KYRIE ELEISON
He walked through King's Forest, holding Agnus Dei's hand. The snow glided around them.
"Oh, pup," Agnus Dei said, head lowered. "This place feels so sad, doesn't it?"
The trees were fallen now, burned and toppled years ago. It seemed to Kyrie like all the horrors of the world had been born here.
Twenty years ago, Dies Irae raped Lacrimosa here. Four years later, he stole the griffins here, and toppled these columns. Five years after that, Requiem's survivors gathered in this place, and marched to Lanburg Fields. Kyrie sighed. And now... does Requiem fall here now?
Kyrie raised his eyes and looked at King's Column. It rose in the distance from the ruins, two hundred feet tall, its marble bright. Salvanae coiled above and around it, bugling their song.
"It is sad," he said, "but look, Agnus Dei. New dragons fly here now. And we're still here. We still fight. We can win this war."
Agnus Dei raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes seemed so large to Kyrie, pools of sadness.
"I'm so afraid," she said. "I lost Father. And... at the camp, when...." She swallowed and hid her left arm. "It feels like somebody else died. I grieve for my hand, the same way I grieve for Father. Is that strange, Kyrie?"
He shook his head, touched her cheek, and kissed her forehead. "It's not strange."
She lowered her eyes, her eyelashes brushing his cheek. "I'm so scared of more loss. Of you dying, or Gloriae, or Mother. Kyrie, I... I want to be brave again. I want to growl and shout for battle. But I can't feel that way anymore."
He nodded. "You're growing older and wiser." He tapped her head. "Maybe soon you'll be as wise as me."
Normally she would punch him, wrestle him, and pull his hair for such a taunt. Today she did not even smile. She sighed and he held her, his arms around her. She held him with her good hand, but kept her left arm hidden behind her back.
"Oh, pup, I can't even hug you properly now."
"You can."
She shook her head, and Kyrie felt her tears on his cheek. She trembled.
"Kyrie, I'm ashamed. I'm sorry. I don't even like holding you now. I don't like when you hold me." Her voice shook. "I used to like you looking at me. It made me feel funny and good. I wanted to be beautiful for you, as beautiful as Gloriae. But I can't now. Not without my hand, with this arm that... that just ends with a stump. It looks so ugly to me. I hate it. I'm ugly now, and I'm so embarrassed whenever you look at me. I'm so sorry that I'm like this for you."
He laughed softly, and she stiffened. She pulled back an inch, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"Why do you laugh at me?" she asked.
He caressed her cheek. "Agnus Dei. You have the largest, most beautiful eyes I've seen, with the longest lashes. You have the softest, bounciest, curliest hair I've seen, like lamb's fleece. And most importantly, you are good, and brave, and kind. You are beautiful, Agnus Dei. You are the most beautiful woman I know, inside and out, and you will always be beautiful to me. No matter what. I will always think this, and I will always love you." He held her hand tight. "If you ever doubt it, I'll beat you up."
She sighed again, lowered her head, then raised her eyes. A soft smile touched her lips. "Oh pup, you're such a poet, do you know? Not a very good one, but an earnest one." She touched his cheek. "And you know that you can't beat me up. I can still beat you in a fight, even with one hand."
She kissed his lips. They held each other, kissing deeply, the salvanae coiling and singing above.
"Come with me," he said. They walked through the forest, and found a hollow between three fallen columns. He lay down his cloak, and they sat upon it, holding each other. They pulled her cloak above them and huddled for warmth. He kissed her lips, her ear, her neck. She moaned and dug her fingers into his back.
They undressed each other, trembling with cold, goose bumps rising across them. His lips moved down her neck, and he kissed her breasts, then pulled her atop him. She sat in his lap, and tossed back her head, so that her mane of curls cascaded to his knees. She wrapped both arms around him, her eyes closed.
Soon Kyrie was no longer cold. He remembered the first time he made love to Agnus Dei, in the summer on the border with Salvandos. It seemed so long ago. Back then, Agnus Dei had confused him, taunted him, teased him, seemed so much older and mysterious and intoxicating. Today she was more to him: a kind, brave, sensitive woman he loved, a woman he wanted to be with forever. They kissed and swayed in the cold, their furs draped over them.
They were walking back to King's Column, hand in hand, when they heard shrieks and thudding wings above.
Agnus Dei's eyes widened. "Griffins! The griffins are here!"
