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The wind carried with it the acrid scent of smoke. It was not the pleasant scent of crackling campfires, like the one they'd enjoyed the night before, but the particular scent of fires burning mortar and paint. The smoke banished any thought that Ailmer had been pondering since they'd broken camp.

The cleft of the faraway pass broke the mountains in half in front of them. The thick forest kept Mossly from being visible, but two plumes of black smoke spiraling up from the trees marked where the road passed through town. Ailmer ducked his head to his chin, away from the wind to take a deep breath. He did his best to force the panic welling inside of him back down.

"I should never have left." He mumbled, but the wind whipping past them stole his words before they reached another soul.

Beroan sensed his urgency and cut down through the air, leaving Cymris to catch up. They shot down across the treetops before shooting down the main road. Beroan made to land in the center of town, but the bright glints of gemstone in the sun made him pull back up and shoot along the street. Ailmer blinked away the moisture that the winds drew up in his eyes, trying to figure out the situation.

Spiders crawled along the buildings that lined the main road. Sebastian's inn was on fire, as was the area behind the blacksmith's house. A blood-red brute, even larger than the one Ailmer had slain, screeched rage into the sky with a piercing shriek. A particularly motivated but unintelligent spider leaped from the roof of the schoolhouse at them. It missed them by the height of the building and landed, squirming, in a puff of dust on the cobblestones. Ailmer saw the corpse of a brute outside of the singed porch of the inn, crushed underneath the remains of several crates pushed from the level above.

Beroan's wings pumped as he pushed back up, gaining altitude back over the town as they passed the last building. "Weapons, Kerian! Copper!" Ailmer yelled.

Cymris was hot on their trail, and thankfully, Ailmer noticed the glint of bare metal in Kerian's hand. Ailmer reached back, wrapping his hand around the shaft of his weapon. Mizkithar felt less like an old friend than like his own arm. He hefted the poleaxe and swung and it snapped to his side. The bright blade flashed in the light and its copper veins glittered, the blade pointed down at the town. "Keep your nerve, Kerian! We land near the mill, if we can. If things get too rough or if there is no one left alive, we pull back!" Ailmer ordered.

"Sir!" Kerian called back.

Ailmer took a sharp breath through his nose. Now was not the time to dwell on the time that had passed since he'd been used to being called 'sir'. Certainly now was not the time; not with his other hand, white-knuckled, holding onto the saddle and the wind pouring past Mizkithar. "Are you willing, Beroan?" Ailmer called.

"I wear your scales and you have my claws," Beroan growled back.

Ailmer's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he saw a blue dragon in Beroan's place. Perhaps, Beroan was more like Marlin than Ailmer had thought.

They wheeled back in the air towards the mill. The clearing looked much the same as it had when Ailmer had left, excepting the line of militiamen with farming tools and barrel-top shields. Beroan's wings flared as they reached the clearing, slowing them as he searched for the best place to put down.

Ailmer recognized the fighters; they were all the townsfolk, and Sebastian was there in the middle, shouting orders almost as vigorously as he waved around his sword. A small assortment of Ikthil threatened the line, crawling over the cracked bodies of dead spiders and drones. There was even the corpse of another brute in a heap by the gate to the clearing. The smoky quartz spikes on its chest had been smashed back into itself, caved in by a clever swinging log suspended from the last line of forest trees.

Beroan's feet hit the ground and Ailmer moved on instinct. He pushed himself up on the saddle and his boot pressed into Beroan's back. One more step along Beroan's spine let him leap into the air.

The familiar feeling of the air around him adding to his jump was paired with internal exhaustion. Where it was a painful reminder of his relative weakness with every cantrip he had cast, it slipped his mind as adrenaline surged into him. He was staring down an old enemy over a combat formation. Though the shields on the battle line were haphazard constructions of barrel lids and leather scraps, Ailmer felt like he was back at the head of Galast's last army.

