Kuboen pants heavily as he trudges forward. His clothes are soaked, and his muscles are thankful for the ironic cooling that only takes a slight edge off of the burn chewing away at his will to walk each and every single step. He pants heavily, “That’s it… I’m… I’m propositioning… all of the maids… when I get home… All of them… Hah… Whose… Whose granddaughter is this… h-heavy…? Is she… h-half boruan? Huff…”

Talking as he pants is mostly to keep himself distracted. He is the second son, meaning he’s next in line for the Honeydip Barony if something happens to his father and elder brother, but he would rather do what he can to make sure they both live long and prosperous lives, especially now that the lake has been cleansed of mantaroucks, which means the Honeydip Barony has a chance to swiftly recover once honey exports resume. And, politically tied directly to one of the Fievegal’s Empresses, if the Fievegal keeps their promises, they won’t want for business even if the Barony dedicates its entire economy to honey. That’s obviously not an intelligent option, but the lake being claimed by monsters put a hamper on a LOT of the Barony’s options. Just making a contract with the Fievegal through Mattarglos’s trade agreements will jumpstart restoring the Honeydip family to well-beyond their previous peak of wealth. And, while they haven’t formalized any plans yet, Gwenesphia mentioned lower and middle-ranked noble titles in the Fievegal will be available to people who can prove economically viable as ‘partners’ to the Fievegal, rather than oath-keepers.

Meaning the Honeydip family could very easily establish a Fievegal branch that has a higher rank based entirely on business, rather than who their ancestors helped in a war. Treia’s family, her father being a commoner merchant, will almost certainly be moving to the Fievegal to snag a noble title ‘for a fee’. While this is frowned upon in most of the other eastern kingdoms, Mattarglos is in talks to recognize these titles.

All that to say, as much as Kuboen finds Daniel stringing his sister along like she’s some sort of collectible treasure, it’s undeniable that she’s part of something that promises generational wealth that would prevent seventh daughters from needing to join the military in order to avoid a political marriage, which Goelselmo never wanted to inflict upon any of his children if he can help it. And so, even if the Fievegal won’t necessarily be built on sword-nobility, and even if the gatonine doesn’t see Silence as his step-grand-niece or anything like that, saving her is the most sensible thing he can do in this ridiculous cataclysm that fell apart far faster than anyone could foresee.

And very likely, only the Fievegal has the technology to handle it.

“‘Prince Consort Kuboen’. I can live with that…. Hah… Just… hah… Just let me… make it through this.” He manages a chuckle, lifting his head as he does everything he can to keep slogging forward. He suspects he long ago lost the speed needed to stay ahead of the fire.

But, he can’t look back.

If he looks back, he might stumble, and it’s taking all of his willpower to keep going.

If he looks back, he might flinch, and he already has the tingling voices buried just outside of his subconscious trying to convince him to drop the other two and run.

If he looks back, he might give into two things he refuses to concede to; cowardice or despair.

“No… hahhh… ‘Grand Prince Kuboen’. Yes… That’s… That’s acceptable… Hahhh… Hear that, Silence? Your highness… I won’t force you,... but it’d be nice…” The gatonine chuckles as he tries to gulp down air to keep moving. “I guess money’s the best I can hope for… Tailless human…”

Suddenly, a shadow passes over his blurry gaze, and a sort of stillness, or even calmness washes over him. It’s a kind of peaceful certainty that he is already dead, and his consciousness simply hasn’t accepted it yet.

Kuboen’s legs choose this moment to give out, and he drops to his knees, scoffing and chuckling. “So… this is it, is it?”

He releases Klur so he can pat his belt in several places. His sword is obviously gone, his rifle could be anywhere, and his void bag is long gone.

There…

The gatonine scion finds the grip of exactly the thing he needs, a small utility knife, which is apparently the last possible weapon he has on his person. He is still gulping down air with exhaustion, and he slides Silence down to the ground behind him. “I have… this and… all my toes, so…huff… come at me… bastards…”

he can see a massive figure land ahead of him, and in the absence of sense that has claimed him in direct proportion to his exhaustion, he should recognize the figures that otherwise look like blurs of unintelligible colors to his watering, strained eyes. The glare of the mana fire is at his back, and for all he knows, it was about to claim his tail anyways.

