A strong wind skipped its way through the Grand Shrine, leaving rustling branches in its wake. The snowfall was fierce, something to be protected against. But a little snow was no excuse for a Draconist. At the center of the shrine, four braziers roared with energy; the snow sizzled away at the first touch.

“My lord,” Raghes said, bowing deep enough for his snout to scrape the wet floor, “our advance is proceeding as planned. The enemy is falling back across the whole front. We have not heard any news of trouble yet.”

The gold dragon turned away from the shrine at the center of the clearing, a dull stare lingering in his eyes. “Good. But I do not doubt that trouble will come… eventually.”

Raghes dropped his head in another bow, tail curled around his legs. “Of course, my lord. It is something to be expected. But all is well for now. The imperial defenses are falling apart. Their five months of sabotage and espionage have been for naught. At this rate, we’ll have run them out of our homeland by the next winter.”

Lothar sighed. “Raghes, I wish it were that simple. But it is not. Anything more than a cursory glance will tell you this.”

“Of course, my lord. I am not foolish, there are still the fortresses and the cities to worry about. But with Divinity at our backs and-”

The gold dragon shook his head, cutting Raghes off with a grunt.“Put the sophistry at rest, Raghes. I am afraid it will not get us anywhere.”

The blue dragon gulped. “My lord?”

Lothar nodded slowly, craning his head towards the grey skies. “War is never roses and sunshine. One who does not plan ahead is one destined for defeat. Wise is the one who looks to the horizon.” The gold dragon opened his claw out before him. Snow descended upon the black talons, resting firm before finally melting away a few seconds later. “Remember, we are few, and the enemy is many. They have half the world available at their fingertips. This is only the beginning. They will fight tooth and nail for every stretch. Think of all the heathens, mercenaries and bloodthirsters who may dwell out there, prepared to descend upon Lokahn at a moment’s notice.”

Raghes nodded along, then scratched away at an itch behind his horns. “Understandable. But I do not doubt the strength of a dragon.”

“Neither do I,” Lothar said after nodding, “but all grow tired eventually. I may be a capable fighter, but combat is a stressful ordeal. Not to mention the strain my soul would be put under. This is not mere child’s play, Raghes.”

At last, Raghes sighed, and lowered his head. “Yes, my lord. I suppose I’ve seen past a few things. But I have faith in the men under our command, and I know they are capable of overcoming whatever struggles lie ahead.”

Lothar breathed in deep. “Indeed. Flaratia is doing all that she can to educate the newly blessed in the art of war, and our sympathisers in the occupied Lokahn are working day and night to bring new followers to our cause. But...” the gold dragon breathed out. “I wish it did not have to come to this, Raghes.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” Raghes asked. Lothar wandered towards one of the center clearing’s exits, his head craned towards Westedge.

“I wish we could have taught the Justitians our ways, and our history. Instead, they invaded our home, and sought to destroy it all...” Lothar sighed. “Do not misunderstand me, what they have done is unforgivable, and a severe punishment awaits. But there was every opportunity for a diplomatic conclusion, instead of being driven into the mountains.”

Raghes’ eyes narrowed. The blue dragon placed a claw over his heart, as his eyes fell upon the city in the distance. An occasional yell aside, Westedge was as silent as could be. Life was hidden away in the buildings, praying for their dreams of spring to become reality.

“If only it were so. But it is what it is. No changing it now, I’m afraid.” Raghes shook his head. “Divinity almighty, may whatever abyssal forces which brought this nightmare upon us rue the day they set foot in our country.”

Lothar tilted his head upwards a tad, and closed his golden eyes. “It pains me how much blood has been spilled already, and how much more will have to be spilled. All the bright young lives which will be ended, both Lokahnian and beyond. All the knowledge and potential that is to be lost...” the gold dragon fell silent.

Raghes puffed up his chest. “The Lokahnian lives are the ones I can feel for. The mercenaries we’re fighting against? Not so much. They’ll reap what they’ve sown.”

Breathing out through his nose as loud as he could, Lothar shook his head. “That is extremely heartless of you, Raghes. It is what Merahn would have said.”