Kyrie looked up, shielding his eyes with his hand. He gasped. Thousands of griffins flew above, snow clinging to their fur, their eyes bright. Volucris flew at their lead, King of Leonis, Dies Irae's old mount. Rays of sun fell between them, and their shrieks seemed to shake the world.
"They too have seen our stars," Kyrie whispered. "They too have come to fight." He squeezed Agnus Dei's hand.
She nodded. "The great battle of our generation will be fought here, I think. All the nations of the world gather. To fight Dies Irae. To fight darkness." She swallowed, tears in her eyes. "Salvandos, Leonis, Requiem... we join together to fight for life. This war is not only about us anymore, Kyrie. Irae's evil has crawled to all corners of the world, I think... and the world is fighting back."
The griffins began to land in the forest. They stood atop the fallen columns, the smashed walls, the shattered mosaics that lay buried in snow. Kyrie passed by one, a golden female with yellow eyes, and placed his hand against her fur. She cawed and tilted her head at him.
He kept walking with Agnus Dei and approached King's Column. It rose before him, its capital glimmering in the sun like a beacon. Lacrimosa and Gloriae stood below the column, wrapped in cloaks, talking in hushed tones.
A man and woman stood by them, speaking with them. Kyrie frowned. Something about these strangers made him freeze.
The two strangers had not seen him yet. The woman was short, slim, and fair-haired. She wore furs and bore a sword in the style of Requiem blades. Tall and broad, the man bore a similar sword, and wore plate armor and a horned helm. His face was haggard, sporting a walrus moustache like Kyrie remembered his father wearing.
"Who are they?" Agnus Dei whispered, eyes narrowed.
"I... I don't know," Kyrie said, but somehow he did know, or used to. He knew these people. He knew that the man had a deep laugh. He knew that the woman had brown doe eyes, though he could not see them.
"Kyrie!" Agnus Dei said. "Your hand is trembling."
He wanted to walk forward, but could not. His insides roiled. He saw a vineyard, not far from here, kissed with sunlight and humming with dragonflies. He saw a mosaic floor, dragons and dolphins and griffins all twinkling with thousands of stones. He saw a balcony, and tasted wine, and he saw these people; he knew them, he loved them.
Lacrimosa saw him first. She looked toward him from King's Column, and her eyes softened. Gloriae looked at him too, and then—slowly, almost hesitantly—the two strangers turned to face him.
Their eyes. I know their eyes. Brown eyes like his own, the woman's kind and round, the man's weary and haunted. Both pairs stared at him, piercing him.
The two walked toward him. Kyrie stood frozen, half of him wanting to disappear, the other half burning for answers. He held Agnus Dei's hand tight.
When the strangers reached him, their eyes turned soft and damp.
"Kyrie?" the woman whispered. Her voice shook, and a tear streamed down her cheek. "Kyrie, is that you?"
Kyrie! she called. Kyrie, the geese are flying outside, come see them. Kyrie, I wrote you a story, come hear. Kyrie, I love you.
He breathed heavily, staring at her through narrowed eyes. He turned to stare at the man, the tall man with the walrus moustache and the plate armor, a man who looked so weary, so haunted... and Kyrie saw him younger, happier.
Go on, Kyrie! Pull the line, you've got him. It's a trout, and a big one. You caught him, Kyrie. He saw the sunlight on the water, smelled frying fish, heard his brother laugh as they wrestled.
My... brother?
"Kyrie?" the man said. He stepped forward and held Kyrie's shoulder, examining him, his mouth opening, his eyes widening.
Yes, I had a brother once. And I had a sister. But they died. They died years ago, along with my parents, with my friends, with everyone I've ever known.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
The woman smiled—a warm, teary, loving smile. "It's Memoria, Kyrie. I've come to you again. Do you remember me?"
He shook his head, mouth hanging open, eyes still narrowed. "I... no. I'm sorry, but I don't."
"She's your sister," said the tall man. "And I'm Terra, your brother."
And suddenly they were embracing him, and crying over him, and saying so many words he did not understand. They spoke of a tunnel trapping them, and of seeking him in Lanburg Fields, and fleeing into an Ice City, and something about a sorceress and a giant, and a palace built all of ice, and mimic dragons.... Kyrie understood none of it.
