Hoplite’s face remained blank as his mind toiled to understand what he had done to upset Lance. Any living thing with a frontal lobe would have been able to see that she would have been a liability to him had she stayed… His focus would have been split between protecting her and defeating Tolak, and he wasn’t sure that he would’ve been able to keep her safe amongst the horde. There had been so many Fiends, an army of bodies that would have crushed her flat had he not told her the reality of the situation.

 

Twindil had mentioned that he could have worded it more nicely, but there simply hadn’t been enough time for that. Could he have said it would be safer for everybody if they went into the tunnel together, rather than singling out Lance and Michael? His mentality at the time had been to let Twindil’s party do as they wished, their magic would have aided in controlling the crowds, it was risky of course but they had proven capable of repelling such odds before. Alistair's Golden Flame, Elum’s acid, Nolvi’s eyes, not to mention Twindil and Kid’ka’s nigh-superhuman capabilities would have proved useful, but not Lance or even Michael, in that particular scenario. All the ammunition had been back on the wagon, and the marine would have quickly ran out of the ammo on his person. 

 

He had been instrumental in repelling the Fiends once he’d actually returned to the wagon and had access to the munitions stored there, but out in the open he would have been infected for sure. Still, he would have managed to hold his own outside the tunnel, at least for a while before having to retreat, but Lance?

 

She was an excellent warrior, but she wouldn’t have been able to last had she gotten separated in the chaos. He hadn’t wanted her to die or become infected, so he had told her the truth… and somehow, that hurt her, badly. Hoplite was completely in the right, his understanding of what would have happened was based on a dozen lifetime's worth of combat experience… He knew that blood was red, he knew that grass was green, he knew that she’d have died had he not sent her away… and yet, he still felt like he was… wrong, somehow.

 

It frustrated him to no end. Just a short while ago he’d not have given this subject any thought, he’d just move on. Something has changed, he was not acting normally. He knew he wasn’t, he hadn’t been behaving right since he decided to imbibe alcohol at that celebration… maybe even before that. Yet, as he thought on this, his thoughts turned back to Theopalu. Whatever his condition, somehow Hoplite knew that his thawing was being accelerated by the elder elf’s presence. He hated that wretched creature with every fiber of his being, and still he knew not why.

 

Was it his uncaring laid back attitude? No, that couldn’t be it. Hoplite had met several soldiers with similar disposition, and he’d only been annoyed by them then. This was a hatred that threatened to scorch him from the inside out every time he laid eyes on that damn elf. Could he convince the others to leave Theopalu behind, maybe send him back to the Faewood for the rest of this trip?

 

He was a liability, all he did was eat and sleep, and his caloric intake was far greater than anyone else’s, even Hoplite himself didn’t eat as much as Theopalu did. If they kept him on like this, he’d devour all their supplies before they could accomplish their respective goals. His apparent ‘uses’ were not worth starving to death or becoming infected. Yet, what if they refused to send him away? What if they insisted upon keeping that idler around until he sucked up every scrap of food they had?

 

His face then became grim, his fists clenching as he looked away from the sky, instead staring at the mouth of the tunnel where that freak resided. He hadn’t even helped with the fighting, he just slept in the wagon like a useless sack of knife-eared dung. He didn’t really need to ask for the squad’s consent… right? Surely they would understand why Theopalu needed to be neutralized… right? 

 

Hoplite could simply opt to not inform them of the deed, it would cause fissures that may lead to separation or conflict. As for Theopalu… all it would take was a quick squeeze, and the bastard’s neck would snap. After that, he could dispose of the corpse by tossing it over the side of the bridge. No one would be able to find the body, leaving the others to speculate that he’d abandoned them. Yes, it was all coming together now-

 

Hoplite blinked, his head shaking slightly as he came to his senses. Had he just plotted a murder? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed anyone before, at the order of the Eighth Arm he had been set upon humanities enemies within, though it had been rare for them to call on Thirty-Seven for that task. Even then, he had never planned out the deed himself… the orders on who to kill and how to do it were always passed down to him by command, as assassination wasn’t his field of expertise. Hoplite Twenty-One had been suited to that task, he was a precise killer, a sharp blade used to slice throats in the dark, but Thirty-Seven? He was a hammer, sent in with heavy gear to smash the enemy's lines to pieces. If he were to carry out his plot to kill Theopalu, he’d likely be exposed somehow…

 

He felt a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about how Lance would react. She seemed to care for Theopalu, though he knew not why. They had presumably worked together for centuries, he supposed that some sort of rapport would have formed during that time. If Hoplite took that geriatric elf away from her, she’d be devastated. The pit in his gut grew as he imagined her grief, and again he found himself shaking his head to clear away the images flashing in his mind, to wash away the imaginings of tearful accusations and demands to know ‘why’.

