A Night of Dragon Wings

ELETHOR



Legion's claws wrapped around Elethor's chest, pinning his arms down and nearly cracking his ribs. Elethor could barely breathe, barely make a sound. His wounds burned; so many cuts and bruises and welts covered him, he felt like a slab of beaten meat. He tried to shift but could hardly muster the power to stay conscious.

"Yesss," Legion hissed. The nephil was carrying him down a dark hall, his clawed feet clattering. "Yessss, struggle, weredragon. I like it when you struggle."

The demon's tongue dipped to lick Elethor's cheek. Elethor grunted and closed his eyes. The beast's head rose above his own—the creature stood thrice his height—and his jaws leaked drool and pus that stank of corpses.

"Soli—" Elethor began, but Legion squeezed his claws tighter, suffocating his voice.

The queen walked ahead, not turning back to regard him. She held a torch, lighting walls covered in faded murals depicting the Ancients battling serpents and raising fire in their palms. As they moved down the hall, Elethor shut his eyes and thought of Treale.

Fly to our starlit halls, daughter of Requiem, he thought. Await me there among the souls or our fallen. You sing now among them.

Solina led them through many halls, stairways, and doors, until finally she brought them to a towering archway whose keystone sported engravings of lions. Solina walked through the archway, and Legion—carrying Elethor in his grip—followed.

They entered a hall the size of a palace, easily the largest chamber Elethor had seen in this mountain. He thought that the fallen courts of Requiem could fit into this chamber with room to fly around them. Limestone columns rose from shadow to support a wide, domed ceiling like a stone sky. In the center of the chamber, a tower rose from a pit; a bridge led from the doorway to the tower top.

Solina took several steps onto the bridge, turned around, and smiled at Elethor.

"Welcome," she said, "to the Hall of Memory. Legion! Carry him onto the bridge. Let him see what lurks below."

She smiled crookedly, turned her back toward them, and continued walking across the bridge.

Elethor snarled and struggled against Legion's claws, but they squeezed further, and he was so tired, so hurt, his skull too tight, his chest aching. He wanted to scream, to break free, to lunge at Solina and kill her. And yet he could barely keep her in focus. He had lost too much blood, had fought too much, hurt too much.

Legion began to walk along the bridge, his claws clattering and scraping again the stone. Clanking, squealing, and screeches rose from the pit below, and a stench wafted so powerfully Elethor choked and gagged. Legion laughed—a sound like snapping bones—and held Elethor over the pit.

His breath left him.

Elethor closed his eyes.

He knew then: There was no hope. Not for him and not for his people fighting across the desert.

This flight south was folly. This was all in vain.

The spawn of nephilim filled the pit below the bridge, spreading all around the tower. Their eyes burned red. Their claws and teeth dug at one another's flesh, feeding and licking and sucking blood. They screeched to see Elethor hanging above them. They leaped and tried to claw at him, nearly reaching his feet. Countless filled this place, a writhing mass like a nest of maggots.

"Do you like them, Elethor?" Solina cried ahead, voice echoing. "My servant Legion spawned them himself. A million writhe below you, growing larger. The strong, you see—they feed upon the weak. They climb the mass. They will soon be large enough to fly and cover the world." She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes softened in mock concern. "I am quite afraid, my dear Elethor, that they will soon feed upon the rest of your weredragons."

Then she laughed, turned back toward the tower, and kept walking across the bridge.

Legion hissed and his drool sprayed. He followed, carrying Elethor farther along. As they walked, the nephil spawn leaped at the bridge, clawed at its edges, then fell back into the pit. Their veined wings beat uselessly, still too brittle for flight. They screeched and licked their maws.

"Weredragon blood!" they cried, voices shrill like possessed children. "Let us eat his organs!"

They walked for what seemed the length of cities before the bridge reached the tower. Upon the tower top lay the still, silvery surface of a pool.

