Reyland had lost count of the number of times he had looked death in the face that night. There was no room for thought, and scarcely a moment to breathe. Every moment was spent on the line between life and death, each decision he made potentially his last.

The wyvern destroyed a wooden beam behind his head as it lunged, and he ducked out of instinct. Wooden splinters flew through the air as shrapnel, pelting him and digging into the exposed skin on his neck. The floor under him shook and shuddered, stones shaking free of their mortar as the tower struggled to hold itself together. The wyvern shrieked, that horrendous, ear-splitting sound drowning out all else.

He ran through an open doorway, frantically looking for any way out.

Where’s Matthaeus? Did he get to safety?

The wall behind him exploded inwards and he took off sprinting again, aiming for a hole in the wall. He leapt through, bounding over an ten foot opening in the floor that dropped some three stories down to a pile of rubble. He landed already back in a run, listening carefully to the sounds of destruction from behind him.

What kind of beast can tear through the stone of a castle as if it were made of sand? He grit his teeth, sprinting up a half-collapsed flight of stairs as the wyvern appeared below him. Reyland no longer even knew which floor he was on.

The wall in front of him was wide open, the night air and the storm that filled it in full display. He ran to the edge, looking out desperately, and cursed as he realised he was still near the top of the tower. The damn wyvern had been running him in circles.

The sound of it approaching from behind recalled his attention, and he looked for anywhere safe to flee. His only answer turned out to be down, and he leapt through a hole in the floor just before the wyvern reached him.

From above the rasp of metal against scale resounded, followed by a screech of pain.

“Krraaaa!”

Reyland spared a glance. A ballista bolt had lodged itself into the wyvern’s shoulder, and the beast roared out into the night in response.

“Thanks, Maeve.”

Then the wyvern turned on him, and he took off running again. This time, with every intention of going down, and out of the tower.

The clatter of another ballista bolt bouncing off the tower walls behind him made him rethink that, though.

There’s no way Maeve reloaded a ballista that quickly, Reyland thought, the beginnings of a plan forming. Then that means the soldiers…

He began looking for another hole in the outer wall, sidestepping the jaws of the wyvern as they snapped shut next to his head.

There.

He ran straight through the hall, towards another large opening on the tower wall. As he skittered to a stop right before he would have fallen to his death, he scanned the courtyard. The beasts… were gone. It took him a moment to collect himself from his shock, but it was true. The courtyard was home to only bodies and soldiers, the Blight was nowhere to be seen.

That just left one, then.

He dove to the side, dodging the downwards talon strike that would have rent him in two had he not moved. The wyvern gave him no time to recover, sweeping its head from the side with jaws wide to swallow him whole.

Reyland leapt into the air, rolling over its horned head as he dodged by a hair. In the same motion he drew his shortsword and tried to cut into its neck, but it glanced uselessly off the wyverns scales.

The ballistae bolts however, did not. Two of them, in almost perfect sync, punctured the wyvern’s chest and shoulder, eliciting another chilling shriek of pain.

“Krrrooaaaa!”

The wyvern turned to face the ballista, and Reyland took his opportunity. He lunged towards the neck, carefully angling his blade to come up from behind, and was rewarded as his sword sunk in through the gaps in the scales.

He was thrown backwards as the wyvern ignored him, flapping its wings and taking to the air in one single movement. Reyland groaned in pain as he was flung against the wall, collapsing into a heap as he barely held onto his sword.

Wincing and holding the back of his head, he staggered to his feet and made his way to the hole in the wall.

The wyvern had already destroyed one of the ballistae. It was flying back into the air, the crumpled wooden frame of the ballista in one talon and the corpse of a man in the other. It dropped both, letting them crash into the ground, before it turned and flew straight towards the other ballista.

Reyland’s breath hitched in his throat as he realised that was the one Maeve and him had been at.