When words break through, they are spoken with a calmness that reflects no fear, but instead, completely reverses the source of calmness within Kuboen’s body.

Instead of absolute acceptance of an impending death, he is instead quickly certain that he will live.

“My parents may be unmarried, but I am the eldest princess.” A shadow is closing in on Kuboen, but it does so on four blade-like legs with a massive body towering over him. This figure slides out of the “blob” to distinctly take a more recognizable, even if monstrous shape.

It’s Arachne, the summoned Death Knight with sapience, and which Daniel and Vaergraes consider their daughter as a result. Her appearance is a bit different, since the fabric-like material attached to her chitinous exoskeleton seems to grow longer and more elegant every time he sees her, but it’s definitely Arachne. And, behind her, he recognizes, now, that a large creature with deep pink scales is the one who flew in swiftly; Dame Roetta, the rose-pink female dragon.

Kuboen drops his utility knife as he starts laughing, and two more individuals jog in close; Vaergraes herself, wearing a half-capelet over her severed right arm and Djihnlierr, the second Uhl’tall Archpriestess who was captured by Magnir not long ago.

Because she seems to be loyal to Vaergraes, she has been entrusted with serving alongside her for now, since the Fievegal knows exactly how much power they’re up against, and it threatens to dwarf all of their powerful magic casters.

One last voice laughs maniacally from the direction of Roetta, but it’s undoubtedly the new cultist of “The Children of the Star”, the drider woman known as Ochibenara. “Yes! Yes! Such indescribable beauty! Such perfection! Oh, my holy light! Bathe me in your glory!”

While the woman is raving, obviously being guarded by Roetta or someone with her, Vaergraes and Djihnlierr run up to Kuboen and the others while Arachne strides at a more level pace. “Silence!” calls out Djihnlierr first, while both drop to their knees nearby.

“Lord Kuboen!” calls out Vaergraes. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll live…” huffs the gatonine, feeling the last of his strength melting away at the relief. “The fire…?”

Djihlierr scoffs, and Arachne replies, “You will thank me for not telling you. Let us retreat.” 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The Death Knight princess approaches without hesitation, scooping up Silence and Klur, while Djihlierr and Vaergraes help Kuboen up.

As they quickly return to Roetta, who has her foreclaw ready to help them up, Kuboen asks, “Will… Will they make it?”

“Silence is alive,” replies Arachne. “I will infuse mana into her to ensure her form remains stable, though I may need help from the Senior Empresses. Field Marshal Klur’s wounds seem minor, but I am no expert on goblins.”

“Good… If… you have to…”

“Rest, Lord Kuboen,” urges Vaergraes. “We will bring you to safety.”

Ochibenara, from Roetta’s back, continues to cry out jovially, “... these shadows from every corner! Let the blind see your divine glory. True beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, for it is undeniable!”

Baeka, who confirms her presence when she speaks sarcastically, retorts, “You realize the flare spell generates light as well, right?” She does exactly this, casting a blue flare horizontally over top of the approaching group towards the fire.

Ochibenara hisses, “How dare you compare that paltry, blasphemous flicker to the divine grace of the Children of the Star!? If you cannot appreciate divine perfection with your sinful eyes, then you are but a shadow awaiting your purge!”

“I may not be an Empress, but I will kill you…” growls the tiger-like woman with a threatening depth to her tone.

But, the drider is unafraid, continuing to spread her arms and praise the mana fire of all things.

Most cultures would consider her mad and send her off to a deep hole of a prison, a convent to live out her life as a nun, or simply killed, given she was apparently a slave before the Fievegal captured her.