It's some kind of well, Elethor realized. A towering one rising from the demon pit.

Solina stepped onto the pool's rim, placed one foot into the water, and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes again softened, but this time Elethor saw no mockery in them, only old sadness like a lone doll upon a shelf in an abandoned home.

"It's time, Elethor," she said. "It's time to go home."

She stepped into the well, moving deeper and deeper down hidden stairs until her head disappeared underwater.

Legion hissed and chuckled. With a screech and spray of rot, he tossed Elethor forward.

Elethor tumbled and crashed into the water.

Silver streams flowed across him. His blood seeped and rose through the water like red ghosts. He sank. He closed his eyes. He thought of Lyana's green eyes and hands in his, clung to her memory, and waited to die.

Warmth fell upon him.

Sunlight played against his closed eyelids.

His body felt…

Whole, he thought. Healed. Young.

His pains vanished like a nightmare fleeing the dawn. He could not remember feeling so nourished, healthy, and strong in years. Softness caressed him; he lay in a plush, warm bed.

He opened his eyes and inhaled softly.

My bed, he thought. His eyes watered. My bed at home. In Requiem.

Not the cold, hard bed in Requiem's palace, a great thing of dark oak the kings of Requiem slept in. No—this was his bed, the one he had built himself for his small home upon the hill.

He was in that home now. A tear streamed down his cheek. He had not seen this place in two years—not since the phoenixes had burned it. He sat up and looked around, eyes stinging and breath shaking.

Shelves lined the walls, brimming with leather-bound books, geodes, rolled-up maps, and wooden figurines he had whittled. Larger sculptures of marble stood upon the floor: Solina in her youth, nude and beautiful as sunlight over the forest. Outside the windows—stars, how could this be?—he saw Requiem. Not Requiem as he knew her now, burnt and fallen and crawling with beasts. This was the Requiem of his youth. It was spring, and the sky was blue, and dragons glided outside—not haggard survivors, but gleaming dragons of blue, gold, and green.

"I'm home," he whispered.

He left the bed and found that he wore a green tunic with a silver collar—stars, he remembered this tunic!—and that his body was younger, slimmer, not scarred from war. He looked at his shoulder where, a year ago, wyvern acid had burned him; the flesh was unblemished. He touched his cheeks and found them smooth, his beard gone.

Are these the halls of afterlife? he wondered. He had always imagined them like glittering columns and starlit halls. This felt more like a memory come alive—a memory of youth when everything was bright, fresh, and pure in the world.

He moved through his room, laughing softly, disbelieving. He ran his fingers over his cherrywood table. He lifted the statuette of a turtle, the one he had carved for Solina. He looked out the windows to see Nova Vita roll across the hills, bright in the spring sun, her birches rustling.

This is Nova Vita years ago, he realized. The potter shop below the hill was only being built now. The cypresses outside his window were still young.

It's ten years ago, he thought. Maybe nine. And I'm only eighteen here, a mere youth and prince, not a haunted, scarred king.

Under scrolls and books, he found his handheld mirror and looked upon his reflection. His cheeks were softer. His brown eyes had seen less pain. No scar rifted his face; that face was young, thoughtful, and pale.

"Solina always did say I was too pale," he mumbled.

"You always were," came her voice from behind him.

He turned to see her at the doorway, and his breath left him.

She stood barefoot, leaning against the doorframe, and gave him a crooked smile. She wore one of his old tunics. It was loose around her, and she was naked beneath it; he could see the golden smoothness of her legs and the tops of her breasts. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, rivers of platinum like water under moonlight. She was young here in this memory, closer to twenty than thirty, and her face glowed with youth, and her blue eyes stared at him with all the temptation and coyness of forbidden young love.

She's beautiful, he thought. This was not Queen Solina, the cruel tyrant of Tiranor, the mad woman she had become. No. This was his Solina, the young Solina he had loved, the Solina he had pined for, the Solina she had been. This was the woman who had filled his bed for years, then his dreams for years after that. This was Solina of sunlight, of stolen kisses, of maddening love and sex and flame.

