Azmond couldn’t run. Remembering Ulric’s lessons, he put his whole body into a punch. The blow landed on the shaman’s side, where Ulric said the liver was. Maybe he aimed a bit high, because Azmond felt something crack under his fist. The shaman’s silent howl scared Azmond, the guilt and fear driving him to run away in the moment the shaman let go. The enraged shaman was too quick, grabbing Azmond again by his shoulder and pulling him close. Azmond still struggled, the wincing man gritting his teeth and casting another spell. Arcs of pain ricocheted throughout Az’s body, silent tears brimming in his eyes. The shaman pulled the scared child close.

Until a bigger hand clamped around the shaman’s arm like a vice.

“Where’s Az?” Rael roared from the stage, still straddling Klai. Their head swiveled through the crowd in a panic.

“Right here, Rael.” Derrol voice rang from the crowd. The captain was squeezing the shaman’s arm tighter as he pulled his arm up to release Azmond. “He was being led away by this man.”

“Not true!” The shaman’s Tome-staff dissipated. “He was—GAAAGH!”

Derrol’s jaw was clenched as he squeezed tighter around the man’s wrist.

“None of that.” He growled. “I saw you casting [Silence], then another spell to hurt him.” Derrol’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed tighter and tighter, until he felt the bones crack underneath. The shaman cried and Derrol blinked in surprise. He let go, the shaman nursing his broken arm.

“Jarl Erikar will hear about this.” The shaman spat.

“Erikar?” Rael frowned. They slowly turned their head towards Klai. “Did you plan this?”

Klai’s smile was bloody and missing a few teeth. Enraged, Rael punched him again. He was still smiling. Rael punched him again, and again, and again, the fury bubbling over as the captain began to laugh deliriously.

“Rael!” Derrol snapped. “Enough. You’ve won.”

The red haze lifted from their eyes, noticing for the first time that Kip had been trying to pull them off the mad captain. His face was red and purple, swollen beyond recognition. Rael hyperventilated, getting up and stumbling back. Their hands were slick with blood. The crowd around them had long faded into silence, the only sound being the hacking laughter of Klai as his compatriots dragged him off the stage. Rael searched desperately for Azmond, finding the boy hiding behind Derrol. His eyes were red with tears, and he flinched away from the sight of Rael’s hands.

When Rael moved towards him, Azmond flinched. It felt like Rael’s heart had ripped itself out of their chest. They walked to him slowly and got on a knee.

“I’m sorry, Az.” Rael said in a shuddering breath. “I was…scared. I thought…I was so worried.” A strangled sob almost erupted from Rael. Tears blurred their vision, blinked away into nothingness. “I don’t want to scare you.” Slowly, Azmond stepped closer and finally rested his head on their shoulder. He hugged Rael, who returned the embrace, bloody hands pulling him tightly against their body. “You know I’ll never hurt you, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’d split the Edge to keep you safe.” Rael blubbered into his ear.

“Shh…It’s okay.” Azmond whispered.

The two comforted each other in their hug, holding each other so tightly they might become one. After a long moment, Rael broke the hug and stood up. They wiped away their snot and took a few deep breaths.

“The Norns have requested your presence.” Derrol’s voice was low, but the crowd nevertheless heard, whispering among themselves. Rael’s eyes flicked behind Derrol, where a nervous Bak was standing awkwardly between two white armored guards.

“Me, personally?” Rael pointed at themself.

“They want to speak to the Dragonward, yes.” Derrol waved his arm. “Let’s go.”

The captain moved stiffly as he led Bak, Rael, and Azmond away from the dispersing crowd. Kip watched curiously, moving to follow. One of the guards stopped him and shook his head. The young captain frowned a bit but nodded in Rael’s direction before he disappeared into the crowd. Rael opened their mouth to ask something, but Bak held up a finger to his mouth. Rael raised an eyebrow, and shaman mimed a complicated set of gestures. Rael couldn’t even begin to parse what he meant. They just shrugged. Azmond looked between the two with a confused expression.

“Are you okay, Derrol?” Azmond asked, Bak slapping his forehead.

“…No.” He responded gruffly.

“Why?” The Child of Dragons may have been a quasi-religious figure in many societies, but he was still a child. When he asked ‘why’ to someone who’d never had children before, he condemned them to a loop of never-ending questions.

