At the Place du Vieux-Marche in Rouen, 30th of May, 1431, a woman revered as a Saint and liberator met her end at the hands of corruption and tyranny, yet her message would never be culled. The 'damage' as they claimed had long been done and the people had come to know of the tyranny of their incompetent rulers.

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Chained and hands bound in a wooden plank, a young girl no older than 20 was dragged through the streets by English soldiers. She wore a plain white tunic that covered her body and nothing resembling shoes, her once delicate feet were bruised by the rough cobble road but she didn't seem to research that.

"Witch! Witch!..."

"Heretic!"

Such were the jeers of peasants and nobility alike as they watched from either side, many on the roads around them and a select few watching on from the relative safety of their humble abodes.

Some threw stones, others looked on in pity while few prayed to God, terrified by the cruel nature of her punishment.

Old and young, men and women all watched as she was led to the town centre, to answer for her sins against the monarchy in the presence of a man of God.

Her blonde hair was dirty, no longer carrying the splendour and shine it once did and her face carried wounds from days of confinement of torture, from the stones and sticks the masses threw at her, claiming her a heretic for her attempts at liberating her homeland.

This was Jeanne D'Arc, a saint who sought to end the bloodshed that ran rampant during the Hundred Years War that saw husbands, fathers and brothers dead, houses ruined and a people starved and oppressed.

And as if God himself was dissatisfied with their actions, the sky was cloudy grey that radiated no light, the Sun stood hidden behind clouds that had rolled in within moments and an ominous, dull breeze wafted through the brick city with it's developed houses and roads.

The soldier in front of her shivered from a sudden cold washing over him but continued all the same lest he too be beheaded for heretical obstruction of the Lord's justice.

Yet even in the face of this, Jeanne D'Arc looked to the skies, her gaze confused by why people could be like this but hopeful all the same, this was simply meant to happen. She felt a bit scared of what was to come but resolved herself all the same.

Many had died to raise her banner high, many had been saved from oppression by that one banner and the masses' hearts stood ignited in a united compassion for their fellow man, a dissatisfaction with a cruel overlord and belief in a better day still to come.

Jeanne had fought battles, won and lost, aided the rightful King Charles in his somewhat apprehensive quest for the throne of France all because the people suffered too much for her to stand by. Their Holy Lord wept at the needless desecration of his beautiful creatures and she took it upon herself to see that brought to a halt.

There was no doubt in the maiden's heart that her dear companions still stood outside, ready to face adversity and continue the struggle with a certain someone relentless... Jeanne slightly smiled, someone stupid enough to disregard the fact that charging the city walls would be folly and a death sentence similar to her own.

Jeanne had been but 17 when she renounced her love and the opportunity to be loved for the people and only two years later, she stood here. It appeared that the English hadn't taken lightly to her actions.

Even now however, with stones disfiguring her form and words declaring her beliefs false heresy, Jeanne had no true regrets and only faced forward, looking to a future yet to come...

Though,

A hint of melancholy crossed her features, if she were to say there was something in her maiden heart close to regret, it was the injustice she'd enacted upon her dearest and oldest friend in renouncing worldly desire.

Jeanne found herself sighing, despite the nature of her circumstances when the people who had moments ago been revelling in her objective misery began screaming and running for cover as a screeching roar shook the landscape, loud enough that many stood frozen in an instinctual fear.

"Midnight." She uttered the word as if it were a name, "Lucas?"

A massive explosion blew through the main city gates, shattering them into a million splinters and shards of metal that killed all they made contact with. The houses around her shook and some crashed and tumbled, no longer able to handle the quaking Earth.

Massive chunks of ramparts flew through the skies, crushing buildings old and new with no regard for their intricacy or the time put into their creation when they eventually came down.

The roars drew nearer and nearer until they came to an abrupt halt but Jeanne didn't seem offset or even perturbed by the developments.

If anything, she seemed like she wanted to scold someone?

No one seemed to notice this however, more caught up in self-preservation than looking to a heretic.

The soldiers however came back to their senses and the one closest to Jeanne raised his spear before pressing it's tip against her neck, understanding what was going on as if he'd experienced it before. That seemed to work against him however as, no sooner had he done that that he was reduced to a red mush of flesh, his bones crushed under a scaled, faded golden leg with massive fangs larger and taller than a man.

Jeanne looked up in defeat, coming face to face with the reptilian maw of a beast many would think didn't exist, it's massive wings had holes in the membrane but still cast a shadow large enough to cover almost a city block, it's long spiked tail snapped and coiled around the area, pushing away all that still dared to go against Jeanne despite it's supreme might, levelling buildings once it was done looking around, as if it was checking for innocents.

It lowered it's head and peered down curiously, tilting it's head before resting it against the ground right next to her.

Jeanne smiled at the beast and raised her hands to pat it but recalled that her hands were chained, "How did you get back here?" She asked in a voice that betrayed her injuries despite it's gentleness.

Unexpectedly, an answer did come.

"You think I'd just stand by?"

Not from the dragon though, it came from the young man that jumped off it, a small grin etched on his face that sharply contrasted with his features, "Gilles sent a messenger." He peered into the distance, attempting to discern the location of the man who'd sanctioned Jeanne's execution.

Jeanne only smiled wryly at his words, he was supposed to be at another front entirely but came here all the same. Lucas Blanc, a village boy the same as her if not a little older, orphaned by war and raised alongside her.

Midnight, was a creature that had grown up with him, connected to him in ways none could truly understand and according to himself, born alongside him.

Maybe that was why just as his was, the dragon's body too was scarred despite it's seeming invulnerability.

With dark hair and deep brown eyes, a serious countenance in appearance and scarred eyes, Lucas Blanc was a man who despite having had the opportunity, never wed, just like Jeanne herself. He wore no armour for he was no knight, donning a strange black fitting uniform reminiscent of noble attire.

Just as it seemed the day would go better than she had initially thought however, Jeanne saw a red blur pass by the corner of her eyes and in the next instant, before she could do anything, dozens of black metallic arrows pierced through Lucas' back, lodging themselves in his heart and other vital organs.

The perpetrator was gone as quickly as he'd come, showing capabilities well beyond the realm of what was humanly possible.

She watched in shocked disbelief as silence descended on the scape, unable to process what had just transpired before her very eyes.

Midnight jerked it's head up before pain crossed it's eyes and it screeched loud enough to force Jeanne temporarily deaf, not that she reacted, it's legs buckling as it struggled to remain standing while it's wings lost their strength, cloaking all that was under them when they crashed down a moment later.

Lucas stood with wide eyes as blood rushed up to his throat, spilling through his lips and dyeing his fair skin a bloody red. In a show of inhuman resilience, he took a step forward but did not scream or shout as he lost his balance and fell forward, completely silent but satisfied with the nature of his end.

"Damn..."

He fell against a numb Jeanne, his head held up by her shoulder as his blood dyed her plain dress. Behind him, Midnight convulsed and fell to the ground, it's chest rising and falling, eyes transfixed on the dying Lucas as it's weight crushed all unfortunate enough to be caught underneath as well as the very ground it stood on mere seconds ago.

"W..What?"

The Saint of Orleans felt a strange liquid wetting her cheeks and blurring her vision.

"H-Hey ..Lucas.."

Why wasn't he saying some stupid cheesy thing and shrugging off the wound?

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