“This is Tiskas…” whispered Hiero.

To many, a stray cat looked the same as any other strolling the streets, a bird was identical to the rest of its flock, and an ant was indistinguishable from the next in line. The average person couldn’t differentiate dragons of the same species other than their size. Granted, the average person would be terrified when meeting a dragon, with no thought to spare for its features. But still. 

Hiero was different. Though not good with human faces, he could quickly tell beasts apart. More so, given that Tiskas was his friend… of sorts.

A friend that I killed.

At his side, the peculiar lady in armor calling herself Aileen Fahllyr cocked her head. “Tiskas? Is it the Klanaan word for ‘impressive.’? Yes, this is very Tiskas. So much more compared to other celebrated works in the palace.”

Hiero closed his ears to her ramblings. He couldn’t understand a third of it anyway. She spoke fast with a snappy accent that he would’ve found amusing were it not for the swirl of mysteries clouding him. He had never heard anyone speak Grammus the way she did. It was a mixture of high and low variants, with a sprinkling of Escriman and Tomeh. Some words he couldn’t understand at all.

He stepped forward, stretching his right arm up to the chest of the statue. He fell short by a few feet. The figure, sitting on its haunches with its long neck curved down, was the exact same size as Tiskas. It was so life-like as if the real one was before him.

But there was one difference—this replica lacked a Core. Carefully-hewn scales covered its chest in unevenly arranged layers. All fierce red. No glowing amber.

Arm still raised, hand partially covering his view of the scales, Hiero suddenly felt dizzy.

The fight against Tiskas ate up his vision in a furious whirlwind of flames, fangs, and claws. Another bout of pain accompanied the rush of memories he wasn’t sure was real. It was as if a spike was driven into his head. The moment he stabbed Tiskas’ chest was clearer than his previous recollection. Golden blood oozed through the cracked scales, and a piercing shriek of agony echoed in his ears.

Hiero’s knees wavered; he willed them to stop buckling. His right hand flew to his tightening chest.

The young Core of Tiskas—young, by dragon standards—had shrunk after he had absorbed it, most of its material dissolving into his internal system, radiating warmth through his veins. The rough bumps of the Core poked through his silky garb as if a piece of rock sugar the size of a Peely fruit was hidden beneath. A few hundred years more, this Core would’ve smoothened, with layers of ailum, the byproduct of refining natural aileh, coating the nucleus like a tree’s bark as it grew. The more a dragon breathed the fire of life, the bigger and smoother its Core became. Rather than comparing it to a tree, it was more like a pearl.

But that wouldn’t happen to this Core because its owner had already died.

And by my hands, it seems.

Aileen, oblivious to the turmoil within Hiero, continued with her explanations, “The artisan who made this masterpiece was of low birth, preventing his work from getting the recognition it deserves. Plus, some politics, and so on. I think differently. This would be displayed in the palace’s great hall if I were in charge.”

“Yo-you’re right,” Hiero absentmindedly replied.

He stood straighter as the pain subsided and his mind cleared, his eyes transfixed on the statue. He wished another wave of memories stirred that could provide helpful clues. The most important answers still eluded him.

After jumping through the hole in the Gaolyan refining room, Hiero found himself in complete darkness.

Hunting for an exit, he partially Molded his head into that of a loreal snake, saving the last owl king Core in his system for the direst of situations. He focused on completely forming the loreal snake’s famous pits between its eyes and nostrils, allowing it to see in darkness as if the world was painted in colors incomprehensible to humans.

Even after experiencing it more times than he could remember, Hiero couldn’t put in words what he ‘saw’ as a loreal snake. It’d be like trying to explain colors to someone blind since birth. He was experiencing a whole new world. With the loreal snake’s pits, he navigated an intricate maze of lightless passages.

Around two and a half hours passed before he found light. He had a good sense of gauging time due to Molder’s basic exercises—holding a borrowed form for seconds, progressing to minutes, and then hours. Melders had similar drills, with the added difficulty of combining Cores, increasing the number until one reached his limit. The light turned out to be the opening of a stone box similar to what he awoke in.

It might take another two and a half hours before he pried something sensible from Aileen.

“But I’m not the one in charge.” Aileen shrugged, clinking pieces of her armor. “And thank the Ancestor Dragon that I’m not the Royal Steward. The court is such a mess of intrigue and convoluted drivel that I would’ve set the place on fire to end it all. They’re all such noisy and conniving—”

She gasped, covering her mouth. Then she lowered her tattooed hand, sheepishly grinning at him.