The blue dragon sighed exasperated, once again lifting a claw behind his head to scratch away at an itch. “I know, I know. But I, honest to Divinity, cannot feel sorry for the bastards. Not to mention the ones that are there solely for a paycheck. They knew what they got themselves into.”

Lothar shook his head once more, as he paced his way back to the center of the clearing, dragging his tail over the ground. “Have you paid our prisons a visit? Most men there are youngsters. Youngsters much like...” he snapped shut for a second. His eyes gradually dimmed. Lokahn’s wildernesses crept into his mind. “...nevermind.” Where is he now…?

Raghes grunted, tongue pressing into his cheek. “Maybe I’m too young to see it myself. But we’re in a fight for survival. I’m not interested in the hearts of others while we’re standing at death’s doorstep. That comes later.”

The gold dragon shook his head. “All I wish for is a peaceful conclusion to this misery. Even if I will not survive to see it.”

A flapping sound emerged overhead. Lothar and Raghes looked to see a brown shape glide down into the clearing, all the while pressing a breastplate against his chest. “Greetings, Lord Lothar. I hope I’m not interrupting anything here.”

Raghes clicked his tongue. “You kind of are, actually...”

Lothar raised an eye. “Commander Batharr? What are you here for? Should you not be keeping watch over your forces?”

Batharr grunted, one claw busy removing the large breastplate from his chest, the other scratching away at the scales which were now unveiled. “That is why I’m here, actually. All the forces in my sector have reached their first goals already, believe it or not.”

“Oh?” Lothar placed a claw on the tip of his snout, his throat rumbling. “Do tell me more. Those goals should have taken a few days at minimum.”

The brown dragon bowed. “As you wish, my lord. Our forces were on point today. Some of our finest brothers had practiced a tactic on the imperial guard towers. It led to major chaos in the enemy’s ranks, paving the way for them to be swiftly defeated. It was spectacular to behold,” the dragon grumbled, sitting back on his haunches. “Although strangely enough-”

Lothar laid a claw on the brown dragon’s shoulder. Whatever he had wanted to say, it warranted a firm scratch behind the ears; Batharr reached over his head, his facial expression growing uncertain. “I would love to hear you speak of these tactics in depth, Commander. Before whatever else it is you have on the mind. They may become useful.”

“Well, uhrm,” Batharr laid the claw intended for the back of his head upon his neck. “The brothers were not pleased at all when they heard they could not fly. Of course, they understood the threat the ballistas posed, so they came up with a workaround. Provided one flies low enough, the ballis- well, cloudbuster, rather, cannot hit you. They used that to silence the archers and cloudbusters quickly, allowing the troops to move in unabated.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Lothar said. “Pray, do you-”

Out of the blue, Raghes hacked up the contents of his lungs. “My lord, could you spare a moment? I think Batharr has something else to say.”

Lothar rolled his eyes. “I’m certain he does, Raghes. It would be unlike you to misjudge these sorts of things, after all.”

“Actually, my lord...” Batharr’s scratching had intensified to the point of leaving marks.

“Pardon, Batharr?” Lothar said, before sniffing the air. “Hmm. What is the matter, Batharr?”

The brown dragon sucked in breath over his serrated teeth, clicking his pointed tongue as loud as he could. “Well, sir, that was only the towers. For reasons I cannot explain, some of the villages my men were tasked with taking were, uhh, in ruin. And I do not mean old ruins, either. There still was smoke billowing from within, and… there were… bodies strewn over the grass, utterly torn apart. It looked… uh, as if something had ‘played’ with them. Not something the average bear or mountain beast could have done.”

An awful silence spread across the shrine. Neither Lothar, nor Raghes said so much as a word back. Even the worshippers normally wandering through its paths, muttering prayers to themselves had grown quiet, as if ordinary humans had suddenly been given the ability to read the air much like a dragon could.

“...It could not have been who I am thinking of, could it?” Lothar paced towards the duskward path, ambers wide and filled as they gazed upon the distant, desolate slopes of the Origin Mountains. For somewhere out there, far from civilisation, those responsible dwelled. Divinity almighty, it must have been them.

