The Child of Cataclysm

Chapter 8

Martier hummed to himself as he looked over the assortment of weapons. Blades of various shapes and sizes were arranged on a rack in front of him. Hanging from the wall was a line of flails and maces. Another rack to his left held a collection of daggers and machetes. Spears were propped against the stone brick wall to his right.

"Well? What are you going to pick?" Mya asked from beside the door. "Hmm...that one," he decided, pointing at a broadsword in the corner. The blade was longer than the entire length of his arm, and its blade was as wide across as his bicep.

"That thing?" Mya exclaimed in amusement, "That sword is too heavy for you to hold...with..." Her voice died off as Martier hoisted the blade up with one hand. He turned it in his grasp, inspecting it. Surprisingly, it barely felt heavier than his old sword.

"Did you pick one out yet?"

"Show a little patience, Skirin!" Martier laughed as he turned to Mya, "And were you saying something Mya?"

Mya stared at him, dumbfounded, then sighed. "You know, when Bezeel said you were going to be stronger from being branded, I thought it would only be by a little bit."

Martier shrugged with a chuckle before hefting the sword over his shoulder and strolling out of the armory.

Skirin was outside. The crimson dragon, bored, was laying on his back, watching the snowflakes fall. The Matriarch stood by the gates, the Scorched's ruby skin gleaming in the pale sunlight just like Martier's. Skirin turned his head as Martier walked out.

"About time."

Martier shook his head in amusement. "Want me to grab your saddle?" Mya asked as she followed him out.

Martier opened his mouth to speak when Skirin interrupted. "No saddle."

Martier shot the dragon a surprised look. "...No..." he answered, raising a questioning eyebrow at Skirin.

"It chafes my scales. I would have told you earlier, but you couldn't understand me. I've stopped trying as I grew up."

Sorry.

"Don't worry about it. You didn't know."

Martier blinked in surprise. You can hear my thoughts?

Instead of answering, Skirin simply nodded.

"Oh...alright," Mya replied, perplexed.

Skirin rolled over and stood, shaking off the snow clinging to his scales. "Are we ready to go?" he asked anxiously. "I think so..." Martier answered, looking towards Mya, "the army will meet us there, right?"

Mya nodded. "Alright. Let's head on out Skirin," Martier said, walking towards the dragon.

"Wait! Martier!"

The man stopped and turned to see Lechelon ambling across the courtyard, cane in hand. "Your Highness," Martier said, bowing. Skirin bowed as well. The Matriarch, however, remained upright.

"I came to see you off," the emperor said, coming to a stop before the pair. Martier straightened and Skirin stood up again. "Come back safe, okay my boy?" Lechelon said, "You too, Skirin. I don't want to lose you like I lost your father."

Skirin whined and bumped the elderly man with his snout.

"I'll make sure he does," Martier vowed.

Skirin's eye turned towards him. "I'm pretty sure I will be the one bringing you back safely," the dragon snarked in his mind, his eyes twinkling.