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One thing demigoddesses don’t tell you when you’re stripped of your powers by a wave of their hand is how much of your world is turned upside down. You have to learn that lesson yourself.
It’s all part of their plan, really. Something about learning from your mistakes, for your hubris “drags you down” and the world “would be better off if you were kinder”. Yet Talon knows nothing about kindness other than the burden of having to show it when he has none, and all of this nonsense feels like getting the short end of an already short stick.
Whatever this “journey of humility” is supposed to teach the dragon no-longer-king, he doesn’t yet know. Little does he understand about humans, living in their small abodes and feeling content to empty their pittance of a horde in meaningless things. In some ways, he finds them similar to dragonkind — greedy and arrogant, with no regard to their fellow kin if it means they'll get ahead.
It all feels like a riddle Talon can’t solve, and he feels stupid just thinking about its answer.
He quickly learns he doesn't like that feeling.
It's a cold night in the northern lands. The dragon quickly learns that lanterns and campfires don't do much to warm a human’s hands without walls to stop the wind. On days like these, when snow dots the land and cold freezes the flesh, mortals would wander into a local tea house and sip on warm tea with strangers in hopes of warding off winter for one night longer.
Snow squelches under the no-longer-king’s traveling boots on the path leading up to the building. The wind howls. A wooden sign swings with it to announce its name, yet Talon can’t bother to read it for the twelfth time.
No heads turn when he enters the cramped little establishment, and he's not so sure what to feel. Once upon a time, it would be righteous anger – how dare they not bow to a king when graced with his presence? But now, his shoulders relax for a millisecond and Talon slinks to a corner in the shadows, unnoticed. The weight on his mind is eased knowing that, even if the people from the northern lands knew of his humiliation in a land so distant from his own, they would never know it was him that their demigoddess Irelia had defeated.
No thanks to her , the dragon catches himself thinking, anger seeping through every thought. His nails, sharper than the average human's yet still weak and brittle if compared to his claws, tap repeatedly against the porcelain cup. The tea, piping hot, burns his tongue and Talon curses her for trapping him in this form, so powerless and utterly uncomfortable.
It’s not like he doesn’t know of said body’s physical failings. In the past, he had wandered through mortals in a form much similar to this one every now and then – but, at the end of the day, he was still a dragon and a king . Nobody would dare look at him wrong once they noticed the slitted eyes and the golden scales up his neck, or the crest on his clothes matching that of his Imperial Court.
The disguise felt wrong then. Now that he has no choice but to wear it, it feels worse.
Someone spills soup on their partner’s clothes. Two coworkers talk shit about their boss, clinking their alcohol-filled glasses. A child cries somewhere. Talon has always been observant, often noticing in one glance what others could not in a thousand stares. All around, the tea house is filled with enough life to fill pages upon pages with the story of each patron – not that he cares much for stories without his name in it.
“My sister sent me a letter, you know.” His ears twitch. Talon resists the urge to look, staring at the bottom of his tea cup, its bottom covered in black smears. For some reason, they remind him of a shark. “I wouldn't travel south if I were you. She says it's pure chaos down in Nanhai.”
Nanhai. The name given to the lands next to the Southern Sea, and what was once his reign. Only a couple of months have passed, yet it feels like he hasn't been home in years . Do mortals perceive time slower than his kin? Would this body die of old age before completing this Herculean task required of him? Talon doesn't want to think about it, so he deduces the one talking is the lady at the table besides his own and focuses on that instead.
“Heard ‘bout it.” Who replies is a man, well in his thirties. You can hear the slurring of alcohol in his voice, but he doesn't seem surprised. “A swordsman I studied with told me their king was deposed by Irelia herself. ‘S that why?”
Tch . Out of habit, Talon grits his teeth and exhales through them with parted lips. No vapor comes with it, and he thinks of what would be the best way to kill that arrogant woman.
“Maybe? Not that I know of.”
He thinks he'll tear out her throat in a single, messy bite. Or she'll be made to kneel before he carves her heart out of her chest and locks it in a cage. If he feels petty enough, he'll make the little thing his songbird. That'll teach her.
“From what she said, I think… I think the dragons are out of control.”
Talon rips his eyes away from the shark and up at the two. His knuckles hurt. Only now does he realize how strong his grip was on the little teacup.
“Nanhai's king was a dragon, though. Had a whole court and everythin’,” the man argues, and the no-longer-king swears one of his veins might pop if he keeps talking. “Maybe they've all gone rogue. Realized they ain't beatin’ a half-human, half-god if their king couldn’t. Abandoned ‘em like he did.”
That doesn't sound like them , Talon wants to argue. Lagoon and the others wouldn't ever go rogue . What do you mortals even know ?
“I mean—” she glances over her shoulder awkwardly, then hushes closer to the man. He's sure the lady noticed him, but he doesn't mind. “I don't think so. They're saying his court is granting us blessings .”
…
“Have you forgotten?”
The air is silent, cold with defiance. Her blade is at his throat, and on the dragon’s tongue he feels the sting of her steel. That , he concludes, is the taste of defeat .
