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A crack of thunder and light, the blinding flash making it so Mathus needed to blink several times to clear his watering eyes. Tears rushed up his temples, as he realized he was falling. The wind galloped past his ears, drowning out whatever curse Korlyon barked beside him. They were falling down into an open plain from a great height, to his left Mathus saw the mountains they just teleported from. Of course, with no sense of the geography Srek would not account for just how high up they might be.

“Help me gather everyone together!” The voice of Srek called out in his mind. He felt a hand wrap around his ankle. Mathus twisted, then tumbled in the air, saw the leather gauntlet of Korlyon’s on his ankle, Srek clutching the wolf’s tail as they fell. Calth’s spread wings cast a shadow over the sun, and Mathus saw he had Kahia by the collar of their cloak, pulling them down to Mathus. He outstretched his hand and Calth took it, and soon as their fingers touched, like a circuit connected, their fall began to slow. The wind whipping Mathus’ dark curls upward stilled in a matter of moments, and, slow as a shed leaf fluttering to the ground, they fell with hundreds of meters between them and the ground.

“Srek is sorry for the fright,” the kobold said while still holding onto Korlyon’s tail.

“This is why I’d have rather walked!” Korlyon snapped. “Can I have my tail back now?”

“Is a tail not to be touched on the surface. In Pterodea it’s very natural to—”

“I’m sure it is,” Calth said. He guided Kahia’s hand into Mathus’, adding, “I assume this spell requires us to hold onto each other,” and letting go, Calth dropped till his wings caught the air, and he glided effortlessly back to the party. He reached out and took Korlyon’s free hand and guided it to Kahia’s, then guided Srek to the hand Korlyon had been holding onto Mathus with. Soon they fell in a circle holding hands and facing one another.

Mathus said as Calth completed the circle, “Perhaps next time we teleport holding onto one another.”

“Or we just walk the rest of the way. I think I can see Sepulcher of Dawn northeast of us,” Korlyon said, the city a smudge on the horizon.

“You don’t have time to spare,” Kahia said. “We are several day’s travel away, and you’ll need every day you can get.”

Calth clicked his tongue against the roof of his beak. “I am inclined to agree.”

Mathus gave Korlyon a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Korlyon, expression almost unreadable behind his mask, still pouted with, “Fine. Let’s just aim right this time.”

“Srek, if you can channel the energy for me to cast the spell, I think I can get us close to our destination,” Calth said. “Grab my wing so I can sign the spell.” He outstretched his left wing to Srek, who grabbed a fistful of feathers.

“Ready, Master Calth.”

Mathus watched light channel from the air around them, into Srek, through him into Calth, who began to sign a series of glyphs in the air, handwriting neat and precise like Cathka’s. Mathus took a deep breath and shut his eyes as they were enveloped in light again.

This time they landed on the tin roof of an inn. To their right the massive lake which most of the city sprawled around, the great tiers of the upper parts of Sepulcher of Dawn floating above them and casting them in its shadow. Srek gawked, as Calth said, “There we are.”

A trapdoor opened and out popped the head of a dark-skinned human woman lined with tattoos and hair pinned to her head in tightly woven dreadlocks. “I was wondering when I’d get to see you, you bastard. Making a girl wait.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Gilloi.”

She got out of the trapdoor and took in Calth’s companions, “No sister no bat, huh? But you brought the Protector here? Are you trying to blow up our hideout?”

“We’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” Korlyon said.

Gilloi frowned, “You too, Calth?”

Calth winked, “You know I’ll be back around to see you and the boys. For now, we have business with the dragons.”

Srek finally recovered from taking in the city’s splendor to squeak, “Are they the ones who built this?”

“With the power of our godhood, yes,” Kahia quietly grumbled.

“What was that?” Gilloi asked, not hearing him.

“Don’t worry about that one, he’s a nobody,” Calth said.

“With you lot, no one is ever just a nobody.”

***

By the time they reached the ferries to the City of Tiers, an entourage from the Church of Mortel had arrived to meet them. A high-ranking priest flanked by two Faceless guards and their retinue spilling behind stepped off a barge and stopped them from reaching the ferry. The priest, wearing a silver gorget like the one Dialdon had sported, bowed with every one of his retinue and loudly proclaimed, “Lord Mathus our Benevolent Protector, you honor us with your presence. We are sorry for the paltry welcome, had we more time to prepare—”

“You needn’t worry,” Mathus quickly interrupted, having learned it best to be direct and to the point with members of the Church. “I am simply here to speak to Sorkahn Razorscale and confer with his clan on a personal matter. And please, there is no need for ceremony with me, sir, rise and give me your name.”

The High Priest, a tall, long-necked heron rose and said, “My name is Vione Lam, I was appointed to my position a few months after you left. There has been much reform done in your name, Lord—”

“You can just use my name.”

“I appreciate the trust, Lord Protector, but I do not want anyone to assume a level of unearned familiarity between us.”

Mathus sighed. “Very well.”

Calth said, “We’re burning daylight. I assume you wished to escort us on your ship? Let’s board and you can speak while we travel.”

Vione’s blue eyes narrowed, and Korlyon muttered, “Impudence won’t help.”

Calth simply scoffed.

“It would please me to have you escort us to the Ward of Wings, and if word can be sent ahead to clan Razorscale of our impending arrival, I would be grateful,” Mathus said.

“Very well, Lord Protector,” Vione said. He gestured to the gangplank connecting the steam-powered ship to the docks, “After you and your companions.”

Korlyon made a point to board the ship first, hand on the hilt of one of his swords. However, there came no danger, they were brought aboard the main deck, the ship divided by three levels, with a banquet hall beside the galley, decorated with gilded lanterns, marble tabletops with adjoining chairs with red satin cushions. The white, gold, red decor extended throughout the room, with one wall dominated by a painting depicting Mathus facing down a tidal wave of menacing, crimson light pouring out from a distant Dialdon, a title beneath it read THE PROTECTOR FACES DOWN THE FALLEN SON. Mathus was grateful Selvanna was not here to see how history chose to remember Dialdon—though, he supposed the Church of Mortel had to reject the idea that their founder was the true mastermind behind the plot to sacrifice Sepulcher of Dawn if they wished to remain a central institution of power within the Emerald Cities.

They were seated at a banquet table, offered refreshments. Calth and Kahia both opting for wine, Korlyon water, Mathus tea, and Srek a sample of everything the ship had to offer. Vione and two other priests, a human and wolf with their own silver gorgets—Mathus could only assume it their magical conduits, since most ranking priests also doubled as mages—sat at the table with them, while two Faceless each guarded the three doors in and out the banquet hall.

Vione asked as drinks began to be brought out by servants from the kitchen, “I notice you are traveling without your draconic warden or the Scour—” at Mathus’ frown Vione quickly corrected to, “Karniel.”

“They are on business elsewhere, outside the Emerald Cities,” Mathus said.

“Business?”

Mathus chewed on his bottom lip. They had not really discussed whether to involve the Church in the matter of the Stars. Where would they even begin? And could they trust the Church to actually—

From his left, Korlyon whispered in his ear, “If we need the armies of the Church, we should let them know now so they have time to prepare.”

Calth said to the priests, “Give us a moment,” and signed a spell before explaining, “They cannot hear us for the time being. Please tell me we aren’t getting the Church involved.”

Srek, with eight different glasses in front of him, stood on his chair so he could look over Kahia to Calth, Mathus, and Korlyon to say, “They seem very loyal to Master Mathus.”

“They are loyal to power,” Calth corrected. “They are just as likely to embrace their own end if they think the Stars will give them something.”

“I doubt it will take much convincing for them to understand the Stars can only be our enemy,” Korlyon said. “We’re talking about hundreds, thousands of mages spread out over the world, soldiers and influence in distant kingdoms that we can leverage and mobilize against the Stars when the time comes.”

“To do what?” Calth asked. “We aren’t here to figure out how to fight them, remember?”

“And what if Karniel and the others find a means to?” Korlyon asked. “We owe it to them to at least lay some of the groundwork for a resistance if that is what we must mount.”

Kahia spoke up to say, “They will be helpless against the Stars no matter what you do. Telling them will only incite a panic.”

Korlyon glared at the old god and simply said, “Better to panic now and get it out of their system before the Stars arrive.”

Mathus pursed his lips and said, “I’m inclined to agree with Korlyon. This isn’t a secret we should keep. Even if we fail and can do nothing to stop it, people deserve a chance to get their affairs in order, to meet the end on their terms.”

Calth clicked his tongue to the roof of his beak. “Pah, this will not end well, mark my words.”

Calth broke the spell keeping their conversation from the ears of others in the room, and Mathus asked, “Tell me, Vione, how well do you know the story of what brought dragons to our world?”

Vione cocked his head. The blond-haired human sitting beside him cleared her throat to say, “You mean the White Death that consumed their world and drove them to ours?”

Mathus nodded, expression grim as he said, “We have a strong suspicion such a force is, at best, a year from laying waste to this world.”

The human’s jaw dropped, Vione shook his head and said, “Surely you jest, nothing could match the power you carry, your grace.”