He spotted her, still aiming the ballista even as death itself swept in from above. She pulled the lever, the bolt embedding itself into the wyvern’s belly, then she dove to the side right as the wyvern crashed down on the wall.

She was flung from the wall, tumbling end over end in a shower of splinters over the edge before crashing into the ground thirty feet below. She did not move afterwards.

Reyland clenched his sword tightly.

The ballista destroyed and the soldiers below in chaos, the wyvern landed atop a small tower in the wall, spreading its wings wide as it reared up to its full, terrifying height.

“Krroooaaahhh!”

Then the beast turned its glowing orange eyes back to the tower, and Reyland knew it was looking straight at him. The shimmering line of blood seeping down its neck was visible even in the darkness.

“Not gonna let insult stand then, are ya beastie?”

The flap of its wings as it took to the air was its only answer.

Reyland turned and ran backwards, retreating into the relative safety of the walls. They would slow it down, at the very least.

Not for long, as it turned out. The tower shuddered and heaved, Reyland’s feet nearly knocked out from under him as he stumbled into the wall. Then, he started to scramble as the tower began to lean.

He turned to look behind him, and saw the ground below through the hole in the wall. The tower was pitching dangerously to the side, the supports in the walls too damaged to support it for much longer.

Then he saw fangs and glowing eyes looking up at him, and he cursed as he started to run up the now sloping hallways.

“Kkrrrrraaaaa!”

The wyvern gave chase, tearing through walls and ceilings alike. Reyland’s heart beat out of his chest, an icy fear gripping him as he ran. He led the wyvern through to the other side of the building, searching for another hole in the wall, a stairway down, anything… but he could find nothing.

A deep, horrendous crack resounded from lower in the tower. Reyland kept running.

The ceiling above began to crumble faster, and Reyland had to slow to avoid the boulders that fell towards his head. In front of him an entire section of the ceiling collapsed into rubble, blocking his path and sending dust flying into his lungs. He coughed and choked, dashing to the side blindly as the wyvern careened through the rubble with a crash.

Below, another crack shook the building, and it began to list even more heavily to the side. Reyland caught himself in a door frame, still coughing, as he tried to orient himself.

The wyvern’s head burst through the wall in front of him, and he let go, dropping to the ground in a slide as gravity pulled him away. His burned arm screamed in pain as he dug into the floor, trying to slow his fall, only for a desk to come sliding down towards him. He cursed as he pushed himself away, losing all grip on the now nearly vertical floor.

His back struck a wall, knocking the wind out of him and putting stars in his vision. He groaned in pain, his body on the very brink of giving in to its wounds and exhaustion, when the blur of something dark in front of him kicked him back into motion.

He barely rolled to the side in time for the wyvern to miss him, diving straight down past him as he rolled along the wall. The wyvern disappeared into darkness and dust below him, and he rolled onto his back, wincing in pain.

The world came to a slow, creeping stop when his eyes came to rest upon another figure. There, just a short way to his left, was Matthaeus.

Lying motionless on the ground in a pile of rubble.

Reyland choked out a pained gasp as he scrambled over to the boy, instantly pulling rubble off the boy’s body. It was stained with something dark, and Reyland froze as he noticed the gash running across the boy’s head where a rock had struck it. He bent over and pressed his ear to Matthaeus’ chest.

…

A slow, sickening horror filled Reyland’s gut. Distantly he could make out the wyvern, pulling itself from the rubble, but it seemed impossibly far away. All he could see was the one body in front of him, unmoving amongst a pile of wet stones.

Don’t go worryin’ about the beasties, lil’ tyke, his own words played mockingly in his head, a recent memory forcing itself to his mind.

We’ll keep you safe.

Behind him, the sounds of the wyvern’s claws scraping up the sides of the tower were getting closer.

Reyland pressed two quivering fingers to Matthaeus’ neck, and felt nothing. The skin was warm, but no pulse was under it. The wound in the boy’s head wasn’t bleeding anymore, the dark blood matting his hair down but not flowing. The boy’s eyes were closed, his expression almost peaceful, but for the blood that marred his pale face. Reyland gingerly pressed his ear to the boy’s chest once again, straining, listening for anything.

