t true anymore. Because in the end…

Mirelle came, and asked him to be a hero.

Perhaps not in those exact words.

“This…this is what I waited for.” Revaramek lifted his head, staring at the distant sky, where Aylaryl was a purple blur, silhouetted in flickering blue light. “This is…this is it. This is why I’m here, why we came here. Why I waited my whole life…So I could be this story’s hero.”

Revaramek knew then, deep in his heart, how he had saved Mirelle.

He was a hero. One way or another, he would stop Asterbury. All these years, he’d kept his word, and now that word would save this village and everyone in it.

Whatever the cost.

*****

Beka threw open the back door of The Cathedral and stomped inside, clomping her boots against the floor. She gazed around the place, her hands on her hips. The main room was a mess. Dirty, soot-stained clothes sat in piles on the floor. Empty mugs and unwashed plates sat atop tables. A few bloodied bandages lay near a hearth, ready to be burned rather than washed. Muddy footprints marked the floor. Chairs sat in haphazard order. The long counter was covered with cups and utensils in desperate need of washing.

Tavaat sat on a bar stool, his green and gray tail hanging behind him. He leaned his muzzle into his hand, elbow on the counter. He drummed fingers against the golden spots on his green nose, then plucked a wooden mug from the counter and took a long gulp of ale. He wiped froth from his muzzle, glancing over. He inclined his head in silent greeting.

“Tavaat!” Beka stomped her boot against the floor again. “This place is a mess! I thought I told you to clean it up!”

Tavaat perked his little red frills. He picked his mug, staring into it. “And I thought I’d get drunk, instead.”

“That’s it!” Beka stormed towards him, thumping each boot against the wooden floorboards as loudly as she could. “I’m going to kick your lizard balls right through the roof!”

Tavaat cringed, little frills flattened back. Then he burst into growling laughter, shifting around on the stool to face her. “That your Mirelle impression? It’s getting pretty good.”

“Isn’t it?” Beka clasped her hands, and bounced on her tip toes, giggling. “Thought I may as well break these boots in.” She glanced around again, her smile starting to fade. “This place really is a mess, though. As nice as it was to be able to feed people helping and cleaning up after the attack, we…well…” She wrung her hands, swallowing. “She’ll be ever so angry if…she comes back, and it’s…all a frightful mess.”

Tavaat gazed into his mug again, his frills drooping. His tail hung limp. “Yeah.”

“She…she is coming back, Tavaat.” Beka walked to the counter. She put her hand on the va’chaak’s green and gray scaled back, rubbing his shoulder. “She is.”

Tavaat’s empty smile told her he wasn’t so hopeful. “Yeah.”

The va’chaak got up and went around the bar with his mug. He fetched a second one, and then filled them both with strong ale till foam was pouring over the top of the wooden vessels. He scowled at them a moment, tilting his head.

“You pour a terrible pint, Tavaat.” Beka managed a smile again. “It’s a wonder she ever let you tend her bar at all.”

“Yeah.” Tavaat came back around the bar to rejoin Beka.

“Is that all you can say, now?” Beka took the mug from him, cupping it in both hands.

“Yeah.” Tavaat smirked at her, then took a long drink. He turned his head away, staring across the Cathedral’s grand space.

“You’ve got some foam on your snout, there…” Beka reached up and wiped off Tavaat’s snout with her dark golden shirt sleeve.

“Thanks.” He took another drink, and immediately got more foam on his muzzle.

Beka nudged him. “So you remembered another word.”

Tavaat licked his muzzle clean. He tilted his head, and when Beka looked up at him, she could almost see the mess reflecting in his dark eyes. When he spoke, it was Mirelle she saw reflected in his gaze. “Sure feels empty without her.”

Beka took a sip of her ale, and leaned her shoulder against Tavaat. “Yeah.”

“Oh, don’t you start.” The lizard gave a growling laugh.

“That was agreement, Tavaat.” Beka sniffed and glanced away, her throat tightening. “Not your silly word games.”

When Tavaat slipped his arm around her shoulder, Beka pressed herself against his warmth. She took another sip, then leaned her head against his scales. Soon she worked her own around him to rub the Va’chaak’s back as he hugged her against his body.

“We’ll…carry it on, for her.” Tavaat growled again, this time clearing his throat. He blinked a few times, dark eyes wet. “She’d…she’d want that.”

Beka sighed, and hid her face against Tavaat’s body. “She would. Maybe we’ll…put an empty chair, by the bar, in her honor.” Beka sniffled against Tavaat’s scales. “With a plaque on it. And a mug.”

