The city of Milagre was just ahead now. It lay beside the Durmeau river, cast in shadow by the sun, which was rising from above the horizon. Bora Bora was in a sort of twilight zone in the sky, with the giant ball of light in front, and the silver disks of the two moons behind him. He squinted his eyes as he surveyed the capital city, already certain of what kind of reception he could expect. He was going to take Khanmara’s advice and skip the gate entirely. Hopefully nobody thought to fire arrows or magic at him as he sailed over the outer wall.

Blinded as he was, he didn’t notice what was wrong until he was directly over the city, beginning to descend sharply for his goal. There were nearly a dozen pillars of smoke rising from the heart of the Temple District he saw. Something had burned. Had there been a riot? Revenge against his temple for the way he’d spoken to the king, perhaps? Dozens of people, small as ants, were swarming around the remaining fires, forming lines to pass buckets of water along. They seemed to have the blazes under control by now.

A shaft of pain and loss tore through Bora Bora as he glanced to where he knew his temple was located. But the tall building with soaring towers and royal flags was no more. In its place was a ruin, with the worst of the fires blurring the property from view. The pain gave way to anger, and then to rage. He pulled his wings in as tight as he could, and dropped to the ground like a boulder. In the last few feet, he flared them out, catching the air and slowing his descent just enough for him to land, hard, on the cobbles outside of what used to be his deity’s temple.

There were many shouts of surprise and fear as the townsfolk nearby saw him. Nearly all of them could sense his rage billowing into terrible being, and wisely turned heel, fleeing the scene. He lunged forward and grabbed the closest person who had chosen to stay. It was a young woman, a baker by her flour-stained apron. In his anger, he shook her violently.

“What has happened here?” He snarled, his eyes flashing. “Who did this to Bahamut’s temple?”

“My lord Bora Bora!” She squeaked, terror making her body lock up. “I don’t-”

Her voice faltered, and he shook her once more. “Tell me!”

“Please, my lord,” she stammered, trying to pull herself free. His grip was like iron, and she was wincing in pain. “I don’t know! I’m just trying to help!”

“Who attacked our home?” Bora Bora repeated, not listening to her. Something flashed past his eyes, and he was knocked back. His grip on the woman’s shoulders was broken, and someone had stepped between them, forcing him back with a quick shove. Instinctually, Bora Bora summoned his scythe, raising it to strike. Then his eyes found the person who had pushed him away, and he froze.

“Drop your weapon, Champion.”

It was a small boy, perhaps eleven or twelve years in appearance. He was wearing silvery hides, and had dark brown skin. Bora Bora released his weapon at once, doubt overcoming his anger at once. It was the Wanderer himself. He was holding his bone knife in a loose grip, but his eyes carried a silent message of danger. He knew all-too clearly what would happen in that fight. Grimr nodded in satisfaction as he saw Bora Bora stand down, and relaxed his own posture.

“You are too late to help your people, Champion,” Grimr said. “The temple is destroyed, and cannot be restored.”

“Who destroyed the temple?” Bora Bora asked. In the back of his mind, he knew the answer. Yet it was as if he craved the answer, even as he feared it.

“The Tyrant Queen,” Grimr said. “She descended upon the city, and destroyed Bahamut’s home.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Bora Bora demanded, his anger surging back to the forefront. “You could have destroyed her in an instant!”

Grimr peered at him with a peculiar expression. It was almost pitying, he thought. “It is not my place to interfere between brother and sister. I kept the damage as limited as I could, and the warriors of Issho-Ni chased her away.”

Something about the Wanderer’s tone told Bora Bora it would do no good to keep pressing the issue, so he changed tack. “Where did she go?”

Grimr didn’t reply for several moments, clearly hesitant to divulge the answer. Then, slowly, he raised his arms and pointed to the south-east. “She has gone off to confront Bahamut, I believe.”

“But Bahamut resides in the Divine Isles!” Bora Bora said. “Tiamat cannot access the heavens, so what does she hope to accomplish?”

“She does not need to enter the Isles,” Grimr said. While Bora Bora was growing louder and more furious, his voice was becoming more quiet. “She intends to challenge him, which, I believe, was his plan.”

Bora Bora took two steps back, his mind racing. Why had Bahamut sent him after Tiamat, then? He had trained, had he not, to kill the Tyrant Queen for twenty years? Why now, after all that effort, was his god taking matters into his own hands? He was certain that his deity could see to her, and kill her without difficulty. He was a god, after all, and she was a common wyrm.

“What should I do?” He asked, looking for guidance from the Wanderer. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to ask. “If he will put an end to his sister, what am I to do with this rage?”

“Bahamut will not win,” Grimr said. The words, delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, tore through Bora Bora like his knife did in the vision. “You have met with the last Champion, I see. You have her aspect within you. You know what will become of your life.”