He heard the sounds of the wyvern’s growl behind him, and nothing else.

A myriad of images flashed through his mind in a single instant. The wyvern crashing down onto ballistae, lifting lifeless corpses into the air as it left. A quill sinking through the neck of a person next to him, who’s name and face he hadn’t even known. The wolves, ripping and tearing their way through every board in the church.

Maeve, being flung from the top of the wall, landing in a crumpled heap.

Reyland exhaled, and every emotion drained from his face. Every bit of desperation, every bit of fear and hopelessness, all the rage and the sadness he felt. Left behind was something cold, and remorseless.

He turned around as the wyvern finished climbing back up to his floor, its jaws snapping anxiously, tongue flicking about to taste the air. Its cold, serpentine eyes paid no attention to anything but him.

“Even if you kill me, Griff will hunt you. To every end of every continent, if need be.”

“Krrrrr…” It growled, slinking towards him slowly as it climbed the walls up. The beast’s wings barely fit inside the keep, and its head must have weighed three times what Reyland himself did, armour and all. It dwarfed him, an imposing, monstrous figure looming out of the darkness below.

“Hells, he’ll probably do that anyways, when he finds the kid. You’ve gone and royally fucked yerself, haven’t ya?”

The barest hint of anger curled on Reyland’s lip, but his eyes had darkened into something hateful and vicious.

“There’s a reason there ain’t a damn dragon left on this continent, wyrm. And you’ve gone and pissed him off. That said…”

He drew his shortsword again, the comforting weight settling smoothly into the palm of his left hand.

“I’m rather pissed meself now, aye?”

He didn’t wait for the wyvern to strike. He went first.

His boot struck the ground, propelling him towards the beast sword first. It reared back, dodging his thrust and then shot back forwards with an open maw, blindingly fast.

But, he was ready for it.

They’re but beasts, Reyland. The voice of his mentor played in the back of his head, memories from all the way back when he’d first started his apprenticeship. More than anything, they move predictably. Use that.

He felt the rough, stone-like scales brush against his armour as he dodged with as little movement as possible. Before the wyvern could recover he drove his sword up and into its neck, angling it to slide up and under the scales. It bit deep, sinking to the hilt, and Reyland ripped it out sideways, prying off a cluster of scales in the process as he ducked under the neck. The wyvern thrashed sideways, trying to crush him into the wall, but he was already gone. It swung clean through the stone, sending a shudder through the tower.

Reyland stabbed the other side of its neck, already moving back towards the legs and wings as it thrashed and tried to crush him again.

Large beasts are a hassle. Never fight one head on, if you can help it. And if you are going to, bring help.

He stabbed up into the crease between the body and the wing, carving out a line of blood as the wyvern shrieked in pain.

That being said, if you’ve got no help, and nowhere to run… There are ways to deal with them.

The wing came down to crush him and Reyland dove underneath the wyvern’s body, rolling to his feet on the other side. He thrust underneath the scales once again, knowing full well it was still hardly a scratch to a beast of that size.

Caves, hallways, dense forests… There are places where size is a disadvantage. That’s part of why I carry my knife. A greatsword is not always easily swung in such places.

The wyvern thrashed about, rattling the entire tower as more cracks and creaks and groans came from the stonework below.

Reyland stabbed, twisted and pulled, tearing off more black scales along with a splash of blood.

Something blurred in the corner of his eye, and he dove backwards, landing on his back but instantly coming back up in a roll. The spiked end of the wyvern’s tale lay embedded in the ground just in front of him, dripping with a clear liquid Reyland knew must have been poison. A single scratch, and he’d have been finished.

Reyland lunged forwards, gripping his sword in both hands and swinging down with all his might. It pulled its tail back up from the ground, only it left the stinger behind, severed at the base as blood and poison dripped from Reyland’s blade.