“Forgotten,” Talon sputters, a trail of blood running down his face. He can’t help the arrogant, incredulous smile distorting this disguise’s face. His eyes trail up to the demigoddess. “I’ve forgotten your arrogance, Irelia. You meddle with the matters of dragonkin, not of men–”
The blade pushes further against his throat, a grunt of surprise interrupting his words. She doesn’t sway, staring down with golden eyes and a halo of swirling blades. The dragon breaks eye contact, somehow only now realizing the silence. A failure is a failure – that, he understands. He’s been bested, even if his worst instincts beg for a rematch in his true form. But this isn't an honorable duel, it’s humiliating . Why hasn’t his court done anything yet?
Though he searches for their eyes, his gaze meets none. All of them look away.
His reign then starts to crumble.
…
The first lesson Talon learns is to never take anything for granted.
Though it’s nowhere close to the capital of Nanhai, Zhuimeng is said to be where those from the southern lands go to pursue their dreams. If the rumors of dragonblessed mortals are right after all, Talon knows it’s the right place to start looking – to that, he needs to travel south.
From the northern lands.
He quickly learns mortal roads, as ironic as it sounds, are terrible for such travels.
Back in his days of glory, it would only take but a few hours of flight — now, simply walking the distance between one village to another is enough to make him regret not plunging a dagger in Irelia's heart any time sooner. Talon has to hitch rides with travelers and merchants across small towns, roadside inns and what have you. When those aren't an option, the blisters remind him of his folly and the thought of a bleeding demigoddess is enough to convince him to keep walking.
The day he crossed the border to Nanhai would be one to celebrate, had the no-longer-king and his ride found somewhere along the road to eat, drink and sleep. A small village is marked on their map, where Talon supposes they'd at least find somewhere to rest, assuming his subjects aren’t barbaric .
Something feels off from the beginning, though.
“We should be close to Baoshan,” his companion mutters, horse rein in one hand and map in the other. Talon had found her in the last inn he stayed at — a young woman with obnoxiously bright eyes and a stroke of genius. The caravan he's been sitting in this entire time is crammed with her many inventions and possessions, some of which greatly annoys him. “Never seen so little traffic ‘round these parts, though.”
Hidden within its enclosed interior, the dragon peeks through the window-like opening facing the back of the girl. Talon brushes away the curtains covering it just enough for her to see his eyes if she looks.
What? For all he knows, Nanhai is ripe for the taking for any dragonkin who lived in the area. Should they learn of his return in such a feeble form… Talon doesn't want to think of what they'd do.
He thinks of Irelia’s golden ichor staining his blade instead.
“What do you mean?” The no-longer-king inquires, monotone. She doesn't turn to look at him, but lowers the map to his field of vision and points at a spot – where they are, assumedly. Talon bites his inner lip and thinks of slitting a demigoddess’ throat.
“Baoshan is a trading hub,” she explains. Through her gesturing hand, Talon thinks for a second he sees black smoke. “It doesn't have a lotta interesting things going on, sure, but at this time of the month? There shoulda been a couple merchants on this road making the cross from Nanhai to the north, and vice versa. We shouldn't be alone.”
“We’re not turning around,” he grunts, demanding. His chin lays on top of crossed arms, and he stares at the woman with squinting eyes. “We had a deal, Zeri.”
“Didn't say the deal was off.” The traveler turns to look at him. From her body language, she seems confident, but her eyes express her worry. Talon knows no words of wisdom to reassure her, however, and such knowledge goes unsaid. “I can only hope our lack of traffic is a stroke of luck. We need supplies, and Baoshan's the only major settlement in a couple days’ worth of travel, y’know?”
He huffs and slinks back into the caravan without a reply. In the end, he is just a feeble dragon at the mercy of men — if the girl judges it necessary, he has no power nor influence to change her mind.
Time goes on. Eventually, the wheels stop turning and the caravan stops with a soft thud, as if it had hit something. They’ve arrived, or so Talon thinks. He stretches out his limbs and looks through the curtains again.
What Talon expects to see is a somewhat lively hub, with small houses and dirt paths and the noisy murmurs and yells of a marketplace.
Instead, he's greeted by the smell of blood and brimstone.
It would be worse if Baoshan was up in flames, but fire is the least of their problems. What truly drives a chill up Talon's spine is how the trading hub looks more like a battlefield.
The buzzing of flies, and the bodies strewn about in agony, and the blood smearing the dirt and soil and the walls begs for them to turn and run. One reaches out for the road, leaving a trail of blood behind them as they crawl towards help that never arrived. Another shows huge gashes on their back as their body curls around another, as if trying to protect them. Some have been charred beyond recognition, half-buried in broken buildings.
Most have already begun to decay.
Only when Zeri climbs out of the caravan’s front seat does Talon move. He slinks out the door, a regular steel blade in hand, and starts to tread along the bodies, trying to find one that seems mostly intact in order to piece together what happened in this accursed city.
