Before me stands terror. A figure of utter darkness, fog fleeing through its body like fearful dust. Gone is the composure of before, the white lines upon Lord Rahmanegol’s body smiling at me with dreadful intentions. He hasn’t yet launched itself toward me, perhaps due to the pleasure he finds in gazing upon my frailty. What is the lord even waiting for? My existence is his to steal. I attempt to display ferocity, but I am shaken by what will follow down to my core.

  “It’s a terrible thing that your kind abandoned us,” Lord Rahmanegol says, claws twitching. His voice caresses and blesses me with its tone, and yet stresses and presses me with its desire to charge. “The intricacies you display are worth exploring.”

  I stretch my wings, a futile effort to appear imposing. “There is nothing I am worth, lord. Please, don’t strike me further with your words. These stories hurt.”

  “They aren’t stories, Khonameol.” Lord Rahmanegol dashes forward, prompting me to retreat. “Existence has seen Dualities before your birth. Now, I suppose, it shall glimpse another one fighting for its survival.”

  His claw descends upon me, a mighty limb capable of splitting a star in half. I spin away, the wound I received still forcing me to grunt. Lines traverse the Walls above, cracking and rupturing what still remains of Aslakahm’s defenses. Fog continues its invasion, even if the Lightstealers stopped theirs, casting a powerful blur upon the kingdom beneath. Does the gaze of a Lightstealer properly penetrate such an obstacle? I regard Lord Rahmanegol and I witness a battle between his facial expressions and his tensing muscles. A storm is evident in his demeanour, causing me to withdraw.

  “This should’ve never occured,” Lord Rahmanegol says then sighs. “I hope our beloved creators will forgive us. Forgive me.”

  “Why would they care, lord? The creators showed no intention of returning, considering what followed their departure.”

  He glares at me. “Certainly you understand the foolishness you utter.”

  I shake my head. “I understand what I am shown. The creators left existence to decay and us to be destroyed.” I regard the wound on my body. “Certainly you can understand my reservations.”

  A new strike tilts my head upward, Lord Rahmanegol spinning, claws eager to pierce me. I evade, each new hit arriving closer and closer, until I am left with no choice but to block. The pressure drags me downward, my entire body trembling to sustain his claw. Lord Rahmanegol twists, one wing soaring toward me. My eyes widen as I brace for the impact and am thrown in the Wall, my fall rewarding it with new cracks and new holes. “My beliefs about you are being negated. For a Duality to speak about matters it doesn't grasp with such confidence is impressive.”

  I groan, my arms departing me from the Wall. “End this lord. Grant me my ultimate purpose in the Materium.”

  He widens his eyes. “There is no honor in such a rash death. Earn it.”

  I gesture below. “What about this? I don’t see honor in a one-sided conflict.”

  Lord Rahmanegol withdraws his claws, preparing to dash. “Earn your death, Khonameol.”

  I soar away from his lunge, turning and attacking with my tail. The scales upon his back hinder my hit, and he turns, claw ready. I grip his attack and hover against his limb, straining myself to succeed. The composure on his face begins to vanish. “I struggle and fight to give existence a chance to survive,” he says. “I gaze upon my kin and suddenly, their tasks are disrupted. What has Alghamior done upon hearing the insufficient essences?”

  “Lord, you brought an army upon our king.”

  “What has he done?!”

  He evades my grip and seizes my neck. The other claw stabs me and a cry forces itself through my snout. “Give me the correct answers, Error! You defend arrogance and pride as if the Tribunal made them the highest virtues. Plead his defense.”

  “We… you could’ve… cooperated. Work together. Conception and Havoc.”

  His claw digs deeper within me. Another tremble clenches my arms as I fail in pushing him away. “Why hasn’t Alghamior informed me of his desire to collaborate? Conception seems intent on casting Havoc aside, since you decided to bring the ancient adage into our skirmish. You are recklessly bold.”

  “Lord, what follows? Can you… solve this?”

  He tilts backward, his grip loosening. Conflict brews through his expressions and he finally withdraws both claws. “Such is my curse.” His splitting tail curls upon my limb and throws me in the Wall. The surface shatters and I emerge outside Aslakahm, the fog around casting me into unbearable shadows. I spin and feel essence eager to abandon me, my eyes twitching as a result. At last, death is seizing me. “Forgive me, king,” I whisper, allowing the Materium to hold me. The strength within me wilts.

