Arthur sighed as he sat back, watching Henry and Rebecca debate their next moves. The trio were back at the strategy table in the great hall, heatedly arguing their respective cases to a nonexistent audience.

  "We need to strike first," Rebecca insisted. "Every minute we waste here is another minute it gains strength. Not to mention, we'll keep the fight away from the town."

  "We don't know what we're rushing into," Henry countered. "And even then, how could the five of us possibly be enough? Four, since Diana will likely have to stay with Praetorus!" He shook his head. "We should fortify our defenses of the town, raise a makeshift militia and stand ready when it comes."

  Arthur sighed again, loudly this time, then stood up and stretched in an exaggerated fashion; the other two stopped their bickering and turned to him.

  "Arthur, surely you see my case," Henry said. "You've been there, you know how dangerous it is."

  "You numbskull, he already agreed with me beforehand." Rebecca rolled her eyes. "I'm not even sure why this is up for debate."

  "Ladies, ladies." Arthur grinned lopsidedly and placed a hand on their shoulders; Henry frowned, whilst Rebecca brushed his hand off with great disdain. "As usual, you're both right. And you're both wrong."

  Henry groaned. "What is it this time?"

  "Henry, old boy, your penchant for the routine is perfectly acceptable this time." Arthur clapped his other hand on Henry's other shoulder. "You're right in the sense that we can't just leave the town undefended. Our duty as Knights is to the people, after all."

  "First I've heard you say that," Henry mumbled beneath his breath.

  Arthur turned to Rebecca. "And Rebecca! Sweet, dear, beautiful Rebecca. Your razor-sharp wit is also correct, as usual."

  The mage sighed deeply. "Out with it."

  "We need to take the fight to its lair. Not just avoid collateral, but I've a feeling that's where the dragon's true power lies." Arthur frowned. "While I was in its lair, I felt... something. Like I was at the source of its power."

  Henry cocked his head. "Wait, you want to fight the dragon where it's strongest?"

  "Strongest, and weakest." Arthur thumbed his nose at the squire. "If you read up on dragons, you'd know they all have one glaring weakness: their hoard."

  "Yes, I know," Henry snorted. "What are you getting at?"

  "What I'm saying," Arthur smirked, "is that it's time we repaid the favor to our scaly friend. If we mess with his hoard, we mess with his head this time around."

  "Leverage." Rebecca shot Henry a triumphant look. "We've the benefit of no collateral, and we'll have a hand around the dragon's weakness."

  "What about the necromancer?" The squire crossed his arms.

  "That's where you come in, my block-headed pupil." The knight-apprentice jerked his head towards the hall where the medic's room. "You, Diana, and Praetorus will stay here and rally the townsfolk to a solid defense. I sense the necromancer is bound to the lair; I don't know how exactly, but I just feel it."

  "And if you're wrong?"

  "Then it will, at the least, divide and conquer. When Rebecca, Lyla and I breach its lair and start messing with its hoard, it will draw one or the other back; we'll try and find the necromancer in its lair before the dragon comes back. If they're both with you, then you'll have to follow them back. We'll reunite within the lair and face them together."

  Henry grimaced. "It's a shaky plan. I don't li-"

  A dull roar interrupted him, and the three jumped; the sound seemed distant, yet close at the same time.

  Arthur glanced out the window. "Was tha-"

  He didn't finish as the entire keep suddenly collapsed all around them, showering them in rubble and stone; Arthur was knocked back by the sheer force of whatever had felled the structure, while Henry only had time to grab Rebecca and shield her before they disappeared in a thick cloud of dust.

  One moment, Lyla had been standing listlessly at the door, leaned against the wall; the next, she found herself thrown face-down on the floor, covered in a fine layer of dust and soot. A blinding cloud of rubble and debris filled her vision for a split second, before...

  She exhaled, not even realizing she had been holding her breath all the while. Gone were the walls and ceiling of the stone keep, replaced instead by open air and the screams of the townspeople all around. Flashes of flame and light struck around the area like lightning, as momentary waves of heat blasted wherever the bursts of flame struck; the roar came again, much more distinct now, as Lyla dared herself to look up to the night sky in horror and fear.

  It was large, so large it blotted out the moon; two great wings were outstretched, with tiny slivers of moonlight shining through the many great tears and rips in its flesh. The body itself was massive, easily dwarfing the very keep they had been in; the dim moonlight shining through the wings faintly illuminated a gigantic pair of powerful arms, followed by two titanic legs.

  Dragon. The word repeated in her mind, over and over again. She willed herself to run, to hide, to do anything other than stand rooted to the spot; alas, her legs failed her, and her mind was paralyzed by an overwhelming sensation of terror, fear, and dread that overpowered any sense of reason to act.