“Nothing in our known universe is capable of stopping what is coming,” Kahia spoke up. “When the Stars descend they will consume all of us.”

Mathus said quickly, “We hope to find a means of stopping it or escaping it like the dragons did—all is not lost, as long as we work together and hold onto hope.”

After a long silence, broken only by Srek taking a drink of wine, then a bourbon that made the kobold cough, Vione said, “Very well, tell us what it is we face and what we can do to help.”

***

By the time they climbed the City of Tiers to its third flower, an even larger retinue of Mortel’s Church had rushed to follow Mathus like honey bees rallying to surround their queen. He disliked marching up to the gates with three dozen strangers in tow. They dismounted their ferry at a canal crossing on the third tier, and traveled to the western pointing petal, wherein the Ward of Wings housed Sepulcher of Dawn’s dragon enclave.

A single wall a hundred paces long between two gated canals blocked the one entrance open to locals. Over the relatively short wall rose stone buildings larger and taller in size than most of the City of Tiers. Open landings and balconies were actively used by winged dragons to traverse places by air. Steel rail wound through the district, allowing a magically powered team of trolleys to speed people through the enclave.

At the single gate, Sorkahn Razorscale already waited wearing a draconic tailcoat, which involved cutting out most of the back for Sorkahn’s wings. The cut of dark violet and blues in his clothing complimented Sorkahn’s silver scales and ice-blue eyes. His whiskers perked up as he smiled when Mathus made eye-contact with him. Sorkahn crossed the gate, leaving behind the two guards. Soon, Mathus’ retinue slowed as Sorkahn closed the gap, arms outstretched.

“Brother Mathus!” Sorkahn called out as he swept Mathus into a hearty hug. Crushed to the velvet, violet coat for just a moment before Sorkahn released Mathus to stand up and say, “I will need a bigger table for all these guests.”

“It will just be the five of us,” Mathus said before turning around and saying to Vione who was having a frantic whispered conversation with another priest, “This is far enough Vione. If I need any more from the Church I will send word with Korlyon.”

“What—oh, yes, of course, your grace. We have much to discuss given the news you have given us. We will be calling a council and would like you to be there, when we have a time determined.”

“I cannot make any promises with how short our time is.”

“If you are still in the city we will send for you,” Vione said before offering a deep bow. The heron straightened back up, and faced the crowd, large wings fanned out as he announced, “The Razorscale clan will host the Lord Protector for the time being. Let us leave them now in peace till our grace needs us once again.”

Calth leaned forward to whisper in Mathus’ ear, “Like we ever needed them.”

Mathus was inclined to agree.

As the crowd departed, Sorkahn’s gregarious manner folded in favor of a frown on his silver-scaled muzzle. “Where is your protector? My sister wouldn’t break her vows unless—”

“She’s alive,” Mathus said. “Necessity separated us.”

“The Stars return.”

“You know, then?”

“Only omens the elders and historians are certain spell our doom. I was inclined to shrug it off until just now—you think it is the White Death returned?”

“There is much to discuss, preferably with a council present.”

“I will call one, and while we wait you can join me for lunch and fill me in on what you know that we don’t.”

***

“They’re healthy and strong,” Sorkahn said as he and Mathus stood at the edge of a spawning pool in the Razorscale Hatchery. The hatchery was a warehouse with pools of magically warmed water that went along in rows, the eggs inside under constant guard and supervision. A few caretakers tirelessly checked the water temperature the eggs rested in, stopping at the occasional egg to listen to it through a stethoscope. Each egg was around the size of a watermelon, with green shells sometimes speckled with rust red spots.

Razorscale Hatchery had the capacity to house two hundred eggs at a time. Right now only thirteen incubated in the hatchery. Mathus could not help but feel the sting of Selvanna’s words when Mathus asked why running from the Stars was so unthinkable: “My people are dying out. What if we go somewhere we starve because there is nothing for us to eat? What would we do then? What about our babies? If we can’t stop the Stars here, what future can they hope to have?”

Mathus knelt at the edge of the pool and reached out, placing a gentle hand over one of the two eggs. “Was this a mistake?”

“Mistake?”

“If we can’t—they hatch in a month, and Selvanna and I have been so busy with the end of the world we still haven’t settled on names.” Mathus stood, still staring at the eggs, “They don’t deserve the world they’re being brought into.”

“You could say that about any infant with the White Death returning,” Sorkahn said. “Life doesn’t stop until something stops it, and it’s built and born to resist anything that will snuff it out. The harbingers of death rarely know what to do when what they’ve come for fights back. We are not hopeless, we know what is coming and we will find ways to answer it.”

“You sound so sure.”

“If we don’t we die, and I’m doing everything in my power to keep that from happening.”

“I guess…” Mathus studied the room around them. It was muggy and smelled sharply of cut stone. Alchemical lanterns cast everything in a hazy green glow. All of this would be swallowed up in starlight. The City of Tiers one level at a time, spreading up from the waterfall into the streets, buildings, roofs. Mathus could picture the mad rush of people trying to escape vainly upwards. How people would fight the inevitable because all they knew to do would be to try to stay alive. But all that will to live wouldn’t be worth anything to a force that didn’t see you as living. Just data points to harvest, analyze, and dump. That’s all they were to the Stars.

“You seemed less troubled when everyone in this city wanted to steal your heart,” Sorkahn said.

“Scaring myself,” Mathus admitted.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you some good. Come, let’s introduce you to some of the historians sounding the alarm. I’m sure they will be very distressed to know they’re right.”

***

Sorkahn called the Council of Elders the day they arrived, and by the morning after their arrival Mathus found himself waiting backstage at the Council Hall, a massive amphitheater that could hold hundreds of dragons. Around a hundred turned up for this hastily called meeting, though it was, like all councils, open to the public. They waited, Mathus’ whole party, with Zevban, Sorkahn’s son, a smaller, spitting image: same silver scales, thick set whiskers like a catfish’s, his frills less torn, hide less scarred.

From where Mathus stood he could see the stage as the six elder dragons worked through introductions and calls to order. Mathus kept his eyes on the stage while behind him Korlyon paced, Srek pestered Zevban with an endless list of questions, and Kahia and Calth spoke in low tones about how severe they should be about the threat the Stars brought.

“Zevban, please bring out our guests,” Sorkahn called out. Zevban ushered them out, and they found themselves at the fore of the stage, six thrones in the back whereupon sat the six elders representing their clans: Sorkahn Razorscale, Arola Ironclaws, Zevbelst Openwing, Vynnamay Firefang, Sabraan Stilltail, and Kivaan Halehorn. They wore simple loin cloths and sashes dyed clan colors, with silver and gold jewelry: chains on necks, anklets, rings, pendants, piercings hanging from ear and spinal frills alike, even chimes hung on the horns of Sabraan (whose never made a sound as they moved) and Kivaan (whose clanged together constantly).

“Introduce yourselves,” Sorkahn said, “And may no lies darken your hearts and minds.”

Mathus cleared his throat and stepped forward, facing the crowd to announce, “I am Mathus of Morgen’s Rest.”

Srek hopped up next to him and said, “I am Srek of Pterodea, and I am so excited to be here.”

Some chuckles in the crowd.

Calth bowed with wings outstretched and said, “I am Calth Emberplume.”

“Korlyon.”

“Kahia.”

Mathus glanced back at the other two, but they had nothing they wanted to add.

“Mathus, you requested this council be called, now please tell us what it is you are here for,” Sorkahn said.

Mathus cleared his throat, chewed on his bottom lip, and finally said to the audience, “We come with a warning. A return of your people’s greatest foe, the White Death.”

“You are not the first among our people to sound an alarm,” Zevbelst said, a fiery orange and copper dragon who wore a necklace made of shorn dragon horns.

“Your people remembered the signs. Our warning came elsewhere,” Mathus said before gesturing to Kahia.

“This human?”

“Simply the form I am trapped in,” Kahia said wryly. “I was one of three gods of this land before your people stole my power to erect these cities.” Mathus was grateful that dragons knew lies when spoken. It meant that even when they came to a dragon with truly outrageous claims they would know them true. There was a stir in the amphitheater, but no one doubted what Kahia said. He simply continued, “My godhood was given by the Stars, I know them personally, and know that they plan to terminate this world soon.”

Calth whispered, “Thank you for keeping it simple.” No need to tie things up with words like administrators, simulations, and data.

Vynnamay, whose canines protruded from her amethyst muzzle like tusks, said, “Would you call yourself an expert in understanding them?”

“As close as you will find in this world.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

“There is nothing we can do,” Kahia said with no lie darkening his heart. “We will be consumed.”

Snarls and growls, dragons roaring demands in the crowd, three elders speaking at once. Sorkahn picked up the warhammer resting by his throne and pounded the head of it on the ground three times, shouting, “Order! Nothing gets done when we speak in roars.”

“What is the meaning of this Sorkahn?” A dragon with scales the color of sand spoke out from the audience. “We were called here just to be told we’re being killed?”

“Not all of us believe we are helpless!” Mathus spoke up before Sorkahn could respond. “Your people escaped the White Death before, we came here hoping to understand how that was done, so we may do it again.”