“I’m probably not supposed to tell you that,” she continued in hushed tones. “But it goes without saying, doesn’t it? I already said it, so it doesn’t really—anyway! I’m sure Lord Mako’s court in Klana isn’t all flowers and sunshine, that is, if you’re at liberty to tell me.”

“I’m very much free to tell you it isn’t.” Hiero didn’t know this Lord Mako or where Klana was, the place Aileen thought he came from, but he gave her the answer she seemed to expect. “No flowers and sunshine in the court unless they bring in flowers from the garden and open the curtains to let the sun—”

“That’s not what I mean! Ugh, I wasn’t talking about actual flowers and sunshine. It was an expression… oh, right. You wouldn’t understand it. My apologies for being unreasonable.”

“No need, Aileen. Coming from somewhere not here, misunderstandings between us are bound to happen.”

A scowl crossed her face for a blink when he spoke her name, curving into a friendly smile the next. He couldn’t fathom her problem. She introduced herself. Why reveal her name if she didn’t want others to say it?

Hiero had heard tales of gods playing with men, trapping them in dreams and illusions rife with hidden symbolisms to impart learnings. The statue of Tiskas in front of him couldn’t be simply nothing. This peculiar woman’s name—Aileen Fahllyr—could also have a meaning. Alluverius Fahllyr was a trusted friend. Trusted to the extent that he played an important role in Hiero’s plan but didn’t know of its true nature. Aileen also had the same hair color as Alluverius. What lesson was she supposed to teach him?

It wasn’t a coincidence; Hiero could feel it in his bones that ached far less compared to when he awakened. Clues might eventually present themselves if he stayed the course, though where he was headed remained muddy.

For now, he resolved not to fight the flow of this farce of reality he found himself wading through.

I’m already dead. There’s no rush to do anything.

“A court is a court,” Aileen said. “Whether here in Krysperia, over there at Klana, or anywhere else. Annoying politics is inescapable unless it’s, I don’t know, a court of ants or something. They don’t have rubbish drama in the depths of anthills, I think. I tend to avoid all conflict if I can help it; I’m a peace-loving person. How about you, Hierona?” She patted his shoulder, letting her gauntlet weigh him down.

It was heavier than Hiero expected, yet she effortlessly moved as if the glove was made of cloth. Her thin neck, ringed by a metal collar, told of her petite body under the formidable armor. And she didn’t look particularly muscular when he found her sleeping without it. Why was she stronger than she appeared to be?

Another symbolism for sure, perhaps telling him to shed everything weighing him down because they were merely an illusion.

“Me?” Hiero pointed to himself. “I like ants, too. Though their Cores are far too small to absorb, except for the Myrmekes.”

Aileen closed her eyes, her cheek twitching, and took a deep breath, mumbling to keep calm. Opening her eyes, she was smiling again. “Misunderstandings, misunderstandings. I wasn’t talking about ants, but good for you that you like them. You don’t seem a contentious person, so you probably stir clear of courtly drama.”

“No drama for me.” It was one of the reasons he didn’t tell anyone about his plan to burn the continent. Drama was sure to follow any discussion.

“I knew it. We’re kindred spirits.”

“Yes, we are… spirits.” He looked her straight in the eye. A play on words or a clue?

After emerging from the second stone box, he ascended the spiraling ramp of the cave that Aileen called the tomb of the First Emperor. Aileen had told Hiero that no one was buried there, so it struck him perplexing that she kept calling it a tomb. But if so, that made the second box another coffin that held no corpse. What could it mean?

On his way up, Hiero passed Aileen sleeping in one of the chambers. He was relieved to finally find someone who could give him answers.

But something was… wrong… with her.

Curled against a wall of the chamber, strands of red hair draped on her cheek, she mumbled about hacking limbs, crushing skulls, and how fun it was to fight. Punctuating her somewhat disturbing words were small snorts. He couldn’t make heads of how normal her appearance was in contrast to her sleep-induced mumblings. Her countenance was so youthful and peaceful that it was disconcerting to hear her chuckle about dismemberment.

At first, Hiero thought she was only pretending to be asleep. But her slack muscles, slow and long breathing, and twitching eyes under their lids told differently.

He didn’t dare touch her, deciding to ask a different soul for guidance. She could’ve earned the ire of a deity in her previous life, a bloodthirsty lunatic who relished violence, forced to stay in a deep hole as punishment in her life thereafter. Another guess was that she was a trap set by the gods, the trickster character always in the songs of bards about the journey of this or that hero—not that Hiero considered himself one.