“Krrraaaaaaaaa!”

Reyland raised his sword to strike again, but froze as the ground underneath him at last gave way. His eyes went wide as he lost his footing, the stones crumbling and falling all at once.

The wyvern fell just below him, tipping over to fall back first. It tried to flap its wings but couldn’t, the falling stones on all sides blocking its movement.

Reyland bounced off a pillar on the way down, and he felt already broken ribs crack once again. The dark, flooded ground below was rising to meet them, and Reyland grit his teeth for what he knew was coming.

As he passed it by, Reyland lunged out to grab a wooden beam that jut out from the broken edge of the tower. His right arm just barely made it, but by then, he was falling far too quickly. His shoulder dislocated with a pop, and he lost his grip immediately, barely slowing himself.

“Krrooahh!”

The wyvern landed first, and then half the tower on top of it. Wooden beams, eight inches thick, fell from such heights that they became projectiles, puncturing the wyvern’s wings and body. Stones bludgeoned it from head to tail, crushing and pulverising bone and scale, battering the wyvern bloody.

Then, amidst the last of the rubble, Reyland crashed down onto the wyvern’s chest as well.

“Ahck!”

He struggled to breathe, the sudden, sharp pain running through his chest worse than anything he’d ever experienced in his life. Everything went dark, his vision narrowing down to a dark tunnel and spiralling bursts of light as he struggled not to fall unconscious.

Slowly, as the rubble finished falling and the cold, icy shock of rain took its place, Reyland opened his eyes.

The wyvern lay on the ground in the courtyard, wings, body and head pinned down by the rubble. It struggled weakly, croaking and groaning as it strained to lift the stones and beams that covered it. Reyland lay on the wyvern’s chest, right near the base of the neck.

A wing started to lift, and some of the stones began to fall off.

“No the fuck you don’t.”

Reyland staggered to his feet, his right arm hanging limp at his side, but his sword still clenched tight in his left hand. The wyvern’s eye rotated to look at him, and he could see the hatred behind its orange glow.

He stumbled forwards, right to the wyvern’s head. It continued to thrash, but weakly, so weakly that it could hardly lift its head from the ground. The tangle of stones and beams pinning its head to the ground by the horns must have helped, as well.

At the top of the wyvern’s head, right in the centre of the skull, a crack ran through the bone. Reyland could see the blood seeping out, the missing scales, and the pulsing, gory mess that poked out through its open head. He planted a foot atop the wyvern’s skull, nearly losing his balance as everything started to spin for a moment.

“Even if you could speak, you wouldn’t deserve last words,” Reyland muttered, fighting not to collapse with every shaking breath. “And I sure as hell ain't giving you any of mine, either.”

Then he thrust his blade down into its open head wound, driving the sword down with his entire body. The wyvern shuddered, tried to cry out, its legs and wings thrashing and twitching, and then went still.

And with its final death throes, the night went still, but for the falling of the rain.

Reyland left his sword in the beast’s head, staggering backwards like a drunk. He held his face upturned, letting the rain cleanse the blood from him, clutching his wounds in pain.

When he opened his eyes next, he found himself in the middle of a circle of soldiers. They had surrounded the wyvern, spears still drawn towards its corpse, staring at both the wyrm and Reyland with wonder and shock.

Reyland spotted Griff with them, as the man sheathed his greatsword. He couldn’t tell what kind of expression his mentor was making, but there was a look behind his eyes Reyland had never seen before.

He walked over to Griff slowly, limping as the wounds in his side and chest started to catch up to him fully. He couldn’t bring himself to stand up straight anymore. It was a struggle just to walk. When he got to Griff he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He turned his head down to the ground, letting his soaking hair hang in front of his face.

“Matthaeus?” Griff asked him. Reyland shook his head.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Reyland relished the faint warmth it offered. Then, the courtyard erupted into chaos, one voice at a time.