Raghes groaned, no, growled. “Lothar… please don’t tell me it’s them... ”

“I struggle to see who else it could have been, Raghes.”

The blue dragon hyperventilated. First his breaths were small, but the volume climbed with the flow of time. His eyes turned bloodshot; Batharr backed away.

Suddenly, a full lung’s worth of fire spat forth from the blue’s jaws, hitting the ground at blazing speeds. The snow melted at the first touch; the gravel underneath took on a black tint. After it was all done, the blue cried out in agony.

“Damn those feral bastards! I knew it! I knew they would ruin our operations eventually! What if the people find out? We’re supposed to be honorable creatures, not monsters…!”

Lothar shook his head, and wandered over the scorched ground towards the blue. “Easy now, Raghes. This is not-”

Raghes folded his wings over his body. “First, they kidnapped children, innocent Lokahnian children… As if they couldn’t condemn themselves deeper into the abyss. They’ll taint Divinity’s name, forever, I swear… it’s all an excuse, I swear...”

The gold dragon grunted, craning his head over his shoulder. “Please Batharr, is there anyone who has seen what has happened? A survivor, maybe?”

Batharr nodded, his tongue pressing into his cheek, one claw scratching away at his gut. “One trooper was found in the nearby woods. Fortunately for him, he had tripped in thick mud. As disgusting as it might’ve been, it probably threw the attackers off his scent, thus saving his life. And yes, he said it was a dragon attack. It must have been Merahn’s brigands. None of our brothers or sisters would be so heinous.”

Lothar pondered for a moment, before craning his head back towards the sky. “I had feared this day would come. As difficult as it is to say, perhaps it is time to reevaluate how we view these… ‘former allies’.”

* * *

Dusk was setting in over the woods of Western Lokahn. In the mouth of a damp cave somewhere north of Westedge, those of the Hallowed Army were gathered around a fire. Over the fire hung a large vat, in which meals for the brigade were being cooked. The air was chilly, and everyone was exhausted.

Several weeks of this life had gone by. Several weeks of living like the first to have been blessed did, never knowing whether or not one would have a roof over their head come nightfall, and entire days spent scavenging so no one would have to rest their legs on an empty stomach.

Yet, there were no complaints. Westedge’s comfort was parallel to decadence for these worshippers; something which could only destroy. Out here in the wilds, minds were hardened in anticipation for the worst of trials. Those who had chosen to stay in Westedge were weak, and those who wished to return were cowards. Cowards who cared for their own wellbeing far more than they did for Divinity.

On this night, the brooding mood which had prevailed throughout the past few weeks was absent. In its place was a jovial tone, as dragons of all ages recounted the day’s events. Some were still shaking from adrenaline; others laughed as their tongue slid past a splotch of iron still sticking on their lips. Today had been no mere battle. It had been a triumph.

“My dearest Draconists,” Merahn said, standing with head and shoulder above her brigade, “what a wonderful day it has been, hasn’t it? We must have sent damned near hundreds of those vile cretins back into the abyss!”

The cave was engulfed by half the brigade roaring out. Deeper in the cave, the bellows echoed in the walls; a sound deafening enough to make the two children, the two children shrink away from the rest, closer towards Merahn. Neither the green one nor his lone friend said or did much of anything, beyond staring bug-eyed at the floor.

“Hahaha! What a glorious day! This is what it means to be a dragon. This is what it is like to be a true warrior of Divinity! We fight for a cause far greater than our own puny lives, a dream far grander than the whims of the pathetic bands of mercenaries and betrayers we’ve swept away. I know that it may be difficult to accept… but Divinity’s will must be executed, and by his hallowed name’s grace, it will be done!”

Once more the cavern filled up with many jubilant roars. The stew in the pot rocked back and forth, some spilling over the edge out of sheer force; as if the soul of one of the animals which had been drowned within was trying to flee. It was far too late now; the die of the future had been cast, and it wouldn’t be the lone casualty.