Another dragon rose, this one the color of a pine forest. “And what if we needed your heart to do it again. Would you let us use it, Protector?”

Sorkahn growled “Nilskent! This disrespect of our guests will not—”

“Hold,” Sabraan said in a quiet, even tone. They were an opal dragon whose scales were fading in color. “I wish to know Mathus’ answer as well.”

“Ex-excuse me?” Mathus asked, looking from Sabraan to Sorkahn.

“You have sired a healthy clutch that wishes to have a full life. Are you willing to give up your heart to safeguard their future?”

Korlyon stepped between Mathus and Sabraan, growling, “Mathus will not risk his life—”

“If it’s the only choice we have, then yes.”

Korlyon wheeled around, wide-eyed beneath his mask. “I’m not letting you—”

“Korlyon… if it’s between me and my children…” Mathus thought of the almost empty hatchery. Every egg in there was a precious thing that deserved the chance at a full life.

“You know you matter, too,” Korlyon said, quietly, with a strain in his voice that told Mathus much more was not being said.

Sabraan said, “Very well, I am satisfied.”

Calth cleared his throat to bring attention to him, then said, “We came here in hopes of understanding the process by which your ancestors came to this world. If we have an understanding of how it is done and ample time to prepare, then we might not need Mathus’ heart as a catalyst.”

“It would still be the ideal catalyst, perhaps the only one in this world that’s strong enough,” Nilskent said.

“Srek thinks he can draw the energy together for it,” Srek said.

“You? A mage? Where’s your conduit?”

“He doesn’t need one,” Calth said to the snide dragon in the front who spoke out.

Mathus said, “We simply wished to alert you of the danger and work together for a solution that protected everyone.”

“We?” Arola Ironclaws spoke out. She was a golden dragoness with a mane of crimson hair that went from her head down her spine to the tip of her tail. “One of your own, your professed expert, can’t even account for a way to delay our enemy.”

“The dragons were able to hold off the Stars, weren’t they?”

“With great storms that rent the countryside apart, but whose gusting fronts slowed Death’s descent,” said from the audience like she quoted from a book. A sleek-scaled black dragoness had spoken out. She wore a red duster opened in the back for her dark violet wings, which matched her frills. Her ear frills were studded with silver piercings, studs that matched the ones in her brow, in one nostril, and two more on her bottom lip. She was smaller than most in the audience, slightly smaller than Karniel. Young for a dragon. “With any response our people mustered against the Stars, it took a great deal of sacrifice: of lands long cherished, of ancestor spirits drained of their essence to power the storms and portals.” Her lilac eyes met with Mathus for just a moment, getting Mathus to offer an awkward smile before she said to the elders, “I think it would be wise to start gathering what powers and resources we need now.”

“Thank you, Illynndra,” Arola said to the young dragoness.

“I would second that recommendation. There is no need to work ourselves into a panic until we figure out what we can and can’t do against the stars. We would like to know everything the dragons did to survive long enough to get here,” Mathus said. “And we would like to coordinate that knowledge with other powers in the world.”

“Our history is a sacred thing,” Kivaan Halehorn said over the clanging of his chimes. They hung from six gold-capped horns extending in a fan from the back of his skull. “Not something to share carelessly with nons.”

“We will take very seriously what is shared and what is not,” Mathus said. “Our only goal is to arm others with your knowledge of the Stars, nothing more.”

“Regardless of your concerns, Kivaan,” Sorkahn said, “Mathus is a member of our clan—adopted or otherwise, he has a right to access the archives.”

“With a guide, preferably,” Calth added with a wry, “Sorry, I know how dense that stack of books and tomes is, and we will need a guide if we want to do this this year.”

“I can be their guide,” Illynndra said.

Kivaan scoffed. “Our youngest archivist given the most important duty of a generation?”

“I think my niece is quite capable of the task,” Arola said.

“My dissertation was on the White Death—I know it as well as any of my peers.”

Calth leaned over and whispered, “What do you think?”

“About?”

“Her, she seems too young—what could possibly be her angle for wanting to work with—”

“Very well, you may work with them, but it will be you and Hekaimon, to make sure Mathus’ party may know absolutely only what they need to.”

Illynndra bowed and said, “I will return to our archive and pull together some journals from the era that I think will be valuable. Ask for me by name when you get there.” And Illynndra left without another word.

Arola chuckled, “Oh to be powered by the ambitions of youth.”

“If there is nothing left to be asked of us, we would like to follow-up with Illynndra,” Mathus said.

Despite his request to leave, the council taxed Mathus and his group with another dozen questions: who would knowledge be shared with, would dragons be expected to work with other nons, what people would Mathus prioritize in protecting, on and on. Mathus quickly realized the dragons were less concerned with the Stars coming, but just how much Mathus was willing to give up for their sake.

***

A few blocks down from the Council Hall was the Dawn Archive, a pyramid of glass and steel so large there was a tram station on the bottom floor of it. At the front of the building, a security desk screened the visitors for passes to certain sections of the archive. Only other dragons moved freely through the Dawn Archive. Fortunately, when they asked for Illynndra, it did not take long to summon the black dragoness, who returned to them with a curt bow before saying, “Your timing could not be better. I have cleared out a study room for us to use.”

Despite the age of the tomes housed in the Dawn Archive, Mathus was shocked by how modern the building itself appeared. Alchemical lanterns fixed in walls and ceilings at perfectly measured intervals illuminated everything with a fine white light that blurred the passage of time when away from the windows. The floors were either made of polished slate tile or carpet. Restrooms with indoor plumbing. Elevators carried their party from one level of the building to another with silent ease. They crossed from the bottom floor to the fourth, taking a study room against the wide, windowed exterior. Illynndra had waiting in the room roughly two dozen books stacked on a table lined with office chairs, which were comically large for everyone, but especially Srek, who needed to stand on his chair to see over the table.

“Apologies if this is not the most ergonomic space to work in,” Illynndra said as Srek needed to bring one too-large book to his side with a spell. “Also unless you can read draconic—”

“Not a problem,” Calth said as he took a book on the opposite side of the table from Srek.

Kahia sat beside him and said as he took a book, “Do you know how much time I’ve had to master your language?”

Mathus gave Illynndra a sheepish look. “Sorry for their lack of manners.”

“Better than them lying to my face to dance around being nice,” Illynndra said matter-of-factly. “But, if we have a moment, Mathus? May I talk to you in private?”

“No,” Korlyon said flatly. “I can’t read draconic, and I can’t let Mathus out of my sight.”

Illynndra gave Korlyon an exasperated look.

Mathus quickly stepped between the two and said, “We can trust—”

“Can we? The dragons we spoke to today seemed more concerned about how much we’d sacrifice for their sake. They don’t care about you—”

“Korlyon!” Mathus snapped. “It doesn’t matter, we need them to trust us, and there’s only one way to do that.”

“I won’t let you out of my sight,” Korlyon growled.

“May I offer a compromise?” Illynndra said, “You don’t need to let Mathus out of your sight, and we can have a conversation.”

“How?”

“Are you kidding me, Korlyon, we did it yesterday,” Calth said. “Just let the dragoness talk to him already.”

Korlyon stepped back, hand on one of his swords still, but he took a seat in one of the chairs, looking like a chastened child in the too-big furniture. Illynndra signed a spell like the one Calth had used on the Church priests, her conduit the many silver studs she had pierced on her frills, brow, snout, and lips. She sighed and said, “That was certainly an ordeal, are all the Church’s dogs so protective of you?”

“Korlyon’s loyalties have long since been to me, not the Church—”

“Isn’t that semantics, though?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, you are the Church of Mortel, right? Their de facto god, of course Korlyon is loyal to you.”

“Did you wish to berate my companions in front of them, or was there something else to discuss?”

“You’re traveling mostly with people you don’t know very well, hmm? I could tell by the way you stood on the stage. Where’s Karniel? Where’s Selvanna?”

“Trying to find ways to fight the stars.”

“I hope they succeed, because personally, I think leaving is a mistake.”

“Then why help us?”

Illynndra shrugged. “My story in history. Either we survive this ordeal and I become more than just a name in this archive, but an actual story in it, or we die and all of history is erased forever. Seemed an easy choice.”

Mathus said, “If only getting others to help was as easy.”

“I also wanted to ask about your mating practices.”

“Um—my what?”

“You’re the only human to have sired healthy eggs from a dragon. I wanted to know what the conditions that led to conception were like so I could recreate them.”

Mathus stared, mouth agape.

“Obviously, it does not need to be with you—or the goal anyway is to reproduce the same result without you being a part of it.”

Relieved he was not being propositioned to sire eggs for this dragoness, Mathus managed to ask, “And why do you want to know this?”

“Anything to keep our people from dying out. Hmm ‘our’?” Illynndra shook her head, “No, you’re one of us, especially with two healthy eggs to your name. Can you imagine that math? Maybe if more of us interbred we could double our numbers. One dragon getting two eggs out of each coupling. We could return to our old numbers in my lifetime.”

Mathus began to understand, “You want to heal your people, that’s really admirable.”