  Dragon. The beast opened its jaws, revealing a mouthful of sword-like teeth that glinted beneath the moon, before spouting forth another tornado of flames. An entire block of cottages was swallowed by fire, as throngs of townspeople frantically rushed about. Some were lit aflame, their screams lost amidst the sea of other noises as they flailed about; others rushed to find cover, douse fires, or provide aid to those still alive. Many of them, like Lyla, were also struck by the same aura of manic fear that froze them where they stood, only able to look up in abject horror as the dragon continued to wreak havoc upon the town.

  As another stream of flames washed over the town, Lyla's mind jumped back to her initial confrontation with the dragon in its lair; she remembered the first line of knights and men-at-arms, advancing through the dark, cutting down waves of undead with unmatched precision and discipline. She remembered how, in an instant, the line was swallowed by a sudden torrent of fire that melted away any semblance of order, as a dozen men and women she had served with for years were incinerated right before her very eyes.

  Dragon. Her breathing came in quick gasps; she couldn't get enough air, not enough.

  Dragon. She felt her heart racing, threatening to explode within her chest.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Dragon. Her knees buckled, yet her feet remained planted where they were, refusing to move or even collapse.

  Dra-

  Something seized her arm, snapping her out of her trance.

  Arthur stood before her, his face covered in ash and soot. His once pristine gambeson was similarly soiled, the red and gold colors covered beneath layers of dust.

  "Lyla!" The knight-apprentice shook her. "Lyla! Snap out of it! We need to move!"

  She blinked; the world around her seemed to move in slow-motion, the sounds and din of the carnage distorted as if she had just surfaced from a tub of water. She glanced about herself, looking down at her hands; they were cut and bleeding, blackened with the same soot that blotched Arthur's face.

  When did this happen? Her mind felt sluggish, lethargic; her thoughts raced, yet her brain struggled to process the scene unfolding before her. How did-

  Arthur shook her again. "Lyla!"

  She blinked again, and everything hit her like a slap to the face: the noise, the heat, the choking air, the chaos.

  She instinctively flinched as another blast of fire hit nearby, followed by a wave of heat; Arthur dragged her behind a ruined wall of the keep, pushing her behind the pile of stones as a horse dashed by, whinnying with terror and pain as a coat of flames danced on its body. Not far from where they were, she spied Diana and Praetorus digging frantically through a pile of rubble.

  "Henry and Rebecca!" Arthur shouted. "We need to help them!"

  His words finally clicked in Lyla's brain as she shakily forced herself to dash towards the other two, stumbling to the ground beside them as she joined them in unearthing the two stricken companions beneath the debris. Arthur dove to the ground next to her and also aided them, tossing aside larger chunks of stones and bricks that the others couldn't move; after a few frenzied moments of digging, Lyla's heart jumped when she saw an arm push aside some bricks and reach out.

  "There!" She grabbed the arm and pulled, revealing Henry; the squire was covered in gray dust, making him appear ghost-like amidst the light of the flames around them. He coughed heavily, before he unwrapped his arms; Rebecca was there too, shaken, but unharmed. Lyla breathed a sigh of relief as she and the others helped them out from their would-be tomb and stumbled over to a partial wall.

  "What now?" Henry cried. "What do we do now?!"

  "We fight!" Arthur roared. "Any way we can!"

  Lyla glanced over to where the armory used to stand; thankfully, the reinforced structure was largely intact, save for the piles of fallen bricks all around it. "The armory! Over there!"

  She, Henry, and Arthur made a mad dash to the armory, while the other three remained in cover; Praetorus had already drawn his bow and was loosing arrow after arrow towards the dragon, but he might as well have been shooting toothpicks. Diana was doing her best to extinguish and render aid to any nearby townspeople, while Rebecca worked on dousing any fires nearby that raged.

  Lyla shoved some wooden beams aside as she forced her way through the armory, before finding what she had been looking for: a crate of crossbows. She smashed an armored elbow into the wooden cover, then reached inside and passed around the weapons to Henry and Arthur. Once they were armed, she leapt over to the ammunition store and tossed them each a sling of bolts as well, before finally grabbing one herself.

  The three of them raced back outside and aimed their weapons at the massive dragon, which flew slowly overhead; Praetorus' arrows were clearly visible, embedded in its belly, neck, and wings, but the monster took no heed of them whatsoever.

  "Aim for the eyes!" Henry shouted over the din. "It's our only chance!"

  The trio fired their crossbows, the bolts sailing through the air and straight towards its head; Henry's and Lyla's bolts struck its chin and brow respectively, but Arthur's bolt sailed true and hit it squarely in its glowing green eye.

  The beast roared, but this time in pain; it was a higher-pitched screech, one that almost sounded metallic. As the dragon reeled, Praetorus took note and followed suit, taking careful aim with his own bow at the other eye. When the dragon turned its head and exposed its other eye, the archer loosed his arrow, and it too struck home.

  The dragon's flight pattern, previously lethargic and leisurely, was now erratic and haphazard, as it blindly thrashed about in the air. The three knight-apprentice and squires reloaded their crossbows, while Praetorus nocked another arrow in his bow.