 

The images were so vivid, so real that he found himself readying an explanation, though there were none to hear it had he done so. This was ridiculous, Theopalu was not dead and these scenarios playing out in his head were pointless. Despite that they seemed to widen that pit in his gut, and he found himself almost retching at the sudden nausea he felt. He felt oh so very wrong… had he been infected after all? Was he becoming a Fiend?

 

No, that was impossible, he’d not been injured during the fighting whatsoever, and it had been several minutes since the battle had ended. He couldn’t be infected… meaning that what he felt now, opening a hole in his midsection… was guilt. 

 

It felt horrible.

Before he could reason himself back into feeling normal, a form materialized behind him. Hoplite gasped, turning with wide eyes at the towering being. Wearing silvery plate armor, with long white hair that blended in with the cape worn about his neck, stood Lord Jyn! His mouth struggled for a brief instant before he caught himself. This was not his Lord… this was someone or something else. 

 

This lookalike had the same stone-carved  stern features, the same golden eyes, the same nigh-overwhelming presence… but his hair was wrong, white instead of red, long instead of short. There were no scars on this stranger's face, whereas Lord Jyn had accrued several. His armor, while just as ornate, was primitive compared to Lord Jyn’s power armor. The two shared a passing resemblance… nothing more.

 

How had he snuck up on Hoplite? The man had been invisible, but Hoplite’s motion tracker should have been able to detect him approaching. Perhaps he hadn’t approached, maybe he had teleported, as Hoplite himself once had when he’d first met the Harkhall. He drew the Fortis, aiming it squarely at the interloper's head.

 

“Identify.” Hoplite demanded sharply, finger lightly brushing the trigger.

 

“Put your weapon down…” The silvery figure commanded, his voice almost a whisper. 

 

Hoplite’s hand shook at the order, seeming to try and comply against his will. His teeth clenched, keeping the gun raised through sheer effort. It was as if a hand of iron had clutched his wrist, threatening to pin it down by his side should he relent for even an instant. It took everything he had to merely disobey the strangers command.

 

“Now!” The stranger yelled, forcing Hoplite’s wrist to finally buckle.

 

Hoplite stared with his jaw agape as his hand worked against his will, magnetizing the Fortis to his thigh despite his efforts to resist. What kind of magic was this that could force him to another's will? He fought it again, trying to reach for the Fortis with struggling fingers. It was like a thousand pounds of weight had been tied to each of his fingers, getting them to budge seemed nigh-impossible.

 

“I, am Legolanthas, The Dragon of The East.” He said, his deep cadence lending weight to the title, “And apologies young man, I did not wish it to come to this, but I simply must know of your lineage. Simply observing you has not given me the evidence I desire. Who is your father?”

 

The question nearly caused Hoplite to force out an answer, but he kept his jaw clenched and mouth sealed. His hands shook with the effort, but he held fast. The Dragon of The East? He had heard of this man at Muro’s death-day celebration, apparently the recently deceased Watcher had survived meeting with him… having been subjected to the Dragon’s will, Hoplite now understood why this feat was considered impressive.

 

He’d always thought it was because Legolanthas was supposed to be a classic Dragon of legend, a giant fire-breathing lizard that horded treasure… yet now that that very same Dragon was here, Hoplite could see that it was more a title than anything else. While massive, Legolanthas appeared to be human, at least on the surface. His biology clearly differed from standard human genetics, was his massive stature the result of magical gene tampering? Or was he a member of a species that merely resembled humans?

 

Legolanthas seemed amused at his resistance for a brief instant before his familiar features hardened, “Your father, who is he.” The Dragon ordered, his intense golden gaze boring into Hoplite’s helmet.

 

“I don’t know.” Hoplite replied honestly, hoping his answer pleased the Dragon.

