An Unwavering Craftsman

Shigeo panted, the boiling air doing little to satisfy his need for oxygen. His adamantite and dragon scale tower shield protected him from the worst of the dragon's breath, but couldn't do anything about the ambient temperature. Lana would have been able to melt tin on the floor.

Fleta darted around, the dragon too far away to land a hit on her, but she was tiring. The dragon gave the appearance of being able to keep up his lances of flame forever. Even worse, it gave the distinct impression it was toying with the couple.

"How long till we get reinforcements?" Shigeo shouted.

"Never," shouted back Fleta. "If any were coming, they'd have been here hours ago. We've been set up."

Shigeo looked up at the dragon and put two and two together.

"Oh, that was your... what? Sibling?"

"My child," roared the dragon. "And you will pay for their death."

"They started it!" shouted back Shigeo, but not with any hope of the dragon actually caring.

"There was no need to destroy Whitehaven. If it was revenge you wanted, you could have just asked, and we would have come," shouted Fleta.

The dragon once more failed to respond. Destroying a city was simply the most efficient method it had of sending a message. Why would it have put extra effort into finding the pair of kin-slayers when it didn't need to?

"Shit," muttered Shigeo. "Any ideas?"

"We could run. The kingdom would be forced to put an actual attack squad together, rather than a sacrifice, and it would probably get a few more cities before they managed it."

"Any ideas that don't involve the phrase 'a few more cities'?"

"Nope."

"Damn. Guess this is it, then."

"Yup."

"Fleta. Just so you know, I love you."

Fleta smiled. "I..." she started, when the scent of the air changed.

The neck of the dragon snapped around, staring to the south-west.

"What the..." started Shigeo, just as the source-lights flickered and dimmed. "... hell?"

For a few long seconds, no-one moved. Even the dragon hung hovering in the air, its prey forgotten. Then the source-lights regained their usual brightness, and time seemed to start moving once more.

"Consider yourselves lucky, humans," roared the dragon. "Something more interesting than you has just cropped up."

Ignoring the pair of burnt and exhausted adventurers, the dragon glided south-west, straight towards the town of Thale.

When Damien awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold. "What happened?" he asked on general principles, in case there happened to be anyone around to answer.

"That's what I was hoping to ask you, young man," answered Grace.

"Grace?"

"Oh, good. You haven't forgotten me. With all the gunk oozing out of your face, I was worried your brain would have slipped out along with it."

"Damien! You're awake!" came the voice of Lana, and the next thing Damien knew, he had a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him. "Thank goodness... We thought..."

"Seriously, what happened? The last thing I remember, I... called for help. And I'm pretty sure it came."

"That would be one way of phrasing it," said Grace.

"You called on the aid of a demon," growled Greenhair, speaking for the first time since Damien awoke. "You set a demon loose on your home-town. Do you have any idea how many deaths you are responsible for?"

"No, I don't, but after that, I find it hard to care. The Five lied. Or at the least, Illumis did. They tried to frame us for a murder. Not just me. All of us. The guards were only trying to get me out first because they thought it would render the wards ineffectual and let them get to you three more easily. I wasn't going to let them."

"The... The five?" asked Lana. "They can't have. It must just be a rogue priest, lying about receiving an oracle."

Few could claim to have received a message directly from their gods. No random priest could make such a declaration and be believed. There was nowhere it could have come from other than the top.

"Oh? Such blind faith you have, foolish human," boomed another voice, causing Damien to finally take stock of where he was. Lying on a furry hide on the stone floor of a massive cavern, lit up by coloured, glowing crystals embedded in the walls and ceiling. And, curled up in the centre of the cavern, sitting atop a pile of gold, was a dragon. "If you wish to retain your ability to speak, you will not say another flattering word about the betrayers in my presence."

Lana nodded quickly and repeatedly, keeping her mouth firmly shut.

"Okay, next question. Why are we in a dragon's cave?" asked Damien. "And thanks, by the way, if you rescued us," he added to the dragon, given that it seemed a little grumpy and would probably appreciate some gratitude.

"You are here because I brought you. Welcome to Sanctuary, a land freed from the tyranny of the Five. Now you will aid me in freeing the rest of this stolen world."

Damien opened his mouth but, unable to decide which of the million questions to ask first, closed it again. Instead, he turned to Grace. "What the heck happened while I was out?"

"I'm afraid we don't know. Our new host tore the bunker straight from our home and carried it here with us still inside. We didn't see anything after shutting the door."

"Wait, so you don't know how many deaths I was responsible for, either," Damien pointed out to Greenhair, who was blatantly sulking. He didn't answer.

Considering his situation, Damien decided he wasn't too bad off. After all, Grace was still alive. If the dragon was after his link to the demon, it had no reason to carry a heavy chunk of their house with it. If it wanted his power as a tier one craftsman, it only needed Lana and Greenhair, and could have killed Grace as an example. There was no reason for Grace to still be alive other than courtesy.

It hadn't threatened him, and no-one seemed hurt, or even frightened. The dragon was simply staring with an expression that radiated amusement. Then Damien would simply need to continue to be amusing. And, if this place was free from the influence of the five, couldn't he level in peace?

Although, if it was free of the Five, that would equally mean no priests of Murill. Did they have dragon appraisers?

Still, it would be prudent to repay the efforts of the one who had saved him from the plot of a literal god. Besides, its comment about freeing the rest of the world had been phrased more as an order than a request, and Damien didn't fancy his chances of being allowed to disobey.