For reasons that continue to baffle, but which everyone goes along with for now, Daniel has forbade killing her simply because of her ravings. In his exhausted, near-fugue state, Kuboen can somewhat understand that now. Even at his most vulnerable, he doesn’t even feel an inkling of danger from the arachnoid woman. If anything, her raving is annoying, and it could be upsetting, except that she is speaking truth about an objectively observable phenomenon, even for a blind woman, apparently, and giving it the context of beauty instead of the terror that it represents.

She likely accepts that everyone is going to die if the mana fire isn’t stopped, and believing it can’t be stopped, she has chosen to worship it.

Huh… The more I think about it, her logic kind of makes sense. Do I believe we can stop this thing?

When Kuboen is being lifted up onto Roetta’s back, Baeka takes his arm and helps him find his footing. It is now that he is afforded a chance to look, and he realizes why Arachne didn’t tell him.

There were yards at most before the mana fire would have caught him. There is nothing left of the airship, the rifle he dropped, the void bag he misplaced. It’s all gone, having become nothing more than a blend of white light framed by an unnatural-looking border of black flames with rainbow flickers. The white embers blend together in a way that is almost impossible to identify due to the sheer brightness as they form a sort of titanic flower or mountain of light rising far higher into the sky than even the Citadel.

What does Daniel have that he hasn’t already tried? How can he possibly hope for it to win against this? And… what the hell is that?

His gaze tracks to the northern edge of the mana fire, where a different, much smaller mountain of glittering black spikes is about to be consumed by the false inferno as well.

Is that the dragon? It’s… it’s titanic! How is it bigger than Yaulwembor!?

He is speechless as he stares, not paying attention when the two Uhl’tall and Arachne settle in on Roetta’s back. He somewhat processes Roetta taking off, which isn’t as fluid as the more powerful ‘greater dragons’ like Neith or the Empresses, but she does quickly gain lift and head towards the command post, which is slowly losing its buffer against the mana fire and will need to move before long.

“Is… Does Daniel really have a plan?” asks the gatonine quietly.

“We’re trying everything we can to avoid it,” replies Vaergraes. “I’ve seen what his last resort can do, because it was necessary. Nothing in the history of this world compares. Only the void artillery even comes close, and it wouldn’t have the power to stop this.”

“I… think it’s time we urge him to take action then…” murmurs Kuboen, studying the endless stretch of light that seems to have consumed most of the southern horizon, like a total ocean of light towered over by a column of the gods.

Ochibenara sounds crazy, but it’s hard to argue with the scope of what they’re up against.

If it’s not the children of the gods themselves, then it’s hard to deny that they aren’t gazing upon the power of the gods.

“As I understand it, we’ve been stonewalled evacuating Urflasdat,” replies Vaergraes.

“So?” asks Kuboen, finally looking at her.

“He believes the city is in range of the last resort,” replies Vaergraes.

“He assumes everyone still in the city will die,” adds Arachne with her signature stoically ‘cold’ tone.

Kuboen has been hearing these words for the last few days, as well as the rumors going around after the peace conference. Few truly believe Daniel’s ‘Alamogordo Specials’ could possibly be worse than the void artillery, which is a spell the legendary Senn has been rumored to use. Anything more powerful, and people would start to wonder if the Strylak could be defeated, which would almost certainly court the end of civilization as they know it.

“You all have literal dragons,” retorts the gatonine as he gestures at Roetta, who is probably among the weakest of the dragons, and would still require a small army to defeat. “How is an evacuation even in question?”

Vaergraes replies, “It may be the right answer to sacrifice the reputation of the dragons, which has improved of late, to save thousands of lives. But, you are asking the Emperor to send his family to risk dying just to chase off people who won’t trust him at his word.”

This stings, because even though it’s not just Daniel saying it, the point is made. If the people have to be terrorized out of leaving their homes, most of them will likely only hunker down and hope the “monster” passes by, while others will try to desperately try to fight off the dragon. All the while defeating the purpose; the evacuation that needs to happen if Daniel’s weapon truly will kill a capital of commerce in one strike.