"Solina?" he whispered.

"I am here, Elethor," she said. She walked toward him, took his hands, and smiled. "It's me, El. It's me. Do you remember?"

Her hands were soft and warm. He held them and looked at her, and looked around, and his eyes dampened again.

"I remember. Solina, how—"

She placed a finger against his lips.

"Does it matter?" she whispered. Her smile left her, and her lips trembled, and she embraced him. She clung to him desperately, and her fingers pressed against his shoulders. "Hold me, Elethor. Hold me tight."

He held her. They stood like this for long moments, and her tears wet his shoulder. He caressed her hair, and suddenly he was no longer King Elethor of Requiem, a jaded warrior. That man faded away, and he was Prince Elethor again, eighteen years old and caught in her light, and this was real. This was him again. This was home, this was youth, and the world was bright and no darkness could fill it.

"How can this be, Solina?"

She looked at him. A tremulous smile found her lips, and she touched his cheek.

"I made this place for us," she said. "Do you remember this day? It's the day your father, brother, Lyana, and all the others flew east for some fair. You and I remained here in Nova Vita—no duties, no dinners, no obligations, just… us. Just a perfect day of sunlight and being lazy and…" She lowered her eyes shyly. "And making love." She looked back up at him, her eyes damp. "It was our day. A perfect day. It was the best day of my life, El—the best one ever. It is the best day. We can relive this day now! Again and again forever, and… and the others will never come back. There will never be war here, or pain, or exile, or any of those bad things. Just you and me, young forever, in love forever. Our perfect day."

He pulled away from her, walked to the window, and looked outside upon the hills of birches and cypresses. Above in the sky, the dragons glided. Solina came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"In Requie—"

He turned toward her. "Solina, where are we?"

She looked aside, eyes pained. "Does it matter, El? Does it matter where this place is? It's real to me. It's real to you." She looked back at him, tears trembling in her eyes. "Don't you remember?"

He placed his hands upon the windowsill, lowered his head, and understood. He spoke softly.

"We're still in Tiranor. We're in the bowels of the mountain, and around us the nephilim spawn, and… this is some… some illusion of the water. Of the pool we entered." He grabbed her arm. "Isn't it, Solina?"

"So what if it is!" Her face flushed. "So what, Elethor? Who cares what lies out there?" She swept her arm around. "This is what matters. This place, not anything else. These books, and statues, and… and, Elethor, the turtle you carved me. You remember the turtle." She pressed herself against him and tried to kiss him. "I love you, Elethor, and that is what matters. That is all that matters. And you love me too. Here you do. Here you've always loved me."

He sighed and lowered his head. "It's not real, Solina."

"My memory is real. This day existed, El. It was real years ago; it's real again, real enough. It was my best day. Have you forgotten it?"

He looked around him, seeing his books, his sculptures, his bed. He looked at Solina—his love.

"I remember," he said softly. "It was my best day too."

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she embraced him. They stood together by the window, holding each other close.

"Then let us stay here," she said. "Your city that you loved still stands here. The people whom you loved still live. I will leave the Memory Pool sometimes—to govern my empire, to deal with the dirt, blood, and cruelty of the world. You can wait for me here, and read your books, and sculpt your statues. I will return to you every day. We will make love every night. Like this forever—young and happy. Out there, in the world, we are killers, Elethor. I killed so many; you did too. Our bodies are scarred there, our souls cold and drenched with blood. But not here. Here we are young, and good, and pure of heart." She touched his cheek. "It's finally over, El. All the pain. My exile. Our war. It's over now. The pain is gone, and nothing but joy and light remain."

He looked at her young, earnest face, unblemished by the scars of war. Her skin was smooth and supple, a soft golden hue, and freckles covered her nose. Her eyes were deep blue, her lips full and pink, her hair so soft in his hands.