It doesn't take long for Talon to find a pattern. Dragons have keen eyes, or so mortals would say, and the king had once served as a judge in cases involving his own kin committing crimes against his subjects. The dead in Baoshan seems to fit the bill – he’s sure a dragon was behind this massacre.
And a rare one, at that. Few in Nanhai have the ability to spit fire, and the charred bodies warn him of such. It’s only a matter of time until Talon would discover who’s responsible.
Had no one survived? In his mind, he declares it impossible. There has to be someone who managed to hide during… whatever this was.
What snaps him out of his thoughts this time is Zeri.
Zeri, who leans against a dead tree with burned leaves. Her entire body shakes. The bark trembles with lightning escaping from her fingertips as she throws up whatever was left of their lunch.
(Talon asks himself if anyone could blame this on his disappearance, leaving dragons to a reign without rules — that way, the blame would fall on Irelia instead and he could fantasize once more about her death.)
“What are you doing?” He inquires in that same flat tone. The man hasn’t yet noticed the blood smeared on his clothes from investigating the dead, and so he wonders why she can’t stand to look at him. “Have you never seen death before?”
Slowly, the girl shakes her head.
“Not like this , no.” A hand is held against her stomach, and she lurches again when the breeze changes direction and throws the scent of rot right at her. “How do you– this is normal to you?”
The second lesson Talon learns is to be mindful of what he says to mortals. Because suddenly, his face starts to burn and he finds it awfully convenient to stare at the corpse below him. How do you explain being so ancient that you’re used to a carnage like this when the last time it happened was over a century ago?
Faced with silence, Zeri wipes her mouth and sighs, shaking still.
“Do you think anyone might’ve–”
“Hard to say,” Talon shakes his head. “They have been dead for a day, at least. If anyone was able to survive, I’d assume they’ve already left. We’ll likely find them in the next settlement or so.“
“Well, what if their horses were killed, too?” She argues, gesturing with her hands. Her stomach might be empty, but her mind sure is filled with question after question. “Someone injured wouldn’t make it to the nearest village without collapsing on the way. If it’s only been a day…”
“And who is going to search for survivors?” The dragon shoots back, glaring at the girl like an annoyed king would to his court jester. Or, perhaps, to an advisor telling him to get his own hands dirty. “ You? ”
“Yes!” And Zeri doesn’t hesitate for a second , eyes and arms open wide. “This was someone’s community ! Their family, their life, all gone in a dragon’s breath ! Do you think I’d just leave the corpses for someone else to find?!”
She doesn’t realize how ironic it is, to use that saying here. Talon hasn’t told her yet.
“Mark my words, Tal. If there is even a spark of life hanging by a thread in there, I’m going to save it .” Finally, the girl points at the no-longer-king. “Either you come with me and help me out, or you forget your helpful and super convenient ride to Zhuimeng and start walking now. The choice is yours.”
And she storms into the dying village, not even waiting for a response. Then, reluctantly, he follows her in. He doesn’t recognize himself, obeying a mortal’s whims just like that. Talon thinks he might grind his teeth to dust.
…
Some would say the confrontation between a demigoddess and a dragon king is sure to be written in legends, given its rarity.
A song of metal and magic reverberates through the air as the graceful Irelia dances around the disguised dragon, impatient and reckless as can be. On the sidelines, his court watches their duel with attention – whispers and whistles add new melodies with every golden strike and threaded blade.
“Sheathe your blade,” Irelia warns between gritted teeth. She parries one of Talon’s strikes with a wave of her hand and pushes back, breaking his stance. The dragon slides back, heels stopping him from going far. “Have I assisted in your training for nothing ?”
He grips the handle of his blade even tighter, and charges forward one more time.
“Why wait for them to enlighten themselves, Irelia?” He weaves through her dancing blades and lands a blow on her arm. Golden ichor starts to flow from it. “They are mere specks of dust. We are so much more–”
Suddenly, the demigoddess raises her left arm and a blade follows up .
Talon stumbles back. Blood trickles from his eyebrow– no, eye. It droops onto his lashes and stains his hand when he covers the wound. Without his scales, the blade cut through the flesh like butter.
Whatever comes out of the woman’s mouth, he doesn’t listen. A king bleeds, and that sin is unforgivable even for someone like Irelia.
“ Have you forgotten ?”
Her blade is at his throat, cold as the air. Half of his world is tinted red.
…
Foolish is the man who says the dead tell no tales. In the embers of Baoshan, the story became clearer the more Talon saw what was left of its people.
At first, the devastation and the cruelty of it all baffled even him – what kind of crime could an entire village have committed against a dragon to lead to this battlefield? Perhaps that, the dead could not tell him.
His surprise then turns to young Zeri. She, whose stomach is now empty from seeing such devastation for the first time in her life, treks through the remnants of the dead with a determination only short-lived mortals ever hold. What about this is so important to her, Talon cannot comprehend – dragonkin hold no common concept of “family” or “community” beyond the blood bond between a wyrmling and its parents, after all. Even his court had dispersed without a care in the world once Irelia had him on the ground, defeated.