 

He cursed himself at the emotion. How dare he desire to please this creature? Legolanthas needed to be put down, quickly. His fist snapped forth at a blinding speed, intending to catch the hostile in the nose. Instead, his fist was batted away with an almost lazy hand, the clang of Adium on steel echoing across the bridge. Hoplite reeled from the shock, both from the force that had traveled up his shoulder and the fact that he’d been deflected.

 

“Do not dare to try and lay hand on me again.” Legolanthas warned, his tone dripping with menace, “If you do not know your father, then I will ask this: Who reigns over Earth?”

 

Earth? He knew the name of the homeworld? 

 

“Who reigns?” Legolanthas asked again, more intensely.

 

“The Lord of humanity and her colonies.” Hoplite told him, his voice shaking with rage, “Lord Jyn!”

 

“Jyn?” Legolanthas asked, his brow furrowing. The Dragon seemed perplexed by the name. “Jyn… Jyn…” He began muttering, “That is not the name I thought he would go by, if this Jyn is who I think he is.”

 

Hoplite growled at how easily this creature disregarded his Lord’s title, hot hatred bubbling up within him the more Legolanthas spoke. It wasn’t the same type of hate he felt for Theopalu… no, this was something different. The more he stared at this insufferable stranger, the more he wanted to be better than him. Hoplite desired to trump this ‘Dragon’ in every way shape and form and would not be satisfied until Legolanthas knew his place.

 

“I believe that your ‘Lord’,” Legolanthas said with clear disdain, “Is one of my kind, an outcast banished from this realm to yours. Is this Jyn a Dragon?”

 

Hoplites features twisted into that of a snarling beast at the mutant’s accusation. His skin went cold, his teeth bared, fists clenched as he attempted to will himself forth to crush Legolanthas’s wretched throat. How dare he accuse the pinnacle of man of being not of humanity? Hoplite Twenty-Five’s claims flashed through his mind for a brief instant before he stowed them back away. He’d not acknowledge those accusations, he would not, he could not… or he would be re-indoctrinated. He would not, could not let that happen again!

 

“No, Lord Jyn is a man!” Hoplite shouted desperately, his voice unsteady. 

 

Legolanthas crossed his arms, not saying anything in response as Hoplite collected himself. A whirlwind of emotions raged through him, rage, doubt, fear, all coalescing together and threatening to shatter his psyche with their intensity. He stilled his shuddering breaths, summoning up his discipline to reign in the wild feelings. It felt as if he were trying to uproot the Ilum tree with his bare hands, but eventually, the worthless emotions were subjugated to his will.

 

Legolanthas stood, straight back and tone steeled, “So, that is your answer?” He asked, frowning.

 

“Leave.” Hoplite ordered in a sharp tone, “You won’t speak of my Lord that way, if you stay, I will be forced to neutralize you.”

 

The Dragon laughed then, a hearty amused sound that echoed across the Greatbridge.

 

“If you deny such a lineage, then you will show me proof, remove your helmet for me.” The man ordered in a tone that expected compliance, “I have no more time for this, boy.”

 

Hoplite’s hands reached up toward his helmet, again yielding to Legolanthas… but as they were just about to remove his helmet, his will became steel. His hands began shaking again as he fought to lower them back to his sides, lowering them with an audible grunt. 

 

The Dragon then gave an irritated sound, “That is almost proof enough for me as it is… but this still does not satisfy me… I command thee kneel!” 

 

And Hoplite fell to his knees, snarling as his body betrayed him. 

 

Legolanthas drew close, leaning down to stare into his soul. “Remove. Your. Helmet.” He commanded again, his eyes now glowing gold.

 

Wispy tendrils of this glow emanated from not only the Dragon’s eyes, but his very mouth, the ethereal light looking almost like fire. Hoplite relented, his eyes wide and face frozen in a snarl. He bumped his chin, undoing the clasp that kept the helmet sealed to the rest of the suit before removing it, holding it at chest height as Legolanthas stared at him, glowing eyes searching.

 

“The eyes are gold…” The creature muttered, “Yet that alone is not enough.” Using his thumbnail, he carved a bleeding trail across Hoplite’s cheek, the hot blood pouring down his skin and onto the Dragon’s hand. 

 

Legolanthas cursed, quickly stepping back as the glow in his eyes vanished, “Damn it all! It’s true!”

 

“Step away from him now!” A voice shouted.

