Chapter 4 | Lores Unheard

   "Today, we fought a battle we never expected to fight and came out neither a winner nor loser. We were forced to take arms against those we swore to protect with little knowledge of what we were against, knowing only that we must protect our present.

   Tonight, the fire we will light shall guide our lost ones back to the Lighting Tree– to the soil, the invisible current, the solid blue, and the blaze. Let the fire that alights from those we've lost, be the fire that keep you going.

   And tomorrow, with regret, we will leave the town of Hempholme and Orkney, towns we called home, behind."

   The fire was loud– brightly yellow, orange, and red– mended by the bodies of the dead. Drakons stood as guards to the large fire and the small few fires stationed at the sea dragon statues.

   Dolls, bracelets, necklaces, weddings gowns, baby clothes, and such were placed into the smaller fires.

   "We cannot idly stay, my lord."

   "I hardly call a cremation, idle activity, Panu."

   "We don't know enough about this infection–"

   "The people have lost much. This is the least we can do and... the only way you can convince them all to leave." 

   The young lord was determined.

   He was still wearing the old ceremonial uniform. The others were the same. They had not changed out of battle-worn clothes.

   "You're the lord, just say the word." Asena polished her vambraces to a shine, wiping all of the blood– hers or Jerome's.

   She noticed a nick on her upper left arm that she quickly shrugged off.

   "I don't want to order them to leave their home without giving them the time to mourn."

   "We should at least check anyone who's been wounded, Lord Aleksi."

   A man with relatively long white hair spoke up.

   "Dyadya, please just Aleksi."

   "Aleksi's right," Rusen stepped into the house with a feast, "let them gather their energy now."

   "No carriages, limited horses," Asena counted on her fingers, "when do you plan to arrive at the Firebird?"

   "We will not be going to the station, Lady Asena." 

   Panu brought out a circular device from his pant pocket and pressed an apatite crystal embedded on the front face of the cover. It was a pocket multifunctional device called Millegen, used mainly for communication or a watch. Like its name, there are around a thousand combinations one can configure their Millegen into.

   "We have a few records of how some of the infected have been acting. As you can see just from these short clips," projected on the wall was a compilation of video clips from around the empire, "they react to sound. This... ceremony we are holding is as much of a threat to us as a child singing at leisure."

   "I understand," Aleksi pressed down on the creases between his brows, "but you cannot convince me that this is wrong. They need to bury their dead, our dead, and the least we can do is say goodbye. Let us worry for their safety."

   "We cannot–"

   "Asena will stand guard."

   Aleksi would not hear anymore. The commanders standing around the makeshift conference table, who hadn't spoken the entire time, remained silent. His uncle and advisor dropped the subject while Rusen and Asena took to the door.

   "I'll keep my ears open," Rusen assured his friend.

   "And my eyes sharp," Asena added when her brother nudged her side.

   The door closed shut after the Spiros siblings.

   Panu sighed in relief. "It is fortunate that we have them." 

   "I remember when Rusen was only 7 and could barely hold a sword of his height," chuckled a large man.

   "But Lady Asena has always been special."

   "Yes, Asena has always been special" the white-haired man from before agreed. "But you will have to give her more information, you understand, Panu. She will continue to be curious to her detriment."

   "As is the flaw of Lady Asena," the large man laughed off.

   "That's quite true, Manny."

   "But shouldn't we get to work too, Bridge?"

   The two other commanding officers raised to their feet, signed off, and left at opposite sides of town.

   "It's good to have them all." Aleksi leaned back, staring at the video clip still playing.

   "We should decide what route to take." 

   Panu pressed another gem on the back of his Millegen. This time, a map projected out of the gem. After placing the phone against a cup, he proceeded to zoom in on their location.

   "Hallerbos will be the safest route."

   "Dyadya, Hallerbos is a forest. It will blind us. Why not march on Belmasse en Caux?"

   "I'm afraid, my young lord, that if Orkney has been overtaken, and the center of Hempholme nearly so, will not the port be the same?"

   "That doesn't make Hallerbos any safer."

   "On the contrary," Elder Monik cleared his throat to remind them that he too was there. He pointed to the center of the forest. "This is the meadow in which Vir had blessed personally, the meadow where they– Vir and Drako swore eternal friendship."

   "A fable without history."

   "The young lord speaks critically of Hempholme's spoken history. Listen well, young Damyanov.

   When the Lighting Tree gave life to Solum, Anima, Unda, and Ignis, it sent them to the far reaches of its land so that they may tell both it and Vir stories they would otherwise have been unable to witness. On these journeys, they each took, they met great beings born from the light that had scattered when the Lighting Tree first set onto the world.

   One in particular, in the land we now call the Dukedom of Damyanov, was once the great dragon's land. A kingdom of dragons. Drako, who ruled over all the other dragons born from the light, could shake the land like Solum. His fiery breath was not unlike Ignis's. He could fly like Anima. And swim against the current like Unda. 

   Amazed by this, the children of the Lighting Tree returned with endless stories about the thick-skinned creature with fangs as large as they and eyes that glowed as brightly as light. These magnificent creatures could even speak with Anima through songs drifting in the invisible current. 

   And in this land, there was darkness, a darkness that the light could not reach.

   We call this night. Our ancestors called it the Darkest Day. And before all of us, it was simply the dark."

   Aleksi raised a brow; he'd never heard of this tale before.

   "The night did not exist a thousand years ago. The Darkest Day was just a day that occurred every 7 years. But to Drako and his kind, the dark came every so often whenever the Lighting Tree's lights floated away. With the dark, other creatures were born, but they ravaged the land of the dragons as if it were theirs.

   Enraged, the dragons fought for their home whenever the darkness crept in.

   The light they conjured on their own was not enough to keep the creatures at bay.

   Remembering their acquaintances sent by the Lighting Tree, the great dragon sent a messenger across the sea.

   We all know of the name of this dragon, as they continue to rule the land belonging to their ancestor."

   "The story of the Drakonian Knight."

   Aleksi gave a glance at Panu who answered.

   "And the story of the Damyanov, my lord. The Drakonian knight the great dragon sent was his daughter, Svetka, Svetka Damyanov the Eternal First Duchess. Descendants did not come by the ancient language of the dragons by chance."

   "My great ancestor, a dragon?"

   "It is not too farfetched, Aleksi." His uncle sat down before continuing, "as the imperial family, the oldest houses of the empire have ancient history known only through tall tales and forgotten songs."

   "Such as the basilisk that tunneled through the mountain range of Siugmägi?" Panu questioned excitedly. "Or possibly the giant bird where Dyadya Anastas was born!"

   "I dare not equate the giant bird to the great dragon," Anastas laughed.

   "You're too humble, dyadya. The Rokh is as fearsome in myth as Drako."

   Elder Monik chuckled at this.

   "To Hallerbos then," Aleksi finally agreed. "We will set camp at the blessed land."

chapter footnotes:

1. Dyadya means uncle in Russian

2. The Ancient Dragon Language (ADL) is derived from the Russian language though, the people of Damyanov are not necessarily categorized as Russian if they were to be living on Earth.