Tavaat sniffed a few times, then growled, and set his mug down to wipe his eyes with his free hand. “And a boot.”

Beka giggled through tears and soft sobs muffled against Tavaat’s scales. “She’d…yes. That.” She pulled her head back a little, throat almost too tight to squeeze words through. “I’m sorry, I…I got you all…wet…” She wiped at the va’chaak’s soft, warm scales with her sleeve.

Tavaat ground the heel of his palm into his eyes. “It’s fine. You…okay?” He pushed rogue strands of Beka’s red-brown hair out of her eyes.

She offered him a weak smile. She’d let her braids go untended lately. “No. You?”

“No.” Tavaat rested his muzzle atop her head, sighing. He turned to wrap both arms around her, hugging her tighter than before. “We’ll…get there, though.” He rubbed her back, fighting back a growled sob.

“We…we will.” Beka leaned into his head, smiling. His warmth was shelter and comfort. “I’m…glad you’re here, though.”

“Me too.” Tavaat stuttered a little. “For you, I mean. That…you’re here, not that I’m here. I mean…”

“I know what you mean, you silly lizard.” Beka took a deep a breath, and held it as long as she could. She left it out a long sigh against his scales, and closed her eyes.

For a time, Beka savored the simple comfort of an old friend in a hard time.

And then screams rang out in the distance.

Tavaat straightened up, tension hard beneath his scales. Beka jerked her head away from him, her eyes wide, heart rattling her sternum. “Was that what I think it was? What if that dragon is back?”

“Stay here.” Tavaat went around behind the counter, and scooped up an old, but well-kept sword with a leather wrapped pommel.

“Oh, please Tavaat.” Beka followed after him. “I’m better with that sword than you, and we both know it.”

“You’re right.” Tavaat shoved the weapon into her chest. “Go see what’s happening! I’ll wait here, where it’s safe.”

“Very funny, you cowardly newt!” Beka took the weapon, hefting it, testing the balance. When Tavaat turned around, Beka swatted him on the rump with her free hand. Hard. “Let’s go!”

“Ow!” Tavaat rubbed himself next to his tail, glaring at her. “What was that for?”

“Hmm?” Beka took a few steps towards the door, glancing back. “Wasn’t it…funny, and tension breaking?”

“No, it just hurt.”

“Oh.” Beka managed a half smile before she strode towards the large double-doors at the front of the Cathedral. “Sorry.”

Tavaat jogged across the back section of the bar towards a storage closet they rarely used. He threw the doors open, rummaged around a moment, and then retrieved the largest, heaviest crossbow Beka had ever seen. It was nearly half as long as Tavaat was tall, and just as heavy. He slung it over his shoulder with one arm, and grabbed a handful of bolts that looked as big as her arm. Her jaw dropped.

“Where the hell did you get that thing?”

Tavaat hurried to join her at the front doors. From the grin on his muzzle, he seemed far too pleased with his newest toy. “From old Clockwork Sam!”

“Just because the man has arthritis is no excuse to make fun of the way he moves about!”

“What?” Tavaat gave her a baffled look, his little red frills half lifted. “No, no, he used to make clocks!”

“Oh, well…” Beka lowered the sword, furrowing her brow. “Why does a clockmaker have a crossbow that weighs as much as I do?”

Tavaat smirked and looked her over. “Being awfully complimentary to…”

Beka narrowed her eyes and raised the sword.

“The…crossbow.” Tavaat cleared his throat. “Anyway, he makes things like this now.”

“The clockmaker makes crossbows?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Among other things.” Tavaat shifted it, showing her the crank and gears that helped pull back an immense drawstring. “See, this one’s got gears. But old Clockwork Sam works on a lot of crossbows and things with Bowstring Bill, and-”

“You’re making these names up!” Beka punched the va’chaak on the shoulder.

Tavaat grunted. “Cut it out, don’t make me drop this thing on my foot, it’ll break my toes. After that dragon attacked, I thought I should get something in case she came back. This one’s an antique, I think.”

“Oh, well, in that case I’m sure it won’t explode in your arms!”

Tavaat blinked, then gave the crossbow a low, puzzled look. “Huh. Well, it’s been restored, anyway. New winding device, new strings…”

“Winding device? Is that the technical term?”

Tavaat only shrugged.

“I’m sure your termite-eaten old crossbow will be more than enough to shoot a dragon out of the sky!” Beka turned and pushed down on the door handle, putting her shoulder against the tall, inlaid door. “Now stop arguing with me and come on!”

“I’m not arguing. But move aside, and let me go first.”