Is this not all I ever wanted? he thought. Is this not what I spent years yearning for? Is this not perfection, eternal bliss?

He breathed deeply, and his chest ached. He had it here—all he had desired! He could spend the rest of his life in his home with the woman he loved, the woman who had claimed his soul and still clutched it, the woman who—

The woman who slaughtered children in our tunnels, a voice whispered inside him. The woman who slew my father and brother. The woman who destroyed my kingdom and butchered my people.

He thought of Lyana, his wife. Here, a decade ago, he hated Lyana—an imperious youth who would lecture him about this or that until he wanted to strangle her. And he thought of Lyana the woman, his wife, a warrior who had fought at his side, loved him, and flown through fire and death with him—a woman braver than any he had known, a woman of a heart pure and strong like steel forged in dragonfire, of soft light and goodness and eternal sadness, a woman who would always fly by his side.

I loved Solina in my foolish youth, he thought. But I walked through the Abyss with Lyana, and I loved her as a man, and I fought with her for all that we believe in, for all that our people hoped and killed and died for. Solina was a flame, a fire that had lit his youth, flickered bright, and spread into a wildfire that burned him. But Lyana was no flame—she was starlight, blinding in the darkness, guiding him home.

"And what of those who still live?" he said, voice suddenly hoarse. "What of Lyana, my sister, and the others?"

Something dark crossed Solina's eyes. Her jaw tightened. She looked aside and spoke tautly.

"They will live," she said. "I will not kill them. I will not hunt them. You have my word, Elethor. I vow to you." She looked back at him and again took his hands. "If you remain here with me—with your Solina, with your love—I won't harm any more of your people. Those who still live can leave this land, fly into exile, and find whatever life they still can."

He tore himself away from her. He walked to the back of the room where his statues stood. He faced them: likenesses of Solina carved in marble. A sigh ran through him, and he closed his eyes.

"No," he said softly. "No, Solina. You say we are young here and pure. Are we pure, Solina? What defines our evil—our actions or our hearts? You slew my family. You butchered my people. You—"

"Not me, Elethor! Not this me. Not this Solina here." She walked toward him and grabbed his arm. "Not this Solina who stands unscarred before you."

She breathed heavily, chest rising and falling, and she was beautiful, and young, and temptation itself barefoot in dawn's light.

"That evil is inside you," he said. "It always was; I was blind to it. I saw your beauty. I felt your kisses. I ignored the cruelty of your heart. Your hands slew my family years from now. Your heart drove those hands; it has always beaten inside you. I will not stay with you here. I will not be part of this mockery, this fake dream, this—"

She slapped him—a slap so hard he sucked in breath and saw stars.

"You will!" she hissed between clenched teeth. Her eyes blazed. "You will stay with me here, or she will die, Elethor. She will die in pain. I will kill her." She spun toward the doorway and screamed. "Legion! Bring the whore!"

The door to Elethor's chamber creaked open.

The nephil's head thrust inside, nearly as tall as a man.

Elethor growled and instinctively reached for his sword, only to find it missing. The sight of this rotted, bloody creature here, in perfect old Requiem, spun his head. Legion grinned, and his fangs shone, and his drool pooled on the floor. Dried blood encrusted the spikes and horns across his head, his halo crackled, and worms crawled inside his left eye.

Like a scuttling insect, Legion crawled into the chamber—even crouched, he barely fit through the door. Rot dripped from him to seep across the floor, and his stench swirled, thick as moldy stew in the air.

Then Elethor saw what Legion clutched to his belly, and he let out a hoarse cry.

Holding her close against him, Legion carried a bloodied, bruised Lyana.

"Lyana!" Elethor shouted and made to grab her, but Solina held him back.

"Don't move, El!" she warned, her breath against his ear. "If you move, he will crush her. See how frail she is! See how sharp his claws are around her little ribs."