It is a custom he’ll never understand, that of mortals forming “communities”. People to call and welcome as their own, with no risk of being betrayed and stabbed in the back by a dancing blade.
(Irelia could have been that, once. No longer.)
“Hello?” She yells into the empty village, watching the flickering embers and speckles of dust drifting in the wind. Talon stays a few meters behind, keeping guard should her recklessness get them in trouble. The one responsible for all of this could still be around, if they’re unlucky.
Only after a couple “hellos” do they hear a response – a rumble in a collapsed building, almost like something had moved under the rubble. Zeri’s first reaction is to run towards it, lightning sparking from her feet. Talon’s, on the other hand, is to hide in the nearest shadow and unsheathe his blade.
“Hold on, we’re gonna get you–” the girl mumbles, attempting to toss aside some of the burnt wooden planks before looking over her shoulder in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to help?!”
“We don’t know what is under there,” he notes quietly.
“By the gods, you’re unbelievable!” Zeri waves her arms frantically, throwing them in the air. “It could be a hatching dragon egg for all I care, just help me out here!”
It takes Talon a moment of hesitation, but eventually he resigns to yet another one of her whims. Perhaps his heart has begun to grow weak after all.
With his blade held in a backward grip (“just to be sure,” he’d say), he and Zeri work together to remove most of the collapsed, burnt wood from the top of what they quickly assess to be an older vastayan woman, dressed in what once were nice casual clothes. She barely hangs onto her own consciousness as they pull her from under the rubble, collapsing into the arms of the dragon after mumbling something he chooses to interpret as a “thank you”.
The next time she awakens, what she is met with is the interior of Zeri’s caravan.
Few things make sense when you’re in a state such as hers. What the woman can gather is that the young man who dragged her out from under the rubble is tending to her wounds with a foul-smelling herb ointment, and that she’s been laid in a small bed of blankets and clothes to keep her comfortable as the caravan makes its way to Zhuimeng.
“Easy, now. You are safe here.” Talon asks in an unusually somber tone, though she won’t know that. He sounds much too formal for a human his age, though – or maybe that’s her mind playing tricks on her. “What is your name?”
She stirs, still trying to make sense of her surroundings. Maybe there was no sense at all to it. Maybe she is still asleep under the rubble, and this is a dream. Or is she dead?
No. No, that would be nonsense – she is alive and well, thanks to this young man and the girl who accompanied him, even if she remembers them shouting at each other.
“Rhiannon,” the vastaya speaks in a much too soft voice, attempting to sit up. Talon immediately slips a pillow under her back, then goes back to the first aid kit Zeri managed to scrounge up before they left Baoshan. She looks at him, puzzled. “Thank you. I… I thought no one would come.”
He hesitates. A lesson is to be learned here, yet the dragon doesn’t yet comprehend it in its entirety.
“You’re lucky we did,” he admits. Gauze is unfolded and then wrapped around one of Rhiannon’s arms, covering the worst of her burns – luckily, she’d been asleep for most of the process. A healer would do a better job, but neither Zeri nor Talon are that. “We almost skipped villages when we saw what happened to Baoshan. She insisted we should look.”
“ Ah .” The woman’s demeanor dims, though the gentle smile never fades from her face. Her ears, tall and triangular like a wolverine’s, lower ever-so-slightly. “Was I the only one you found?”
He nods, hesitant. Something strange starts to stir in his chest as Rhiannon looks away, her ears flattening against her head.
“If there were others, they saved themselves,” Talon explains. His hands now rest against his crossed thighs, and he starts to think of what Zeri had told him about. Community. Family. “Did you… have any family, Rhiannon?”
Slowly, she turns to gaze at the no-longer-king with the strangest look in her eyes. He hates it, and he hates the way the words come out of his mouth. So monotone, so… cold. Talon doesn’t know any better. A dragon doesn’t learn kindness, isn’t taught to be gentle , but a part of him – a disgustingly human part of him – wishes to learn what it means so he can show it to her.
“A boy, yes. But he doesn’t live with me anymore,” Rhiannon sighs. “Or in Baoshan, for that matter. I used to complain, but now… ”
…
“Irelia.”
Talon’s voice reverberates throughout the chamber, gravelly and rough in his majestic draconic form. His golden scales are almost too much to look at, the light bouncing off each one and blinding those who set eyes on him. It forces the demigoddess to look down upon the painted tiles and stare at his reflection – and so, the dragon takes on his humanoid disguise.
“My friend. You requested an audience, did you not?”
Though his voice softens, her name is the only part of it all that truly felt like the man she’d helped train, so many moons ago. The woman’s heart aches, and her blades tremble with the thought of having to defy a friend like this .
But he’s done wrong, he has, and a master has to know when to apply punishment even to her best apprentices.
“I have come to right my wrongs,” she begins, blunt as always. All her blades make a steady triangle with her as its center. The dragon king can’t help but raise an eyebrow, though he does not interrupt her just yet. “I believe I have made an error in my judgement when it comes to you.”