“Obviously I want to heal my people. That would be the sort of thing that would also get my name storied into the archive. Illynndra Ironclaws, the dragoness who solved our population decline, can you imagine? So tell me, do you remember when exactly your clutch was conceived? Or the week of conception, if it took more than one try.”

“Selvanna was in heat at the time.”

“Well if that mattered we’d have solved our population problems ages ago. No, were you taking any stimulants or using any spells to magically charge your seed?”

“N-no… no I was not even sure that was something that could be done.”

“Srek did not know Master Mathus sired eggs.”

Both human and dragon looked over to see Srek hop onto the table, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Excuse me, little lizard, but how can you hear us?”

“Srek is a kobold of Pterodea!” Srek exclaimed before he answered, “Srek saw you draw a curtain for privacy, but Srek was curious and wanted to listen in.”

Illynndra said, “I didn’t even see you channel anything…”

“That’s because he doesn’t need a conduit to channel magic, he just uses the energy flowing around him.”

“Like the dragons of old, fascinating. You must tell me how you do it.”

Srek shook his head and walked across the table’s length to Mathus. He sat on its edge and said, “We see it, we reach for it, and we shape it. It is that simple.”

“That means nothing to me,” Illynndra said. “Why did you interrupt us, exactly?”

Srek beamed and said, “Srek thought you would want to know why your species is dying.”

Both Mathus and Illynndra gawked, getting Calth to shut his book and callout, “Alright, you might as well involve all of us at this rate.

“I suppose no one here cares for privacy,” Illynndra said as she broke off the spell. “Speak Srek. Tell me why I might live long enough to see my people go extinct.”

“You are not meant to live in this world,” Srek said.

“And yet I stand in it before you.”

“Standing, girl, in a simulacram of a world,” Kahia said. “You are data out of place, incompatible, and degrading as a result.”

Illynndra folded her arms over her chest, pushing up her bust in the black blouse she wore. “So we are inevitably going to be wiped out because we don’t belong here?”

“Obviously,” Kahia said, “Your numbers have practically halved every millennia you’ve been here. Would it not stand to reason that this world is the cause?”

“Our mages and scientists have their theories.”

“Srek can see it,” Srek said. “You are like a boulder in a river, instead of a fish swimming with the current.”

“So there is nothing I can do to restore my people.”

Srek shrugged.

Mathus offered, “I’m sure there is something that can be done.”

Illynndra studied Srek, Mathus, really looked at everyone in the room before she said, “You are lucky, Mathus, that I know for a fact you believe what you say. Otherwise…” she shook her head. “It is fine. Refreshments? Is there anything I can bring up from our kitchens before we settle in to work?”

“Err,” Mathus hated to bring this up but, “What about the other dragon Kivaan recommended—”

“Trust me, I’m all you’ll ever need.”

Calth said, “I like a librarian with confidence.”

“I am not just a librarian!”

***

Mathus stayed until sundown. Illynndra worked to ask questions, provide resources, and help Calth in particular. Mathus found what he read about the dragons’ reaction to the White Death interesting, but not helpful. Much of what he learned were things the dragons figured out about the Stars through trial and error. Things Mathus already knew.

The drudgery of the work took its toll on Mathus, who, yawning, shut the journal in front of him and said, “My brain is fried. I’m not sure I can get any more done.”

“Then stop,” Calth said as he cross-referenced two passages from separate books. “There will be plenty to read in the morning.”

“Will this be the end of our day, then?” Illynndra asked the room.

“Sleep is a luxury, not a necessity for me, so unless you need me gone, I’m planning to stay here all night,” Calth said as he flipped through pages of the book on his left.

Korlyon got up out of the chair he’d been sitting and waiting in, saying, “Let’s return to Sorkahn’s, and we can come back in the morning.” Sorkahn’s estate had more than enough room to house Mathus’ party, and Sorkahn insisted they use his hospitality rather than an inn or church.

“Srek wants to finish this story here, then will leave.”

Mathus frowned and said, “Will you be able to find your way back?”

Srek beamed. “Tracking Master Mathus is easy.”

“That’s an understatement,” Kahia said. They meant the power of Mathus’ heart made him as easy to follow as the sun on the horizon. On the level of magical senses, Mathus cast as much light as a full moon on a clear night.

“Alright, come on, Korlyon. We will see everyone back at Sorkahn’s.”

“No you won’t, going to be here all night,” Calth said.

Mathus rolled his eyes before he told Illynndra, “Thank you again for your hospitality and help.”

“My pleasure, Protector.”

It took some work to find the elevator to the ground floor and leave the premises of the Dawn Archive. The building was just so big and filled with the same rows and rows of shelves, that it was easy to get lost without a map (the only ones being near the elevators on each floor). As they stepped outside, the brisk winter air, even this close to the equator, bit into Mathus’ bare hands.

He shuddered and rubbed his palms together. “Damn, it was warm before the sun fell.”

“Would you like my gloves?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you, Korlyon.” Mathus hurried down the street, following the road east. They would reach a major thoroughfare running north to south called Cresting Wings Avenue, then follow it north to the Sorkahn Estate. The streets themselves were mostly empty at night, and it struck Mathus as they walked just how empty the Ward of Wings was. Like the hatchery he visited with Sorkahn the day before, all around Mathus were signs of the dragons’ decline.

“Stop.”

Mathus did, having been looking down at the broad sidewalk, he didn’t notice ahead the street lanterns had been smashed. That the next few dozen footsteps would be made in darkness. Overhead, more and more Stars perched in the nightsky, building like a flock of murderous birds.

Korlyon stepped in front of Mathus, both swords suddenly drawn. He called out into the darkness, “I can smell you. If you don’t wish to be harmed, step forward now and drop the spell cloaking you.”

“Korlyon?” Mathus whispered.

“There are three of them.”

Ahead, appearing in the dark, three draconic figures armed with polearms. As they stepped forward, Korlyon stepped backwards, whispering, “Back into the light with me. They want us in the dark so others can’t see us.”

Mathus did as Korlyon asked, and as the dragons came closer (their strides outpacing the smaller Korlyon and Mathus), Mathus recognized the pine green scales of Nilskent, the dragon who demanded Mathus be willing to sacrifice himself.

“Peace friends. There is no need for violence,” Mathus tried saying.

“There isn’t. Just do the right thing, let us take your heart, and your pup won’t be hurt.”

***

Srek clapped shut the journal he read and loudly proclaimed, “Srek is done for now. See you tomorrow friends.”

Illynndra and Calth looked up from where they sat together, five different books open in front of them. Kahia had curled up in his chair, head resting on an armrest as he snored.

“Can you take this one with you?” Calth nodded to Kahia.

“Srek would be happy to.” The kobold hopped onto the table and drew a circle in the air in front of Kahia before waving his hand. Kahia sailed into the air like an angel yanked to the rafters during a theater performance. He still snored soundly, while Calth and Illynndra looked from Srek to the floating Kahia.

“You are a funny little creature,” Illynndra said.

“Always finding new ways to surprise,” Calth added.

“Do you need help finding the elevator?” Illynndra asked.

Srek pointed at the wall of glass that looked out on the lit up Ward of Wings. “No, Srek will just go through there.” Amidst the streetlamps and lit windows of the draconic city, Srek spotted the clear glow of Mathus east of there.

“If you break the glass Emerald Sage help me—”

“Of course not! Srek not that clumsy,” Srek said as he crossed the table, hopped off, and went to the wall. He placed a palm against the slanted wall of glass, and began wiping his palm up and down it, making a four foot square that shimmered by the time Srek finished. Calth and Illynndra watched, flabbergasted, as Srek then stepped through the wall as if stepping through a doorway he made. Srek got on his rump and slid down the side of the building, squealing with joy as Kahia floated behind him, still curled up in a ball of sleep.

In the now nearly empty study room, Calth and Illynndra both stared at the spot Srek stepped through. Whatever spell he’d cast had collapsed by now, the glass returned to normal. Illynndra said, “That is one way to get out of here.”

With a wry smile Calth spoke in a high, scratchy voice to imitate the kobold. “Calth thinks Srek likes doing things the strangest way possible.”

***

Korlyon knew if he did not dispatch one of the three dragons right away then he would be in for a very tough fight. Training with Selvanna over the past year had made him more confident facing down a dragon, but three mages versus one warrior…

No, Mathus needed to know Korlyon could protect him from any threat.

By the time the lead dragon was ten paces from Korlyon, the wolf charged. He closed the distance, blades singing through the air for pine green scales, but one of the other dragons had signed a spell. It hit like someone dropped a cask of wine on his back—Korlyon’s attack floundered. The stone sidewalk around him cracked, and his swords became so heavy he could barely lift them. And just as he thought he needed to back up, Nilskent’s scaled knee came up and slammed into his face. It would have broken his snout were it not for the magically reinforced leather mask he wore. Still, the burst of pain sent him reeling. Korlyon heard Mathus shout his name, then something punched into his gut, and he was thrown off his feet, falling flat onto the spell-cracked sidewalk.