 

Hoplite turned his head to see Twindil, standing there with blade drawn, charging toward Legolanthas with a fiery glare. The Dragon turned his head to regard her, his face clearly expressing contempt.

 

“Wretched creature, begone!” Legolanthas shouted, raising his hand toward Twindil palm-first. Another glow then shone from his hand, a deep crimson orb of light that grew larger with each passing second. 

 

With the power of that gaze removed from him, Hoplite roared, quickly rising to his feet and dropping his helmet. Legolanthas turned too late as Hoplite’s fist met his chin, knocking it skyward with a sickening crunch. The glow in his hand faded, and Hoplite rammed his shoulder into his chestplate. Somehow Legolanthas managed to remain standing, but was still sent sliding back across the stone, the sound of steel scraping rock loud in his ears. 

 

Legolanthas stood straight-backed once more, jaw hanging uselessly for only an instant before it reformed, a hand cradling his chin as his mouth worked. The damage had seemingly regenerated… but that was fine. If his healing factor worked like Hoplite’s did, then all he needed to do was overwhelm it until the Dragon became a husk. If he went into a state similar to that of going Wendigo however… that may make this more difficult.

 

Twindil’s charge slowed as she neared, circling behind the Dragon with her blade at the ready. He wanted to tell her to flee, to tell her that this monster was too much for her to handle… but even more than that, Hoplite wanted to express his hate.

 

“I will crush your head, Dragonling, and wear it about my neck for your wretched father to see!” Legolanthas shouted, eyes aglow once more.

 

Hoplite’s teeth clenched, his eyes going wide as the world began to take a crimson tint, “Shut your dirty mutant mouth!” He shouted, his voice ragged yet booming, “I’ll rip out your eyes and feed them to you!”

 

Just as he and Legolanthas were about to charge one another however… a man materialized between them, causing Legolanthas to flinch back. This new stranger wore ratty brown clothing, with equally disheveled bushy brown hair that covered his head and face. Despite his entrance, he appeared to be a standard human… So why did Legolanthas stare at him like he was a viper?

 

“Come on now,” The stranger said in a jovial tone, “Family reunions are supposed to be heartwarming… though, I do suppose they can turn ugly too, now that I think of it.” His head then turned back toward the mouth of the rest stop then, a small knowing smile on his lips, “Probably would be ugly, now that I think of it…” He muttered, seeming to zone out.

 

“Mind your business, Mazeek!” Legolanthas spat, “This foul pupae has challenged me, this is now between Dragons, you cannot interfere, begone!”

 

“He didn’t though.” Mazeek said with a casual shrug, “Technically he just threatened you, he didn’t challenge you, there is a difference.”

 

“He struck me.” The Dragon growled, “That alone is grounds enough for-”

 

“You forced your will on him,” Mazeek said sharply, cutting him off, “I would say that was a fair reaction to what you did. Besides, it doesn’t matter, I won’t let you kill him here.”

 

“You would stand in my way?” The Dragon asked, face becoming stone.

 

“Yes, would you like to challenge me instead?” Mazeek asked, smiling gently.

 

Legolanthas said nothing, instead refocusing his gaze on Hoplite, “We will meet again, Dragonling. If you know what is best, you will stay in the dirt with all the other worms that are beneath my notice. “

 

Hoplite said nothing, opting to simply glare into the mutant's eyes. There was a palpable tension there, something besides hatred now, something he had felt back when he’d began training as a Hoplite…

 

Rivalry.

 

“I now know what I had feared,” Legolanthas said, “The Banished Child has returned to wreak vengeance on the Pillars… I must prepare.”

 

Without breaking eye-contact, the Dragon flourished his flowing white cape… and disappeared from sight. Hoplite’s head whipped this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse of where he could have went. He couldn’t let Legolanthas ambush him! Where would he attack from, behind, above-

 

“He is gone now,” Mazeek said with a sigh, “Honestly, what a bother, he’s over two-thousand and still he behaves like a two-hundred year old!” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I am Mazeek, and I’m afraid that I can’t be staying for tea, I only intervened due to my brother’s foolishness. He lacks subtlety in such matters, especially when he loses patience.”

 

“Your brother?” Hoplite asked, “Are you a Dragon too?”

 

“No Hoplite,” Twindil said, her hands shaking as she held her blade, “He is-” She stuttered, “He is the Unbound- the god with no Pillar.” She finished, her voice becoming hoarse.