It gives a certain weight to why Daniel hasn’t just pushed whatever button or summoned whatever demon he has at his disposal. No one would ever evacuate a fortress just because a goblin has a torch. And, in the face of a dragon, it’s not about running away, but consolidating forces at the most defensible position possible.

Daniel could evacuate to the Citadel and plan for the day it reaches Fievegal territory, but instead, he’s risking international condemnation as he operates in non-allied territory just to save lives that are not his subjects.

“Well… not all of us can be ‘Emperor’, can we?” asks Kuboen bitterly.

He doesn’t necessarily mean to disparage Daniel for once.

More important than his feelings about Gwenesphia’s situation is even more grave.

And even more simple.

He does not envy the man who must choose which lives to save,... and which to forsake.

***

“Get her to the infirmary, immediately!” screams Peiburi. “There may be time to undo the damage!”

“Get away from the crater!”

“Evacuate Lady Ahok!”

“Clear the room!”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from novelbuddy; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Peiburi has a solid picture of the scene playing out. She is neither the eldest nor the youngest amongst her siblings by a fairly wide stretch. And, like most of her siblings, she has taken on a more trade-focused lifestyle to support her family’s suffering Barony while the lake was unusable. She could expect more of a direct inheritance than her precious youngest sister if the worst should happen, but that has since become moot in the wake of Gwenesphia becoming an Empress of the world’s rising powerhouse nation. Even if she is one of many, simply carrying the title within such an untouchable polity grants Gwenesphia resources, respect, and strength the Honeydip ancestors could only dream of.

That said, that very same precious youngest sister just risked her life to stop the ‘infection’ of a seemingly unstoppable cataclysm from taking out the one resource in the world that may be able to stop its source.

Peiburi feels worried sick for Gwenesphia, but she knows from even her shreds of experience defending Mattarglos fortresses and towns from basic monster attacks that the situation must be addressed, even while evacuating the wounded. Her personal feelings for one could kill the entire defending team, or in this case, potentially the whole world. She dares not put the weight of the world on her own or Gwenesphia’s shoulders, but that very real possibility is there. The Citadel should be safe, and if it’s not, it could cripple all defensive actions the Fievegal attempts to take, even for the sake of nations that regard them as enemies.

So, while one of the Death Knights that evacuated through the portal earlier scoops up Gwenesphia, the gatonine middle-sister stands up to study the aftermath.

Ahok controlled the spell that created a miniature version of the void artillery attack. She was the one who pioneered it, after all. Her specific niche of study took her down the path of void magic, primarily, which is why she came to know about and become passionate about its unparalleled breadth. Few people Peiburi’s age have probably made it through life without hearing at least one story of the legendary hero Senn, a near-fictional mythological figure that overshadows the real-world elven sage who embodies the tales. In the absence of Senn, a half-goblin magic artisan was able to do a small scale version of that spell, and then scale it up on a weapons platform, only to be betrayed and scooped up by the Fievegal.

Regardless, the crater the void attack spell leaves behind is a perfect hemisphere, only hemispherical due to its “ground zero” being the floor’s level. She managed to capture both the mana embers and the portal in the attack, but lost her tail for it.

And thankfully, it was only her tail.

Gatonines have some stigma against “shaved tails”, because it was a trend during the Cleansing War to appease the king that was leading it. Of course, this was a facile gesture, leading to the extermination of gatonines, shenwulves, and other races regardless of how many appeasers there were. Even some of the appeasers were still slain because they were “not quite loyal enough”. This galvanized the tribes and families that would later become Mattarglos into standing their ground. Just as there are bad gatonines, there are many good humans. They aren’t all that different, and it was that one king who failed to see that. Everyone just wants to live.

Gwenesphia’s true disadvantage won’t be on some political stage where her voice loses meaning simply because she has virtually no tail now. She has the backing of the Fievegal, which has royalty from goblins to dragons and anyone in between. The Fievegal’s power is in its patriotism that reaches the Emperor himself; never resting in luxury, but instead, always trying to bushwhack his way to the very future by his own sweat and blood, if need be. He genuinely wants dragons and goblins, gatonines and dattakoriens, and crawgistes and Uhl’tall to all get along and live in harmony. He has some cynical view even on his own dreams, but he marches forward all the same.