“Damn armor kept me from goring you,” Nilskent said as a foot was planted between his shoulder-blades. Korlyon cursed and reached for one of his dropped swords, only for another dragon to kick it away. He felt something being pressed into his back, sharp and digging deeper against his armor, threatening to pierce it.

“Stop, please!” Mathus cried out. “We should be working together, not killing one another.”

“No one else has to die. Just hand over your heart and we’ll let this mutt scamper off,” Nilskent said as he stood on Korlyon and drove the tip of his halberd into Korlyon’s spine.

“Mathus run!”

“I’m not going to leave you behind.”

“You’re right, watch him die instead.” The pressure of that spearhead released for a second, as it was lifted up, and slammed back into Korlyon, laced with a spell that punctured his armor. A bright burst of pain exploded through his back. He howled, scrambling to roll over, but the halberd had been staked into the very concrete, pinning Korlyon, who only then realized as he struggled to move, that he felt nothing at all from the waist down.

“Korlyon!” Mathus cried out his name, then he heard a thump as Mathus was smacked across the face. They threw Mathus into the street, groaning as he rolled over. He started crawling backwards, telling his assailants, “I will use magic, I promise you will regret—”

“Sure thing ‘Protector’, call on a spell. I’ll wait to see what you sign.”

Silence, as Korlyon struggled to reach behind him for the halberd. They’d left him pinned to the sidewalk, from the corner of his eyes he could just barely see where the three stood before Mathus, who was on his back on the street.

“There is no need, Master Mathus.”

Srek?

Korlyon cursed as he managed to get his hands behind the head of the axe blade. If he could just lift it off…

“And what’s a tiny little non going to do?”

“Srek will ask you once, nicely, please leave.”

Straining, growling, with great effort, Korlyon ripped the halberd out of his spine, it clattered to the ground, and Korlyon quickly crawled for one of his swords.

Behind him, he heard Nilskent say, “Either of you want to flatten this idiot or should I do the honors?”Korlyon grabbed the sword and rolled over so he might face his enemy again. He realized he couldn’t get his feet under him, but if he could just give Mathus an opening for escape…

He saw Srek standing—with Kahia sleeping, floating in the air a dozen paces away?—between Mathus and the three dragons. One of them stepped forward, swinging a haymaker down at Srek’s head, fist bigger than the kobold’s skull.

Srek caught the punch soundlessly, effortlessly. “Srek warned you.” With speed Korlyon barely comprehended, Srek let go of the offending fist, stepped forward, and clapped the dragon’s knee with both hands. Korlyon heard the bone snap wetly, as the dragon roared and fell over, their femur split and pushing out of their scales. The other two jumped back, one signing a spell before fire bellowed from their extended palm. Srek flicked a finger at the flames, sending them upward, the force cascading right back to the assailant’s palm and snapping it up, ripping ligaments and joints free, as the fingers of the extended hand suddenly were smashed backwards by a magical force, each one broken.

Nilskent had run back for his halberd. Korlyon was barely able to hold up a sword, and any threat he might be was utterly ignored as Nilskent wheeled back around to face Srek, signing a complex series of runes as Srek rushed the flame-wielding dragon. Srek did a little hop to palm punch the dragon in the guts. They got sent flying, slamming into the stone wall of the building across the street.

At the same time, Nilskent finished signing their spell. Dozens of spears of light were conjured into the air as he pointed at Srek and snarled, “Die!” Like launched off the backs of ballistas, over thirty spears fired at once into Srek. They exploded as they struck Srek’s body, throwing both Mathus and the dragon with the broken leg away from the kobold with the force of the explosion. It tore into the street. Dust and debris swirled in the air, and Korlyon struggled to spot Mathus or Srek in the mess.

Only for Srek to step out of the cloud of dust to face Nilskent, utterly unharmed. Srek pointed at Nilskent, the dragon too stunned to do more than take a step back, muttering, “What in the Sage’s name are you?”

“A kobold.” Srek answered as he drew a circle in the air with his pointing finger. Nilskent was lifted into the air with a growl. He hefted his halberd and tossed it like a massive javelin. Srek didn’t even step out of the way, it simply bounced off him with no more than a sparkle of light.

“Srek likes dragons, which is why Srek hasn’t killed any of you. But next time, there will not be mercy.” Srek flicked his wrist, and Nilskent launched into the air as if from a catapult. Korlyon quickly lost sight of the dragon, as they disappeared into darkness, only reappearing as a distant dust cloud as Nilskent slammed into the underside of the next level of the City of Tiers. If a body fell from that explosive collision, Korlyon did not see it.

“Korlyon!” Mathus cried out his name, having scrambled to his feet and crossed the street, falling to his knees beside the wolf. “You’re going to bleed to death if I don’t—”

“Allow Srek, Master Mathus.”

Srek walked up to them both, Mathus smiling and saying, “Thank you, I don’t know what we would have done if you didn’t show up.”

Korlyon grimaced as Srek said, “Srek is happy to help. Let’s turn Master Korylon over, like that, now,” Korlyon felt Srek’s hand over the wound on his back, “stay still. They severed your spine and Srek must fix it.”

A warmth spread down Srek’s hand, which spread through Korlyon’s back. Who felt again his toes in their boots. He flexed them gratefully, Mathus helping him back up. Normally healing magic hurt some, but Srek made the experience practically pleasant. “Thank you,” Korlyon said as he was allowed to get up. He glanced at Mathus, who looked at him with worry—and a deep shame bit through the wolf’s body like that halberd had. He quickly muttered, “I failed—I’m sorry, Mathus.”

“Korlyon, it’s not your fault,” Mathus said, “We were outmatched.”

Outmatched. But what outmatched Korlyon was no match for the little, unassuming kobold. The only thing Korlyon helped do was draw things out long enough for Srek to get there in time.

Mathus studied him a moment longer, but when Korlyon failed to look or respond, he turned to Srek and said, “We need to alert the authorities, and make sure these two dragons will be alright. I’m sorry for roping everyone into this.”

***

Inside the high-ceilinged Sorkahn Estate Korlyon paced in front of the door to Mathus’ rooms, wanting to speak with him, but not wanting to interrupt.

The Ward of Wings Razorscale Police took the dragons that attacked them into custody, after the fighting and roars of pain got someone to call the police for help. They explained what happened, and fortunately were not detained long (benefits of a dragon knowing instantly if the report one filed was true or not). Afterwards they took a late dinner with Sorkahn, whose outrage dominated the atmosphere at the dinner table.

Srek remained bright and cheerful to all throughout, as if he hadn’t utterly decimated three dragons easily. The hero of the day.

Behind the door to Mathus’ room, Korlyon’s keen ears could clearly hear Mathus carry on a conversation with Cathka, Karniel, and Selvanna:

“—I really don’t think we have anything to worry about with Srek here by our side.”

“It is easy for people to forget Dea made sure her kobolds were every bit as dangerous as her bats,” Karniel said.

“I’m sorry my kin tried something so despicable. Perhaps I should—”

“No Vanna, don’t. The work you’re doing there is just as important right?”

“You’re certain Srek is enough to properly protect you?”

“If you saw him in action you’d know we have nothing to fear. Watching him fight was like watching a god fight with mortals.”

Korlyon’s fist shook with how hard he squeezed them in his leather gauntlets.

“Fair enough. It’s getting late, though, so we’re going to cut things here,” Cathka interjected.

Korlyon stood in front of the door as Mathus said goodbye to his other lovers. He touched his back, traced circles around the hole in his armor where the halberd pierced him, matching a smaller hole in his front. If the dangers they faced would only increase in number, what could he do but get in the way? They already spoke as if Srek were Mathus’ personal guard, as if Korlyon hadn’t dedicated his life to protecting Mathus before most of the world had any clue who he was. Beyond the door, Mathus closed the communication spell he had channeled, and soon as it was gone Korlyon knocked on it.

“Err, come in?”

The apprehension on Mathus’ face dropped soon as he realized who it was. “Korlyon, thank goodness it’s just you.”

“Were you worried?”

“Just about Sorkahn needing to rant more about wayward dragons,” Mathus said. He sat on a too-large bed with sheets a painfully dark green color that instantly reminded Korlyon of Nilskent. The room had in it a wardrobe where Mathus’ traveling pack was placed beside, and an untouched writing desk looking out a large bay window.

Korlyon said, “I came to talk to you about the… the future.”

Mathus frowned. “Oh… kay?”

Korlyon grimaced. He just needed to come out and say it. “I was worthless to you tonight.”

“Korlyon, you know that’s not—”

“I just listened to you retell the story of us being attacked, and you barely mentioned me.”

“I… didn’t want anyone to worry about your injury—how is your back doing?”

“Mathus—” Korlyon hesitated, he just needed to say it. Instead he said, “I am fine. Srek is, to paraphrase you, a god among men. And when you spend so much time in the company of gods and mages, you start to understand intimately where all your limitations are.”

“What are you trying to say? You know I’m not any different than you—”

“But you are,” Korlyon said, pointing at Mathus’ chest, “Just because you won’t use that doesn’t make you a god. That’s what the Church believes. It’s what I believe.”

“I am really not comfortable with you thinking of me that way.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think when everything from liches to dragons has tried to take your heart. And I’ve been useless against half the threats that have attacked you.”

