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First thing first:
I'm going to say all the words inside my head.
I'm fired up and tired of the way
That things have been.
The way that things have been.
Second thing second:
Don't you tell me what you think that I can be.
I'm the one at the sail; I'm the master of my sea.
The master of my sea.
Singing my heartache to my brain;
Take up my message from the vein.
Speaking my lesson from the brain;
Seeing the beauty in the pain.
I'm going to say all the words inside my head.
I'm fired up and tired of the way
That things have been.
The way that things have been.
Second thing second:
Don't you tell me what you think that I can be.
I'm the one at the sail; I'm the master of my sea.
The master of my sea.
Singing my heartache to my brain;
Take up my message from the vein.
Speaking my lesson from the brain;
Seeing the beauty in the pain.
A creature clawed its way out of the ruins of Avaelor’s capital. It was a horror of smoke, fire, rage, and death. It rampaged across the ruins of the old country, devouring all in its path, body and soul. Some believed it to be a corrupted dragon. Others believed it to be a god gone mad. It was a mouth—a hungry, devouring mouth—a pit like those described by poets imagining the infernal realm. It ate a person and stole the promise of the Grimlord, the natural, terrible order of things. He died. She died. He died. He died. She died. There were so many attempts to conquer the thing. It strode to the fissure, no more than man-high yet terror seemed to go before it. They could see the furnace-fire of its eyes from afar; its arms were very long; it had a red tongue. No, that wasn't it. He died many more times. Each of their death screams was taken into its choral voice. Noble elves and new races fell before it. She was screaming. She was screaming. She was...
Emmerich and his band of followers offered themselves to the infamous necromancer. He gave them new bodies and new powers, but his first gift was...
Pain!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you take me up, you break me down. Believer, believer.
Pain, I let the bullets fly; I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, they came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you take me up, you break me down. Believer, believer.
Pain, I let the bullets fly; I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, they came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer!
The wind blew harsh and cold over the escarpment. Kaus was alone with the runestone erected to memorialize his father. He was never alone, but his sister...
His sister...
He looked up and there were no stars in the sky, only the bluster of storms. The light was strange. The rock was empty but for the reminder of his father whose bones had been picked clean by raptors and carrion eaters as was their custom. For a moment, when his eyes lowered from the roil, he thought he saw Saedene's relic, but no.
"Ho, Stormrider," called a weary voice.
Kaus turned, saw an old man in rags that were once finery hobbling toward him. He descended a few determined steps and offered his arm, wings mantling to protect his spindly limbs and swollen joints. His skin wasy gray, his beard white. He looked like death. A wheezing chuckle came from the man like some broken-down accordion even as he took advantage of the proffered arm.
"Like death, aye," he said wryly. "Dead, actually."
"Grandfather," he called him in the manner of the mountain folk, "you shouldn't be out here in the elements..." He was confused, but also accepting of the fact his thoughts could be read by this man.
"I was young once," he protested. "Strong, like you. Athletic, even." He pinched Kaus' bicep, hardened by years of training, training meant to make up for his literal shortcoming. "I am beyond Mythori's reach. He's dead anyway, same as I. You, though. You are alive and you have a task... if you want it. A task for one of Garel's angels. You with your manners like one of Avaelor's paladins..." He laughed until he was breathless. It didn't take long.
"I don't understand." Kaus' voice echoed back from the mountainsides even though he hadn't raised his voice. Even though the winds were raging around them. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understa—"
Stop. There was a flicker of power in the old man, and it silenced the young Avialae. Then he crumpled, leaning into Kaus' youthful strength. "I'm dead... or still dying... parts of me remain... But... that doesn't matter now. You must go to the place where the sky was torn open to spill the Mists. From there, find the dragon who oughtn't to be there. Whitescale. Subdue him and perhaps spring will return."
Lightnight flashed blinding him.
He was in darkness.
Seek the dragon white as winter... Spring must come again...
He was in darkness.
Third things third:
All the prayer to the people above,
All the hate that you have seen
Has turned your spirit to a dove
Your spirit to a dove.
I was choking in the crowd,
Living my heart up in the clouds,
Falling to ashes on the ground,
Hoping to drown, into the pain.
Pain!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you break me up, you break me down, believer, believer
Pain, make the bullets fly, I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, they came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
All the prayer to the people above,
All the hate that you have seen
Has turned your spirit to a dove
Your spirit to a dove.
I was choking in the crowd,
Living my heart up in the clouds,
Falling to ashes on the ground,
Hoping to drown, into the pain.
Pain!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you break me up, you break me down, believer, believer
Pain, make the bullets fly, I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, they came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Kala's eyes were old as stars as she watched him, perched on the edge of his bed. Her hand rested on his hand.
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where," she said calmly, quoting one of his poems back at him—a poem, a koan, a way to calm his careening heart. He died over and over again with their forebears. He died with their father in service to the dead Shokaze. Everything was death and dying. Winter wasn't supposed to last this long.
He took a breath. He answered.
"I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you thus because I know no other way to love,
except in this form in which there is no me or you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine..."
She smiled and finished, "So close that your eyes close with my dreams."
He reached up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. It wasn't strange to see folded wings framing her face any longer; she had always had wings—it had only taken Garel of Atoria to manifest them. She shook her head at the unasked question; she hadn't shared his dream, but she felt everything around the edges. If it were a message from the Gods or not, it certainly felt much as her own quest from Mother Naori had felt, and so they must act accordingly.
Kala bent down to kiss his brow where the perspiration was already beginning to cool and evaporate. Her hair tickled at his chin.
His sister rose and went to write a letter to Minister Dornkirk, and Kaus threw open the casement and fell out into the night, wings spreading to catch the air, blade appearing from the aether.
Kaus had to train. There was a dragon to subdue.
You're the face of the future.
You're the blood in my veins.
You're the face of the future.
You're the blood in my veins.
Pain!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you break me up, you break me down, believer, believer.
Pain, I let the bullets fly, I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, it came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
You're the blood in my veins.
You're the face of the future.
You're the blood in my veins.
Pain!
You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
Pain, you break me up, you break me down, believer, believer.
Pain, I let the bullets fly, I let them rain.
My luck, my love, my God, it came from
Pain! You make me a, you make me a believer, believer.
The Blue Star flew south and west one night, and straight on until morning. Whatever she had written, the words of Lady Kala of House Leukos held weight with the Zaichaeri First Minister despite the enmity that remained between that nation and Kalzasi. Kaus would have flown directly, but there were the exigencies of mortal politics and she could have stopped him if she wanted to. She wouldn't. This way, though, the Zaichaer Air Defense Corps wouldn't shoot them down and three Avialae would have safe passage into Zaichaeri territory.
What could go wrong?