Remin received word that Wymar was now resting in the castle, his wounds tended to by the healers. The general nodded at this news, one less concern among many that weighed on his mind this night.
He listened to Han telling everything about the pillar and his ancestry.
As darkness began to retreat from the sky, the first pale fingers of dawn reaching across the horizon, Jolthar walked with Dagur's body hovering beside him, using his telekenetic power.
The others watched as he walked away from the field.
No one spoke as Jolthar walked toward a nearby hillside, the warrior's body floating before him like a ship on invisible waters.
Raayani and Yoana silently followed him, wondering what he was going to do.
The rocky terrain of the hill stood stark against the lightening sky, a fitting place for a warrior's rest. When he reached a suitable spot, Jolthar turned to his drake.
"Dig," he commanded simply.
The drake lowered its massive head and began to claw at the earth, its powerful front limbs breaking through soil and stone with remarkable efficiency.
Soon a pit ford, deep enough to house the fallen warrior with dignity.
With a simple flick of his hand, Jolthar lowered Dagur's body into the freshly dug grave.
Soldiers gathered at a distance, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief as they watched the young man bury an enemy with such reverence. Murmurs spread across the field; they halted in their actions and stood watching Jolthar.
Yet none dared interrupt this strange funeral, not with the Dragon Queen and Raayani standing witness. Even they were sceptical.
Jolthar worked thodically, covering the grave with his own hands rather than using his powers. He arranged stones over the mound in the pattern of an ancient warrior's seal—a sign of respect rarely shown to fallen enemies. His fingers, still bearing the dried blood of yesterday's battle, moved with surprising gentleness as he completed this final task.
There was purpose in this act, aning beyond what the watching soldiers could comprehend. For Jolthar saw in Dagur sothing of himself—a mirror darkly reflecting what might have been. Both n had lost everything they valued; both had been thrust into conflicts not of their choosing. Jolthar could feel his pain when he was talking about his sister; it was brief, but he could feel it.
The things you would do for family.
In another life, under different stars, they might have stood side by side rather than blade to blade.
He simply didn't want this man's body to get rotten like the rest.
When the grave was complete, Jolthar remained kneeling beside it for a long mont, just staring at the grave.
Dagur's words still echoed in his mind: Why were you fighting for the empire then?
Raayani and Yoana stood apart, watching this display with thoughtful eyes.
The Dragon Queen's ancient gaze seed to see beyond the simple act to the aning beneath, while Raayani's expression held a growing curiosity about the man she had chosen.
Finally, exhausted from the night's events and the burial itself, Jolthar slumped to the ground.
He leaned back against a large rock, his drake settling beside him like a guardian from ancient myth.
From this vantage point, he could see across the adow where Imperial soldiers continued their grim work, their stares occasionally drifting toward the strange silver-haired young man on the hill.
Jolthar t their curious gazes with sudden irritation. "What are you looking at?" he called down, his voice carrying across the distance.
The soldiers quickly averted their eyes, returning to their tasks with renewed focus.
Across the field, they had dug a mass grave—a great pit into which they unceremoniously threw the bodies of the fallen, friend and foe alike.
It was the practical way, the military way, yet the contrast between their efficiency and Jolthar's solemn ritual stood stark in the growing light of dawn.
Raayani could contain her curiosity no longer.
She approached Jolthar, her shadow falling across him as she stood beside the seated warrior.
"Why did you bury him?" she asked, her tone neither approving nor condemning, rely inquisitive.
Jolthar did not look up at her, his eyes fixed on the distant adow where death had reaped such a terrible harvest. "Just felt like doing it," he replied, the simplicity of his answer belying the complexity of emotion behind it.
"He was just a simple man hung up on vengeance for his family," Jolthar said. That was it.
She frowned as she stared at Jolthar. SHe could see a complex of emotions of Jolthar face, too young to be showing such a sentint.
She couldn't understand how an eighteen-year-old was capable of such deep feelings and actions. Not many were capable of doing what Jolthar had done.
She just stared at the boy.
Raayani did not press further.
Instead, she took a position beside him, her gaze following his to the grim scene below.
The dawn continued its slow ergence, casting long shadows across the field that had only yesterday been green and vibrant. Now it lay trampled and bloodied, a testant to the cost of conflict.
From the direction of the camp ca General Remin and Count Han, their faces bearing the weight of the night's considerations. They climbed partway up the hill, stopping at a distance from Jolthar and his companions.
"Ms Raayani," Remin said with formal courtesy, "I will take my leave. I need to assess the aftermath of the battle." His eyes moved briefly to Yoana and Jolthar, acknowledging their presence without directly addressing them.
With a slight nod, he turned to depart.
Han made to follow the general, but Jolthar's voice stopped him.
"Han," he called. "Co here."
The count hesitated, glancing toward Remin's retreating form before turning back to Jolthar.
Remin didn't stop as he just walked away, calling for his n. He didn't put much thought into the young man and the duo right now.
After a mont's consideration, he approached, coming to stand before the seated young man with an expression of wary curiosity.
Jolthar looked up at him, his silver hair catching the first true rays of sunlight. "I can understand your pain, Han," he said, his voice carrying a weight of empathy that surprised even Raayani. "But what you did wasn't right." He paused, allowing the gentle rebuke to settle before continuing. "You can co to if you need any help in the future."
The offer hung in the air between them, unexpected and profound.
Jolthar felt genuine sorrow for this man—a ruler abandoned by his wife; it was what made Jolthar offer him help. He didn't like what his wife did and the deity she slept with. Jolthar was now thinking about Inadrys and his son Myron. He wondered if it was Inadrys who made Myron co after him. The reason remained a mystery for now, but he would find out eventually.
Myron was fine when he left the county, and suddenly he was trying to kill him.
Han stood motionless, struck by the unexpected kindness from the man who had stripped him of his power over the beasts.
The sun climbed higher, casting its light over the grave of a worthy opponent, the adow of fallen soldiers, and the small gathering on the hillside.
Han stared at him for a second and said, "Are you showing sympathy now?"
"Even after what you did?"
Jolthar chuckled dryly, "Man, it wasn't your power to begin with: why mull over it?"
"And I wasn't one who ca searching for it."
Han clasped his hands until knuckles whitened, jaw tightening as pride wrestled with desperation. "I still have my honour. So I don't need your help."
The words erged brittle, a shield of glass against the crushing weight of his circumstances.
Jolthar's shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug, though his eyes remained penetrating. "I was just trying to offer you help."
His voice dropped lower, weighted with significance. "After all, it is a deity you are up against."
The words hung in the dawn air like frost.
Han's brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features as he attempted to decipher Jolthar's aning.
Behind him, his remaining wyvern shifted uneasily, sensing its master's discomfort.
"Your wife," Jolthar continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "I know. In fact, the whole county knows."
Han's face drained of colour. He took an involuntary step backward, as if physical distance might shield him from the truth in Jolthar's words.
A single thought scread through his mind—he should have left when he had the chance.
As realisation dawned upon him, Han stared at Jolthar with new eyes. Not as the usurper of his beast power, not as the slayer of Dagur, but as sothing far more dangerous: a man who knew secrets.
Raayani and Yoana exchanged glances, their eyes communicating a silent understanding. Whatever knowledge Jolthar possessed about Han's wife was clearly significant—perhaps even dangerous.
The drake beside Jolthar rumbled low in its throat, its amber eyes fixed on Han as if it too understood the gravity of the mont unfolding between these two n—one fallen from power, one ascending to it.
The morning breeze carried the scent of blood and earth across the battlefield, a reminder of yesterday's violence and today's uncertain future.
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