“Loads of reasons.” Derrol stomped across the bridge leading down a few floors of the closest Omrad. Derrol’s fate was sealed.

“What reasons?” Azmond’s questions were innocent, ignorant of the captain’s souring mood.

“Big ones. Scary ones. Important ones.” Derrol huffed, his expression alone cleaving a clear path through the thickening throngs of people gathering close to the Norn’s Hall.

“Like what?” Azmond increased his pace so that he was on Derrol’s heels.

“Like family troubles. Like the war we’re planning. Like the High Jarl succession. Like finding someone beating a man into a bloody pulp, who I gave my word would cause no problems.” His eyes were dark and angry when he turned to look at Rael. The Dragonward shrunk under the captain’s gaze.

“You saw what they were trying to do.” Rael said through pursed lips as they looked away. “They wanted to kidnap Az, after cheating in the sparring match.”

“I know. But the truth doesn’t matter.” Derrol shook his head as he jumped down the steps two at a time to land on solid ground. “Only how it is presented. Especially here.”

“What should I have done instead?” Rael stomped next to Derrol, the Norn Hall casting a shadow over the group. “Let them take Az? Lose the fight?”

“Yes!” Derrol swiftly turned around and roared in Rael’s face. “You should have conceded the second you smelled a scheme.” Derrol waved a sausage-sized finger in Rael’s face. “Don’t let yourself become ensnared in their stupid games of pride. They know the rules better than you do, they know how to twist them to their advantage to make you seem the fool, the aggressor, or the weakling.”

“Ulric said that—”

“Ulric says a lot of things!” Derrol turned his back on Rael to lean on the wall of the massive ark structure. “He’s obsessed with gaining recognition, and Kip is all too eager to lap it up. Merit and honor are all good, but do not let it blind you. It is possible to lose a battle gracefully to win the war. Ask Jarl Feldon. Hells, ask Shieldmaiden Edith!” He sighed and stood up again. “Let’s go. The Norns are waiting.”

The doors opened to him, the darkness inside a stark contrast to the bright, jovial atmosphere they encountered when they first came. A gentle hand settled on Rael’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it too personally.” Bak whispered. “Captain Derrol has much rage in his heart. It’s why he feels such kinship to you. You, the brazier burning bright, and him, whose embers have yet to fade, share a similar type of anger. One that lashes out in every direction, a wildfire that roils against injustice. Yet neither of you could hurt those that set that fury alight, no more than fire can burn lightning.”

Rael trembled and bit their lip. “What do you know?”

“I know that Derrol was much like you when he was your age. I know that he doesn’t want you to be like him when you’re his age.” The flowers in his beard made way for a bright smile. “Now go and show the Norns that you are worthy of being Dragonward.”

The doors closed behind Rael, the chilly darkness sliding down Rael’s back. They reached out instinctively to find Azmond’s hand there, waiting and open. A small light appeared over Rael and Azmond, bobbing gently. It began moving, leading them forwards so they would not be left in the darkness. The two walked in silence, feeling unseen gazes track them as they walked past. Nine lights appeared over the Norns a few meters away. Derrol was already there, kneeling. Rael and their ward got closer until the light stopped moving. Rael kneeled, pulling at Azmond to do the same.

“The Child need not bow.” Norn Astrid’s gentle voice washed over them like a wave.

“He is not Dragonborn yet.” Norn Halbrand scratched his moustache. “I think he does.”

“I don’t care.” Norn Thorgrim’s ever-present scowl deepened. “We’ve already said he’s the real deal. I want us to make sure this Marnesian is capable of being Dragonward.”

“They are both Marnesian, though?” Norn Laouig chuckled softly; his voice smoother than unfurling velvet as he waved an arm around.

Thorgrim growled, his dark eyes staring holes into Rael. He snapped his fingers, and two guards carried a giant hoop into the light. The white ring had to be over two meters wide, etched with fine inscriptions. They tossed the hoop into the air, where it hovered for a few seconds, humming ominously as it turned. It slowly settled over Rael and then around them, a lightheadedness began building in Rael. It felt much like the time they had found Jorge’s secret moonshine stash and drunk themselves into a stupor.

“Do you confirm everything skald Pequit sung of you to be true?” Thorgrim leaned forwards, keeping his amputated arm in the shadows.

Rael’s words moved faster than their sluggish thoughts.