“You have not been useless.”

“That’s why I was left on the side of the road while you and Karniel chased down the lich that hurt me? I had to travel halfway around the world to find you again—and I know that’s not your fault. But how long until I’m left behind again? Before I’m told, ‘It’s too dangerous for you, you need to stay here.’”

“Korlyon…” Mathus studied his lover for a moment, his eyes soft and sad. “I didn’t know you’d been holding all this in—”

“‘A Faceless Warrior puts duty before their feelings.’”

“You don’t need to, not with me.”

“I’m trying not to, that’s why I’m here,” Korlyon growled. “We’re talking in circles—I just wanted you to know I’m not… I think it’s best if I stay to try and help the Church prepare.”

“Stay?”

Korlyon shrugged. “You aren’t seriously expecting to stay here long, are you? Either you’ll finish up here and go chasing some other lead or return to Pterodea.”

“Don’t do this.”

“It’s for the best. Someday I will just be in the way, and being in the way will just make it worse for you and all your super-powered lovers.”

Korlyon turned around to leave, and managed a step before Mathus got up and grabbed his hand. “I want you here,” Mathus said quietly. “I need you here.”

Korlyon did not turn around. “What could you possibly need me for?”

Mathus stepped up and hugged Korlyon from behind, arms wrapping around the wolf’s waist and holding him tight. “I never wanted to leave you behind—never want to leave you behind again. I love you, Korlyon, please don’t do this.”

“Tell me what I should do the next time something like tonight happens. How can I protect you if I can’t stop the people who want to kill you?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong—”

“I couldn’t protect you!” Korlyon snapped and broke out of Mathus’ embrace, spinning around and saying, “Three thugs was all it took to nearly kill the both of us. All I’m here to do is keep you safe—it’s what I’m trained to do, it’s all I’m good for—”

“It is not all you’re good for,” Mathus interjected. He stepped closer and took Korlyon’s hand, squeezing it. “I don’t want to lose you. It’s hard enough being separated from everyone else, please don’t make me have to walk this road alone.”

“You’ll have Srek—”

“Enough about Srek! I don’t love Srek, I love you. I need you by my side for more than just protection. I need you for the mornings together, for your advice and insight, for your ability to sniff out trouble when no one else sees it coming.” Mathus reached up and placed a hand on Korlyon’s masked face. “I need you for you. I can’t do this without you.”

Korlyon stared at Mathus, tail nearly tucked between his legs, ears flattened backwards. He hated how radiant and loving this man could be. It both magnified Korlyon’s devotion and shame: how could he deserve such a love when he offered so little in comparison to the others by Mathus’ side? With just twenty winters under his belt, Korlyon was easily the youngest of Mathus’ companions. His youth made him all the more sensitive to his usefulness. He didn’t want to be some child that needed to be protected. He wanted to give something back.

“Please Korlyon,” Mathus said into the wolf’s silence, rubbing the length of his masked snout. “Don’t make me go on this journey without you.”

Blinking back tears and swallowing the stinging knot in his throat, Korlyon said dryly, “I won’t. I’m sorry—I just…”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do—I’m an idiot for just heaping on more things for you to worry about.”

“Hush. I’m glad you came to me. I don’t want you dealing with these feelings all alone, you shouldn’t have to just silently carry all your doubts and worries.”

“You have enough burdens—”

“No.” Mathus picked at the edges of Korlyon’s mask. “Can you get this stupid thing off so I can look at you?”

Korlyon undid the straps of his mask and helm, taking it off to reveal his amber eyes, the sandy fur crescent that crossed his face, down one eye, and curling into his neck before fading into the blue-grey coat that made up most of his fur. His smile did not reach his eyes as he said, “Happy?”

Mathus took Korlyon’s face in his hands and said, “There will never be a time where I won’t want to hear from you when you are riddled with anxiety or doubt. I know you want to be a rock for me, but it’s okay for you to need help, too.”

This time Korlyon did tear up, but his tail wagged ever so slightly. “What about not getting in the way?”

“You protected me long enough for Srek to come to our aid tonight. You didn’t get in the way, and I can’t imagine a situation where you wouldn’t know how to account for yourself,” Mathus said.

“Th-thank you. That means a lot.”

“Hey, would you like to sleep together tonight? I know it’s been a while.”

Tail wagging harder, Korlyon said, “Yes, I would love to.”

***

Calth pointed at the passage in question and said, “Here, this is what I am looking for.”

Illynndra leaned against the coral-feathered hippogryph and read aloud over his shoulder, “‘We traveled to the universe’s sharpened edges, winging our way through infested lands to an anchor point for the portal.’ Huh, what about it?”

“The mage I apprenticed under had a theory about artificial universes: as a constant, there are defined boundaries and edges where one loops back around to the other side when one tries to cross them. She believed that a naturally occurring universe has no edges because it expands at a rate too quickly to ever reach its edges. This passage confirms the artificial nature of theirs and our universes.”

Illynndra’s brow furrowed, she leaned backwards and said, “So you discovered something we already knew? Just because you see it’s raining outside doesn’t mean you need to walk out and get wet to confirm it.”

“It’s not that, if the dragons found the edges of their universe, then perhaps my old master has mapped some of the edges of ours already.”

“How would you know that?”

“The last time I saw her, she was preparing to do just that… though it’s been more than a decade since then.”

“So she could be anywhere.”

“Gilloi would know how to find her.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter, is it possible to take books from the Dawn Archive—”

“Hah! No. But I can magically transcribe anything you want to save for yourself.”

“Okay, how long would it take to transcribe this, this, and this text? As well as the last hundred pages of these two—”

“Ugh, that much at once, a couple days, at least.”

Calth pinched his beak and clicked his tongue to the roof of it before he asked, “What if I helped?”

“You really want to leave as soon as possible.”

“Time is our enemy, and I can read anywhere.”

“Why don’t I just come with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“My memory is eidetic, how do you think I got this position so young? I already know more than dragons twice my age do, and I can transcribe these by memory while we travel. But also, if you tell me what it is you need exactly, I can tell you what was written when for any journal or tome from this era of history.”

Calth leaned back in his chair to look up at the dragoness. She was not kidding, but Calth sensed more going on: “Why do you want to travel with us?”

Illynndra shrugged her wings. “Did I not make clear my desire to be a part of this archive someday? Besides, perhaps time with Mathus will help me understand why he was able to sire those eggs.”

Calth rolled his eyes. “Just don’t proposition him in front of me.”

Illynndra’s wings flared. “Excuse you—I am not looking to lay with him, thank you very much. I-if I were to conduct such a test, I would have another dragoness stand in my place.”

Calth’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“It… It’s not my fault there is a significant lack of dragons my age who I find interesting.”

“Have you ever even been outside of Sepulcher of Dawn—no, the Ward of Wings?”

“Once! I traveled to Sepulcher of Morning to see some extended family a few years ago.”

“Somehow you’re older than me, but have done less—”

“I will do many great things!” Illynndra snapped. “Just you wait and see.”

He chuckled. “I don’t have a problem with you coming along, but you should probably get permission from your parents—”

“I do not need permission and I don’t live with my parents,” Illynndra hissed. “I am a century old—older than you I bet!”

Calth waggled his hand. “Eh, not by as much as you might guess, but extra years don’t matter much when you’re not doing anything with them.”

Illynndra glared at him. “I do not appreciate being teased.”

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry, I don’t get the chance to fluster dragons often.”

“I’m not flustered!”

“Mhmm, and I’m not a soul grounded in a homunculus.”

“You’re—wait what?”

“I lost my body sometime ago, fortunately my twin found me and gave me this new body to work with.”

“How…” Illynndra shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I just thought I’d warn you, in case you find some clue from Mathus, I won’t be able to be some test subject for you to try breeding.”

Her reptilian, lilac eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating.”

“Judging by the look on your face, I think you do, but it’s fine. Let’s figure out what to transcribe first, and we can spend the night working on that together.”

“Anything to end this conversation.”

Calth managed to hold in a snicker. Dragging along a dragoness on their journey wouldn’t be so bad—give Calth someone interesting to talk to, at least.

***

Mathus insisted on taking off Korlyon’s armor for him, and even though it took twice as long as it would have for Korlyon to do it, the wolf let his human lover unstrap his vambraces, untie his boots, and slip off his chest piece. As they worked through every scrap of leather armor, Mathus couldn’t help but run fingers through fur, finding it satisfying to the touch.

When he finally was stripped of everything but the leather leggings he wore under his armor, Mathus hugged him again, nuzzling into the young man’s furry chest. The sharp, slightly sandy smell of wolf filled his lungs. Mathus said, voice muffled by thick fur, “How do I convince you how much you mean to me?”

“I believe you,” Korlyon said as he held Mathus to him, stroking up and down the man’s back.

“I know you do, but you don’t see you how I do, and I wish you did, because I know you’d never feel worthless, then.”

“Is… you think so?”

“I know so.”