“I shall do no such thing.” Beka grunted as she pushed the heavy, dark-wood door open. It swung on oiled hinges. “Just…stay back there where it’s safer and cover me with that deathtrap you’re holding.”

“Oh, ‘cover you’, huh?” Tavaat peered over her shoulder, through the opening between the double doors. “Boy, that one sword wielding lesson you took from the guard really paid off!”

“That’s one more lesson than you’ve taken!”

“Is not! When I was a child, I learned how to use all my peoples’ weapons.”

“Wooden safety weapons for children don’t count!” Beka nudged him aside with her shoulder, then slipped through the opening, peering at the sky. “Besides, when’s the last time you actually practiced with a spear or anything else? The only thing you sling these days is ale, and you’re bad enough at that!”

Tavaat grunted as he slunk up behind her again. He rested his crossbow atop her head, peering down the sights.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I gotta brace this on something thick.”

“Get the hell off of me!” Beka ducked out from under it and darted away. “Have you even fired that thing before?”

“First time for everything.”

Beka trotted down the flagstone lane, then glanced back at Tavaat. He braced the crossbow against his shoulder, aiming it at the sky. “Tavaat!” She waved her sword at him. “That thing’s not even loaded!”

“I’m just getting’ used to it.” Tavaat lowered the crossbow, then went to where he’d set the bolts down and picked one up. In the distance, towards the gates, there were a few more fearful screams, followed by indecipherable yells. “Shit! Can you see what’s got the old grans all riled up?”

“No.” Beka shaded her eyes against the late sun. It hadn’t quite reached the horizon yet, but it was getting close. At least the smoke that had hovered over the town since the hall burned down had finally drifted away. In the distance something blue flickered and flashed, streaking in a wide circle around the town. “I think it’s some kind of lightning storm, but I don’t see any clouds.”

Tavaat set the crossbow down, and grunted as he turned the crank. “Help me wind my thing.”

Beka blinked, and then glanced back at him, smirking. “Wind your own thing. I’m sure you’ve plenty of experience.”

“Just get over here and help me-”

Booming thunder cut him off as brilliant blue lightning tore across the sky in crackling spears. Beka threw her hand up with a startled cry. Wind buffeted her, and when she glanced up, a purple dragon with black mottled wings and blue paws wheeled in the sky where the lightning had been. More screams and yells rose from around the village. Shining, blue-white sparks fluttered down from all around the dragon. Bolts and arrows were loosed towards the beast, but all went wide.

“Tavaat, it’s her!” Beka ran back to Tavaat, snatching up a bolt to fit on the crossbow. “It’s that dragon from the attack!”

“I noticed, Beka!” Fear stretched Tavaat’s voice taut as he finished cranking the string back, and set the safety catch.

As soon as the string was set, Beka put the bolt in place. “Shoot her in the throat!”

“I’ll be happy to shoot her in the anywhere!” Tavaat rose to his feet, glancing up at the dragon circling above.

“Just shoot her somewhere that won’t leave her able to furiously incinerate us!”

Tavaat tracked the dragon with the crossbow, but the way she randomly wheeled and spun, rose and fell made it difficult. He grunted and growled to himself. “Almost…gotta lead her…”

Beka set her hand on the small of Tavaat’s back. “Just take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger slow.”

“Words of wisdom from the village’s best marksman.” He glanced at Beka a moment. “Is she…circling us?”

“Quick, shoot her before she burns down the Cathedral!”

“What if she crashes into it?”

In the distance, at the far side of the village, more lightning crackled. Something green shimmered beyond the sizzling blue veil. Whatever it was, it grew larger by the moment, hurtling towards them. More lightning exploded above the hill just before another dragon appeared above the city. This one was lower in the air, and brought with it a blinding, blue flash and concussive thud that shattered distant windows. The new dragon was green and copper, and a male.

“Tavaat, is that…?”

In the distance, the green dragon flailed in the air, calling down below. “Councilwoman Mirelle will pay for that!”

“It is!” Tavaat lowered his crossbow, wide-eyed and staring.

“What did he say about Mirelle?!” Beka whirled around towards the va’chaak.

“Does that mean she’s…?” Tavaat trailed off when the purple dragon wheeled away from the Cathedral again, but the green one hurtled straight towards it, yowling. “Uh…Beka? I don’t think he can stop.”

Beka looked up at the dragon again. Lightning flickered around him. He lashed all four limbs in the air for a few seconds, but didn’t slow or change course. He pulled his head down, threw his fore paws up in front of himself, and tucked his tail between his hind legs.

“Oh, shit!” 