  Something stings my back. Sensations flow through my body, urging me to shift and regain control. As if power has been injected within me by a force mightier than that of Lord Rahmanegol’s. A whirring sound emerges, prompting my head to tilt. In the corner of my eyes, I catch glimpses of the Mark embedded in me active, a savage red meddling with its dark surface, the sphere spinning and causing lightning as a result. It’s… alive? A storm erupts on my back, lines of light coiling on my wings.

  White eyes tear through the fog like a specter. “Death seems to not desire you,” Lord Rahmanegol says. “What a curious sight.”

  The wounds of before receive red light that tends to them. “What… is this strength?” It resembles… the Jila.

  Claws pierce through the fog, forcing my eyes to regard them. “Our beloved Tribunal has blessed you, Khonameol. Something lurks within you. Something chaotic.” He smirks. “Show me that strength. Allow me to test it.”

  He vanishes into a lunge, claws on the point of converging upon my body. I cover myself with my wings and power leaves me like a beam. A body gets stricken and a groan pounds my ears. Upon clearing my view, I notice Lord Rahmanegol standing with his head facing my legs, his entire body disoriented. The lord adjusts himself with some difficulties. “You harbor that chaotic place, Khonameol. Now my failed attempts to seek the Tribunal finally make sense. How could I not have known this? The Jila recognizes your kind because you resemble it.”

  A frown strangles my face. “The Jila hungers for me. I am not one with it.” My eyes shift between my two rising limbs, the Jila’s terrifying nature growing more evident with each new movement I make. Then I snap toward him. “Lord, you visited the Jila?”

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  His expression hardens, while his eyes become distant. “I miss them, Khonameol. I wanted to bring them back. To feel… their love.” His snout trembles. “I can’t explain that sentiment to you.”

  My eyes fall victim to a heavy burden, the power of the Jila urging me to unleash it. “I wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  Lord Rahmanegol readies himself for another strike, but this time determination responds quicker than fear. I soar toward him—confused by the speed granted to me—and I swipe my arms upward. He dashes away, his lower wings dancing in the fog and he raises one claw to counter my downward strike. Our limbs meet, and the light upon me subdues the lord, returning his head toward my feet with a thunderous cry. I twist and my tail meets with his chest, spinning Lord Rahmanegol away through the fog, a path forming as a result. Afterward I freeze, gazing upon the chaos erupting on my body. What is this strength? I am unable to comprehend how it manages to disrupt Lord Rahmanegol with such ease. The Jila breathes through me. Clouds of rage, lights of doom and ferocious eyes cradle me, a sight that only confuses me further. This prison was never against me? “Why have you always behaved toward me with dreadful hunger?” I ask.

  A new cry erupts. Powerful enough to further shatter the Wall and shove me away from its route. Agony and rage flood the Materium, rapidly and angrily does Lord Rahmanegol soar for me. “Error!” he bellows, darting past.

  The lord spins, claws trembling as they cut open the Materium in their search for my essence. “Your chaos won’t stand against me.”

  His four eyes bulge, as if craving to latch onto me. Lord Rahmanegol’s breaths intensify, spitting unseen flames. “Why do you tease me?” he pleads “Why do you steal away my peace?!”

  I dash aside, and frown upon witnessing how much stronger his body seems. His claws intertwine, and he groans as they fall on me. I lift one limb and a new beam of chaos meets the lord, pushing him away. “There is power within me,” I muse. “I can protect Aslakahm.”

  Another beam flees my limb, forcing the lord to dash out of its range unsuccessfully. Pain strikes my Mark, prompting me to stop. It’s still active, yet it becomes… heavier. It pressures my body into submitting to its will. What is wrong with it?

  My head snaps forward, Lord Rahmanegol crying and smashing my face. “You insolence!” A series of claws twist my snout, leaving wounds through which essence begins to escape. “How dare you threaten to steal away my serenity?!”

  I cover my face with my limbs, and Lord Rahmanegol grips them and forces them to open. He tears through my snout sideways, and I shriek. Then his tail smashes me continuously, until I snap myself, the storming Jila desperate to escape me. I grunt and release more beams. “You have stolen my kin! The glorious kingdom of Aslakahm has been reduced to wreckage. Why do you persist, lord?! Leave the Starmakers be.”

  “I am the only hope of survival we still have, Khonameol!”

  “Is this what surviving looks like to you?”

  “There are no other solutions!”

  Lord Rahmanegol soars, narrowly avoiding my attacks. A pressure on my body becomes more evident with each new strike. My limbs feel heavy, and I sense the Mark wounding me further. Then, a different light crawls up on my body. Golden chains, with their exterior a dark red coil around me. “What is… happening?” I ask, falling victim to an unquenchable tremor.

