"You were supposed to guide them!" Thorn snarled as she landed near Nis'ahkt's torn body. "The Hero Dragon! That's what you're supposed to be."

The Arch Dragon tried to stand but collapsed, toppling several more trees and sending a tumult of boulders bouncing down the ravine.

A youngling no longer after ten years of war and death, Thorn's immense body heaved as she labored to catch her breath. She quivered in rage and from the pain that burned through many seeping wounds. Vannel slid down from Thorn's powerful back, his armor rent and bloodied. The man's antlers had grown broad as his shoulders and hard as his eyes.

Nis'ahkt's head alone was larger than the entire tavern of Font village, but the armies had done their work. The Great Dragon's wings were in tatters and her hide a pincushion of lances and ballista bolts.

"Let us finish this," Vannel growled as he limped forward. The man was haggard and beyond exhausted, but a decade of strife had honed him as well. He raised his dented shield and lifted a blade that hummed with arcane energy.

The colossal dragon coughed a torrent of blood.

"I am already finished," Nis'ahkt rumbled. She tried to raise her head, then collapsed again against the broken trees beneath her. "I'm glad.... it was you. You completed... your mission."

Vannel and Thorn looked at each other in confusion as the mountainous beast wheezed.

"My mission?" Thorn spat. "You sent me to destroy the Font and save the dragons. But you had it all backwards! The old man was nothing. But you sent your puppet Dynasty's armies to destroy all memory of him. That is why the people rose against you, and they were right to do it! You lost sight of the good, blinded by the glorious. You're no hero."

"Yes," Nis'ahkt whispered. "You saved the dragons. The people. Another dynasty toppled. Another begun. A corrupted Nis'ahkt slain. A humble Nis'ahkt born. Long live the Nis'ahkt. May you...."

A spasm of coughing shook the ancient creature. She weakly reached towards Thorn, her immense claws trembling. Vannel stepped forward bravely, sword ready, but the now house-sized orchid dragon gently pulled him back.

"Nis'ahkt, you make no sense," Thorn said, unable to shake her anger. "You have brought this upon..."

"May you," Nis'ahkt choked out, spraying them with spittle and blood. "...be long in ......humility, ....before the powers take you. May you... stay little... Peace..."

The back of the Arch Dragon's claw gently caressed the powdery white scales of Thorn's cheek, before dropping heavily.

"Thank you," Nis'ahkt whispered, the light slowly fading from her eyes as her ragged gasps grew shallow. "Thank you..." The dragon's immense eyes drifted closed. "...Thank you."

Stillness settled into the shattered landscape with the Arch Dragon's final slow breath. The orchid dragon and the champion stood in silence before the ancient creature's lifeless body. No birds sang from the toppled trees. No soldiers cheered. No captives wept. Words and songs and tears did not usher forth the Arch Dragon's spirit. Only a wordless stillness. A being in the face of a great unbeing.

"They will make you king," Thorn said, her soft voice seeming out of place in the quiet. Vannel nodded, entranced by the overwhelming magnitude of such a death, so very close. He took a step closer to Thorn.

"Will you stay with me?" he said at last. The hardened edge of the man's strong voice was gone, becoming an echo of the youth from so long ago.

"I cannot," Thorn sighed, even now bracing herself for what would come.

"They will make you the next Nis'ahkt?" Vannel asked quietly. "Is that what she meant?"

Thorn nodded. She hadn't realized it before, but it all made sense now. A hero dragon would take up the mantle until they were unfit to bear it. Then a new hero would rise to destroy the old.

She took a step closer to Vannel. The two friends stood together, each lost on the paths of their own thoughts. The light shifted through the splintered forest, tinting everything orange as the sun made its way down towards distant mountains. A single brown finch flitted over the Arch Dragon's body, chirped once, then was gone.

"We could just leave," Vannel watched the tiny bird fly away.

"We could," Thorn agreed, watching Vannel watch the bird. "But then who would care for our flowers?"

The champion turned to the orchid dragon, a weary but determined smile creeping across his dirty face. She felt a burning in her eyes as the man blinked away his own tears. He nodded, to her, then again to himself. He took two steps forward, towards the slain beast.

"Great Afke Nis'ahkt of the Mettlegrit Arm," he brandished his blade, saluting the fallen dragon. "I swear on my blood and your body, that me and mine will resist the proud and forswear the allure of power. If my dynasty is born today, may I be known as the Pauper King. Silk shall never touch my body, nor gold my fingers. Anything given me will be given to the sick and the orphan. I swear this on my blood spilt this day and your fallen flesh."

He turned to Thorn and knelt.

"Great Afke Nis'ahkt of the Mettlegrit Arm, I swear on my blood and my body. If I or my heirs deviate from this path, unmake us as you have unmade all your foes. I pledge myself and my line to this humble path of truth, for now and forever."