Before the roars had fizzled out, a white dragon snorted like a heavy wind, tossing another bundle of sticks under the pot. “Their miserable lives were begging to come to an end anyway, why else would they worship the wicked witch of the east? All we did was put them out of their suffering, no more.”

The dragons, from those around the campfire to those just outside of the cave, perked their ears up and laughed, their wings beating into the damp cave air. The two younglings nestled closer against each other. It wasn’t the silly kind of laughter, that much was certain.

“But of course, Veraede. My apologies. Those cretins do not deserve pity. Let them rot in the abyss, Divinity knows they deserve to,” Merahn grimaced. Her tone sent shivers down the two children’s small, weak bodies. It was as if she was spitting venom, worse than that of a Caverndweller.

Neither child said a thing. After what happened today, their legs were tired, their mouths were tired, and their eyes were tired most of all. Their ears ignored every crackle of the fire and every movement of a limb. It was unbearable, inhumane... but nothing was changeable about it.

Merahn cleared her nostrils. “Anyway, that’s enough for now. I’m starving, and by the sound of it, so are you. Let us enjoy a nice warm meal, shall we?”

The pot was taken off the fire, and the dragons outside brought in butchered elk and deer. After everyone had been served, the dragons of Merahn’s band dug in, in manners which would make even the dirtiest of peasants gag. Like a pack of wolves tearing through the fruits of their hunt. As the bites and and growls continued unabated, the cavern gradually became sullied by red spatters and various pieces of something.

The children didn’t take part. Their appetites had been drained to the bottom long ago; even now, Chalroth tasted it. On his teeth and across his lips, he could taste it still. It brought him back to the village. A village much like the one he had once lived in. He yelped.

“What was that?”

“S-sorry, just bit on my tongue...”

“Fool. What a pitiful excuse for a dragon...”

His facial muscles tensed, Chalroth curled up against the child, draping a wing over him. As difficult as life had become, Chalroth knew it was small beans and potatoes compared to what the newcomer had gone through. One day he had been taken to the army by three of the brigadiers, mouth gagged and exhausted. And terrified. The scent coming off of him as they threw him into the fire had been burned into Chalroth’s nostrils. And the sound… by Divinity almighty.

“Hey… Areth, you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“...”

Chalroth leaned his snout in closer, gently brushing Areth on the back of his neck. “You should try and eat at least a little… the stew is tasty, and good for you.”

The child buried his face under a sharp hand. Chalroth turned away, lowering his head onto the rocky floor. “It’s okay… take your time… you’ll see then again, one day...” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut at the end.

Hoping to ease the painful night, Chalroth attempted to sleep. But alas, with all the jeering and growling, it was a task far out of reach. Areth was still moving; the poor kid probably hadn’t slept in days, if at all in the last few weeks. He’d lost his voice, he’d lost weight, his loving family, and so many more things one would take for granted. It tore at Chalroth. At least he hadn’t had much to lose in the first place, unlike Areth had. There was nothing he could change about it. Westedge was far away, and his ears had already received a yelled warning that any attempts to escape would end in certain death at the claws of an angry brigadier. A brigadier who, supposedly, had been human once. Merahn didn’t lift so much as a talon to help either; it made them stronger, she said. But given what she would tell, listening was a mortal error.

“I’ve been thinking, Veraede,” Chalroth overheard Merahn say, “is it perhaps time we took more of the youth in our ranks?”

“Not a chance. Have you seen that whelp? It will take a year before he’ll accept his fate.”

“Hm. How else would you propose we expand our ranks then, Veraede? We’re not tearing through the filth fast enough. We should’ve reached Whitestream by now.”

“Why don’t we try to recruit some of the fools still in the Front? Lothar and his cowards’ little kingdom is crumbling. Any righteous Draconist must be disgusted.”

“And how would you propose we do that?”

“Simple. We send a few of our brothers and sisters to Westedge, have them pretend they’re ‘disgusted’ by what our hallowed forces have achieved, and let them turn any sympathisers to our cause. What do you say?”

“Why, that sounds fantastic. That filthy heretic wouldn’t know what’ll hit him.”