“How so?”
With both hands behind his back and the eyes of his entire court on them, the dragon king begins to pace around their guest in a curious manner.
“You rule as if mortals are beneath you , Talon.” Irelia continues, her blades acting as a shield to her exposed back. There is no need to look at the king to know he thinks of the coward’s way out – striking at one’s back, betraying whatever trust they held – whenever he is defied like such. But he wouldn’t dare do it to Irelia , would he? “Those in power are servants to the people, not the other way around. You treat them as if they are made to serve you , when we have been made to serve.”
As he ceases his pacing, the silence is deafening.
“So, should I submit to mortals when I alone wield godly power and they do not?”
The woman turns to face him, expressionless. You can almost believe she doesn’t care if you only ignore the barely still blades behind her, dancing in their own axis as the words leave his mouth. Irelia doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
“You and I are at odds, then.” Talon has always been a man of few emotions, but to have no warmth in his voice? No comfort to be found? Irelia knows then he’s succumbed to his own ambitions. The dragon king starts to turn his back on her, hands crossed behind his back. “This conversation is over. You are dismissed.”
“No, Talon.”
Silence is only broken by the whispers from his court, watching the legend of the confrontation between the demigoddess and the dragon king unfold from the sidelines. This, they knew, is a direct defiance to his rule – an informal invitation to a duel.
“I beg your pardon?”
With no move of her arm, Irelia’s dancing blades fan out.
“You and I will need to settle this. If not by talking, then by force.”
…
In the days that follow, Zeri and Talon’s new company reveals many things about Baoshan’s ultimate fate.
Rhiannon, who knows nothing of dragons or any possible vendetta one might’ve had with the trading village, quietly mourns her neighbors and friends over their days of travel. Whenever they stop to eat, sleep, and exchange her bandages, she winds up recounting to the duo bite-sized pieces of what she could remember from the night everything burned down before her stare becomes one of a thousand yards.
What Talon can piece together from her account is that it had all happened too fast – she heard the screams, then the fire, then her abode collapsing and trapping her underneath the rubble. It is what protected her from the monster, most likely. But Rhiannon swears it was no dragon, though his power had been very much similar to one.
It had been a man .
If that is the case, it seems the rumors are right. Set loose in Nanhai, the dragons have found their way of asserting rule when their king is no more. And the third lesson Talon has learned is one of hope , for Rhiannon had hoped someone would find her even though she thought no one would come for her. Hope might be the thing with feathers, but it is the last thing to die.
And so, Talon hopes his initial hunch on whatever dragon is responsible for this is entirely wrong. For the first time, he wants to be wrong on something .
It is only a matter of time before they reach Zhuiming, but it cannot come sooner. As it turns out, Rhiannon’s son lives in the city of hopes and dreams as a construction worker – it won’t make for a happy reunion, considering the poor woman’s state, but it would make for a reunion nonetheless.
“I’ll take her to a healer,” Zeri tells him. “You go look for her kid and break the news to him.”
Before Talon can get much of a word in, Rhiannon takes his hands in hers and puts a golden locket in his palms. “My boy isn’t one to trust easily. Give this to him, and he’ll know you speak the truth.”
To make matters worse, Talon has only a name to go off of: Settrigh. It is etched against the locket’s interior walls along a family portrait. It’s a younger Rhiannon with what seemed to be a young boy in his tens or twelves, not much older than that. What a fantastic beginning to his task of finding a needle in that haystack of a city. He’d run out of creative ways to kill Irelia in his mind at this point, so he defaults to the fantasy of a simple stab in the back as he stalks the rooftops like a bird of prey.
It is by sheer coincidence that the no-longer-king finds a lead not long after walking the streets of Zhuimeng like a pauper would. Or perhaps it is no coincidence, and Talon just has a keen eye for detail. But it happens on a busy street, where pamphlets and posters are strewn across the ground, torn to pieces.
One such poster catches Talon’s eye,, still glued to a dirty yellow wall to what seemed like a fighting pit. It announces a contestant whose name has been ripped for some time, likely due to the weather, dueling with a man called Sett.
“The beast-man bastard.”
There is a location in the poster, likely the pit itself. The mere thought of going to such a place makes Talon grit his teeth, but he does need information. And if this really is Rhiannon’s boy, well… even pitfighters have families, he supposes. All mortals do.
Dragons, it seems, are the only ones who don’t.
Talon tears whatever’s left of the poster and heads to the pit with what feels like a hole in his chest. He needs a lesson on envy, but has learned one of loneliness instead. The loneliness of not belonging to a world he is now forced to participate in due to his current flesh prison, and yet finding himself yearning for that.
How strange it is, that mortals make you feel like they do the more you spend time with them. Talon concludes it must be contagious.
Trekking to the pit itself doesn’t take long, but getting access to it is a lot harder. Talon decides to wait until the sun goes down, lurking about perched on rooftops and tucked away in dark alleyways, until a crowd forms so that he might disappear in it – the poster says “the beast-man bastard” will be fighting tonight, and a strange part of him wants to see just what exactly that was about. Isn’t this “Settrigh” a construction worker, anyway?