His blade felt the same, too. Mizkithar snapped through the air, carried and pushed by the air behind it. He landed on his feet as the poleaxe slammed down on a spider, one of the forerunners of the Ikthil's assault. It didn't have time to hiss as Ailmer's glaive pulled back up, dripping ichor from the gash that had cleaved the gem-covered monster in two.

The line of militia recoiled from him momentarily. Recognition flashed across the faces of the assembled crowd. Ailmer spotted Reese and Sebastian, who was wearing an unexpected smile of relief. They both looked older, and Reese had a bloodied bandage plastered to the side of his face. Both of them were wielding the faux torch maces that Ailmer had commissioned before he'd left.

Ailmer hated when his gut was right.

There was no time for catching up. Not with the crimson brute screaming as it charged towards the line, or the handful of spiders scuttling along the ground. Kerian drew his blade and joined at the edge of the line. Cymris took it on herself to stalk out even further, avoiding the whole of the line so that she didn't have to get tangled up in the humans. Beroan stayed just behind the line, keeping close to Ailmer's shoulder.

Another handful of spiders scattered from the path of the brute. The creature's trunk-like legs slammed into the ground hard enough to make the stones around each round print shudder. "Two-man gap, behind me!" Ailmer roared.

The untrained farmers hesitated, but Ailmer's attention was focused on the charging creature. The thing raised its left limb and the crystal spike that made up the whole of the beast's foreleg was worn jagged with chips and burrs. It glinted emerald in the sunlight. Ailmer barely had to duck his head to slide, underneath the creature's arm, and the blade of his poleaxe sliced wetly up into the brute's shoulder.

He felt the keen edge grind to a stop and he had to brace himself as the metal caught. The brute screamed and twisted, slamming into the dirt on its other side. The two militia had barely managed to scramble out of the way once they'd figured out what was happening.

The creature stopped as soon as it planted into the ground. The large chunks of their strange crystal bit into the dirt, digging in and breaking its fall. Ailmer yanked his blade back and the limb flopped weakly against the creature's side as thick ichor began to pour along its torso.

The thing didn't stay down for long. Almost as quickly as it had fallen it twisted and thrashed, working to plant its other arm into the ground enough to force itself up. It seemed to completely ignore the gouts of ichor dripping off it and its other useless limb.

Beroan didn't let it stand. With dirt and grass pouring off it, he engulfed the squirming creature in searing fire. A whoosh of singed air withered the grass around the creature as the thing's carapace flashed with rainbow iridescence. A sickening howl echoed from the brute, persisting through the whole of Beroan's breath.

Flakes of black drifted off the creature's back as the flame flickered away. There was still a low croon from the creature, though it was difficult to distinguish from the crackles and pops of the charred carapace as the thing attempted to get back up. The muscle underneath the Ikthil's carapace was too strong for its weakened exoskeleton. Crystalline plates creaked and jerked, tearing apart from each other to splash ichor over charred dirt.

The farmers were not to be outdone, however. Emboldened by their recent brush with death, they began to pound the brute's back. Either they were lucky or didn't think of a better target considering the lack of a traditional head on the brute's body, but their iron rod and hammer swung true. They crunched into the big creature's weakened back and kept swinging until the final spastic twitches of the creature died down.

Ailmer didn't pay them more attention. There were a handful more spiders charging the line, and thankfully, they did so without organization. He swatted down those that came within his reach and the line did the same. Sickening screeches echoed through the clearing as hand axes found bite and sparks spiraled through the air as Miskithar sliced through barbed, spindly limbs that reached towards him.

The townfolk's blunt weapons and hatchets were effective enough against the smaller Ikthil, but Ailmer could not fault their courage. He couldn't imagine trying to fight a brute without copper, or at least a decent sword. Even as he watched there were a few moments where one of the militia's linemen was barely able to keep the hard carapaces from turning their weapon, and their shorter hafts kept them close enough to their marks to cause Ailmer's gut to turn with anxiety.