Beka grabbed Tavaat’s arm and yanked him off the flagstone path to huddle under a tree just as Revaramek streaked overhead. CRACK! Wood blew everywhere as the dragon smashed through the bell tower atop the Cathedral. Stained glass exploded. The brass bell rang sharply and tumbled through the air. Debris rained down all around them. Wooden shrapnel and a few ornamental spikes toppled through the branches of the tree they sheltered beneath.

As soon as the echoes of the crash faded, Beka ran right back out from under the tree, dragging Tavaat by his hand. “Come on! We have to see if he needs help!”

Broken beams and chunks of shattered battlements littered the flagstone path. Several of the buttresses that ran down the length of the building were cracked. Beka hurried inside, squeezing Tavaat’s hand. Inside the Cathedral, bits of wood and mortar lay in a pile upon the floor. Sunlight and dust spilled from an immense hole in the roof. The damaged arch beams around it creaked an ominous warning. Broken glass lay in glittering heaps beneath the windows.

Beka skirted around the pile of rubble, heading for the back door. “At least Revaramek’s not piled in here too. I think he just hit the tower and rolled across the roof.”

A loud, rumbling groan from beyond the back door confirmed her theory. Beka ran out into the back garden to find the green and copper dragon laying in a crumpled heap atop what used to be their patio furniture. Shattered tables and crushed chairs were strewn about. A few bloody lines and tears marked the dragon’s copper-splotched wings. One of his horns was missing. Thankfully, none of his limbs looked twisted at unnatural angles.

“Revaramek!” Beka released Tavaat’s hand as she went to the dragon’s head. “Revaramek!”

Revaramek’s bronze eyes flew open and he jerked his head up so fast Beka stumbled back. Tavaat caught her and steadied her while the dragon pushed himself up to his feet. He swung his head around, staring at both of them. His spiny frills all shot up and his ears swiveled forward. Beka wondered if he was more surprised to still be in one piece or to see the two of them.

“Beka! Tavaat! Oh, good, the crash didn’t kill me! Unless it killed you two as well and we’re all dead together.” He blinked then turned his head and looked himself over. “We’re not dead, are we?”

“No!” Beka furrowed her brow. “Are you alright? What happened? Where’s…where’s Mirelle? Is…” Beka gulped. Tavaat’s hand found hers again and squeezed it. “Is she still alive?”

“What?” Revaramek gave them both a confused look, his head tilted. “She’s fine, she’s with the gryphons.”

“The…the gryphons?” Beka blinked a few times.

“The ones you partied with?” Tavaat’s red frills flared up.

“Yes, those two. Though they’d better not be partying at a time like this!” He held up a paw, a toothy smile on his muzzle. “She’s fine, I swear! I saved her right before she hit the ground.”

“You…what?” Beka gasped, her eyes widening.

“I’m the one who died in that crash. Mirelle had to stomp me back to life!”

“What?”

Tavaat gestured with his crossbow towards the dragon’s shattered horn. “He must have hit his head in the crash.”

“Yes, I did, that’s not where-hey!” Revaramek lifted a paw and pushed the crossbow away. “Don’t point that thing at me!”

“Oh, right.” Tavaat lowered his weapon. “Not used to carrying it when it’s loaded.”

“Where!” Beka raised her voice over the ringing she imagined must be in the dragon’s ears. “Is! Mirelle!”

“I just told you, with the gryphons!” Revaramek flattened his ears back. “You need not yell, I haven’t gone deaf since you last saw me.”

Beka put a hand over her face, at once flushing with relief and burning with exasperation. “Thank the gods, then. We thought…well, you can guess what we thought.” As the dragon eased upwards with a pained groan, Beka scowled. “Are you alright?”

“I…I think so.” Revaramek stretched his limbs out one at a time, then unfurled his wings. Moving his wings made the dragon grimace, and blood splattered the broken patio furniture from the various tears in his membranes. At least nothing looked broken. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, Gods, I hope…” He trailed off, and then shifted himself to reach a paw back between his hind legs. “One, two. Alright, good. Yes, I’m fine.”

Beka snorted and fought back a giggle. “Males.”

Tavaat shrugged. “Priorities. I understand. Your wings look pretty roughed up, though.”

“They’ll be alright.” Revaramek stretched them both, hissing in pain. “Not the first building I’ve crashed through.” He twisted his head around to gaze at the damaged Cathedral, and the ruin of the bell tower that lay all around him. Broken stained glass decorated the grass beyond with dangerous shards of color. “Oooh, Mirelle is gonna be so mad at me.”

“Mirelle, yes!” Beka clasped her hands. “Why isn’t she with you?”

