The Walls, once embracing Aslakahm and keeping it safe from what lurked outside, now fall under the sharp fangs of the fog. Sections flee from the spreading shadows, dropping upon Aslakahm and claiming nests or fellow dragons. Lightstealers creep inside, their white lines tensing and twisting as they force the pierced holes to grant them entry. My eyes fall victim to twitching, the sights before me abominations granted life. Devouring darkness overwhelms the vastness of the kingdom, the fog growing more eager to consume, the Lightstealers boasting an insatiable desire to subdue the light beneath them. What sort of reality is the one I find myself in? What sort of dragon displays such terrible hunger for its own kin? The messengers of terror launch themselves upon the ascending Starmakers, falling stars envious of their speed and determination. My ears tremble upon the fight of dread and pride, fear and rage, calm and agitation in both of my kins’ calls.

  A battle ensues. Starmakers, hands gripping Spears of Light, meet incoming Lightstealers with the response I knew they would; the swiftness of their descent cannot be controlled by mere Spears or the slimness and elegance of a Starmaker’s body. Lightstealers shove my brethren aside, smash them away, pull the Spears right out of their limbs and toss them aside with ferocity and unforeseen monstrosity, their velocity and callosity an absolute atrocity. I can’t stand and watch this continue, but… will my words be convincing enough for Lord Rahmanegol to command the Lightstealers to control their desire to cause demise? I am merely an Error, after all. What will hinder the Lightstealers from viewing me with the same deserved contempt as the Starmakers? In this grand Materium, abhorrence is the reward for one as myself. Surely the devourers of light know this too. The more I stand and watch them—the Rematerus behind me trembling due to what it witnesses, members of the council surrounding me and uttering words of disdain with each new Starmaker lost—the more I sink into a state of rattle.

  I am gripped by a firm hand and pulled forward. “Come to your senses, Error!” Councillor Bauruloun says. “You agreed to offer yourself and now your body is seized by this calamity?”

  I struggle to swallow and shift my sight toward him. My wings shake and tell me that Lord Rahmanegol is a dragon I must flee from. “Forgive me, councillor! The terror ahead is… I can’t believe this. Why?”

  Councillor Bauruloun withdraws his arm and wipes it. “Ask Rahmanegol when you face him. Surely the mongrel will be able to explain how his terrors are strangling life without remorse.”

  One Starmaker plunges into the Rematerus, the circular monolith losing parts of itself in the process. We shift out of his landing spot and upon his fall, he twitches a couple more times before fading away into the Materium. Councillor Bauruloun cries at the sight, while Councillor Orequelon’s head snaps toward other victims. My snout slightly opens and jerks. My kin has ceased to be, so will many others if this continues. What will the great king say upon witnessing my inaction? Is this how I repay his sacrifice? This catastrophe must be undone.

  I dash forward and search for Lord Rahmanegol. Lightstealers crawl inside from a couple of holes, the scales upon their backs the only way to differentiate between them. Passionate rage boils within their white lines and within their four eyes, with slight exceptions. Eventually, my eyes land on a set of claws that enter the kingdom with composure. The scales upon his back help him appear mightier than even other Lightstealers, projecting outward like spikes. Lord Rahmanegol didn’t rush to the doom his Lightstealers caused, and his eyes didn’t carry the same wrath. Instead, his head swiveled unexpectedly, his body carrying a sense of disbelief with each new flap of his serene wings. How come he is so controlled and not acting rash?

  Another limb shoves me forward. “You saw him,” Councillor Orequelon says. “His Lightstealers shouldn’t worry about protecting him, knowing what sort of dragon he is. Claim your chance, Error.”

  I hesitate, then nod. Vigor surges through my body as soon as I launch myself toward him, determination joining me in my task. Have the words of the councillor motivated me to such an extent? For suddenly, doubts have vanished quicker than the Jila inhibits my desire to further live. I soar amidst falling wings, dash sideways from lost Spears, twist and evade descending skirmishes, the sight of Lord Rahmanegol evading me, yet I persist. He resembles calm doom and controlled chaos, even if his eyes betray that composure. A mighty figure of utter darkness, white lines pleading to tense and reveal the incredible strength that lies within. My eyes widen, and I feel one of my limbs quivering, yet I shove myself forth, forcing the earlier determination to carve my path with courage. He sights to the side, granting me the ability to curve behind him. Then something strikes me from beneath, and I smash against the Wall, a claw seizing my neck. A Lightstealer drags me against the Wall, his free claw tearing wounds within my body, before pulling me into a spin and freeing me. Pain shoots right out of my snout, its desire to dominate my voice too great.