Quite far from a hero. Despite sacrificing himself and countless others without their knowledge—and against their will if they did know—he didn’t save even a single soul. The bards would’ve sung about his failure.

But there were no more bards. And no one to listen to their songs.

Aileen frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me?”

“Your eyes enchant me, Aileen,” he replied without missing a beat. Might as well tease a trickster spirit since he was at a loss for what to do next.

“My eyes?” Aileen regarded him with a stern brow. Her pale cheeks blossomed pink. “I haven’t heard anyone say that to me before. No one has dared,” she added, the end of the sentence rolling into a growl.

“I’m saying it now. Long due for someone to tell you.”

“How do I enchant you, pray tell.”

“Oh, the usual enchantments here and there,” he said, waving his hands. “Beautiful are the eyes of someone who likes ant the same as me.”

“Don’t let your ideas run wild now, Klanaan.” The top of Aileen’s ears turned the same color as her hair they peeked through. “Mind our standings. You may not know who I am, but I’m telling you that I’m someone you should.”

“But I do know who you are—you’re Aileen Fahllyr.” He questioningly tilted his head. “Did you give me a fake name?”

“That’s my real name! I’m saying that you should know—argh, moving on. What’s important for you to keep in mind is that I’m your guide and nothing else. My hand isn’t for union, especially not with someone from outside of Krysperia. My father wouldn’t allow an unproven man to—”

“Do you mean this hand?” Hiero pointed at her uncovered right hand. “Or your left hand?”

“Both hands!”

“And by hand for union, do you mean to say a handshake?”

Aileen’s cheek muscles shifted under her skin. “Do you seriously not know what I am talking about?”

“You don’t want to shake my hand?” Hiero held out his right hand, opening it wide to show it was empty as a sign of peace. Nothing to lose by making friends with a trickster spirit. Maybe she’d lessen her riddling words and aid him in understanding his place in the afterlife.

“Shake your hand? Again, this isn’t what I’m talking about… but I’m not against it.” She frowned at his offered hand. She extended her hand covered in tattoos but hesitated to take Hiero’s hand. “Are you fine with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Such a perplexing trickster spirit this woman was. Her tattoos looked Gaolyan-inspired. A sign that the answers he was looking for were with Aileen?

“Do you have sealcrafters in Klana?”

What are sealcrafters? “Yes, we do.”

“Well, then.” She clasped his hand, squinting her eyes at him. She shook it thrice and pulled back as if she had touched smoldering charcoal. “What the—? That felt… off,” she said, examining her palm.

“Off?” Hiero slowly lowered his hand while keeping his face blank.

From Aileen’s reaction, whatever happened shouldn’t have happened, so Hiero erred on the side of caution and pretended it didn’t. But he understood what she meant. Something passed between them upon contact. An exchange of energies so minute he would’ve thought nothing of it if she didn’t mention it.

“Did you feel anything?” she asked. “And I don’t mean that kind of anything.”

“What kind of anything? I still feel somewhat sore, but after walking—”

“Oh, you haven’t rested yet. I promise that after this room, we’ll go up to the inner garden to relax in the shade and have refreshments. But back to what I was asking—you always derail me—did you feel that slight buzz when we shook hands?”

“Nothing. I’m not sweaty, am I?” Hiero made a show of wiping his hands on his clothes.

Aileen slowly shook her head. “When will I have a straight conversation with you? It makes me want to learn the Klanaan language. But I’d rather pull out a tooth than be tutored again. Actually, I have yanked out a tooth before to cancel a study session.” She turned around and beckoned at him to follow. “Moving on to the next—”

Hiero remained in front of Tiskas’ statue. “Aileen, I have a question about this statue.”

“What is it? If it’s something about artistic values, expect no sensible answer from me.”

“Did the artist see the Ancestor Dragon? Is this statue made close to the Ancestor Dragon’s image?”

“I think so. This was made two hundred and fifty years ago—that’s what Jel told me, anyway—so the Ancestor Dragon was around back then.”

Two hundred and fifty years? The gods must be showing him a happier future that never was. “Is the Ancestor Dragon… around now?”

She jolted with an incredulous look. “Of course not! If we had the Ancestor Dragon ruling Krysperia, even you in faraway Klana would know about it. The last full dragon on Tabithala would be terribly famous, won’t you agree?”