Elethor froze, head spinning and breath panting. Lyana moaned, her eyelids fluttered, and she looked up at him. Her one eye was swollen and bruised. Her lips bled. When she saw him, she gave a soft gasp and whispered his name. This was not the Lyana of ten years ago, the imperious girl with the upturned nose and bouncing red curls. This was the Lyana he had married, her hair shorter, her eyes deeper and wiser.

"Lyana," he whispered.

He looked into her eyes and saw fear, anger, and pain, but above all love for him and Requiem, a brittle strength like an old sword drawn for one last battle.

"Look at her," Solina whispered. She stood behind Elethor, her hand on his shoulder, her lips against his ear. "Look at her there, bloodied and nearly crushed in the claws of my servant. Look at her, the great knight, the proud queen, the loving wife—look at her. Broken. Weak. Almost dead."

Elethor would not remove his eyes from Lyana, but he spoke to Solina.

"She is stronger than you will ever know, Solina," he said. "She is stronger than you will ever be."

Solina took a step forward, touched his cheek, and whispered.

"We will see, Elethor. We will see." She turned toward the nephil and his prey. "Legion! Kill the girl. Kill her like you did the last one."

Legion grinned and raised Lyana toward the ceiling, and his jaws opened, and Lyana cried out.

"Wait!" Elethor shouted.

Legion froze, holding Lyana a mere foot above his jaws.

"Wait!" Elethor repeated. "Solina, wait."

The Queen of Tiranor smiled softly. She nodded at Legion, and the nephil lowered Lyana to his breast and held her close, a spider clutching a fly.

Elethor lowered his head, pain pulsing through his chest like demons inside him, scratching at his heart and ribs. Again he saw all the dead: his father, his brother, Treale, and countless others, all dead for this war between him and Solina. He could bear no more—not Lyana. Not her. He clenched his fists at his sides, turned toward Solina, and stared at her.

"Let Lyana go," he said, "and I will stay with you here." He exhaled slowly and lowered his eyes. "You win, Solina."

"El," Lyana whispered. "El, I—"

The claws tightened around her, constricting her breath and voice. Blood trickled from her lips.

Elethor stepped toward his wife, heart wrenching. He wanted to touch her, comfort her, hold her and whisper to her, but Legion's foot thrust out and kicked him back, and Elethor fell several paces. Solina caught him, wrapped her arms around him, and stared into his eyes.

"You made the right choice, Elethor," she said. "You grieve for her now; I know. You will forget her in time. You will forget her and you will love me again." She turned to her demon. "Legion! Take the girl back to the bridge. Let her go! She is free."

The nephil bowed his dripping, spiked head, and his tongue lapped up drool from the floor. Clutching Lyana to his belly, the creature retreated back out the door, leaving a trail of slime.

Elethor gave a wordless cry, wrenched himself free from Solina, and ran after them. He passed through the doorway, and stench hit his face, and shrieks filled his ears, and he found himself standing outside the pool again. Around him rose the columns of the Hall of Memory. Below in the pit, the million nephil spawn rotted and shrieked and fed upon one another. Legion was already retreating along the stone bridge, moving from the Memory Pool toward the archway that exited the chamber.

"Elethor!" Solina cried behind him.

He ignored her and raced along the bridge.

"Wait!" he shouted. "Solina, let me speak to her! Let me say goodbye. Then you may have me."

"Put her down, Legion!" Solina shouted. "Let him speak to his whore!" She laughed. "Let them cry together one last time; it will amuse me."

The vermin in the pit screamed and leaped and clawed at the rims of the bridge. Their father, the towering Lord Legion, cackled and tossed Lyana down. She thudded against the bridge, and the vermin all around clattered and screeched and clawed, grabbing at the bridge and trying to reach her, then falling back into the pit.

Elethor ran. He reached Lyana, knelt above her, and held her, and for a moment he could not speak from pain. She was hurt. They had removed her armor and torn her clothes, leaving her ragged and bloodied. Dirt and ash matted her hair and caked her face.