Revaramek stared at Tavaat and his weapon. “Where did you get that thing?”

“From old Clockwork-”

“Tavaat!” Beka sharpened her tone. “We’re not starting that again.” Beka put her hand on the dragon’s neck for his attention. “Why is Mirelle with the gryphons? Why isn’t she here?”

“Because Asterbury left her behind with Enora, I suppose to watch over her. He only wanted me, I’m not sure why yet. Something to do with how I got here.”

“Who the hell’s Enora?” Beka  grabbed at his ear to keep his attention.

“Ow!” Revaramek tugged his head away. “An old friend of mine! Very old, it turns out.”

“Why’s Mirelle with her? And who was that other person you mentioned?” Tavaat slung his crossbow over his shoulder. It discharged and the bolt smashed through one of the remaining stained glass windows. “Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry!”

“Damn it, Tavaat, put that thing down already!” Beka punched him on the shoulder.

“Are you two sure you’re not a mated pair?”

Beka balled up her fists and grit her teeth. “Will you both focus on the situation at hand before I decide to take my Mirelle impression one step farther?”

“Good idea, Subject Beka!” Revaramek arched his neck. “There’s a villain on the loose, and only we can stop him!”

Beka slapped her palm against her face. “Oh, Gods, he’s drifting further from shore.”

“So…Ah…” Tavaat stared at the window he’d accidentally shot. Another piece of glass fell away from what was left. “Who’s that other dragon? She attacked us, you know! And…wait, how the hell did you get here like that?” He turned around, staring at the dragon. “With all that lightning?”

Revaramek cringed, flattening his ears back. His spines sagged around his head. “That would be Asterbury.”

“So who the hell is Asterbury?” Beka folded her arms, glaring at the dragon.

Revaramek sucked in a breath, glancing at the sky. “Oh, don’t ask that! That’s just the perfect time for him drop out of the sky, and say something like, ‘why I am Asterbury’, and then do his villainous laugh.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s riding Aylaryl! He…did something with his powers, and brought us here in no time at all!”

Beka jumped up and down, stomping. “Who’s Aylaryl!”

“Is she that purple dragon who attacked us?” Tavaat inspected the safety catch on his crossbow.

“Yes! That’s Aylaryl.” Revaramek cocked his head. “Do try and keep up Beka.”

“Who is-”

“You’re really pressing your luck if you keep asking.” Revaramek licked his nose, staring up at the sky. “He’s the villain! He’s also the one riding Aylaryl. I’m not certain, but I think he’s here to murder a man named Jekk.”

“Councilman Jekk?!”

“Yes, that’s the one.” Revaramek smiled at her, tilting his head the other way. “See Beka, you can keep up.”

Revaramek looked at the sky again, where the purple dragon circled in the distance. Her gray-furred rider stood atop her, unfazed by the motion and the wind, his purple and gold cloak billowing behind him. Beka shaded her eyes with a hand. The urd’thin pointed at the ground, and Alyaryl wheeled in the sky.

“So…that’s him, on the dragon?”

“That’s him, alright. But where are they going?” Revaramek flicked his tail back and forth. “He gave up perfect chance to do his villainous introduction for you. He must be too angry to bother.” The dragon whined, shuddering. His scales clicked. “I hope he hasn’t decided to write this town of the story altogether. If he starts throwing lightning down at the city I’m going up there after him!”

“If he…what?!” Beka waved at Tavaat. “Quick, put another bolt in your crossbow!”

“You just told me to put it down!”

“And now I’m telling you to reload it!”

“Yes, do reload your oversized weaponry. I think they’re landing!” Revaramek pushed past them, walking towards the damaged Cathedral. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

Revaramek glanced back, giving her a look as if confused by the question. “To be a hero, of course.”

“But…you just said he can throw lightning!” Beka snatched her sword back up, gritting her teeth.

“I’m only guessing he can!” The dragon trotted to the back door, then glanced over his wings. “Besides, someone’s got to stop him. Who else is it going to be, the tea kettle?” Revaramek cackled and pushed himself through the doorway. The damaged frame creaked. His voice called back as his tail spines vanished inside. “Don’t worry, Beka! I finally realized why I’m this story’s hero! Saving this dirty little hovel is why I hatched! I was born to save your city!”

“Oh, God.” Beka hung her head. “We’re doomed.”

Tavaat shrugged. “Should we…go with him? We could just stay here and get drunk…”

“We’re going with him, Tavaat.” Beka jogged after the dragon. “If we’re going to die, we may as well die trying to be heroes.”

“Damn it. I was hoping to die drunk.”