Gwenesphia would be safe if her tail, ears, and claws all fell off. Daniel would protect her, and Peiburi is confident of that now.

This event was unexpected and unprecedented. The flames themselves couldn’t cross the portal, but they could be carried by ‘burning’ matter, which is an important distinction.

So, when a mass of magic energy continues to grow back to the size that should have been snuffed out, Peiburi is cautious, but not overly worried.

After all, the mass that can pass through has likely all been erased already.

“Th-The portal?” asks someone, making the observation Peiburi is already well on her way through processing. She’s not a magic artisan, she’s closer to a mercenary. She trained in swordplay and a bit of magic to defend her realm, and she often travelled to nearby territories as an ambassador for the Honeydip Barony. Her father would never force her to marry for political reasons, but it came up in conversation regularly, and Peiburi was always weighing it as a possible fast and best option to help her family. Her eldest sister did exactly that, bringing in several trade agreements and land sharing opportunities that have kept Honeydip afloat.

But, it was never enough, as if the hungry eyes outside of their Barony were always watching.

That is, of course, until the youngest Honeydip daughter became an Empress overnight. One whose Empire is on everyone’s lips lately, whether they like it or not.

The magic portal that once connected to the airship has since regrown, somehow still bound to the Citadel without any of the supporting structure on either side, presumably, and with only the mana of the mana-fire sustaining it.

“Magic sure is tenacious and mysterious, isn’t it?” grumbles the gatonine to herself.

She thinks to herself, Alright… Our goal is unchanged, right? We opened that portal to essentially mine mana, right? If we can’t close it, and the immediate danger is passed…

Peiburi sighs in disgust as she scratches the top of her head, focusing around her right ear, which is itching. “World ending nonsense… HEY! Where’s Doephluev!?”

This startles some of the goblins and Stalvaltan soldiers around her, and she shouts again, “Tell them to bring her here right now. With Wenlianna and Ahok drained, we need the next most knowledgeable person.”

“Shouldn’t we retrieve Sir Zeilethold?” asks one of the Stalvaltan men. Since they’re asking, he must be a magic artisan, but Peiburi doesn’t know the name yet.

“Bring them both! Bring everyone! Just get me someone down here who can either mine that thing or erase it!” shouts the gatonine as she points. She may not formally have a status within the Fievegal, but she is sister to an Empress, and enough people present should know it.

“R-Right away!” Several more soldiers scatter from the room to track down Doephluev and Zeilethold.

Peiburi grumbles, “If you can bring the dragons, too, do it. But, I doubt they’d listen to me…”

“Who wouldn’t?” asks an unforgettable, matronly voice. It’s none other than Ryuogriar, the Second Empress of the Fievegal and First Dragon Empress. She looks and sounds haggard compared to her normal, lofty, seemingly untouchable elegance. She is dressed down, and her long, silvery blonde hair is tangled and messy. She looks like a woman who just crawled out of bed… after fighting for her life. And, the tangy-burnt smell of dragon fire radiates off of her person even as she approaches with the green dragon known as Emerald following close behind, looking similarly weathered.

“Y-Your Grace. I just meant…”

“No need for excuses or apologies, Lady Peiburi,” interjects the platinum Dragon Empress gently. Her voice scrapes softly every now and then as she speaks, proving even a dragon can apparently lose their voices. “We came to check on Ahok, because Fal will need his new bassinet sooner than later. But, it seems Chaos is blessing us with her presence in all facets of our work today.”

“Tell me about it…” grumbles Peiburi. “Gwen was… wounded. S-Stopping the mana fire that slipped through.”

Ryuogriar looks at the crater, over which the portal hovers like a strange mirror that depicts nothing but oblivion on its face. That said, everyone knows the powerful spell can, in fact, connect to another of its kind in a far away location.

