From the top of the wall, Maylis observed the flames that ravaged the desert. The screams of the deezarke were lost in the flames. Even the sun couldn't penetrate the thick black smoke that mingled with the storm clouds. In the middle of this black sea stood Serafim.

"The only thing missing is the dragon and the scene will be complete..." couldn't help but think Maylis. The flames danced with a simple gesture of Serafim, burning deezarke who had survived this hell with difficulty. The silhouette of the young man stood out from the fire, reminiscent of that famous drawing in their history book.

The battle of Eamon and the dragon was one of the founding events of the Empire. Many artists had imagined this legendary scene and tried to put an image on a moment that had survived the passage of time through the words of storytellers. In the end, Eamon was often depicted with red hair and golden eyes. These two colors were always present in the Dralyon family. Their members were born with blond or red hair, and with red or golden eyes. Or with both, as was the case with Ewald, who had different colored eyes. No one knew why these colors were predominant, but they had become one of the symbols of the Dralyons. It was because of this strange phenomenon that Eadwig had managed to hide the fact that Anastasyi wasn't born from his union with Serenity.

Glancing at Serafim, Maylis found that he strongly resembled his father. Not only physically, if one disregards the length of the hair, but also in terms of character. They both knew how to enjoy a good fight. They weren't afraid to get their hands dirty to protect those they considered their own. Of course, this trait was common to all Dralyon, but Maylis had noticed that it was strongest in the red-haired ones. She remembered how Eadwig had burned down a town near the border between the Empire and Ulsh sixteen years ago. 

"Good thing the deezarkes were there..." said Aslan, taking a sip of his beer.

"At worst, I would have thrown Serafim at my son," replied Maylis with a laugh. 

"They would have destroyed the wall."

"Nah! Sorley would have pulled him into the desert."

For a moment, the two watched the fire before their eyes, drinking their beers. The soldiers were making bets on how long the massacre would last, while the young recruits looked like headless chickens, running around not understanding what was going on. All in all, nothing unusual for those who lived at Eamon's Wall.

Slowly, Aygün began his descent, leaving the Sun in the hands of Anasra, to take the Moon. At the same time as this exchange, the wall of fire diminished, until it disappeared. The black clouds that announced the storm were gone, like the rage that had taken possession of Serafim. All around him, the smoking remains of the deezarke were crumbling, becoming dust on the vitrified sand. As Aygün, God of Time and Master of the Skies, took flight, the wind blew, erasing the traces of this massacre.

Serafim felt empty. His reason had deserted him as soon as he had heard the words "Black Market" and "Hul". Rage had taken possession of him and the world had turned red. The shadows laughed and the crying increased. He had only one thing in mind: to destroy. And that is what Serafim did. He had followed the laughter and when he found the source, he let go. Nothing obeyed him anymore. His body moved with his instincts, burning anyone who came near him. Soon the laughter turned to screaming, pleading, cursing. It was a cacophony of curses that rang in his ears as he continued to burn them. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the noise ceased and the world returned to normal. 

He wasn't calm. 

Only empty. 

Glancing around disinterestedly, Serafim saw only charred remains. The scales of the deezarke were dull, unshiny, and in some cases, melted away. Their hybrid bodies, between snake and lizard, were worthless, as the meat couldn't be salvaged. Even the bones had been damaged, become brittle, just like the wood that so proudly adorned their heads. Everything had burned and the wind would carry away the last traces of their existence. Just like them. 

Once again, only Serafim was standing, alive. Once again, he had destroyed everything. They had been right to say that he was a mon-

"Feeling better, brat?"

Surprised, Serafim turned around, discovering Maylis with her eternal smile on her lips, fearlessly approaching him.

"Well?" She asked, one eyebrow raised and a laughing smile lighting up her face.

"... Yes, I feel better..." 

"Perfect! Because even if it hadn't been the case, I would have pulled you by the scruff of the neck to get you back behind the wall! After all, I wouldn't want your old man to come and grill me because Erëciar had eaten you."

"He wouldn't do that to you. You're our best master swordsman."

"What?! He wouldn't spare me out of friendship?!"

Serafim didn't try to hold back his laughter at Maylis's overdone outraged expression. Nor did he resist when she pulled him toward the wall, as the winds grew stronger and stronger. The moment the door was closed, the sands began to rise, turning the desert into a death trap.