“Do you mean to say that the Ancestor Dragon is dead?” he patiently asked. She had a roundabout way of answering questions that would’ve infuriated him if curiosity wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

“Shush on that, Hierona,” she hissed, bringing a finger to her lips. “Be careful of your words. If a knuckle to your temple is what you’re looking for, then repeat that in the middle of the plaza.”

“Oh… is what I said blasphemous? I truly didn’t know.”

“That much is evident.”

“I sincerely—” he paused for a moment, not truly meaning it “—apologize for transgressing against your god.”

“You should really be thankful that I’m reasonable and understanding. Most others are not so. My father always lectured me about minding my mouth when visiting abroad. Look at who I grew up to be—a model of diplomacy.”

Hiero surveyed Aileen from head to toe, unsure of what she was talking about. “Where is the Ancestor Dragon now?” He expected the answer to be some hand-waving excuses about gods not being on the mortal plane, their existence immune from being disproven. He had heard that plenty from clerics of various religions he had encountered in his travels.  

“The Ancestor Dragon accompanied the First Emperor looking for the Forgotten Lands across the—”

“The Forgotten Lands? Where all the other dragons had gone?”

Aileen raised a finger that almost poked Hiero’s nose. “So, you do know about the old tales. Are you playing dumb with me, asking me about things you already know?”

“I swear, I’m not.” Hiero raised his hands. “I know about the dragons leaving the continent to escape the Blight but have no idea about the First Emperor and—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” She waved her hands as if wiping a window. “The dragons fleeing the Blight? The mighty dragons would never do that. Is this what you were told in Klana?”

“It’s not what I’m told; it’s what I know. I was there when—”

“Such a shameful act you’re attributing to divine beings. You’re a walking blasphemy spouter, Hierona.”

Hiero sighed, flinging his hands up in resignation. “Seems that way.”

Aileen’s trickster form became clearer. She must be an otherworldly manifestation of confusion, inconvenience, and misunderstanding, meting out a mildly annoying punishment to him. This was only fair, given that he didn’t even know what he did wrong and was sure he didn’t intentionally offend any deity he knew.

“You’re not in Klana anymore,” said Aileen. “Don’t forget that. It doesn’t matter what you were taught. This is a different country, a much more powerful country. A country with different beliefs and people who consider those beliefs the truth. It would do you well not to stir up conflict with Krysperians.”

“Thank you for your teachings. I’m fortunate to have you as my guide before I got in trouble.”

“You most certainly are lucky.” She wore a smug look, raising her chin at him. “Onto a history lesson! The Coalition Army, led by the First Emperor, defended the entire Hold. They held back the Blighted Multitude on this very spot. You know that, right?”

Hiero nodded, keeping silent though new questions arose. The Hold, the Coalition Army… he saw those words on the door heavy with inscriptions.

Discerning what Aileen said, this building was inside the Hold. Hiero knew that the Gaolyan aileh refining rooms were deep below. Did it mean then that the Hold was Aderenthyn Citadel? And was the Coalition Army the very forces the High King of Grammanus gathered? If so, Aileen must be retelling the last stand against the Blighted Multitude, dangling a future that could have been.

But why was she confusing this ‘First Emperor,’ who bore the same name as him, with old man Grammaton?

Yet another message, perhaps. Shoving his face with the fact that, yes, he didn’t lead the united armies in fighting the Blighted Multitude, contrary to Aileen’s story, but he led them to their deaths. It was like pelting a mare-hen with her own eggs.

“I mean, not exactly this very spot,” said Aileen. “The Coalition Army kept the Blighted Multitude off the walls of the Hold—you’ve seen the walls outside—and pushed them out of the valley. Very impressive. Tiskas, as you say in Klanaan.”

“Tiskas is a name. It doesn’t mean—”

“But the Coalition Army defeated only a fraction of the Blighted Multitude. Chroniclers might have ticked some numbers in history books higher than the truth, but no matter how many tens of thousands of shadow monsters the Coalition Army vanquished, it still was just a small, Tiskasly small, part of the whole.”

Gnawing pain drilled his temples. That wasn’t what happened. Aileen was telling a story different from the truth.

The light-forsaken breached the walls of Aderenthyn Citadel—the Hold that Aileen mentioned—and flooded the camps, forcing the survivors into the palaces of Gaolyans long gone. The armies united under High King Grammaton, this Coalition Army Aileen was talking about, was defeated. They didn’t push the Blighted Multitude out of anywhere. The entire valley was swallowed by darkness.