"Don't you remember us, Kyrie?" Memoria asked, tears spiking her lashes. "Do you remember our home?" She touched his cheek. "You were so young. You were only six years old when we lost you. Do you remember?"
"I... I remember having a family. I remember my parents. I remember having many cousins, and friends, and older siblings. But... I've always only remembered blurry images, sounds, smells. I...."
Suddenly his knees felt weak, and he had to sit down on a column. Everything spun around him. Memoria and Terra kept holding him, and laughing, and crying over him. Lacrimosa laughed and cried with them, and Agnus Dei still held his hand, and Gloriae moved silently around them. They all blurred around him, becoming smudges of color and sound like his memories.
"I have a sister?" he whispered. "I have a brother?"
It was impossible! I'm the last Eleison. I've always been the last. Dies Irae murdered my family. He....
Terra.
Memoria.
He remembered those names. He remembered! They pounded through him. He remembered the mosaic floor, the balcony, the vineyard, the stream where Terra would take him fishing.
"I have a sister. I have a brother."
He shook and his eyes dampened. Terra patted him on the back and laughed again, that old laughter Kyrie still remembered, and Memoria hugged him, and he was confused, so confused, and he could barely tell memory from reality.
Memoria kissed his cheek, trembling, sobbing now. "I'm so sorry, Kyrie. I'm so sorry we left you. I'm so sorry you had to survive without us for so long. But we're back for you now. You'll never be alone again."
I have a sister. I have a brother.
He looked toward Agnus Dei. She looked into his eyes, her smile trembling.
"Is this real?" he whispered. "Am I dreaming?"
She laughed and mussed his hair. Her eyes sparkled. "It's real, pup. They look just like you."
Kyrie looked at them. Terra. Memoria. With the same sandy hair, the same brown eyes, survivors, fighters, siblings. He lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I want to remember more. I... I didn't know your names until you told me. I didn't even remember your names. I thought you had died so long ago. I'm sorry that I never found you, that I never.... You know who I am. You have all these memories of me. I wish I could say the same." He lowered his head, ashamed.
But they only laughed, and hugged him again, and they cried together.
"We found him, Memoria," Terra whispered. "We found him."
Kyrie held them. The dragonflies hummed in his mind, and the vineyard rustled, and the stream splashed with fish.
It's real, pup. They look just like you.
"It's real," he whispered. I have a sister. I have a brother.
The griffins cawed around them, and the salvanae bugled, a song of reunion and joy, of light and hope and love... before the fall of night.
DIES IRAE
His black horse grunted beneath him, rot seeping through its stitches, foam dripping from its mouth. Dies Irae dug his spurs deep.
"Weredragons were here," he said. He tossed back his head, and his nostrils flared. "I smell them."
Umbra rode beside him, scanning the ruins with narrowed eyes. Night had fallen, and only a glimmer of red light remained in the west. She sniffed too.
"I smell nothing but rot," she said.
Dies Irae pointed up the mountainside that loomed before them. An orphaned, crumbling archway crowned the mountain, the remnants of a weredragon fort. Draco Murus, they called it, he remembered and snickered. The greatest of Requiem's fortresses—smashed upon the mountain.
"This is where my pets found them. Let us seek them there."
He kneed his horse, leading it up the mountainside. Umbra rode at his side. Behind them, his army marched, crawled, and flew, a hundred thousand creatures all howling and drooling. Stones tumbled, but the undead horses plowed on, stronger in death, faster and needing no food or rest.
"The place is an utter ruin," Umbra said, disgust and glee mixing in her voice. "It's worse than Confutatis."
Dies Irae nodded. "Confutatis will rise again, stronger and more glorious than before. This place, this Requiem, will sink further into ruin and pain."
Soon his forces covered the mountainside, like worms covering a body. The snowbeasts smashed down the archway, squealing. Its stones cascaded, hitting several mimics, incurring laughter from their comrades. Dies Irae dismounted on the mountaintop, his boots scattering snow from the cobblestones of an old courtyard. Umbra dismounted beside him, drew her daggers, and hissed.
"The air is rank with the stench of reptile," Dies Irae said. He spat. Mimics howled around him, waving their blades.
"A hole," Umbra said, pointing her dagger.
Dies Irae nodded. "A rat hole. Light a torch and follow me."