“Most of it.”

“Most of it?” Norn Arngunn propped her head on her arms. “Pity, it was a lovely song. What part was inaccurate?”

Again, Rael felt compelled to answer before their brain could try and censure them.

“There was a long-winded description. It said I had ‘eyelashes thicker than raven wings, nestling eyes sweeter than chocolate.’ Pequit also described a ‘body of a warrior princess, thighs that could—'"

“Aside from your physical description, are the tales of your exploits true?” Norn Thorgrim huffed, pointedly ignoring Arngunn’s giggling.

“Yes.” Rael’s face felt hot. Were they blushing?

The Norns spoke to one another in hushed whispers. The elders rose their voices and a few even threw out some rude gestures. After a few minutes of discussion, Norn Thorgrim turned around and continued.

“How do you feel about Azmond?” He scratched at his white beard, pulling at the few hairs of faded red.

Rael could feel the ring’s presence try to pull something from their mind. It could not find a simple word or emotion.

“Back home I had a younger brother. His name was Tipple, and like me, our parents did not favor him. Tulip’s Hold did not like our family much either.” Rael’s body was stiff. A part of them struggled to break free of this compulsion, to prevent the words from leaving their mouth.

“At times, it felt like it was Tipple and I against the world. I would protect him from the children that would try to hurt him, protect him from our father’s bouts of rage. When his Tome manifested before mine, he quickly found new friends. And I was alone.” Rael’s emotions struggled against the hoop’s mental magic, a glacial fear supplanted by the shame of bearing their heart to not just the Norns, but those who hid in the dark.

“When I first spotted Azmond on that slave ship, I thought that he was a bit odd. I had resigned myself to being alone. But all of us were bound together in chains, then in secrecy as we planned our escape. Spellmaster Wollow, his last ward, pushed us together. We grew close. When the escape happened, I found myself protecting Azmond as I would my brother.” A small bout of relief flooded Rael. Their secret was safe. Their initial panic had shaken their consciousness free from the shackles the hoop had imposed of their will and Rael felt the magic be pushed back. A small spark arced off the ring, spinning noticeably faster.

“You see him as a brother.” Norn Thorgrim hummed. He turned around to deliberate with the others again, but Rael had managed to wrest control of their mouth from the ring.

“It’s more than that. Deeper, somehow.” Rael continued, the light in their eyes growing stronger as more arcs of energy sparked off the hoop. Murmurs of worry and confusion slithered from the dark. “Maybe it was the time we shared adrift. Maybe our adventures with the fae. Maybe it’s fate, or destiny, or whatever.” The Norns watched with rapt attention, the hoop spinning faster and faster, sparks bouncing off it. “Whatever it was, I’ve decided to keep him safe. Be warned or suffer the same fate as Captain Klai.”

“What did you do to my Captain?” A voice thundered from the darkness behind Rael. The ring revolving around Rael sparked brilliantly, a flash of light illuminating the speaker for but a moment. The man stood taller than Rael, bulging with muscle. What little of his skin that wasn’t covered by ornate leather armor and long, blonde hair was decorated in ornate, colorful tattoos. Rael saw him only for a moment, the man striding forwards with hate in his eyes disappearing in the shadows again. Rael kept their mind focused on maintaining control, clenching their jaw like a vice. ‘I need to get my version of the story to the Norns first.’

“Jarl Erikar will sit down!” Norn Thorgrim roared, slamming his fist on the table. There was a moment of tense silence as Rael waited for Erikar to emerge from the shadows. But he did not come. Thorgrim nodded and motioned to the youth in the ring. “Rael, explain what happened between Captain Klai and yourself.”

Rael went over the events of the morning from their perspective, detailing what they expected from their fight and how Klai used his ignorance as an excuse to use spells in a non-magical duel by hiding his Tome in the crowd. They went into depth on how they lost Azmond in the crowd, how they asked Klai to stop to let them find him, but he kept going. They explained how he had seemed to admit colluding the shaman trying to kidnap Azmond. After they finished their recounting of the events, the Norns discussed among themselves again. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, Norn Thorgrim turned around and waved his hand. The guards approached Rael with sticks. Rael clenched their jaw and continued staring the scowling elder in the eyes. The guards rose the batons high in the air…and the ring followed, moving up and away from Rael. They breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if a vice had been released from their mind.