“The dragon… the dragon is slain!”

“The wyrm is dead!”

“The lad did it! We’re… we’re alive!”

Soon, the entire courtyard was filled with cheering, but it rang hollow in Reyland’s ears. They were cheering, and in a few places he could even hear his name joining the shouts. It didn’t change the hollow pit in his stomach.

He looked around the keep, eyes sweeping across the near countless bodies that lay strewn about the courtyard. Over the ramparts. Hanging over the edge of the wall like a drunken sailor on a ship railing. There’d been around a thousand soldiers here, when they’d first arrived. How many remained? A hundred? Ninety?

He felt like he was going to be sick, but nothing came. Like his body didn’t even have the energy for it.

“It… doesn’t feel like a victory,” Reyland muttered quietly. His voice was raw, hoarse and tired.

“It rarely does.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Never.”

Reyland slumped, then leaned forwards. The top of his head bumped into Griff’s armour chestplate, resting against the black tabard that covered it.

“Did I ever tell ya why I even joined the Order?”

“Our Oath forbids us from talking about that.”

“Aye, guess not then.”

Reyland stepped away, looking back around the courtyard once more. Soldiers swarmed the corpse of the wyvern at a slight distance, excited to see it yet too afraid to approach too closely. That was only some of them, though. The rest, maybe half of all the soldiers that were still standing, looking just the same as how Reyland felt. Wide, expressionless stares. Some wandered through the corpses in the courtyard, searching for something, or more likely someone. Though it was hard to tell in the darkness, here and there Reyland could see the arm or leg of a black armoured Ordained poking up through the sea of bodies.

“Griff?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t… don’t die on me, aye? Least not for a while.”

“I had no intention of doing so.”

“...Thanks.”

Griff took a sip from his flask, dark eyes watching the courtyard in silence. His face was unreadable as always.

“You did well. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you did.”

“Ya damn right it doesn’t feel like it.”

A few soldiers began cleaning up the dead, likely friends of theirs from the way they handled the bodies. Though, as soon as the other soldiers saw them starting, they too began to search.

“You’ll never save everyone,” Griff said darkly. “No matter how hard you kick and scream for it. No matter how fast or how powerful you become. No matter how many years you practise… and no matter who you lose, or what oaths you swear on their name.”

Reyland watched the blood drip from his hands, both his own and others, all carried away as one by the rain.

“Never stop trying. But know this… the sooner you accept that you’re only one man, the sooner you’ll carry only the burden of one man.”

Griff took another swig, then pocketed his flask with a distant look in his eyes.

“Few can claim they slew a wyrm of any kind. While it may not have been a dragon, a wyvern is still a greater wyrm. Those who remain in this courtyard now in front of you would likely be dead, had you not dealt with the pest.”

Reyland gave a dry, mirthless chuckle.

“You’re the only damn person alive who’d call a greater wyrm a pest, ya know that?”

Griff watched the rain fall quietly.

“Guess I’d expect nothing less of the man they say drove the dragons to extinction,” Reyland said with a sigh. “Though, it’s not like I can ever get ya to talk about that.”

Griff continued to watch the rain and the soldiers, giving no indication he’d even heard.

“I… I’m gonna look fer a place to lie down. Come find me if ya need me.”

Reyland started to limp slowly away, that hollow, cold feeling in his stomach still eating away at him. The talk with Griff had helped him forget about it for a moment, but the second he started walking, the scent of death reached his nose again, and it all came back.

“When we leave for Castle Acheron,” Griff abruptly called out, his low voice like gravel in the air.

Reyland stopped on a dime.

“While we’re on the road… I’ll tell you those old stories. And when we get to the castle, I’ll tell you that story as well.”

Reyland’s eyes widened a bit in shock. He turned around to look at Griff, trying to tell if the man was speaking truthfully, only to find Griff’s black eyes boring into him.

“I’ll tell you about what happened seven years ago… about the day your father died.”

