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The others have already planned the route from the city, the best place to smash through the siege line, the best time to join with the forces from the north. Now, they look to the oldest of their number expectantly.
Grandmaster Nerannin of the Blades looks down at the map, thinks of a decision made in this city long ago, and makes his own.
It's been a very long time since he’s felt the weight of inevitability settle this heavily onto his shoulders. It’s been a very long time since he’s known with such certainty what happens next.
He thinks again of the Dragon, golden against the crimson sky. He thinks again of everything that came before it.
“Abandon the city if you will,” he says at last. “I will remain.”
The others look at him in stunned silence. “You’ll die, Grandmaster,” says General Lucinna, eventually.
Nerannin looks at her. He’s never felt older, and he’s been old for a century at least—and simultaneously, rising inside him is the young elf who walked into fire and darkness with a wolf’s head on his chest. The piece representing him on the table is a wolf, too, and he picks it up. “Of course I will.”
“We need—”
“My Emperor—my beloved —died here for his people.” He places the wolf back on the map, atop the Temple. “I will do the same.”
He turns and leaves. No one tries to stop him.
In a trunk in his chambers is the armor. The tabard is starting to crumble, but he’s oiled the mail for near on two centuries. Nerannin puts it on, and from the window, he watches as the soldiers begin to march.
The sun is starting to set as he leaves the tower. The city is eerily quiet, waiting for the army—his kindred—to break through the gates. No one stops him as he walks through the empty streets.
The temple walls have long since been rebuilt. It doesn’t matter—he can’t see it without remembering, as vivid as if it were yesterday. Today, with the Dragon glowing gold and orange in sunset light, it may as well have been.
He steps over the fence, draws his sword, and looks up at the Dragon. “Hello, Martin,” he says quietly, before turning to face the door. From the distance comes the sound of battle, and Nerannin rests his hand on the Dragon’s leg. “I’ll see you soon.”