He climbed into the darkness, Umbra behind him, torch crackling in her hand. A stairway led him into a network of cellars. Do you hide here, weredragons? Do you cower from me? He couldn't wait to find Lacrimosa, to tear off her clothes, hurt her, take her, crush her, to pull her hair and see her tears. He licked his lips.
"Where are you, my lovely?" he whispered. "Where do you cower, my lizard whore?"
Tree bark, broken branches, and sap filled some chambers; wood had been stored here. A second chamber held a bear rug, a table, and four clay bowls.
"Where are they?" Umbra demanded.
A tattered dress hung on a peg in the wall. Dies Irae lifted it, held it to his face, and inhaled deeply. Lacrimosa's dress. Yes. She had worn this the night he caught her in the field. He savored the scent of it.
He turned and began walking back upstairs, the dress in his hand.
"They went to King's Column," he said. "They retreated to the only place their light still shines." He clenched his fist around the dress, gritted his teeth, and smiled. "That's where we'll find them."
Umbra snarled. "They will be our mimics soon. Slaves for our warriors to torment. I will hurt them too."
Dies Irae nodded. He stepped out into the courtyard and stood on the mountaintop. His army spread around him, line after line of mimics, snowbeasts, the Poisoned, swamp lizards, skeletons, rotting dragons, and coiling nightshades. Their cries shook the earth.
"We will smash King's Column!" he shouted. "We will destroy the weredragon curse forever. Their bodies will be yours!"
They howled. The clouds roiled. Dies Irae mounted his horse, spurred it, and galloped down the mountain.
LACRIMOSA
Lacrimosa flapped her wings, circling above the burned trees and shattered halls of King's Forest.
It felt good to fly. She had barely flown all winter, and she needed to feel the clouds around her wings, the wind in her nostrils, the fire in her belly.
"Requiem!" she said. "May our wings forever find your sky."
The words of her fathers, of her priests, of her life. She still flew for her fathers, for her priests, and for life—her life, the life of her children, the life that still flickered in Requiem.
"I still find your sky. And I will fight for you. Give me strength, stars of Requiem. Give me strength, Ben. The great battle of our time comes to us. I pray that I can withstand its tide."
She circled above King's Column, the last pillar of their halls. She remembered a hundred griffins slamming against it, trying to topple it, but the Draco light still blessed it; so long as Vir Requis lived, it would stand. I will not let it fall.
The griffins now flew around her, her allies. The salvanae flew here too, coiling and uncoiling, their eyes spinning, their scales glimmering. Volucris flew at her right, shrieking, wings churning the clouds—King of Griffins. Nehushtan flew to her left, a hundred feet long, his moustache fluttering and his scales like molten gold—King of Salvandos.
"Thank you, my friends," she said to them. "Thank you for flying with me, with Requiem."
Nehushtan bowed his head to her. "The evil of the tyrant spreads across earth and heaven. The stench of it has carried to our land. It poisons the glow of stars. We have come to fight. For Requiem. For Salvandos our home. For Leonis, realm griffins. We fight for all lands of civilization."
Lacrimosa remembered travelling across the ruins of Osanna, the empire of men. She had crossed it by foot, and taken ship from Altus Mare on the sea. She had seen ruin, death, desolation. Cities lay crumbled, farms burned, forests wilted, bodies rotting. And who will fight for Osanna? she wondered. Who will fight for the realm Dies Irae rules, enslaves, and burns?
The griffins shrieked, and the salvanae bugled.
Drums and trumpets sounded in the north, answering her.
Lacrimosa stared and gasped. She blew fire, and her eyes stung.
They marched from the burned forest, thousands of them, bearing banners of green and brown. They flowed forward like a snake emerging from a basket. A hundred horsemen rode at their lead, clad in armor, bearing lances and standards. Behind them walked thousands of women, children, and old men, all wrapped in cloaks, huddling together for warmth. Thousands of men surrounded their grandparents, mothers, wives, and children. Some wore armor and bore swords. Others wore peasant tunics and carried pitchforks and torches.
"The Earthen," Lacrimosa whispered. Children of Osanna. Followers of the Earth God. Friends.
She flew down and landed on a snowy, fallen column. She stood, wings folded against her back, and watched the Earthen approach.
An old man led them, she saw. He rode a brown horse and wore a green cloak over chain mail. His hair and beard were long, and more white than brown, but his back was still straight, his eyes still bright, his hand still steady on the hilt of his sword. He rode up to her, two armored riders flanking him.