Reese waited to break from the line until the last spider's limbs were curling up, taking a few steps towards Ailmer. "We weren't sure of our chances against that thing, Ailmer. We got another one with a trap, but?Damn it, Sikthil damn it all. We were just plain lucky that you showed up when you did."

He'd killed brutes before; why did that one feel like such an accomplishment?

Ailmer took a moment to reply, taking a slow breath as he tried to banish the aches of exhaustion from his limbs. His heart pounded, but he felt the sensation slowly vanish from his limbs in time with the adrenaline that still flooded his body. At least he was able to hide his trembling fingers with a painfully tight grip around the hilt of his poleaxe. The rest of the line was relaxing, gathering around to marvel at the still corpse of the large ikthil. The crystals still glinted with brilliant colors under the soot, but tiny veins of black were already starting to creep through the gemstone.

"I've always been cursed with good timing. I saw the remains of the town proper and it seems like you've been fighting well." Ailmer said.

"I can't take credit, Ailmer. Sebastian has been organizing it since you've left." Reese said.

Ailmer looked up at the innkeeper. He was keeping his glare carefully directed down at the creature, but his arms were crossed over his chest. "He took my warning seriously? I wouldn't think he'd hold much stock in a lying mage."

"At first it was gathering arms and a small amount of training to fend off the army and their mages. Turns out they work just about as well against these?things."

"Shards, Ailmer! I've never seen a human move like you! Your claw just came up and you threw that thing!" Beroan interjected.

The dragon inserted himself into the conversation as he shoved his snout between the blacksmith and the mage. "And it was way bigger than you, bigger than me!" He continued.

"That was awesome!" Reece agreed, eager to discard the serious discussion.

One of Ailmer's faux-torch commissions dangled from a leather strap around his wrist as he shared in Beroan's glow. A grin stretched across his face, shared with the dragon beside him. Ailmer blinked, looking between the two and the line of Ikthil corpses. The brute was still and the farmers beside it were eying it nervously. Reece was looking at him with admiration sparkling in his eyes, and Ailmer realized he'd forgotten what it was like to be a hero. Ailmer shook his head, turning away.

He was greeted by Sebastian's frown. He looked older, Ailmer thought, but they all did. He wore patchwork leather armor, of a style that the Army had not worn since before the gem wars. It was patched with rivets and chunks of leather belts. A sword dangled from his hand. The sheath was wrinkled and cracked with age, but still served its purpose. "Ailmer, can we speak?"

The trepidation in his voice belied the courage that Sebastian had to summon to make the request. The quivering half-frown on his face showed Ailmer that he didn't know whether to expect Ailmer to rage at him or fall silent. Thankfully, Beroan had been teaching him things. Ailmer reached out and wrapped Sebastian in his arms.

The sword fell from Sebastian's fingers. He slumped against the mage and shuddered, managing to pull one arm up and drape it around Ailmer's side.

"Please, old friend," Ailmer said.

***

"I thought I was going to live here forever, Ailmer," Sebastian said.

His head rolled back and forth in a half-hearted shake on top of his folded arms. A half-empty glass of brandy sat in front of his head on the table, and Ailmer reached over to top it off from a decanter between them. Beroan held out his cup as well, his tail flopping from side to side. His earfrills flicked as Ailmer poured him another measure, his tongue diving greedily into the glass. "But your family is safe?" Ailmer asked.

"As far as I know. I sent them to Damsk and they'll travel on from there to my brother's estate, well northeast of Damsk. But with these monsters just?running around, with the brigands on the roads, with hungry refugees abounding, what faith should I have?" He asked.

Ailmer let the innkeeper pound his fist on the table a few times. He took another swig of firewater and stood, stepping over to the hearth. He took his time selecting another piece of firewood and made a show of sliding it into the hearth's flames.

"The gods have not abandoned us, Sebastian. Makith's fire still warms as it always has. The army is conscripting and the dragon riders are fighting already."

Sebastian grumbled, "It's hard enough to ignore the silver and blue covering the pair of you."