In hindsight, it might be a mistake to look for Rhiannon’s son in a fighting pit and not in a local construction site or whatever. But Talon trusts his instincts well enough to know it can’t just be a coincidence.
Right?
The crowd may be excited about it, but the pit by itself is boring scenery. Even with the splatters of blood and broken teeth that stain its floor the more the fights go on, nothing about this is remotely entertaining or fun . Not even the overly excited pipsqueak announcer is able to make things more interesting for Talon. Until they call on the “beast-man bastard” to fight, he resorts to thinking of how much more interesting things would be if he and Irelia were down there instead, dueling each other to the death. More humiliating, should the outcome of their duel be the same, but far more entertaining to think about if it ended with her innards decorating the sandy pit.
The no-longer-king snaps out of his thoughts when the announcer calls on “the champion of our arena, blessed by the Obsidian Dragon themself”.
What ?
For the first time, Talon finds himself squeezing through people hogging the view from the balcony. There’s a strange urge to confirm exactly what he’s heard, an anxiety swelling deep in his chest – he needs to see, needs to know who it is.
“Welcome Sett, the beast-man bastard, to the pit!”
…
Sett is a household name in Zhuimeng – if not by fame, then by infamy. You get that sort of reputation when you’re blessed by one of Nanhai’s dragons to have a skin as hard as obsidian, becoming the champion of the arena you fight on, and all of that.
Today is supposed to be just another day in the pit. A couple of (not) hard fights, with hits bouncing off Sett like they can’t even harm him (they don’t), some (a lot of) cheering from the crowd and a fat paycheck once he walks out the back. The announcer would be screeching something about having no match for their champion, people would walk out and catch up to him, he’d sign some autographs, and then he’d walk home like usual.
It’s a simple life. Even if it earns him bruised knuckles and, sometimes, a nosebleed, Sett likes it that way.
Sometimes, though, people overextend their welcome. Like the white-haired guy who’s been gawking at him from the balconies the entire evening, and is now trailing him on the walk back home. He probably thinks he hasn’t been noticed, seeing as he’s been hiding on the rooftops.
The thing is, he’s small. Physically weak, too. There’s no way he wants to pick a fight. He’s never seen him in the pit before, either. So what does he want?
“You can just talk to me instead of stalkin’, y’know.”
Sett comes to a stop, and so does the figure. A street lamp is lit overhead as the only light on the empty street. Its yellow light faintly outlines the perched man, golden eyes shining in darkness – it follows him when he jumps down, graceful, with barely any ceremony to it.
“Had to make sure you were the right man,” the no-longer-king explains, monotone. “You’re Settrigh, correct?”
Almost immediately, his ears flatten to his head. Talon barely gives him any time to react to the question, but Sett does so anyway.
“Where the hell did you–”
“Rhiannon sent me,” he continues, unfazed. No matter the step forward taken by the pitfighter or the double take when Talon mentions her name – it seems that trusting his instinct, unlike in Baoshan, is the right decision after all. “You’re one of the dragonblessed, correct?”
“The fuck are you doin’ with my ma?” Sett growls. “Who the hell are you?”
Up until this point, Talon has learned many lessons of varying degrees – even those he can’t yet name, for there isn’t a simple way to explain the moral of the story. And now, faced with the man who’s been judged by a member of his court as worthy of his blessing, the lesson Talon learns is to reveal all things in due time.
He takes the old locket from his pockets and offers it to Sett. A token of Rhiannon’s trust.
“I am the dragon king of Nanhai,” he admits, “and I have reason to believe you are being hunted down by one of your own.”
One thing dragons are known for doing well is maintaining a hoard. Sometimes, those include secrets. Of their fellow kin, of mortals, of the way the world is and the way it should be – it matters not what kind, only that they are to be hoarded like treasure.
Talon has plenty of secrets to hold onto for a thousand lifetimes. Being a dragon shouldn’t have to be a secret. Being a king shouldn’t either. Yet Irelia had cursed him to a journey of shame and sorrow, stuck in a disguise – no, a prison – no longer his own until he “earned it”.
Letting go of it surprisingly feels like a well-earned relief, even if it was met with disbelief.
“ You . The dragon king .” Sett scoffs. Then, he grins. “Well… that’d explain why you disappeared, huh. And my ma trusts you, apparently. Alright – I’m listenin’.”
It’s not easy to break the news about Baoshan’s fate and, consequently, Rhiannon. He and Zeri had done all they could, but they were no healers. The burns and wounds would leave scars for the rest of her life. Sett, deathly quiet, stares at the no-longer-king as he explains… well, everything . Talon somehow convinces himself that he’s fantasizing about cracking his skull against the nearest wall.
“And you think another dragonblessed did it just to get rid o’ me,” he asks, voice low and wary. “Who d’you think it was?”
“I have a hunch,” the dragon huffs, “but I know none of you ‘dragonblessed’. I was hoping you could help me”
“Lay it on me.”