The problem is, no one is sustaining this one. Or, at least, they shouldn’t be.

“Where is the other side of this portal?” asks Ryuogriar seriously.

“If… it didn’t change from when my brother and that goblin officer went through, Klur, I think; it should be wherever the airship fell. And, since embers of the mana fire came through attached to structural pieces of the airship, as far as we could tell, I am almost certain it’s deep within the mana fire’s perimeter now.”

The dragon hums quietly, since it becomes pretty reasonably clear how the portal is being sustained, even without the projection devices Ahok and Wenlianna went out of the way to design so they could shut it off in a hurry, but also so it wouldn’t be draining any of the casters in the process.

“And, Gwen managed to stop the mana fire when it crossed over?”

“Wenlianna and Ahok primarily cast the spell, but Gwen sustained it long enough to throw it into the mana fire. It… she narrowly… escaped.”

Peiburi is trying to hold it together, but talking about her precious youngest sister and her narrow and imperfect escape from being erased like the solid stone floors of the Citadel, lumber of the airship, and solid steel structure of the portal really deepens the gravity of how close she came to losing something irreplaceable.

Ryuogriar closes the last couple of feet and places her hand gently on Peiburi’s shoulder. “Gwen will be extolled as a hero to the Fievegal. You have my word. By my right as the First Dragon Empress, I will bestow the title of ‘Dragon’ upon her, just as with our current Dragon Emperor.”

Peiburi notices Emerald twitch, but the green dragon turns her face away, fluttering her wavy green hair. Ryuogriar looks partially over her shoulder, and the younger dragon murmurs, “Pay no mind to me, your Grace, my Lady. I will get used to it.”

“You will,” growls Ryuogriar. “If you understand the threat the mana fire poses, and the risk a pregnant gatonine took upon herself to stop it in its tracks here…” She gestures at the crater before them to emphasize her point.

“Y-You’re right, your Grace. My heart is old and weak. I will overcome my old bias. I swear it.” She looks directly at Peiburi, and the gatonine elder sister flinches slightly at the intensity of the bright sea-toned green-blue eyes that focus on her. “Empress Gwenesphia protected this place, and I thank her for that. I will welcome her as an honorary Dragon, as my kin and my friend… I hope.”

Peiburi manages to relax at this declaration. It’s more intense than the way Geirahoel speaks, but it feels perfectly sincere, and just as the dragons have a deeply-seated pride that often crosses into hubris, gatonines have a near instinctual fear of the avian super-predators.

“Th-Thank you, Lady Emerald.”

“Now then, what were you seeking out Doephluev or us dragons for, Lady Peiburi?” asks the number one Empress in the Citadel at present.

“As I understand it, Doephluev worked closely with Ahok and Wenlianna on many of the devices we’re using to combat the mana fire. I was hoping to try to drain the mana sustaining the portal from this side, or,...” She looks at the portal, adding nervously, “A little more brazenly…”

“Extract the mana fire’s mana from the other side…” finishes Emerald, who knows what has been going on, and why there’s a portal in the first place.

“Yes, exactly,” confirms the gatonine.

Ryuogriar nods. “I understand, but we won’t be able to function for long if Fal isn’t provided a safe zone to contain his power. We may have a casualty already, and many more will follow if he isn’t subdued or shielded each time it starts.”

“Your grace…” starts Peiburi nervously, but Ryuogriar steps past her. “Fear not. I understand and agree with your concerns. Allow me to attempt to disrupt the portal myself. If I fail, I will personally deal with Fal until we can make a proper bed for him to spare us any further… awakenings of his power.”

“I-... I’ll help you,” adds Emerald. “Until the hu-Har-... um… Until Daniel returns, you’ll need someone to make sure you’re safe…”

“I’ll accept your assistance,” replies Ryuogriar. “Now, everyone who will need their mana, back away. If this works, this area will be devoid of mana for a few minutes at a minimum.”

“Will it harm the Citadel’s core?” asks Peiburi.