“Dragonward Rael.” Norn Thorgrim spoke the title as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. “With two votes abstaining, two against, and five supporting, you are hereby recognized by the Norns.” Rael’s heart swelled and they smiled brightly for a moment before controlling their expression once more. Thorgrim blinked a few times, his scowl deepening as he leaned forwards. “Let it be known that the exuberance shown in the duel will not be tolerated again. This is your first and last warning.”

Rael flinched away from the old man’s glare and nodded. The Norn of cripples, the elderly, and survivors leaned back down and sighed, his large frame shrinking slightly. He held up his remaining hand and observed it slowly, appreciating ancient calluses and growing liver spots. For a second, he seemed to reminisce on days long past, a softness entering his eyes that melted the eternal scowl on his face. He clenched his fist, and it disappeared as quickly as it came. He snapped his fingers and the light over Rael disappeared, casting them in darkness. Only the Norns could be seen in the Hall.

“With Jarl Feldon’s merits accounted for, we still have ten candidates for the position of high Jarl.” Norn Thorgrim recited. “We cannot waste much more time, as eager Aspirants and Captains launch retaliatory raids against Bergin, we stand to lose more and more forces. We are forced to assess Bergin as a foe unlike any we’d fought before.” Thorgrim’s words echoed throughout the hall, whispers of understanding emenating from the hidden Jarls.

“Attacks with intent to seize riches will not work, and any attempt to hold land will result in significant pushback. Our only recourse is a series of quick, devastating attacks in key locations to cripple supply lines and cause as much chaos as possible. It has been decided that we will choose the last five candidates to lead the war against Bergin in the following three days, through a series of tests.” Murmuring in the hall grew louder, and Thorgrim spoke over them rather than demanding silence. “These challenges will be given by us to determine the capabilities of your crews, be it in battle, in magic, or in craftsmanship! Prepare yourself, Faulk! The Norns have spoken!”

The light returned in the Hall and the Jarls began filing out. Shaman Bak and Captain Derrol stood by the Norn’s table. Azmond waved his arms wildly to get the two’s attention, and he to follow Rael heading their way. The Norns walked (and in some cases, hobbled) down from their elevated platform, a few of them passing by Azmond to bless him in the Faulk fashion. Interestingly, Derrol watched Thorgrim pass expectantly, his shoulders sagging when the old man did not acknowledge his presence. The last to come down was Astrid. She beckoned Rael and Azmond closer, the two helping her walk down the stairs.

“Thank you, dears.” The spindly woman smiled, and Rael flinched. She had dentures made of crocodile teeth filed down into the semblance of human ones. “For strangers on our shores, you’ve adopted well to our customs.”

“It isn’t unique to the Faulk to help others.” Rael said as the Norn patted their hand.

“Perhaps.” Astrid nodded. “But few people are willing to help the Faulk.”

“Because we are isolated, Norn Astrid.” Bak jumped in, his beard tickling the tips of Azmond’s horns. “We choose to separate ourselves from the rest of Galladia by hiding in our swamps.”

“Outsiders wouldn’t understand.” The woman waved a hand dismissively.

“How can they?” Bak pushed again.

“Enough.” Astrid held a finger to Bak’s face. “We will not discuss this now. These two must be brought to the Dragonneedle. They have much to learn.”

Norn Astrid shuffled towards the exit, a confused pair of youths supporting her. Bak trailed behind as he cracked his joints nervously. Rael ventured a look behind them, spotting Captain Derrol sitting dejectedly by the stairs as Feldon and Edith approached him.

“What’s with Captain Derrol?” Rael asked once they were outside.

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell.” Bak looked back at the glum captain and sighed.

“The boy is waiting for something that will never come.” Norn Astrid grumbled as she patted Rael’s arm again. “Waiting for a dead man to acknowledge him.”

The group walked down a flight of stairs carved into the hill, the smell of mead and meat that permeated the hall and its environs dissipating with every step. Though Rael and Azmond could feel her impatience, the old woman took each step slowly and carefully.

“What did you mean by that?” Rael pressed, but the Norn held up her hand again.

“Nothing you need to worry about, dearie.” Astrid smiled gently, taking a bit more time on an uneven step.

