12-06-2020, 06:37 AM
Intermission: The Scourging
Before him, beneath the steps of the Fireblooded Temple, Lucas's beloved knelt in obeisance to the dragon Dyn. She trembled with anticipation, firelight dancing in the reflection of her scales. Duniya gave her signal, and the dragon opened its mouth. Black-flecked Occult flames washed out over the congregation, bathing them in hellish fire. Some screamed, others wept. The dark-skinned girl laughed.
And when the flames washed away, all that was left of her was ash.
"NO!"
Their faces turned towards him, scornful glares and grimaces of disgust tracking the young man as he ran forwards, desperately racing for the spot where she fell as if this mere act of protest might undo what had already been done. Duniya laughed. A rictus grin crossed over her face, showing a mouth full of dragon's teeth.
"You are weak, boy. Too weak to protect her."
She stomped her foot and the ground cracked, a chasm yawning wide before him.
He fell into oblivion.
With a muffled smack Lucas's head hit the stone, jarring him awake. His eyes flew open, glancing about hastily. He was indoors? Wasn't he just...?
He took the moment to untangle himself, pushing aside the blanket that had wrapped around him and standing up. This was Moa's house. He had been asleep on the bench in her kitchen wrapped in one of her spare blankets. Right... After the ritual...
The young man rushed to the open inner door, and let out a long sigh of relief at what he saw there. Moa rested there peacefully, tucked into the sheets where he'd left her. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest. It was just a dream.
Just a dream...
His mother often said that dreams have a way of telling you what's in your heart. Unfortunately he knew his heart a little too well to mistake this for an accident. He worried about Moa. About who she might become. It was a strange fear for a man who said he wanted to walk with her to success, but at the same time he had his doubts about the Fireblooded and what success might mean. He saw the combat and rivalries at the Ascension. He saw the killing intent in the eyes of the loser of the duel for Warlord.
He'd heard Moa say she wanted to lead.
If the scourging dragonfire had truly washed away her fear, she would have no trouble rising in the ranks. But then those hungry eyes would be on her. He could not intercede on her behalf. She would need to face those challenges alone.
It bothered him that he could not protect her.
But does she even need protection?
Perhaps he was looking at it the wrong way. Though they had fought their own battles to reach the places they were, each of them had still aided the other. She carried him to her home and put salve on his wounds when he came down from the mountain, and he had returned the gesture, helping her home and standing watch as she recovered from her burns. There was a potential in that gesture that he now understood.
Fighting her battles for her was not protection. It was not a role she would allow him to fill. The Fireblooded did not tolerate weakness or cowardice in their leaders. But if he remained by her side, gained strength, and held steadfast to his faith, he could help her grow into the woman she wanted to become. And perhaps with time he, too, could one day reach the goal he desired.
That brought a smile to his face.