“It should be out of my effective range. I will, of course, be attempting to focus all of my power on the portal, but I developed this spell in the wake of Mukori’s Alamogordo Special’s and have not had specific reason to refine it further. It is difficult enough just to produce the negation power, let alone focus it.”

Balamae, one of the higher-ranking golems and a spellmaster of the Citadel, approaches, having appeared from nearby. “Her Grace Gwenesphia is stable, though our best healers are out with the away team or otherwise indisposed. Carry out your spell, your Grace. I will handle protecting the core.”

Peiburi feels relief that Gwenesphia isn’t at death’s door, though the lack of healers is concerning for the fate of her tail. Regenerating a limb is undeniably difficult, and she can’t use potations because of her pregnancy. Shek’s milk has healing properties, so far as Peiburi has heard, but if they could help, Balamae likely would have mentioned it.

I’ll figure that out later.

Meanwhile, Ryuogriar thanks Balamae and steps towards the edge of the crater.

“I’ll begin at once,” states the dragon. “Emerald, I leave Fal in your hands for the moment.”

“Of course,” replies the green dragon. Fal isn’t present, but it’s likely that he’s currently with a golem or someone else nearby.

The platinum dragon sprouts her wings from her back using magic, and she hovers out over the crater, approaching the warbling, self-sustaining portal. She takes a breath and begins casting, while Emerald says, “You should fall back, Lady Peiburi.”

“I’m not a battle-mage,” counters the gatonine. “If I had useful magic for this situation, I would have already used it in some way. Thank you, though, my Lady.”

Emerald nods. “Then, I’ll be back there while she casts. Do not hesitate to retreat if need be.”

Peiburi nods, and Emerald falls back, leaving the gatonine at the edge of the crater to watch Ryuogriar work.

The platinum dragon already has mana swirling around her as it turns a dark shade of blue, condensing into a tight sphere before her hands, with smoke-like wisps of visible mana swirling and flickering around her knuckles and the open air orbiting the orb itself. Peiburi doesn’t recognize a single word of the language the dragon is chanting, since it has a deep, almost sternum-depth pronunciation to the words; not quite fitting the meaning of ‘guttural’, but more potent and nearly tangible compared to a ‘throaty growl’. Peiburi hasn’t been overly religious beyond a general belief in the many spirits that protect Mattarglos and grant them blessings and strength, but she is reminded of a story from her childhood about demons and ‘voices from the void’ that she heard from a crawgiste preacher in one of the further river-side towns that Honeydip was hoping to trade with.

Peiburi isn’t afraid Ryuogriar is ‘evil’, but her spell definitely isn’t something the gatonine would want to hear coming from the darkness of a forest or the shadows of an alleyway.

Ryuogriar pushes the orb forward as she finishes the spell, and as she said, she does her best to ‘focus’ the spell on the portal, but the flash of energy that briefly projects forward creates a wide cone in front of the dragon. It is angled away from the Citadel core, but the mana-powered lights and a few golems caught in the cone, even as far away as the walls of the humongous core room, power down. The golems topple to the ground lifelessly, and Balamae calls out, “Pay them no mind. I’ll replace them shortly.”

The dragon matriarch lets out a sigh of exertion as she drops a bit, caught by her wings flapping and bobbing her a bit less gracefully in the air than when she uses magic to support her ‘flight’. The portal has indeed vanished, and the dragon wearily returns to the edge of the crater, narrowly falling short were it not for Peiburi quickly catching her arms and pulling her up out of the crater before her wings give out. Ryuogriar is taller and heavier than Peiburi by a significant amount, so the gatonine can do little to stop the dragon from dropping to her hands and knees to catch her breath, but she remains close by in case something is wrong.

“Your Grace…?”

“What’s the status?” asks Ryuogriar, trying to look behind her.