Rael and Azmond looked at each other. Rael bit their cheek to stop themself from demanding an answer from one of the few friendly people in Stone Circle. Azmond was more placid, his eyes darting between Rael and Astrid as if he was waiting for the former to keep digging. Rael shook their head softly, but the child continued to nod his head in Astrid’s direction. The two continued their silent argument, passing by longhouses, warehouses, and smithies as they climbed down winding staircases. Crowds flocked around them, a hubbub of people trying to sell their wares. Doub sand-shearer cloaks, Nizian glassware, Zirconian midnight silk, even a few enchanted Audye daggers.

“Has Bak explained what is expected of you?” Astrid waved away a man trying to sell his wares.

“Only that we’re not sure what I’m supposed to do.” Rael tried to do the same to, but the peddler was stubborn. It took a snap of Astrid’s fingers for him to scamper away.

Norn Astrid hid a wince on the last step down the northern side of the hill. The fading clangs of smithies beating metal into shape was the only sound of civilization this side of the hill. Stone buildings and wooden palisades were replaced by huts of woven roots and dried mud, formed into neat hemispheres. The road was neither trodden earth, nor planks of wood like the rest of the Stone Circle. Great care had been made in placing smooth stones closely together into a puzzled path snaking its way to a stone gateway made of three obelisks. Furthermore, there were no inns nor taverns that populated every other part of the Faulk city, the normally near-riotous conditions softening into grove of sobriety and calm. Shamans strode about, discussing magic quietly, whispering into the shrubbery, or manipulating plants and mounds of earth to form more huts.

“Your duty is simple.” Astrid kicked off her slippers, her coarse feet settling comfortably on the smooth stone path. “Keep little Azmond safe. You’ve done a good job at it so far.” She let go of Rael and Azmond’s arms, swaying slightly until a gnarled staff appeared in her hands. Her Tome appeared faster than any Rael had seen before, except perhaps Wollow’s thick leatherbound book. ‘Wait, why didn’t she use a cane since the beginning?’ Before Rael could voice their thoughts, the Norn pointed her staff at Azmond.

“We need to discuss Azmond’s duties when he becomes Dragonborn.”

“Norn Astrid, with all due respect…” Bak stepped in front of the crone, a flicker of equal parts irritation and amusement dancing in Astrid’s eyes. Shaman Bak balked for a second but continued. His position attracted the curious glances of the nearby shamans. “Imposing such a heavy burden on a child would be too much.”

“He is no mere child.” Astrid tapped her staff on the ground to punctate her statement. “He is a Child of Dragons.”

“A Child of Dragons is still a child.” Bak said, the wayward glances of the shamans shifting into poorly concealed expressions of interest. “I should know, I’ve watched Azmond since he came to Feldon. He’s bright, full of energy, and curious, but also naïve and impulsive, like many other children. It would be best to let him have a childhood before we take it away in the name of tradition.”

“Your claims border on heresy, Shaman Bak.” Astrid clutched her staff tightly. “To question the divinity of the dragons is to question the very foundations of Faulk belief.”

“The dragon’s divinity is irrelevant.” Bak stood taller, either ignorant or unabashed by the attention he was garnering. “Even if Azmond were half-dragon or half-god, he would still be half-human. That affords him the right to play among his kin, the right to form his own opinions, the right to become his own man. Not be grown into what we need him to be, shaped as we would our huts or the Omrads.”

“The survival of our culture may depend on him!” Astrid slammed her staff into the ground, gnashing her crocodile teeth.

“If the Jardoms would willingly a child’s freedom for their continued existence, they are not worth fighting for!” Bak’s furrowed eyebrows and stern voice was a side of him that neither Rael nor Azmond had seen before. They looked at him with wide eyes as he breathed heavily. The quiet around him made the shaman realize that he was the center of attention, and he patted his beard as the red faded from his cheeks.

“By Arafell, this is not a conversation we should be having in public.” Astrid side-stepped Bak in a huff. “What would your former master think?”

“Apologies, Norn.” He bowed stiffly. “I seem to remember her enjoying our debates.”

Norn Astrid stopped on the path. The eavesdropping shamans peered from their huts and their benches. A baleful stare from the old woman had them all turn away and continue about their business.

“Like Derrol, you cling to a past that no longer exists.” Bak opened his mouth to say something, but the crone shook her head and waved her tome in the direction of an ancient hut near the giant stone archway. “Enough. The three of you go inside, I will have my assistants gather what we need.”