  Lord Rahmanegol stops, laboring to subdue his heavy breaths. “Already?” he asks, frowning.

  I fight the chains, twisting and turning my limbs out of their way. Nothing hinders them. The more they ascend, the more my body contorts to their will. “Jila, what are you doing to me?! How can you steal those gifts from me already?” I regard the lord, and I notice him approaching with frustration. “I am succumbing. I… can’t fend it off.”

  This can’t be the outcome of our duel. Not now. Not when existence has smiled upon me with such a wondrous gift. Power, beyond the comprehension of my mind, lives within me. The king will surely find joy upon hearing of this. My kin can rest assured that I am capable of protecting them. “Let… me… fight!”

  The answer to my pleas is a resounding no. Lord Rahmanegol displays his claws, preparing for another strike. His bulging eyes of before have now been reduced to slits as they barely regard me anymore. “The curse of strength is a difficult one to endure. No dragon ever should. I am sorry, Khonameol. I assure you that existence has a chance.” He regards Aslakahm. “If at least one.”

  “No!” I shout and my body snaps. The strongest beam yet shoots out of my wings, the chaotic Jila shifting like an all-devouring beast. Lord Rahmanegol spins, one wing enduring the attack and destabilizing him once more.

  Then the bellows again and soars forward. Before he can reach me, my body contorts in such a manner that any movement is rendered impossible. My limbs are forced against my torso, my legs against my belly, my head against them all. The chains completely encompass me, and the Mark dies down entirely. Why? Why have I been granted such tremendous powers, only for them to be stolen away so treacherously? Why, creators?!

  The lord grips me, examining my body. He inhales, shutting his eyes. “You fought admirably. This, however, was always going to be the outcome.”

  Cries sound nearby. The fog still wraps us both, hindering my eyes from penetrating it, but the shouts alarm Lord Rahmanegol. Lightstealers speak about intruders heading our way. “What?!” he asks, squinting through the fog. The lord’s head snaps in another direction, a Lightstealer dragon arriving.

  “Lord, Alghamior’s council has grown reckless. They are seeking you with vile intentions.”

  Lord Rahmanegol glares at me. “You swore, Error!” He strikes me, then gazes outward. “Alghamior, what foolish plan have you decided to craft now?!”

  The Lightstealer vanishes, a Starmaker dragon appearing and smashing him away. Then, out of the sheer darkness that wraps us, glorious light soars. One half of his body consumed, yet strangely regaining its beauty through the paleness, King Alghamior groans and then strikes Lord Rahmanegol, while two more Starmakers emerge to continue the attack. His grip loses me to escape, but another comes to my rescue. The king sights me, his breaths ragged, his usual composure shaken. Vigor surges through his wings, despite what he’s experienced. “I knew to count on you, Error. But I expected more. Much more from your chaos.” His voice washes me in disappointment. “And now this is how well you treated your strengths.”

  I struggle to voice my bewilderment at the view before me, yet only my shaking eyes can do that. The king… has returned. How come he can still stand after raising the Walls?

  Tense lines approach. “Alghamior,” Lord Rahmanegol says, seizing the king’s limbs. His frail body quivers as he attempts to escape. “What do you think you’re doing? You raised the Walls and now seek a battle? How much of my mercy are you willing to test further?”

  King Alghamior scowls. “Your acts are a grave sorrow, Rahmanegol. Forcing me to such an extent is beyond vile. You, out of all dragons, must’ve known better!”

  He pulls the king closer. “I trusted your wisdom. I trusted in the mind gifted to you by our great creators. A disease seeks us and what do you do? You have failed me and all of creation with your idleness!”

  King Alghamior withdraws his arm from me, and labors in escaping the lord’s grasp. “Existence… cries upon seeing this. A war between dragons?”

  “Don’t force my claws to claim you. Surrender!”

  “I won’t live to see you tear apart what the Tribunal created.” His breathing worsens and his face strains due to the pressure he fights against. “My eternity shall end with this.”

  King Alghamior’s wings explode, forcing the lord to flee and shooting me away from their presence. The fog rapidly steals my sight, the majesty of the king the last memory granted to me before a shadowy mouth devours me. Now, he will be the next of Lord Rahmanegol’s victims. Whatever vitality the Chair of Rejuvenation brought him, won’t suffice against the calamity that is the lord. Tears evade my closing eyes as I continue to spin away. I sought a purpose and it trapped me. I searched for strength and it destroyed me. I desired to be of use and now my limbs are immobilized. What dragon can bear this? How is hope meant to survive in me amidst such terrible, terrible things?