“Mathus… I really don’t know what to say—I really don’t deserve—”

Mathus silenced him with a kiss on the lips, hands wrapped around the back of Korlyon’s neck. He leaned back and whispered, “Hush. Stop worrying about whether I should love you or not, because I do. And I’m not letting you leave my side.”

Korlyon’s tail wagged as he growled and yanked Mathus into a much more voracious kiss. The wolf’s coarser tongue plunged between Mathus’ lips, making the older man moan into the younger’s questing maw. Mathus caught Korlyon’s tongue in his lips and sucked on it, dragging the wolf’s saliva into his mouth. The sweetness of it only encouraging Mathus to deepen the kiss, tilting his head left while Korlyon’s tilted right, their lips meeting at an angle. The soft hairs on Korlyon’s muzzle tickling Mathus’ upper lip as his tongue explored Korlyon’s mouth in tandem, tracing those sharp canines, the roof of his mouth, tastebuds sliding up and down each other.

Korlyon’s fingers found the hem of Mathus’ tunic and pulled it up. They only broke the kiss to get the offending clothing over his head. Korlyon growled as he began untying the drawstrings to Mathus’ trousers next. They dropped a moment later, and Mathus gasped as a large, pawed hand suddenly groped his balls, his hard cock pressing into Korlyon’s wrist. Korlyon led them to the bed, but when the back of Mathus’ legs touched the edge of it, he broke the kiss to say, “W-wait… let me, there,” Mathus pushed Korlyon onto the bed’s edge. Sitting with his legs open as Mathus got on his hands and knees between them.

Korlyon helped shimmy out of his leggings, Mathus tugging them off past his digitigrade legs and leaving both partners nude. Korlyon’s coat on his belly, groin, and inner thighs was a snow white that made the half-erect, red shaft all the more visible. The sharp, almost metallic musk of horny wolf made Mathus lick his lips without thinking. He gently grabbed the sheath, and cupped the young man’s fat nuts. Korlyon whined a little.

“Hehe, what?” Mathus asked as he squeezed the half-sheathed dick before him.

“So-sorry, I’m just a little pent up is all.”

“Awww, my poor pup,” Mathus cooed. “Let me help you.” He leaned forward, lips hovering over that taper. He took another deep breath of that canine musk, as if he sampled the bouquet of a wine. He kissed the glans, let his lips wrap round the pointed taper, tonguing Korlyon’s urethra. His oral muscle flicked up and down across the meatus, making Korlyon whine more. Mathus broke the obscene kiss to say, “Heh, so needy.” He wrapped his lips around the glans again, head sliding down, tastebuds gliding against the throbbing red meat, its salt and metal and musk flavor so uniquely Korlyon’s. Mathus couldn’t help but reach down and grope his own shaft as he worked. His lips slid down to the bunched up, fluffy sheath, cocktip teasing against his uvula.

With so much practice, it was easy to swallow down Korlyon’s cock. Mathus buried his face in the furry sheath and pubes as an inch of cockmeat pushed down his throat. Mathus kissed the sheath, tongue sliding out and between the lips of that furry pouch. The sharp, slimy musky salt of Korlyon’s inner sheath made Mathus moan. His cock twitched and spat a gout of precum, and Mathus had to let go of his shaft lest he get too excited. Most of Korlyon’s recent sex involved Karniel as well as Mathus, so it was nice to get a change of pace where Mathus could just take his time and worship the young man’s mast. Mathus felt it throb and swell in his mouth, firming up, girth growing, the plug on Mathus throat becoming so great he couldn’t breathe. By the time Korlyon reached full erection, a good portion of his cock was sheathed in Mathus’ throat, the bulge of it going down his neck, stopping just above Mathus’ throat apple.

“F-fuck Mathus,” Korlyon whimpered as he placed a hand on the back of Mathus’ head and began grinding his hips while holding Mathus down. The delectable, wet, suckling tightness of Mathus’ maw and throat became too much for the young man, who began humping that hungry mouth. Cock pumped in and out Mathus’ esophagus, plugging away while Korlyon’s tail thumped against the bed. Korlyon felt his knot begin to engorge, a tightness in the base of his ballooning sheath that Mathus’ lips soon smacked against. The pent up pup whined as he fucked Mathus’ face now in long, full strokes. The older man had to suck in ragged breaths each time that red prick pulled back to just the leaking tip on his tongue.

Mathus patiently groped his partner’s heavy sack with one hand, while the other worked at peeling back the sheath so he could expose its knot. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he fought down the urge to gag, as each rough stab of doggy dick down his throat got him hotter and hotter. To see Korlyon so worked up—whining and growling, claws digging into Mathus’ scalp, balls drawing tight in his palm—as his lips bounced on the bulb of that cock; it made Mathus need to make the pup cum. He grabbed beneath the knot and squeezed, tugging at it, which made Korlyon curse.

“Oh-oh fuck, M-Mathus I’m… I’m close…”

Mathus responded with an encouraging moan, bobbing his head as Korlyon tried to slow down, not letting the pup off the hook, but working over his rod, massaging the lower half of his knot while his lips lewdly kissed the fat thing. Korlyon went very still, hands remaining on the back of Mathus’ head, but Mathus now kept up the rough pace, throat a little raw, but determined to milk Korlyon of his seed. It did not take much to make those balls jump in his palm, Korlyon’s cock twitching as the pup shoved Mathus down onto the knot.

“Gods, take it you fucking slut,” Korlyon snarled as he held Mathus lips to knot to tip in throat twitching as seed sprayed his esophagus. Mathus almost choked, swallowing around the rod, inner walls clenching on the cock that continued casting cum across his throat. He sucked and swallowed as those balls churned, jumped, and pumped fresh semen deep inside him. Korlyon kept a firm hold on his scalp, threatening to drown Mathus in the flood of seed spilling down his plugged gullet. Finally, whimpering, Korlyon released Mathus’ head, and the older man immediately pulled up till just the glans remained between his lips, sucking tenderly as the last few ropey strings of seed spilled across his palate. The salty, creamy, slightly metallic flavor made Mathus moan. Thick, gooey proteins slid around his mouth as he swished semen about like he sampled ambrosia.

“God Mathus…” Korlyon breathed as the last of his orgasm oozed its final dregs across Mathus’ tastebuds.

Mathus popped off the cock, opened his mouth to show a mouthful of cum, before he swallowed it, licking his lips as he did.

“H-holy fuck.”

Mathus wiped his mouth and said, “I, hah, love doing that.”

“You really have turned into a slut.”

“Heh, for you? Yes.”

“More like for half the people we travel with.”

“Oh hush,” Mathus said as he got up and kissed Korlyon again, falling into bed with the young wolf. He reached down and pawed at Korlyon’s now halved mast, whispering, “You’re not done yet, are you stud?”

“Rrrr, I’m just getting started.”

He rolled them both over, Mathus now on his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Korlyon slid off it, licking his chops as he grabbed Mathus’ legs and shoved them into the air, revealing a pale, round bubble butt. Korlyon yanked Mathus by the hips till his rear was at the edge of the bed. Korlyon then burrowed his muzzle in that rear, wet nose pressing into Mathus’ taint. He breathed deep the earthy musk of his mate and growled again. He licked it, tasting the salt and musk of flesh. Lapping up to Mathus’ balls, cleaning them a moment before he grabbed that plush rear with both paws and spread it, revealing the pink wrinkled rim of delicate flesh Korlyon longed to destroy.

Teeth nearly chattering from the musky smell—the scent of a male in rut—Korlyon kissed that pucker, whiskers tickling against Mathus’ skin as tongue slid against the well-used hole. That slutty entrance winked and clenched against Korlyon’s tongue as he made out with it. Korlyon shoveled spit against the tender ring of muscle, lapping at the flesh as it caved-in, folded around Korlyon’s tongue till the ring yielded. His tongue pushed inside Mathus, making the older man moan. Korlyon’s tail started to wag as Mathus squirmed and panted while canine tongue worked against his inner folds. The flesh there tender, clenching around the invasive muscle, almost squeezing it out.

Mathus arched his back and groaned. Hard cock leaking on his belly as that tongue probed around inside him. Lapping up his inner walls, shoveling spit into his pucker, making a wet mess of his rear. Korlyon opened his maw, fangs pressing into pale flesh, as if planning to bite Mathus, but no—just trying to get his open, drooling maw as close to that needy hole as possible, so that Korlyon could tongue deeper, muscle undulating in and out of that rim, mashing it into a wet, slippery plain of pink flesh. Mathus could barely take it, having to resist grabbing his shaft and just jerking himself to completion.

Then Korlyon pulled back with a snarl, standing up to find that the bed (higher off the ground since it was meant for a dragon) put Mathus’ rear at the perfect height to fuck it right there. And Korlyon needed to. All that tenderizing of the sloppy hole had him aching to be inside it. He grabbed Mathus’ legs and hoisted them over his shoulder, Mathus reached down for the throbbing canine cock. Like everything about the wolf, it was bigger than Mathus’ endowment, nearly as long as Karniel’s and thicker at the bulb still blossomed at its base. His hand wrapped around the slimy, leaking member and pointed it down towards his entrance.

“Hehe, so eager now, aren’t you slut?”