Ailmer started into the flames for a moment, watching them lick the blackening chunk of wood. The first round of wood had collapsed into hot, glowing embers. It left the oven hot enough to devour the large piece of pine without any more of his action. He waited a moment until flames began to rush from the seasoned wood before he turned back to the table. "I thought I'd live here forever, too. Monsters leave us little choice, same as the winter forcing us to build fires."

Sebastian lifted his head, continuing to shake it. "Sikthil damn it, Ailmer. Why can't you be wrong about one damn thing?"

"Wh-" Ailmer started.

"Something! Ahilia's wisdom pours from you with every damn thing that comes out of you. Seem to know how to do everything, save everyone, but couldn't you just be wrong about this? Just say it's gonna be alright, that they're gone, that?" Sebastian ranted, his passion dying by the end of his speech.

The mage's jaw tightened. It took him a moment to reply, but he tried his best to keep anger from his voice. "The last time I lied like that, people important to me died."

Sebastian sighed heavily, but he lifted his head. He wore a deep frown, but there was no hint of anger on his face. "Had you not been honest, I wouldn't have sent away my family. I don't want it to be like this. Mossly is done, Ailmer. The big buildings are ruined or burnt, and enough of us have fled or died that it's not much of a town anymore."

"I know. I had a lot here, too. But it's not all gone." Ailmer began.

"What are you talking about?" Sebastian asked.

"The Army is coming. The riders will use the mill as a forward base for the frontline, assuredly. You can, we can still fight. The war has come back, but it will end. Or, if it doesn't? We won't have much to worry about." Ailmer said.

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. He drained his cup again and grabbed the bottle to pour another generous serving. "Let's see. I can flee, like the rest. Or I can join the Army and die in a ditch somewhere. Or I can fight here and start to take orders, and watch this town turn into a garrison. I thought it was over, Ailmer, I thought we were done." He said.

Ailmer closed his eyes, bowing his head to the fire. "Yes."

***

Maybe it had been the excessive brandy, the exhaustion from combat, or the thoughts that playing a fighter brought back to him. Whatever caused it, Ailmer knew what he would see when he closed his eyes. He didn't have much choice, however. Rolled up tightly against the flank of his dragon, with Sebastian and several of the townsfolk in beds in the other rooms in the mill, and with deep exhaustion running through Ailmer's whole body, he had no choice but to sleep. He wished he'd slept fitfully--that would have given a chance for him to wake from the dream.

He was back in the canyon. The long-dried stream was running thick with blood and ichor. The bodies of men and Ikthil were thick here, where they'd driven them back. Now, they were all still, all but him and Marlin.

He hurt. His armor wore several bloodstained gashes. Bruises covered him and he could tell that two of his ribs were broken. He looked down, eyes wide as he watched thick droplets of blood drip off his fingertips and his front. However, the pain on this side of their link melted out of Ailmer's mind.

Marlin was there in front of him, with his side torn wide open. Ailmer could feel every wound on his dragon almost as if it was his own. The link they shared made his teeth grind together hard enough that the sound echoed in his ears.

He moved without care for his body. He could feel his muscles pushing against aches and broken bones, but that pain melted into the background. It was just another distraction, and nothing important compared to the wound on his dragon. Marlin stretched out in front of him, one forepaw curled up and back to attempt to hold the long cut closed. Ailmer felt heat pumping through his fingers. The sensation galvanized him to rush forward, dropping to his knees beside the drake. "I've had worse, my mage." Marlin rumbled.

"You've not." Ailmer thought, hard enough that he couldn't stop the words from slipping out of his lips.

The dragon's muzzle turned up in a slight smirk. He had already felt Ailmer's worries flooding over their link; now he could feel Ailmer cursing himself in his head for the slip of his tongue. Marlin, however, carefully avoided looking down at his wound. "Remember the south pass? That was much worse." Marlin said.

"What? You were hardly cut in that fight." Ailmer said.