Lacrimosa bowed her head to him. "Silva the Elder," she said. "Welcome to Requiem. May our stars, and your Earth God, bless you."
The priest nodded to her. His face was deeply lined, his voice hoarse. "Queen Lacrimosa of Requiem. A great host approaches. Our scouts have seen them. They cover a league, and they march fast. It's an army of beasts and demons, abominations to the Earth God and to your stars. They'll be here soon."
"Our own scouts have seen them," she replied, remembering what Terra and Memoria had reported. She swallowed. "An army of mimics, snowbeasts, nightshades, and all other creatures of darkness. We stand ready to fight them."
Silva gestured to the riders beside him. "These are my sons. At my right is Silva the Younger. And here is Silas, my second son, a great priest like his brother."
The two men drew their swords.
"We stand ready to fight with Requiem," said Silva the Young.
"We fight for the Earth God," said Silas, snow in his hair.
Lacrimosa looked over their heads at the people they led. Horsemen. Footmen. Peasants. Women and children. Dies Irae has hunted them for years. Here is their final stand. Will this be their Lanburg Fields? Will this be death to us all? A few of the children began to cry, and Lacrimosa looked back to Silva.
"Lead the mothers and children into the trees west of King's Column. They are burned and many have fallen, but they will give some shelter. Place armed men around them. Take the fallen logs, and build what palisades you can. Then take what men you can spare, and what women can wield a weapon, and rejoin me here at the pillar. We will hold council."
She took flight, soaring as high as she could, until the air thinned, her lungs hurt, and her head spun. In the east, she saw them approach, a league away, a shadow falling over Requiem. Fear coiled in her belly. There were so many, a vast host like she had never seen. Countless nightshades and mimic dragons flew there. Fifty thousand mimics marched below, howling and banging war drums. Behind them moved endless skeletons, reptiles the size of dragons, herds of snowbeasts on gangly legs, and mobs of oozing Poisoned.
And one man I must kill. One man who has haunted my life. The man who raped me, murdered my husband, murdered my parents, murdered my people. One man I must face today. Lacrimosa tightened her jaw. Be strong, daughter of Requiem, she told herself. Now is your hour.
She looked below her, surveying her forces. Five thousand salvanae, the true dragons, creatures of fang and lightning. Five thousand griffins, their talons bright, their beaks sharp. Ten thousand soldiers, followers of the Earth god, protecting ten thousand women and children.
"And us," she whispered. "Six Vir Requis."
She saw the others below, huddling together by King's Column. Her daughters, the lights of her life. Kyrie Eleison, who was like a son to her. Terra and Memoria, new hope for their race.
That was all. A small force, she thought. A sparrow against the swooping vulture of Dies Irae's wrath. But we will meet them still.
She dived toward King's Column.
"Nehushtan!" she called. "Volucris!"
They flew to her, and landed with her in the shattered hall of Requiem's kings. Silva joined them, tall upon his horse, his sword in hand. King's Column rose above them into the rays of setting sun. Darkness was spreading fast, the stars emerging.
Lacrimosa shifted into human form. She placed a hand upon Stella Lumen, her father's sword.
"Daughters," she said, turning toward the twins. "Kyrie. Do you have the Beams?"
They nodded. Gloriae opened a sack and spilled out three golden skulls, each twice the size of a man's skull. Their orbits glowed and their jaws grinned.
"You have wielded Beams before," she told them. "Today you will wield them on griffinback. Choose your griffins and ride them against the nightshades. Burn them with the Beams and scatter them."
Gloriae nodded and lifted one skull. Snow filled her hair, scratches ran down her arms and cheek, and most of the gold had peeled from her breastplate. And yet her eyes were still strong, ice and fire. Once she had worn samite and jewels, Lacrimosa remembered. Once Gloriae the Gilded had hunted for Osanna, had killed and maimed for the glory of the Sun God. Today Lacrimosa saw a woman of justice, of honor, and of starlight.
"We will kill them," Gloriae said
Agnus Dei lifted the second skull. At first she held it awkwardly with one hand. Then she steadied it with her left arm, tightened her lips, and stared solemnly at Lacrimosa. Her leggings were tattered, her bodice was torn, and her cloak was shaggy. She wore only rusty pieces of armor: a pauldron on her left shoulder, vambraces on her forearms, dented greaves, no breastplate or helmet. Her sword hung on her hip. Lacrimosa remembered Agnus Dei not a year ago, full of rage and sadness, a beast trapped in a cage. Today she saw not an angry youth, but a strong woman.