"Lyana," he whispered. "I'm here. I'm here."

She struggled to her feet and stood on trembling legs. Elethor held her waist, and she placed her hands on his shoulders. They stood in the center of the bridge. Solina stood behind at the pool; Legion retreated to stand at the archway. All around in the pit, the wretchedness and darkness of the world screamed and bled and fed, their cries echoing in the chamber.

"Elethor," Lyana whispered and tears filled her eyes. "Elethor, no."

He touched her hair. "It's the only way, Lyana. Leave this place. Fly to the others. Find Mori and Bayrin and whoever still lives and flee this desert. Promise me, Lyana."

She stared at him, and her eyes hardened, but then she trembled and pulled him into a crushing embrace. They held each other as the creatures screamed all around.

"I love you, Elethor," she whispered, her head against his shoulder. "I love you always, my husband, my king. They will sing your name in the halls of Requiem. Always."

He touched her cheek and looked into her eyes—those eyes that would once taunt him, madden him, infuriate him… and which now spoke of Requiem's halls, of warm embraces on cold nights, of her steel and fire and love that had taken him through this war, that would remain inside him even in the very pit of darkness.

"I love you too, Lyana," he said. "More than the fallen halls of our fathers, and more than memories of spring. You must lead Requiem now. Our people will follow your fire, and it will lead them home. Two winters ago, I told you this in the Abyss: Whatever strength I have is yours. I will keep you safe, then and now, even in the heart of darkness. Leave this underground. Find our sky. Lead our people to light." He took her hand and placed it against his chest. "I cannot fly with you now. But I will think of you upon the wind, and I will smile, and I will wait… I will wait until we fly together in starlight."

She tightened her arms around him, and they kissed—a deep kiss that tasted of blood, tears, and memories of home, a kiss of fire such as they had never shared, a last flame of stars.

Claws grabbed Lyana's shoulders.

Legion pulled her back, wrenching her from Elethor's arms, tearing their kiss apart.

"Elethor!" she cried, eyes wide.

Legion began dragging her back along the bridge. She reached out to him. Their fingertips touched, shooting warmth through him. Then the beast pulled her into shadow, and she cried his name and disappeared under the archway into darkness.

Elethor stood alone upon the bridge, cold and empty, and stared at the archway.

Goodbye, Lyana. May your wings find our sky.

He turned back to face the Memory Pool. Solina stood there upon the bridge, her eyes soft. She stepped toward him and held his hands.

"You did the right thing, El," she said softly. "I know how much I hurt you. I see the pain in your eyes. But I only hurt you for us, Elethor. For our life. For our memories. Lyana was never yours, El; you know that. She tempted you. She stole you from me, and she hurt you too, and you weep for her now. But you've chosen me. I always knew that you would." She kissed his lips. "You've returned to me at last—to your Solina." She wept and held him. "It's over, Elethor. It's finally over, and we are together again. Come, Elethor. Come with me into the pool. It's time to go home."

Her kiss stung against his lips. Her hands touched his cheeks. Her eyes were huge, drowning in her pain and madness. He touched her hair, and she smiled at him tremulously.

"Goodbye, Solina," he whispered. "I loved you once. I loved you for years. You held me for so long. But that boy in the pool, a boy caught in your light… he is only a memory too." He kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, Solina—fire of my youth, flame and curse of my life."

Standing before her, he shifted into a dragon.

Solina gasped and fell back.

Elethor beat his wings. The vermin below screeched. He soared in the chamber and blew his fire, and roared, and his cries echoed. As Solina lay upon her back and the spawn howled, Elethor shot forward and slammed into a column.

"Elethor!" Solina screamed. She rose to her feet. The firelight painted her face red. "Elethor!"

He slammed into the column, again and again, howling his rage and blowing his fire.