“Gods Korlyon don’t make me beg.”

“No, beg. All that power at your fingertips and yet you still have to beg for cock.”

“Please fuck me, Korlyon. Breed me, knot me—your tongue was driving me crazy. I need more,” Mathus pleaded, trying to line up the wolf’s cock with his pucker. When the tip rested against his pink, wrinkled flesh, Korlyon couldn’t help but roll his hips. That pointed prick plowed inside the worked over tunnel; wet, clinging heat wrapped around his member, as satisfying as dipping into a hotspring. Korlyon tilted his head back, tongue lolling from his muzzle as he savored the first half of his shaft enveloped in Mathus’ soft folds. Mathus, for his part, was panting, muttering a slew of curses as he adjusted to the sudden intrusion. The pain of being split soothed by the buzzing pleasure of fullness. Only to crave it more as Korlyon dragged his cock out, flesh grinding deliciously against Mathus’ walls and making him whimper as he knew what Korlyon would do.

It did not help prepare him for when, with only the tip remained inside his clenching pucker, Korlyon slammed back inside with bestial force, sending his dick deep into Mathus. He groaned a curse as that knot ground wetly against his hole. A bulge in his lower abdomen testified the length and girth Mathus’ innards coiled around. Gripping, massaging, kneading, needing more. Korlyon felt Mathus’ pelvic floor flex and squeeze around his buried bone. Korlyon growled and began to move his hips. He wanted to obliterate Mathus, fuck him until the older man could no longer think. The eager pup pounding that plush bottom, bouncing it off his cock as he rutted Mathus into a moaning mess.

Mathus nearly wailing for anyone in the estate to hear, but neither partner cared when each thrust by Korlyon slapped knot and balls alike on his bottom, that fat meat churning up his insides, grinding against his prostate. Each pump of the hips echoed by white hot pleasure and pressure pounding through Mathus’ groin, his cock drooling fresh dollops of precum on every other skewering of his hole. Mathus whole world dissolving as Korlyon fucked him into the mattress, its springs bouncing Mathus up to clap his cheeks on the canine’s knot.

Korlyon leaned forward, folding Mathus in two as he was fucked. Mathus’ knees now pressed into his ribs as Korlyon pulled him into another kiss. He could barely kiss back, but opened his lips and let the hungry wolf’s tongue fill his mouth. The taste of his own musk and need met with the flavor of Korlyon’s cum to create a cocktail of sex that they traded along their tastebuds. Korlyon’s hips still worked at a blur, dragging that long doggy dick in and out, collapsing Mathus’ pucker around it only to pull the flesh backward when it tugged out just as quickly. Korlyon snarled and drooled freely into Mathus’ maw, whose eyes had rolled back into their head, fresh tears running down his cheeks. He felt himself being bludgeoned, beaten into a heady, submissive orgasm. The young stud breaking him down into just a slutty, needy hole that had to be fucked.

Mathus locked legs and arms around Korlyon, holding onto the wolf tight as his orgasm blew over him, inevitable as the gust before a storm. Tugging on fistfuls of fur, he moaned shrilly into Korlyon’s mouth as that fat red prick drummed out his orgasm. Each thrust from Korlyon met with a spurt of seed from Mathus. Thick ropes of the stuff sprayed across both men’s torsos. Korlyon growled as he slowed his hammering down. It became a steady, methodical beat: Slam plap pull slam plap pull. Each stab inside this time lingering, grinding on that hole, Korlyon trying to stuff his knot inside his slutty plaything.

Hands shaking, Mathus reached down and grabbed his cheeks with both hands, trying to spread himself further as that bulb flattened his entrance. Korlyon huffed and jerked back before plowing down, and this time that knot stuffed its way inside Mathus’ abused entrance. The sudden, enormous pressure made Mathus cry out, gyrating his hips, butt grinding against sheath, working that fat bulb inside him as it crushed his prostate. His balls clenched, but he was so stuffed that only a small sliver of cum was squeezed past the knot practically jamming his orgasm in place. Mathus on a plateau he could do nothing but ride, gasping as Korlyon tugged on his backside, hole yawning, stretching back to its limits. Korlyon’s knot popped free, Mathus gasping, a spurt of cum shooting out of him as Korlyon reared back and pounded back inside. That initial thrust squeezing more semen out of Mathus before the knot blocked it again.

Mathus whimpered against Korlyon’s tongue, the young stud growling as he tugged again. The knot popped free more easily this time, which only made Korlyon slam it back inside with another hard thrust. Mathus groaned, entrance burning from being so thoroughly stretched, but the buzzing, total fullness, the bulge below his navel when Korlyon knotted him—it drove Mathus to the brink. He thought he might go mad as his orgasm stretched into the rhythm of Korlyon knot fucking him. Each rotation of the hips churning up his guts so sweetly. His ruined, fucked-red rim felt numb, whole body rocking with Korlyon’s rough, shaky, thrusting.

That warm, sloppy hole had Korlyon entranced. His tongue hung in Mathus mouth, practically lolled out of his muzzle as he panted through his nose and kept slamming into his slutty lover. Each pop of his knot inside met with an exquisite tugging on his bulb when he pulled out. His peak drew closer and closer with each thrust. The breedable human beneath him quaking, fucked dumb. Nothing but a slutty hole for Korlyon to fill. Filling up. Korlyon felt it, the pressure in his cock and balls too much. He rutted faster, snarling as he pounded Mathus with a series of short hard thrusts, snapping that knot in and out in and out until it became too much and Korlyon slammed inside, tail twitching, whining as he came.

His balls jumped against the pale, upturned ass he was sheathed in. Followed by the first jet down his dick, tip flexing buried where it was beneath Mathus’ navel. He dumped semen in Mathus like this was his one chance to breed a bitch in heat. Korlyon broke the kiss, panting as Mathus moaned and clutched him close with arms, legs, and innards. Innards painted with creamy, thick ropes of cum. One blast became two becoming four becoming a swelling in the lower abdomen as the young stud’s fat balls dumped wave after wave of hot seed inside Mathus. Filling up that tunnel to the point Korlyon felt the viscous essence pressing against his knot, seeking an out, but only a few pearlescent beads wept from the ruined, red ring of muscle. The rest backed up into Mathus’ guts, swelling his lower abdomen slowly, gently. Till the skin drew taught, like he over ate at a feast.

Both lovers were dazed throughout. Mathus exhausted and overwhelmed by the pleasure of being so thoroughly fucked, Korlyon too overwhelmed with the satisfaction of breeding his partner to speak. Slowly, they came back to each other at the same time. Mathus stroked Korlyon’s back, the wolf’s tail wagging gently. Mathus kissed his brow and said, “That was incredible.”

“Why… hah,” Korlyon shivered as his cock still leaked with each reflexive squeeze of Mathus’ inner walls, “Why aren’t we doing this all the time?”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure we’d ruin each other.”

“Maybe I want to ruin you.”

Mathus bit his bottom lip and squeezed his pelvic floor to tease the stud. “Very tempting. Gods, I came so much and I’m still hard.”

Korlyon kissed him and said, “We can sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“We’re gonna need to, huh?”

“I’m far from done worshipping you, my slutty god.”

“Heheh, maybe I’d like the Church more if they worshipped like you did.”

“You would, slut.”

Another kiss. Beaming, Mathus said, “Keep treating me like this, and I won’t want to be anything else.”

***

“Calth? Do you ever sleep?”

“Not really,” Calth said wryly with a shake of his head. He stood in the hallway of the third floor of an inn, outside Gilloi’s door. “I wouldn’t be here so late if it wasn’t important.”

“It better be,” Gilloi said.

“Don’t worry, it’s fate of the world stuff.”

Gilloi groaned. “And here I thought you were missing me!”

“Come on, you know that’s not fair.”

“Fine, why are you here?”

“I need to know where to find Master Hipheeramen.”

Gilloi stared at Calth for a moment, suddenly much more awake. “Why?”

“Her research. It could be essential for unraveling how to deal with the Stars.”

“Stars?”

“Right—we were in such a rush I didn’t even tell you. Can I come in? This will take a minute to explain.”

“Long as you know there’s going to be a tax for your time.”

“Tax?”

“Hush up and get your clothes off, featherbutt. You can talk while I reacquaint myself with your new body.”

***

Mathus and Korlyon did not get to sleep in. Calth knocked on the door once but did not wait for an answer before opening it. Mathus woke with Korlyon stirring behind him, having been spooning Mathus beneath their sheets when Calth woke them.

“Er, Calth?”

“It couldn’t wait?” Korlyon complained. “I got my spine severed last night, I would like some sleep.”

“You look good for someone who got their back broken. What happened?”

“You tell us why you’re here first,” Mathus said.

“I know where we’re headed next.”

“Already? We just got here,” Korlyon complained.

“We don’t have time to dally right? We’re going to meet with my old Master, a lich named Hipheeramen.”

Mathus winced. “I’m, uh, not great with liches.”

“Don’t worry, the only heart she stole was—well it doesn’t matter. We can trust her.”

“And if we can’t?” Korlyon asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when the time comes.”

“How reassuring.”