His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. Talon crosses his arms behind his back, strangely formal, and starts to lay out the details.
“Most dragons manipulate the weather or the water, not fire . That already limits our options,” he explains, noticing the furrow in Sett’s brow. It’s not hard to read him – his emotions are made very apparent by the expressive ears –, but he’s not sure what to make of the pitfighter’s thoughts. “I don’t see a reason or rhyme for this kind of behavior other than pettiness, if I’m honest. Do you have any enemies?”
Sett laughs. “Oh, plenty .”
“Does the word ‘carnage’ ring any bells?”
From the laugh, comes silence. Talon watches his Adam’s apple bob, and cold sweat drips from the back of his neck.
“As in ‘the Carnage Dragon’?” Sett inquires, ears flat. The no-longer-kind, in turn, nods – and the pitfighter turns his head back. His hands are curled into fists, knuckles white. “ Shit . Yeah. I know the bastard.”
He glances back to Talon one last time before heading back to the pit.
“You’re comin’ with me, dragon king .”
…
Once they storm into the pit – at this point, devoid of any crowd other than a few so-and-sos –, suddenly Talon finds himself very thankful he didn’t manage to piss off a thirty-or-so centimeters taller, half-vastayan pitfighter in the peak of his physical form.
It doesn’t take long for Sett to push their way through the inner bowels of the fighting pit – likely a privilege from his position as “the champion of the arena”. If Talon had to make his way up on his own, it’d certainly take him a while to take out every guard and security from the corners hidden in shadow.
“The guy you’re lookin’ for is Jack,” Sett briefly explains as they reach the top floor. “ He’s the Boss. He runs the pit. Calls it a ‘blood sport’ and all. And I’m pretty sure his patron’s the Carnage Dragon. So, if it’s him we’re lookin’ for, he ain’t leaving this place alive.”
As they come to a stop, the two face a grand oak door leading to what Talon assumes to be the Boss’ office. A fin-bearing vastaya stands in front of it, guarding the area.
“Mako,” he stares at the vastaya, an added edge to his already threatening voice. “Get outta my way.”
Unsurprisingly, Mako isn’t impressed. The vastaya remains leaning against the double doors, staring right back. “Gotta stop you right there, champ. The Boss is busy. That don’t change just ‘cause you’re his golden cow.”
“Your choice, Mako.” He steps forward. “Say goodbye to that pretty face o’ yours or move .”
Their eyes flicker up to Sett, frowning for a moment. Talon remains stone-faced, leaving the situation in Sett’s seemingly capable hands so far. Then, Mako knocks on the door behind them without ever kicking themself away from it. “ Oi , Jack! Sett wants to see ya.”
A voice reverberates from the inside.
“Let ‘em in.”
The vastaya looks at the pitfighter, rolls their eyes and steps out of the way. It takes not even a second before Sett opens the heavy doors and walks in. A whiff of a familiar scent – brimstone – hits Talon before he can follow, and his face contorts for a moment in disgust.
Admittedly, Talon doesn’t know what to expect of a fighting pit boss’ office, but this one is fancy . Framed by the moonlight coming out of the window right behind him, a tall figure with a fancy purple coat and a shark-like helmet of pure molten iron sits with a knife in his hands. Fire erupts from the coat’s opening, forming a shape that would be his neck. Talon doesn’t know what he’s staring at other than… it’s certainly humanoid ? Being the way it was, Carnage certainly changed him for the worse.
“You brought company, eh?” He picks under his nails with it and flicks it towards the two newcomers. “A’ight. Close the doors.”
Sett closes it with a closed fist, punching the grand oak.
“Are you gonna act like nothin’ happened?” The pitfighter growls, staring daggers at the figure. “I told ya, Jack. No matter what you do, don’t involve my family in it and we'll be good.”
Jack flicks his eyes up to stare, a trail of flame following his iris. “How could I know that dear Rhiannon lived in Baoshan, Sett? You’re assuming things.”
“So it was your fault.” It’s Talon’s turn to threaten, his blade on the handle. “ Why ?”
That earns them a pause. It felt vile, even – Talon’s stomach churns, and all his instincts yell at him to charge before logic could stop him.
“Y’see, there's nothing more satisfying than watching the hope die in someone's eyes right before they take that final breath.” The Boss sighs. “Even so, it gets boring when they have nothin’ to fight for other than their lives. No emotion, no nothin’. And when they’re weak , too.”
He points a clawed finger towards Sett. “But you . You’ve received their blessing, too. And I’d be such an awful Boss if I were to defy and kill ya in the arena, wouldn’t I? Better to make you come to me instead.”
As soon as the dragon unsheathes his blade, he catches a golden glimpse in his peripheral vision. The pitfighter takes a step forward.
“So let me get this straight,” he laughs, low, baring his teeth. “You want to kill me , but you were too much o’ a coward to challenge me in public. So you hurt my ma to get me to come to you.”
Jack doesn’t reply, a knowing smile on his cracked lips. Sett says only one thing before charging at the Boss.