"Legion!" Solina screamed. "Legion, kill the weredragon!"

The nephil screeched outside. Claws clattered. Elethor blew a stream of flame at the archway, and Legion screeched. He kept slamming against the column. Cracks raced along it.

Fly from this place, Lyana. Fly far. Lead our people home.

He slammed into the column once more, and it cracked.

Elethor pulled back, wings beating, and watched the column fall.

It crashed into the pit, crushing spawn beneath it. Legion leaped into the chamber, and Elethor blew his fire again, and the nephil screeched and blazed. Solina screamed upon the bridge. Cracks raced along the ceiling, and chunks of rock fell.

Elethor flew and slammed into another column.

Rocks rained from the ceiling. The second column collapsed, and the spawn below wailed, and Elethor slammed into a third column until it too cracked. The pillar crashed down onto the bridge, crushing it. Solina screamed and leaped back. The bridge crumbled, and the ceiling rained stones, and Solina fell back into the pool. She vanished underwater as all around, columns fell, boulders rained, and vermin screamed and died.

Bricks buffeted Elethor. A chunk of the ceiling crashed down against Legion, and the blazing nephil tumbled into the pit. At once his spawn covered him and began to feast, ripping at their father's flesh, tearing gobbets loose from bones. The prophet howled, voice rising into a storm, so loud and shrill the sound cracked another column. Then the vermin grabbed Legion's jaw, ripped it free, and burrowed into his head. Soon they were feasting upon his eyes and maggoty brain. Legion's flaming halo gave a last crackle and guttered away.

Fly, Lyana, Elethor thought. Fly far and never return.

Rocks slammed against him. A column crashed and hit his tail. The walls crumbled, falling and burying the vermin beneath them. A blast shook the chamber and fire blazed outside. Another blast shook the palace, and Elethor realized: The hoards of Tiran fire were bursting.

A final crack raced along the ceiling, and the chamber collapsed.

Rocks slammed into Elethor and he fell. Bricks pummeled him. Dust blinded him. Only the Memory Pool remained standing now; the palace crumbled around it. Blinded and roaring with pain, Elethor crashed into the pool.

He slammed against the floor of his old home in Requiem.

Silence rang in his ears.

The fire, the screeches, the crumbling of columns—all was gone.

Here, he heard nothing but a breeze in the birches outside, the song of birds, and the flap of distant dragon wings.

A moan sounded behind him.

Elethor pushed himself onto his elbows and turned to see Solina on the floor. A great chunk of column pinned her down. Her blood seeped from beneath it.

"El," she whispered. Blood stained her lips. "El… will you hold my hand? For the end?"

She reached out a trembling, bloodied hand.

A boulder crashed through the ceiling and landed beside Elethor. It cracked the floor, shattered his bed, and knocked him down.

He lay beside Solina, and bricks rained onto him, falling through the ceiling of his home. Fire blazed above.

"El," she whispered. "Hold my hand. Please."

She reached out, grasped his hand, and held it tight.

"I love you, Elethor," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how much I hurt you. All I wanted was to be with you here. I'm sorry."

Rocks rained. His home trembled. A column tore through a wall, and his shelf of books and statuettes crashed down. His marble statues fell and cracked. The wooden turtle shattered.

He tore his hand free from Solina's.

He crawled toward the fallen wall. A brick slammed onto his back. He dragged himself over the debris and outside onto the hill.

He crawled a few more feet until he lay in spring grass. Birches rustled at his sides, and the city of Nova Vita rolled below him, towers and roofs emerging from a verdant forest. White clouds glided above, and the dragons flew, shimmering bright under the blue sky.

It is a beautiful place, Elethor thought and smiled softly. It is home. It is the best memory of my life. It is a good place to die.

Chunks of column, wall, and ceiling fell from the sky and crashed into the forest. Elethor lay back in the sunlight, took slow breaths, and let his hands play with the grass. Above him in the spring morning, the sky fell.