“They couldn’t have wiped out the…” Aileen rapidly ticked her fingers. “Hundreds of thousands of the Blighted carpeting the whole eastern side of Tabithala. I’d dare say millions of them. An impossible feat even for the powerful heroes of old. They defeated one arm of the Multitude against all odds. But other limbs would reach for the walls of the Hold. The Coalition Army couldn’t hold on forever. If I were there, maybe a bit longer, they would’ve…”

“That’s also the story I was told in Klana.” Hiero figured playing along would provide him with answers the fastest. Find the path of least resistance, the Core monks had counseled him. “So, how was the Blighted Multitude defeated?” Were the gods telling him the path he should’ve taken?

“The dragons!” Aileen pointed at the statue. “The divine dragons eradicated the monsters infesting the East. The dragons didn’t flee. They stayed and fought. And won!”

“I see… I-I heard differently.” Should he have been more forceful in convincing the dragons to stay? Was that the message of the gods?

“Well, you heard wrong, dear Hierona. The dragons sacrificed their lives for all of Tabithala. Ultimately, they are the saviors of us all. Even if the Coalition Army broke the siege of the Hold, they wouldn’t last if the Blighted Multitude came again with their millions to spare. We celebrate the heroes of the Coalition Army. But we worship the dragons for gifting us our lives.”

Hiero glanced at Tiskas sidelong while Aileen told a story with a far happier ending than his.

If the dragons didn’t leave, things would’ve gone very differently. But how different? Hiero was sure they still would’ve lost in the end, even if entire wings of dragons aided them. Delay the inevitable defeat was all they’d amount to. Aileen’s story was to torment him.  

And it worked. A tiny worm of doubt was wriggling at the back of his brain. This was pelting a mare-hen with her own eggs.

“You mentioned that if the Ancestor Dragon were around,” said Hiero, “he’d be the last dragon on Tabithala.”

“Last full dragon.”

Full dragon? wondered Hiero. He lined it up with his list of questions, beginning with, “Did all the dragons on Tabithala die fighting the Blighted?”

“Except the Ancestor Dragon.”

“You mentioned he left with the First Emperor to find the Forgotten Lands. I assumed this was far after the war against the Blighted Multitude. But did the Ancestor Dragon fight the light forsaken too?”

“Before the siege of the Hold, yes. Afterward, no, he didn’t participate in the Claiming of the East.”

“Why not?” said Hiero. “I… that wasn’t taught in Klanaan schools.”

“The Ancestor Dragon shared his draconic power with the First Emperor. Out of all the dragons, only he chose to trust us lesser creatures. Fine, that’s not really accurate. The Ancestor Dragon trusted the First Emperor. Not all of humanity. You’ve been reading his life on the door of his tomb; anyone would trust Hiero, the First Emperor. And with that power, the First Emperor led the Coalition Army to victory.

“The act of trust between dragons and humans convinced all the other dragons to fight. So, you can also say that the First Emperor was the savior, I guess? But the Ancestor Dragon was weakened after sharing his powers, so he had to sit out the Claiming of the East.”

“So, that’s how the Ancestor Dragon survived,” mumbled Hiero, looking at Tiskas’ angled down, his intense eyes shining on them. Aileen’s version of events was the opposite of the truth. “And the Ancestor Dragon left with your Hiero—”

“He’s not mine.”

“—for the Forgotten Lands.”

“Where the dragons came from before arriving in Tabithala four thousand years ago. I’m just making up numbers. No one knows the actual dates or where the Forgotten Lands are. The Ancestor Dragon and the First Emperor wanted to find the land of the dragons to ask for aid to fight the Blighted Multitude if it ever returned, or so the legends go. Many believe what actually happened was the First Emperor died of old age, buried somewhere secret, and the Ancestor Dragon left with his friend gone.”

“Thank you for the lesson, Aileen,” said Hiero. If this was somehow the correct path, it was no use knowing now that he was dead.

Aileen placed her hands on her hips. “Any more questions, Klanaan? Hmmm, I shouldn’t get testy with you because you’re willing to learn. It’s just that these things are basic to me, stuffed into my brain by stuffy tutors, that I detest regurgitating them.”

“Can I bother you to regurgitate more?” asked Hiero. “When you said there are no more full dragons on Tabithala… then there are part dragons? What did you mean by that?”

“Isn’t your group visiting Princess Adelind? She’s a half-dragon—the only one of her siblings to inherit the will of the Ancestor Dragon.”

“Half-dragon? Are you talking about Draecontyrs?”

“Is that the Klanaan word for half-dragons? Come, I’ll show you the line of Krysperian rulers, passing down the gift of the Ancestor Dragon through generations.”