"So, what do you want me to do?" he asked.

Fleta sprinted towards Thale. She wasn't carrying Shigeo; her endurance was already spent, and she was far from being able to reach her top speed even without the added weight. She needed food and she needed sleep, but above all, she needed to know Damien was safe. Shigeo would follow; he had stamina to spare.

Even had she been at her best, the dragon would have been faster. As it was, it would reach Thale hours before she did. And she had no doubt whatsoever that Thale was its goal.

For hours more she ran, compensating for her exhaustion with pure willpower. It wasn't until she crested a hill that offered a view of Thale that she stopped.

Thale was gone. In its place, the sea curved inwards, carving out a perfectly circular bay, filled with water that sparkled gently under the cloudless green sky. There wasn't a single person in sight.

Slowing down to a walk, Fleta approached the new bay. The ruins of Thale were visible through the crystal clear water, not a single building undamaged. The town walls had been torn apart. Streets were full of rubble. Houses collapsed. All was deeply submerged.

Fleta fell to her hands and knees and cried. Shigeo joined her as the source-lights were starting to dim, sitting next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. Until morning, they sat there, as still as the dead, until the light returned and the sky lit up for another day.

Shigeo looked up at the green, cloudless sky and sighed. Their home had been destroyed, the town with it, and presumably their son, and yet the sky was just as bright as always. He felt there should be some sign. Clouds and rain. A full mana storm, perhaps.

"Go hunt us some breakfast," Shigeo requested of Fleta. "I'll go diving. I know we didn't build our bunker to survive the town being plunged underwater, but... I should still check. See what I can bring back up."

Fleta nodded, but didn't move as Shigeo stripped off his heavy armour and swam out into the new bay. As different as it was viewing the shattered remains of the town from above, he knew well the location of his own home. It was also obvious to him that the damage it had taken was different to the others. Most structures looked like they'd been torn apart from within, as if monsters inside had smashed their way out. His own home looked like something had reached in from the outside.

Diving underwater, his high level allowing him to survive without air for more than enough time to explore, he searched the remains. And the more he searched, the higher his mood lifted.

By the time he returned to shore, Fleta had found and killed a small deer, and was already roasting it over an open fire.

"No corpses," said Shigeo, simply. "The safe-room was removed wholesale."

"They... They're alive?"

"I can't say for sure, and if they are, the dragon took them. But it's more hope than we had last night. If the dragon wanted them dead, it wouldn't have ripped the safe-room out."

Fleta looked up from the fire, determination in her eyes. "How do we find them?"

"First, we find out what the hell happened here. That dragon wasn't the one who sunk the town."

In an opulent, marble cathedral, the ceiling so high that it wouldn't be surprising for it to have its own clouds and weather systems, three elderly men stood in front of a towering statue. A male, humanoid figure, standing tall and erect. One arm was held outstretched, grasping a staff that reached to the floor, metal twisting around the rod and grasping a large orb at the peak. The other was clutched to the statue's chest, holding a thick tome over his heart. On his head was a crown of mythril, set with eight coloured stones, each the hue of a different element. Normally, they would be humming with mana, but right now, they were drained and dull.

"We were too late," said one. "His summoning was a complete success. Our brothers in Hrellflan report that an entire town was devoured."

"We weren't too late," said another. "They were. We reported the demon summoner days ago. Why didn't they take action sooner?"

"The summoner had powerful protection," answered the first. "They claim that the loss of a town could be considered mild compared to the damage an assassination of the summoner would have caused."

"Pah. Excuses. They had plenty of time. They knew the idiot was messing with demons; he asked for advice in one of Illumis' own temples! The gullible priests there thought he was a victim, rather than the perpetrator," complained the second. "At least tell me the demon ate the bastard?" he added, turning to the third priest present.

"I... do not know. Illumis has fallen silent. Since the source-lights dimmed, he has not uttered a single word."

"Probably busy cleaning up the demon's mess," replied the second, albeit sounding a lot less sure of himself, and glancing nervously at the dull gems as he spoke. "Besides, what the heck sort of demon did he summon that even the source-lights reacted?"

"I've searched our records for the name he gave at his local temple, but there's no definite matches," answered the first priest. "He could have been lying about it of course, but..."

"But what? What did you find?"

"The first part of the name... We only have a phonetic spelling, obviously, but I could believe it is, in the demonic tongue, the word for 'other'."

"Well... Shit," said the second priest. If the third hadn't been far too holy to engage in such crass activities as swearing, he would have echoed the sentiment.

In a very similar hall, another elderly man knelt in front of another statue. This one was wide and muscular, one hand grasping an enormous sword, the tip embedded in the ground. The other hand held a large shield, and on the head was a crown of adamantite. Unlike the statue of Illumis, this one was glowing.

For long minutes, the kneeling man remained as motionless as the statue. Only when the glow died did he finally stir. He stood up, the creaking of his knees audible in the silence of the massive hall, and turned to face the hundreds of lesser priests who had gathered to watch the giving of the oracle.

"Kakkerxat the Mighty has spoken, and so we shall obey," he preached, his voice loud and clear, despite his advanced age. "He has declared the beginning of a new crusade. We are to gather our strongest warriors from across all the kingdoms and head north to the Thief's Wastes, where we will finally recover the stolen source-light, and slay the godless dragon that stole it."

The assembled priests cheered, and started pouring out to make their preparations for the upcoming battle. It wasn't until the last of them had left that he shared the second half of the oracle with his cardinals.