Peiburi watches the air over the crater for a moment. It appears to be clear, but the “cone” of focus for Ryuogriar’s spell only represents the full power. Peiburi can tell what little of her senses for mana around her have been dulled. It’s like finding oneself suddenly surrounded by absolute silence, which is far more rare than a person might realize until there is nothing to hear except for his or her own heartbeat. After several long seconds of calmness, Peiburi feels a sense of relief. She smiles at Ryuogriar, crouching to the Empress’s level to share the good news.

“I… I think…”

Something burrows into Peiburi’s attention the moment she looks at Ryuogriar. It’s not quite the same as the peripheral glimpse of something far off to the side of her field of view, nor is it like the alertness that even hearing her name at a distance might trigger. It’s closer to the static she feels in her hair and fur when lightning is about to strike.

She looks again.

At first, there is nothing, but that static feeling only grows.

When Senn made her presence and identity known in the arena of the capital of Mattarglos, her sheer presence of mana hit everyone like a wave of heat.

In comparison, this is like the tinnitus that follows a lightning strike, but rather than sound, a simple tingle in the individual hairs of her tail that causes it to twitch as well as the tips of her sensitive feline ears.

At first, she wants to dismiss it as a simple trick of the light, but Peiburi squints, and it only becomes more clear.

A small point of light is growing in thin air.

“I’m sorry, your Grace… It’s…”

“Thank you, Peiburi,” replies Ryuogriar with a sigh. “I’ll ask Doephluev to turn her attention to helping with the portal, but she is forbidden by Mukori to remain if strange mana starts to radiate from any source nearby. If the portal’s presence worsens once more, then we must inform Mukori. Do you agree?”

“Of course, your Grace,” replies Peiburi. “Our parameters have changed, but it appears the portal is ‘stable’ as it is, so as long as all matter that can carry mana fire over the portal has already been disintegrated…”

“Balamae, find out the status of the front line,” orders Ryuogriar. “Ask if they can report on the status of the airship and any other solid objects where the portal is located.” She adds at a near-inaudible grumble, “And, if Mukori is on death’s door once more, drag him back to my arms at once.”

“As you wish, your Grace,” replies Balamae. Her ‘hasty’ answer could appear to have not heard Ryuogriar’s final grumble, but it does almost seem like the golem waited long enough for it to be said.

Regardless, the dragon slowly climbs to her feet, and Peiburi helps her up. “I shouldn’t leave Fal too long. Peiburie, you’ve done well commanding here. I trust you to make a wise decision regarding the portal, so please don’t risk yourself or the Citadel.” She murmurs softly, “This out of control spell is costing us far too much already…”

“Yes…” murmurs Peiburi in agreement. She’s not sure if Ryuogriar is specifically referring to Gwenesphia, but given how well-treated the gatonine is by the dragons, in spite of the obvious differences in magical prowess, it’s clear Gwenesphia is where she belongs.

“May I operate as a military commander, your Grace?” asks Peiburi.

“With the scope of defending the Citadel, yes. Balamae, Peiburi has my permission to act as the local defensive commander. Provide all of the support she needs.”

“As you wish, your Grace,” replies the golem.

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“I will ensure the Honeydip family is well-compensated for your family’s indespensable aid in this time of crisis, Peiburi. I swear it on the name of Ryuogriar gur Lawson and Samael gur Lawson, my irreplaceable son.”

“Your words alone are generous enough, your Grace,” replies Peiburi humbly.

This causes the dragon to scoff, and the gatonine realizes it came out on instinct.

Of course… It’s a lie, but it’s an expected lie… Though, not for the Fievegal, huh?

The dragon remarks quietly, “Politeness is a virtue. Self-deceptions are not.”

“Yes… I’ll… keep it in mind.”

With that, the dragon nods, departing slowly with Emerald escorting her. Peiburi isn’t yet at ease, but she trusts the words of the First Dragon Empress. She never speaks lightly on official matters, and a promise is all but sacred to her, especially when made upon the name of her son, for whom she was witnessed by half of the Fievegal or more acting like a panicked fool.

Peiburi will have to leave her sister and her brother out of her mind for now. The Fievegal has been reliable so far, and the battle against an unthinking, unstoppable force of nature is far from over.

***