  My attacker raises one claw, prepared to strike again, yet stops himself. “What is the Error’s intention with our Lord, I wonder? he asks, the tone of his voice boiling me alive. “What sort of plan have the Starmakers forced you into?”

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  The wounds force me to cover them as I prepare my answer.

  “You are bold, Khonameol,” Lord Rahmanegol says, his voice qualified to shove away planets with one breath, while drawing cosmic storms closer. I shudder, feeling his presence behind me. “Explain yourself quickly. Before Alghamior’s kingdom falls and your chance fades.”

  I turn to face him, the courage that led me here allowing my eyes to narrow. “There is no purpose in this invasion, Lord Rahmanegol. The Lightstealers are tearing apart my kin without remorse and I wonder how anyone can stand and watch.”

  “And what do you propose to do, Khonameol? What sort of foolishness has Alghamior forced into your head to believe standing before me could stop this? He made his choice through his indolence.”

  “King Alghamior did everything he could, lord,” I say. “I’ve been tasked with dangerous missions within the Jila that led nowhere. Then the mighty king believed that my Duality must hold some answers, another task which I unfortunately failed.” My eyes shift downcast. “Do not blame this on him.”

  Lord Rahmanegol’s eyes descend into a squint. “Then I must understand that you are to be blamed for this?” He opens his arms wide. “Is this curse your doing?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know why this occurs, lord.”

  “Alghamior should’ve uncovered that. Instead, he chose to withhold information from us and to sit upon his seat gazing. Our own tasks are disrupted, Khonameol. And your Starmakers are fading away. What was Alghamior’s response to this?”

  I frown. “The king tried, lord. He tried to discover what is wrong with his brethren. Why do you treat him with such contempt?”

  Lord Rahmanegol dashes closer, his sight consuming me. “Count your existence, Error. Does it match mine or his? Is your eternity even thinking of comparing to ours, that you speak so confidently about matters you don’t understand?”

  I retreat and drop my head. “No, lord. Yet I’ve seen the desire within the king. I’ve seen the struggles he faced and how mournful his lack of an answer made him be. Blaming him is not the correct decision.”

  Lord Rahmanegol departs, eyes regarding the ongoing invasion. “I will ensure that the Starmakers that survive this will be treated fairly. As long as they fabricate a response to the disease.” He breaths intensely. “Alghamior burdened me with Aslakahm, unfortunately.”

  “Lord, I’ve come to challenge you.”

  His head snaps onto me. “Is this Alghamior’s doing?”

  I approach, the wound still bothering me. “The Materium has been tainted for too long by my Duality. Claim me, lord, but let my kin survive. Upon my defeat, they will surrender in peace.”

  He shares a glance with my attacker. “I don’t believe the Error is lying, lord. Alghamior and his council on the other claw, they might.”

  “Why forfeit your existence in such a crude manner?” Lord Rahmanegol asks. “My claws have endured plenty until now.”

  “They won’t tire, lord,” I reply, then tense. “I doubt I will be much of an adversary.”

  His wings support him while he thinks. His eyes circle back toward the battle, cries of wrath and pain forcing my head to shift away, toward the cascading fog. This darkness is far more sympathetic than what occurs in the kingdom.

  “Swear upon the Tribunal that this isn’t a lie. And I shall fulfill your desire.”

  I regard him and I force a smile. It seems death is finally upon me. “I swear, lord.”

  “Cease the invasion!” Lord Rahmanegol bellows, his voice powerful enough to make the waves supporting Aslakahm cower. “Give the Starmakers time to gather their fallen. Help them if they allow it. The battle is over.”

  The Lightstealers respond accordingly: most stop, others do so with hesitation and a couple continue before receiving another call. I gaze upon Aslakahm and a series of whimpers comfort me. Beautiful Starmakers now lay fallen, littering the kingdom like dust. Egg-nests resemble belts of asteroids in how much they crumbled and spilled over the waves beneath. Even the Throne suffered damages, its golden rays joined by a pale white. Ascending essence vanishes, and the scent it emanates subdues my snout and prolongs my mourning. Surviving brethren crawl away from Lightstealers, Spears lost amidst wreckage, while others soar on one functioning wing. A few Lightstealers endured an unpleasant fate also, yet the numbers are evidently in their favor. All my eyes desire to do upon seeing the fate of the kingdom is to abscond.

  Lord Rahmanegol acknowledges me and sighs. “I hoped reality wouldn’t place me in the same position again. It seems I am cursed with conflict and an unbearable resolve to succeed.” He showcases his sharp claws, the white lines upon his body snapping to life. “Yet this is better. You were right to challenge me, Khonameol.”

  I was not. My brethren have faded. Alas, I will fade too. Maybe demise was my purpose in existence all along.