Reyland froze completely still, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Reyland!” A weak, choking voice called, and he blinked in shock.

“M-Maeve?”

A shoulder bumped into him, and Reyland caught Maeve as she nearly fell to the ground. She was soaked to the bone, just like everyone else, but was bleeding from a cut on her forehead still.

“You’re… you’re alive,” Maeve said slowly, pulling back from him to lean heavily on her spear.

“Could say the same to you, ya look worse than I feel,” Reyland said, mind still half frozen at Griff’s words. His mentor turned away when he saw Maeve arrive, walking off into the darkness of the keep in silence.

“You sayin’ I look like shit?”

“Aye, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

She smiled, too tired to laugh. Her eyes held an exhaustion that didn’t match her lips.

“Saw ya running back into that tower, then the wyvern… Ah, just glad you made it out alive.”

“You know, I was thinkin’ the same thing. Glad to be alive, and all.”

“Mind doin’ me a favour? Help me find a bed, or a cot, or a pile o’ sticks or something to lay in that aint mud and… well…”

Reyland exhaled slowly, a heaviness settling over them both at once. It took a moment for him to respond.

“Yeah, I can help with that.”

“...Thanks, mate.”

They put their arms over each other's shoulders, both leaning on each other to try and stay standing, and began to trudge their way through the mud across the courtyard. While the tower was now collapsed there were still plenty of outbuildings, barracks, even the inside of the wall… plenty of places where it could be at least a bit drier than outside.

It was as they were almost to one of the barracks against the wall that Reyland saw something, and came to a sudden halt. His eyes were wide, and Maeve looked at him in confusion before following his gaze.

“M… Matthaeus?”

“What?” Maeve responded, sounding worried. “Reyland, ya look like you’re seen a ghost.”

Reyland dropped his arm from her, and staggered forwards alone. His eyes refused to even blink.

Sitting there on a stone at the base of the crumbled tower, was Matthaeus. The boy’s pale skin reflected even in the darkness of a stormy night, and his hair was matted into a black blanket over his face. His tunic and pants were soaked through, and he stared at his knife, which he slowly turned and looked over in his lap.

But it was him. Without so much as a doubt.

“Matthaeus!” Reyland called, stumbling faster and limping more severely.

The boy looked up, amber eyes glinting, rain running like tears down his expressionless face.

“You’re alive?” Reyland said, dropping to one knee as he reached the boy. He reached out gingerly, as if afraid the boy would disappear if he moved too quickly.

“I-I don’t understand, I saw, you were, your…”

Matthaeus stared at him, his face even more unreadable than Griff’s.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Reyland said with a deep, genuine relief.

There was a moment of silence as Maeve caught up to them, the rain pounding down over their heads mercilessly. Then, Matthaeus got up from the stone, and threw his arms around Reyland’s neck in a hug that was surprisingly strong for a boy his size. Reyland grunted in pain, but grit his teeth as he hugged the boy back in spite of it.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Reyland repeated. The hollow pit in his gut had shrunk, and he no longer felt so distant. Tears of relief pricked at his eyes, and he could feel Matthaeus’ body shaking against his.

He heard the stifled sound of a cry, and hugged Matthaeus closer.

“Let’s find you somewhere a little more dry, yeah? I’m sure Maeve won’t mind the company. And I know, I know, she’s scary, but she doesn’t bite I promise.”

“Oi, what kinda impression of me are you tryin’ to give the kid?”

Reyland chuckled, if only a little. But it was something. The faintest of reliefs from the hollowness that chipped away inside.

“C’mon, let’s find a bed or two. Ya with me, lil’ tyke?”

Matthaeus nodded. When Reyland pulled away from the hug, he was surprised to find that Matthaeus had grabbed his hand and did not let go. Reyland smiled down at the kid, and squeezed his hand gently.

“It’s over. Let’s get some rest, aye?”

"...Aye," Matthaeus responded quietly.