My baby daughter is a dragon

Those who leave us, those who arrive.

The days continued to pass in the city of sand and sun. One night had been enough to leave half of its inhabitants homeless, many families incomplete, and the town itself confused and scared.

Even so, in the underground chambers of the queen's palace, it was a time of celebration. Two dragon princes had fallen, and dragons, in general, would no longer be a threat to humans, elves, or dwarves, not even to themselves. Little Eri was the main reason for this. Everyone around her seemed to compete to take care of her during the days she was weak after what would be called the "night of the three dawns." When the attack began, the explosion of the green prince, and the true one that had come with peace.

Eri had already been in bed for three days; not even her orange fire could help her recover. She had made a superhuman effort, or even a draconian one, in the words of Queen Clessa and Lady Meracina. Those two were not well either; elven magic did not heal their human bodies well, and the queen had exhausted herself leading the reconstruction efforts while the countess had both legs shattered. They were supposed to be able to heal their bodies with their fire, but they had decided against it. The eyes of the people were on them, and if they appeared in public completely healed, their secrets would be in danger.

Freydelhart had to be away from his daughter that day. It was his duty to honor his apprentices for their bravery... and for their sacrifice. According to Pellegrin's tradition, warriors were sent off with their steel in hand. According to the dragon slayers' tradition, a weapon with the names of the fallen engraved on it was given to one of the survivors, or names were added to one that already had them. Frey was, besides a soldier, a blacksmith. The first thing he had learned to do when he joined the order under King Alistor's protection at the age of seven was precisely that. The plan was to take the weapons of the fallen, break a piece of each one, and forge a weapon with the steel for the one the survivors chose as their representative. And that was how the hero of Artemia spent his day.

He looked at his own greatsword, which bore the names of at least ten comrades he had bid farewell to by striking steel, along with the elven runes that enchanted it, allowing it to pierce dragon scales and be summoned from wherever it was and returned to the armory of Artemia with minimal magic. There, at the end, was the name of Jimmer of Kostarren, his best friend, his second-in-command, his brother. The news had reached them on the back of a hippogriff the day before. That night, they informed Valderant, and the three of them—Frey, Runa, and Val—mourned the man who had survived all their battles with dragons only to fall to an illness. They had found him in the officers' hall in the morning, surrounded by reports with a pint of Cormin's light beer in his hand. Loyal and hardworking to the end. He had never married and was a war orphan; he knew that one day he might end his days without warning and aimed to ensure that few would mourn him. Unfortunately for him, he had endured many years, and everyone who knew him would mourn him, even if they were far away.

It didn't take a dragon to end the time a man has on earth; it was the kind of thing one knows until one realizes that it could never truly be known until it happened.

He finished, following Pellegrin's tradition, engraving the names of the five young men on a scimitar and prepared to summon the rest of the apprentices to the temple courtyard where they trained for the ceremony. The bodies had already been buried days before, so they would symbolically bury their weapons in that same courtyard.

When everyone had gathered, he appeared before them with his sunburned bare torso, his brown hair disheveled and dirty with soot, contrary to his usual perfectionism.

"Soldiers!" he said with a restrained voice, not showing his emotions. "I stand before you with humility; each of you is a hero, and as such, you deserve my personal recognition, that of the order, and that of the nations, now sisters of Pellegrin and Artemia! Let the one you have chosen to represent you in this ceremony step forward!"