“You’re dead , Jack. Y’hear me? Dead! ”
Jack uses the desk as a cover once Sett tries to hit him, flipping papers and ink on the pitfighter before repositioning. Talon quietly runs to the other side of the office and remains in the Boss’ blind spot before dashing in to stab him in the back.
Yet Jack’s tail sweeps against the no-longer-king’s torso, and Talon doesn’t react fast enough to not be thrown back-first against the window.
“Gonna have to try harder than that, dragon king !”
Glass cuts through fabric and flesh, yet Talon manages to land in a kneeling position. His blade leaves a gash on the balcony’s wooden floor, in full view of the open pit arena, and it slows him down just long enough to avoid hitting his back against the protection.
Beyond the broken window, Sett cusses and jabs at the Boss with undeniable anger. Jack fights back with punches and kicks, using his tail to throw the furniture nearby at the pitfighter before ducking out of the way. On the other hand, Sett catches the same furniture and breaks it over Jack’s head. The dragon looks at the sky, but finds no solace in the fantasy of murdering his old master.
Perhaps this isn’t his fight to win.
But then he looks again, and Rhiannon’s child is bleeding. There’s a cut on his face, his knuckles are far more bruised than before from hitting metal, and even his obsidian-hardened skin could only take so much before it exhausts him. His hair seems to glow in a white aura the more the Boss hits his punches, and he seems angrier by the minute, but he is slowing down.
And Jack seems to only get faster the more he bleeds.
No. Even if it isn’t his fight, he cannot let it stand. Perhaps there is kindness in that, too.
Using his blade for support, Talon stands up and unbuttons the cape he’d been traveling with. The wind takes it and, for once, he doesn’t fight it. The dragon grips his handle tighter and runs forward again, taking three small knives from his belt and throwing it towards Jack to get his attention.
They barely nick him, but it doesn’t matter. He pushes Sett away and turns toward the rushing dragon, readying himself for another direct blow.
“Doesn’t surprise me that Carnage blessed you , of all people.” Talon taunts between gritted teeth, his blade in tow. A kick comes his way, followed by Jack’s tail – this time, he dodges it gracefully. “He’s always preferred the dumb brutes.”
“Watch your tongue, dragon king!” The Boss laughs, then hisses as Talon lands a small strike against his arm. “How’s exile been treatin’ you?”
“I was doing amazing until you showed up causing trouble!”
As Sett recovers his poise, Talon focuses less on attacking and more on dodging. He runs circles around the Boss, letting him open his guard himself before attempting any strikes in a graceful dance, much like Irelia’s blades against his brash impulses. Red gashes begin to surge all over Jack, and his blood begins to stain the no-longer-king’s blade.
Yet for every little blow he manages to land, the Boss manages to slam him back. Each impact breaks another part of this fragile body and threatens to be the last it can manage – and yet Talon continues to get up. Mako eventually breaks down the double doors and walks in, and Sett holds them to the door.
The thoughts race through his head. Talon swerves to the side, leaving Jack to stumble as his blade drags through his side, under the scales of his armor. Leaning to the right, he slices through the flesh on his legs. His blade glows in a strange, golden light, and he swears he feels different, but there is no time to think of it – even the moment he takes to consider the glimpse leaves a bruise on his arm as Jack slams his tail against it. Even a dragonblessed body can fail.
Finally, Talon sees an opening to finish off the fight and takes the gambit.
But Jack is waiting for him this time. The dragon’s blade sinks deep in Jack’s chest, right through the opening in flames, yet his head is clasped by the clawed hands in immense, bloodcurdling pressure.
“Yer coming with me,” the Boss sputters, blood trailing down his mouth.
“ Let go! ” Talon cries out. Even though he digs the blade further in, little is more despairing than something trying to crush your skull with their bare hands (and having the strength to do so in the first place).
Yet something – Sett – pulls him away from Jack’s reach, allowing him to breathe easy again. His blade, on the other hand, remains impaled in his chest until all light in his eyes is snuffed out.
“You okay?”
In the end, all they are left with is a trashed office with fancy broken furniture, a shattered window and the corpse of what was once a dragonblessed mortal laid on the floor (and his bodyguard, though they lay unconscious rather than dead ). His blood drips from Talon’s blade onto the floor as its golden glimpse disappears. He’s not sure if it means anything other than he might not be as weak as he thought after all.
He can almost hear Irelia saying “ just don’t let it get to your head ”. How ironic.
“I’m fine.”
The last lesson Talon should have learned is that revenge is often bittersweet and much more trouble than it is worth. Yet Sett places his hand on the no-longer-dragon, no-longer-king’s shoulder, and he’s convinced it isn’t a lesson worth learning if his catharsis is instead the pitfighter’s smile.
“You said my ma was at a healer? Might need them to patch you up, too. You look like shit.”
“I’m sure I look far better than you right now, Boss .”
“Heh. In your dreams, maybe.”
For the first time in many moons, Talon feels an inexplicable urge to smile, too.