Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- The End? -

Drakovian Rylarth Docdovinun the third felt his body slipping away, yet his mind stayed sharp, sharper than it had ever been before in his life, and terror filled his very being.

He was not ready to die, and the words he had shouted at Eldrin just a few hours ago now sounded hollow and foolish in his own mind.

Everything he was, all that he had ever done, unfurled out before him...

And it was all worthless.

All the conniving, all the intrigue, all the manipulating; years and years of his life amounted to nothing. His empire had fallen, and everything he'd had, had been ripped away from him. Indeed, Drake's self-built kingdom had crumbled in a matter of moments like castles made of sand.

There was nothing left worth living for.

No, that wasn't true, he thought to himself. The old granny was still alive, and so were his friends who currently surrounded him, and in all honesty, the prince wasn't ready to die.

There was so much more for Drake to do, so much more he needed to do, but that didn't matter. Drakovian had seen his wound; he knew the science behind the human body. There was nothing anyone could do for him. He was dead and that was that.

No, that wasn't right either. Something deep inside Drake knew there was something, someone who could help him: an all-powerful being he had raged against and denied the existence of.

God.

The God of Alf and his fathers.

No matter how much he had tried to deny it, no matter how much grief he had given Alf for it, in his heart he knew the truth.

It was no coincidence Mr. Havanger had showed up when he did.

Nor was it by their own strength they had survived the meteor.

And the angel etched in the lightning, which he'd seen and tried to describe away, was no illusion.

And most important of all, it wasn't mere chance the old granny and the village had escaped before The Fallen One arrived.

Throughout their entire trip, ever since he had met Alf, Drakovian had seen the constant, undeniable, divine intervention of an unseen hand keeping and protecting them.

Even their encounter with Eldrin couldn't have been incidental; the odds just didn't add up.

Which all meant one thing...

There was a God and he could save Drakovian's life.

But why would such an all-powerful being help him, someone, who had constantly denied his existence and mocked those who didn't?

No, he wouldn't help someone like Drake whose entire life had been nothing but a series of backroom deals and built on lie after lie.

Drakovian's eyes turned towards Alf. But there was someone he would hear: someone who had devoted their entire life to serving him and believed in him with unquestioning, childlike faith.

"Pray," Drake told the young High Lord, but even as he struggled to say the word, his strength escaped him and his voice gave out.

"What?" Alf asked, leaning closer.

"Pray," Drakovian whispered again, knowing in his heart that if Alf prayed for him, his God would hear and save Drake from death, but once again the prince's words died before they left his mouth.

In desperation, he reached out towards Zaphaniea, trying to get her attention in hope she could read his mind and tell the young High Lord what he wanted; but to no avail.