“I will kill her,” Bora Bora growled, not quite listening. “Where are they fighting?”

“They are fighting at the foot of Mount Murgan,” Grimr said. “You will not arrive in time. Be prepared to lead your people in his absence.”

Grimr was gone in the breeze, his voice echoing faintly through Bora Bora’s mind. Be prepared to lead your people in his absence? What had The Wanderer just said? Did that mean that Bahamut was going to die? And he seemed to think that he, Bora Bora, wouldn’t be able to get there in time to aid his deity. Well then, what was he going to do? He couldn’t sit here, waiting for events to pan out. Even if he was late, he had to seek revenge in some way.

A loud bell rang in the distance, its clear note jarring him out of his thoughtful silence. There was something significant about the sound, but he couldn’t place it at first. Then it hit him, and he turned to face the north east, where it had come from. That was the alarm bell, which was only rung when Milagre was facing a dangerous threat. It came from the one side of Milagre that he hadn’t been able to see in his approach. At once, he flared his wings out, throwing himself into the sky as he headed towards the source of the alarm.

Even as more bells rang throughout the city, echoing that first sound of danger, Bora Bora could hear the panicked voices of citizens trying to figure out what was going on. They were almost louder than the shouts of nearby city guards, who immediately began barking orders, directing people away from the northern half of the city. Bora Bora ignored the din of growing panic, forcing his wings to carry him higher and higher, until he could see over the northern wall. It was clear at once what the threat was.

A force of soldiers, perhaps two thousand strong, was marching with obvious purpose towards the capital city. Tiny pillars of smoke were visible in their wake, where they had already destroyed some of the farming outposts. No doubt they’d killed the farmers as well, Bora Bora thought with a sneer. The weak always preyed upon the innocent, yet ran when they faced a real challenge. He could see some of the survivors, those who had managed to get to a horse, fleeing ahead of the army, racing for the safety of the outer wall.

Why weren’t they lowering the gate to let the farmers in? Bora Bora switched his gaze to the guards there, and saw quite a few armed men. One figure, clearly in charge, was gesticulating at them wildly. Bora Bora could guess what he was doing. He was preventing the soldiers from letting the civilians in. Logically, it made sense. It took several long minutes to lower the drawbridge across the Durmeau River. It took four times as long to raise it once more, and the approaching force wasn’t that far behind the farmers. He snorted in disgust, and swooped down.

The sergeant didn’t noticed his presence until he was already back on the ground, his scythe appearing and raised. With one mighty swipe, he cut through the stout metal chain that held the drawbridge up. As he moved for the second of four chains, the sergeant was turning to face him, his face full of shock. Then, as he cut that chain and moved towards the third, he began shouting. He drew his own weapon as Bora Bora moved to take the last out, and charged, his sword raised.

Bora Bora caught the man in the side of his head with the butt end of his scythe, knocking the man flat, then turning to shear through the final chain. The drawbridge was now unsupported, and, with a deafening groan, fell out and away from the gate. It slammed flat open with a crash, damaging some of the metal mounting that held it together. Bora Bora only stared at it a moment longer to reassure himself that it was sturdy enough for the farmers to cross, then turned to face the men of the sergeant, who were approaching him nervously, their weapons drawn.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said. His red eyes gave them pause, and he twirled the large scythe menacingly. “I won’t let you prey on the weak by leaving them to their deaths.”

“But the drawbridge!” One of the soldiers, braver or more foolish than his comrades, took one step forward, brandishing his sword towards the object as the farmers clattered across, breaking the mountings further. “Now we can’t raise it! The enemy can come in as they please!”

“That will not be an issue!” This shouted voice, coming from a new direction, made Bora Bora and the soldiers turn. “We will destroy the bridge, and hold the position against our enemies.”

It was a tall man, about Bora Bora’s age, holding a long foreign war spear, and dressed in white robes. It was the Captain of Issho-Ni, they noticed. He was clearly dressed for war, a set of boiled leather armor strapped over his white uniform. There were four similarly dressed figures to his left and right, all armored as well. The wolf’s head crest of Issho-Ni and their patron god was stamped on their breasts.

“Master Tokugawa!” One of the soldiers exclaimed, coming to stiff attention. “Are you sure it’s wise to destroy the bridge, sir?”

Tokugawa turned to face the man, his face showing no sign of doubt or indecision. “It is the safest option. We could not allow the citizens to be prevented from reaching safely. You will be brought to task for that decision, Sergeant.”