"We will kill them all," Agnus Dei said, standing by her sister.
Kyrie lifted the third Beam. He too wore rags and dented armor, but his eyes were solemn, his face hard. Lacrimosa remembered meeting a boy in the summer, a boy who ran and hid from those who would kill him. Here in the winter snow, a man stood before her, a man who had fought and killed for those he loved.
"We will wield them for you, and for Requiem," he said.
Lacrimosa turned to face Nehushtan, ruler of the salvanae. The true dragon hovered several feet in the air, his serpentine body undulating. He blinked, his eyelashes fanning the snow. His moustache swayed in the breeze, and his crystal eyes glowed.
"Nehushtan," she said and placed a hand against his cheek. His scales were cold and smooth like mother-of-pearl. "I ask you to lead your salvanae against the flying mimic dragons. They are fast demons and do not die easily. Burn them with your bolts of lightning, and tear them apart with your fangs."
He nodded, his beard dipping into the snow. "They have woken the wrath of Salvandos. The Draco stars call us to war. We will fight them, Queen of Requiem. We will fell them from the sky, or die defending our stars."
She turned to Volucris next. The great griffin knelt in the snow before her, head lowered. Lacrimosa walked toward him, placed her hand against his beak, and rested her head against his.
"Volucris, my old friend," she whispered. "I'm proud to fight by you again. I ask of you this. Lead your griffins against the crawling beasts of Dies Irae. Fall upon his skeletons, his reptiles, his Poisoned, his snowbeasts, and all his horrors. Tear into them with your beaks and your talons, and kill them all."
He nodded, his eyes narrowing. They seemed to tell her: We will kill them all.
Lacrimosa nodded and turned toward Terra and Memoria. She wanted to be stern, but when she saw them, she couldn't help it. She felt her face soften, and she smiled.
"Terra," she said. "Memoria." She took their hands, and her eyes stung. "You have blessed us today. You have brought us new life, new love, new hope. Thank you."
They bowed their heads to her.
"My queen," Terra said, voice deep and gruff. He was only thirty, Lacrimosa knew—five years her junior—but she saw that white already invaded his temples, and lines already marred his brow.
"How should we serve you?" Memoria asked, fear and determination in her eyes. She's so small, Lacrimosa thought. So delicate. But she was a soldier of Requiem. She will be a soldier again.
Lacrimosa stared at the siblings. New Vir Requis. New survivors. Will they die today, leaving us so soon?
"You two wear Adoria's Hands," she said, nodding at the hands they carried on chains. "You two can shift around mimics, which we cannot." She squared her shoulders. "Tonight, fly as dragons, and swoop, and blow fire. Shower the battlefield with flame. Burn all mimics who march upon the ground of Requiem."
"We have burned them before," Memoria said.
"And we will burn them again," Terra finished.
Finally Lacrimosa turned to face Silva, priest of the Earth God. He stood by his horse, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The wind blew his long beard and green cloak, and his eyes stared at her steadily.
"Silva," she said. "For many years, Dies Irae hunted your priests, and burned your temples, and now he has murdered your people and turned them into his mimics. He murdered many of my people too. I'm proud to fight with you against him. Tonight let us fight side by side. We will lead the ground forces of our camp. The others will fight from above; we will face Dies Irae on the field."
His sword's grip and crossguards were made of twisting roots, like the old roots that had formed Requiem's throne. He drew the sword. Lacrimosa drew Stella Lumen, and they touched their blades.
"We will face him on the field," Silva agreed.
The sun disappeared behind the horizon. The Earthen lit torches, and the salvanae blew lightning above. War drums thudded in the east. Howls rose, a hundred thousand voices. The earth trembled. The squeals and grunts of beasts echoed among the ruins.
"It has come to us," Lacrimosa said. She took a deep breath, fighting to steady her fingers and the thrashing of her heart. "The great battle of our war is here. May we fight it well."
And if we must, may we die well.
She looked them over one last time. Her daughters. Kyrie and his siblings. The true dragons, the griffins, the children of Osanna. They stared back, eyes solemn, lightning crackling above them.
"It begins," she whispered.
She looked to the east and saw countless red eyes and shadows.
The battle of King's Forest began.