"You got flayed by those spiders. I thought I might have lost you." Marlin said, with the slightest upward curl of his lips, "See, way worse."

Ailmer shook his head, closing his eyes. He'd hoped, for a moment, that the blue dragon's humor would banish the wound. When his blink opened again, it was still there on the dragon's side. "At least I managed to get you away. I was worried there, for a moment." Marlin said.

His muzzle was turned up in a smirk, but the corners of his mouth trembled with pain. He couldn't hide anything from Ailmer, and he knew just how much the dragon was suffering. Every fiber in Marlin's being told him to pull away from the other living creatures, to find some hole somewhere, to run, and to pass, out of the view of anything else. He could also feel Marlin's resistance to his instincts. Thoughts flooded over from the dragon, thoughts of happier times.

The aurora, the overlook, watching the stars. Fishing, flying, summiting the peak of the stacked stones. Pressing against him, steam curling off tea. The first time that Marlin had discovered brandy, and their frenzied night after. All the other nights, skin against scale. Standing proudly in front of the first riders, accepting the king's awards after holding the pass; all these flashed by as impressions and fragments from his dragon's mind.

One of these was more distracting than the others. His fingers stopped in their tracks and he found himself looking through the dragon's eyes.

Ailmer watched himself carefully balancing wood into a fire in front of the lounging dragon. He could feel the cool dirt shift under his scales, the heat pouring off him from as he let the exertion of a long flight go. His eyes followed this curious human as they talked; their words were lost into the mumbles of the ether. Then-Ailmer had no idea that the dragon's eyes had only followed him. He pointed to things, discussed things, gestured up to the evening light dripping through the trees and the sky, high above them. Stars were framed in the crystal night, their light chilled by the cool air.

They were by the fire now. Marlin's eyes were still turned up, watching the strange creature's mouth move as he spoke. Ailmer's strange, soft claws worked along that one spot just past his chin on the side of his neck, the one that made his tail twitch and his paw digits curl. At that time they were still getting used to the bond and their thoughts were still private, but Marlin could feel his euphoria flowing to the human. He knew that the wide grin on Ailmer's face was due, in part, to his feelings, but the human didn't quite realize it.

At least, until Marlin kissed him.

Now, Ailmer worked. His fingers were numb and small bottles of any tincture that might help lay discarded in the earth around them. He'd had barely enough apealt to clean the wound; it would do, except for the jagged crystal jutting from the dragon's rib. Marlin's blood loss had been worrying from the start, but he was a dragon, with two hearts and plenty of blood to bleed.

But that damn crystal. It pulsed with veins of red over its light-eating blackness. It took root like an inverted cactus.

"Don't think like that, Marlin." Ailmer cautioned as he felt his stress flow over their binding.

"Shards, Ailmer, blink for a heartbeat." Marlin shot back.

Marlin's eyes were shut tight, but Ailmer nodded. He turned his head away from the crystal and Marlin visibly relaxed. One eye barely opened as he took a deeper breath, and Ailmer watched his slit pupil lock onto his face. The dragon watched him carefully, and Ailmer felt a lump rise in his throat. "No, Marlin, don't think like that." He said.

"Will you be able to do it without a chunk of mana?" Marlin asked.

"Yes. I have to." Ailmer lied.

Marlin nodded, his eye carefully evaluating the mage kneeling beside him. It settled back on his face and the corners of Marlin's muzzle twisted up, just slightly.

"Will it help to try?" He asked.

It was later. Ailmer felt the memory melt into a dream, but he still couldn't tear himself back into the waking world. Blood stained his fingertips, but nothing seemed to work. He poured tinctures, but the crystal only throbbed brighter. He felt along flesh, but the crystal only dug itself tighter. He squirmed and worked, but his fingers felt like they were working through handfuls of cotton. The needle and gut ran through his fingers but was never able to bite securely into flesh. He worked for what seemed like forever, but he never again looked back at Marlin's face.

He'd made that mistake only once in this recurring nightmare.