The sergeant, still clutching his head and laying on the ground, looked up at Tokugawa, his eyes wide. He was clearly intimidated, not to mention afraid of the consequences that lay before him. Issho-Ni were quite well known for their influence in battle and war, even in the early stages of their growth. The King had been quite clear that, when under attack, Issho-Ni’s authority was second only to his own. He pushed himself to his feet at once, swaying slightly. Bora Bora smirked. He hadn’t held back with his strike, so the man was clearly dazed. Still, he had to begrudgingly admire his stubborn persistence.

The four strangers that had arrived with Tokugawa moved at once to destroy the drawbridge. They released great blasts of white energy from their hands and weapons, then again, and again. The already damaged drawbridge stood no chance of withstanding this barrage, and snapped in half. The far side sagged into the river, and the current tugged it loose. It remained there, sticking out of the water at an odd angle. There was no chance of anyone crossing the thirty foot gap on horse. The front line of the army, which had rushed forward as they saw the bridge drop open, now slowed down, looking disappointed.

“Thank you for aiding in the citizens’ escape,” Tokugawa said to Bora Bora, offering him a slight bow. “I confess surprise. I did not think you would care much for the weak.”

“I don’t,” Bora Bora assured him coldly. “I just hate seeing weak people prey on those beneath them. A real leader guides his men, he doesn’t leave them to their deaths.”

They stood, a foot apart with their eyes locked, for about ten seconds. A silent message of understanding, not to mention even a vague kinship, passed between them. Bora Bora found it hard to believe that, in some distant possible future, he had killed the warrior standing before him. Tokugawa was regarding him with a sort of dry amusement. “Well, thank you regardless. Will you stay and fight with us?”

Bora Bora didn’t particularly care for defending a city that had cast him out, but he never turned down the chance for a fight. He could see the shrewd light in Tokugawa’s eyes, as if the man understood his motivations clearly, and had carefully phrased the question in a way that would ensure his cooperation. He found that he didn’t like his manipulation one bit. Still, he had some energy to burn, and it would be a perfect way to vent his feelings.

“I suppose I can stay a while,” he said quietly. Tokugawa seemed unfazed by the hiss in his voice, but his underlings shivered slightly. People often had this reaction to his voice. To them, it was something… other than human.

“Excellent,” Tokugawa said, hefting his spear. “You can defend the bridge with us. We’ll hold the position until reinforcements can come.”

“No,” Bora Bora said. His wings flared out, ready to take off once more. “I’ll take the fight to them, if it’s all the same.”

“There are thousands of them,” one of the masters behind Tokugawa said. It was a Nihon-Jan woman with short spiky black hair. She was goggling at Bora Bora, as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “You can’t fight them all.”

“We’ll see.”

With one powerful downward push, his wings threw him airborne once more. He was out of earshot before the others could even comment, and he swerved sharply mid-air, barely clearing the top of the outer wall. The men stationed there glanced up frightfully as he soared over them, close enough to strike them if he’d so desired. Then he was over the plains, racing towards the approaching force.

His first dive allowed him to strike down three men, and then he was away before their nearest comrades could retaliate. He dove again, this time killing or wounding four. It was only after his fourth dive that the enemy managed to raise a response. Two roiling balls of flame flew up to meet him, but he laughed as he shredded them apart with his scythe, then dove down once again. He threw his scythe ahead of him as he dove lower than ever, shredding through a dozen and knocking nearly twice as much aside. They might as well have been straw figures standing still in a field, waiting for him to strike them down. Two thousand? It was nothing.

Then, out of the blur of colors and insignias marking each soldier as belonging to a different tribe in the Mitene Union, his eyes caught the barest flash of metal. It was gone too quickly for him to recognize what it had been, but he stopped nonetheless, his eyes searching for another sign. Whatever it was, it had been incredibly familiar. There it was again! He dove forward, but the sign was gone. He turned on the spot, wondering what was giving him so much hesitation. His attention caught it once again. It was moving towards the city, whatever it was.

As he flew a little higher to avoid a few arrows, Bora Bora turned to face the gate, where Tokugawa and his compatriots were destroying the other half of the bridge. The newly broken section drifted downriver like a raft, leaving a fifty foot gap in its place. Yet Tokugawa and his allies lept across that distance with ease, as if they were merely taking a quick step forward. Then his attention caught the strange event once more. It had changed its trajectory, now heading directly for the Captain.

It was only as the figure broke free of the army, his fleet feet carrying him forward, that Bora Bora was able to make out the details of his appearance. At first it seemed that there was nothing special about him, apart from clearly targeting the Captain. But then he turned to glance at Bora Bora, and the insignia on his shoulder was more visible. It was the symbol of the Tyrant Queen, Tiamat. Bora Bora felt a fresh surge of rage fill him completely, and his knuckles tightened on the handle of his scythe until they turned white. He lost all care for the rest of the fight. Now was his chance to get some small revenge, and kill someone associated with that wretched wyrm. He dove.