  "Now what?!" Arthur cried, his face stricken. "No more eyes or soft bits to shoot out!"

  "Just keep shooting!" Henry snapped back, shooting his crossbow again.

  The four of them launched projectile after projectile at the thrashing beast, as it continued to writhe about in the sky; robbed of its vision, the dragon now spat its fiery breath in whatever direction it could, roaring and screeching in both rage and pain. The bolts and arrows didn't seem to affect it as much as the initial blinding attacks had, as it flailed about without any regards to the growing number of projectiles protruding from its body like fine hairs.

  Finally, after a few tense moments of continuous fire, the dragon turned about and flew away, its great wings producing a powerful breeze as it launched off into the night. Lyla still felt her heart racing, as she clutched the crossbow in her shaking hands; even though it was gone, she continued to fire after it, reloading, aiming, and firing repeatedly in a rehearsed manner. She was on her fifth shot after it was gone, aiming her weapon, when a hand grabbed her crossbow.

  "Lyla." Henry's ash-covered face leered at her like a spirit. "Lyla. It's over. It's gone."

  Panting, she paused for a moment, before nodding and lowering her weapon. The squire kept his hand on her crossbow for a moment longer, before he nodded as well and stepped away.

  "How is everyone?" he asked, looking at the others. "Diana, Rebecca?"

  The cleric was tending to no less than a dozen victims beneath what used to be a vendor's market stall, all in various states of injury; some were lightly injured, with only cuts, bruises, and limbs that jutted at odd angles. Others were wounded far more severely, including one young girl whose flesh was burnt to a crisp over most of her body. Diana worked frantically, but she was only one healer; while many of the patients were quickly tended to, others, like the burnt girl, were left quietly at the edge of the makeshift clinic.

  "Diana." Henry grabbed her shoulder and pointed to the girl. "What about her?"

  The cleric only shook her head, and the squire's heart sank. Even in the dim light, he could see Diana struggling to hold herself together, her body visibly trembling as she is forced to choose who she could save, and who she couldn't.

  "What about the Chalice?" Henry asked, eyeing the relic strapped to her belt. "Wouldn't it help any of these people?"

  Again, Diana shook her head. "Only some of them, and the Chalice's power is limited. I can't help those touched by the dragon's fire."

  "Why not?"

  Wordlessly, she pointed back to the girl; Henry turned and looked, before recoiling in shock. The burns appeared to be spreading, slowly eating away at the girl's body; by now, only her face was left intact, as the rest of her body succumbed to the insidious magic slowly dissolving her.

  "I... I can't do it," Diana whispered, her voice quivering. "I... I can't..."

  Henry patted her on the back. "I'll do it."

  His heart pounded as he shakily staggered over to the girl, unsheathing his dagger. His hand shook, as every step towards the girl felt like a million leagues.

  When he finally loomed over her, every instinct in his body screamed at him, pleaded with him, begged him not to follow through; and yet, he knew it was all he could do, that this was the only comfort he could offer to someone who was doomed.

  The Codex said nothing of this; nothing could have prepared him for this. He fell to his knees, tightly clutching the dagger. The ridged metal dug into his hand, as if the hilt were biting at his very palm.

  By now, the burns had spread to her chin, and relentlessly marched on; the girl's eyes fluttered open, revealing a pair of pale green eyes. Her gaze slowly met Henry's, then trailed towards the dagger in his hand. Her lips parted as she struggled to speak.

  "Please." It was all she could manage, before wincing in pain; tears streamed from her eyes as she looked at him pleadingly. "Please."

  Henry felt as if he were about to vomit, but steeled himself; breathing heavily, he positioned the dagger over her heart, the blade shaking in his hand.

  "Please." The girl's voice was reduced to a faint whisper. She closed her eyes, waiting.

  Against every instinct in his body, Henry plunged the dagger into her chest, the blade striking through her ruined flesh.

  She gasped, before exhaling one final time. A faint smile crept over her lips as she turned her head towards Henry.

  "Thank you." Her breathing ceased, as the burning stopped as well. Only the very edges of her face was untouched, the rest of her body claimed by the dragon's necrotic touch.

  Henry turned away, lurched a few feet from the clinic, then vomited. He retched and gagged; when everything in his stomach had emptied, he continued to heave, his mouth and throat stinging bitterly.

  A hand grasped his shoulder. Henry kept heaving, but he looked up; Arthur was beside him, hand on his shoulder.

  "It's fine, old boy. It's alright." The knight-apprentice maintained his stance, until Henry finally ceased.

  The squire stood up, his head and face spinning. Every ounce of him ached, hurt, and screamed for rest; but looking over the town, still in shambles and burning, he knew he couldn't afford it.

  "Are you okay?" Arthur asked.

  Henry didn't answer or meet his gaze; he kept staring ahead, his eyes locked on nothing for a long while.

  A long minute passed, before the squire shook his head. "No."