Autumn 4983, 20 Shinmoth 

Shon stirred awake before the servant came in, but kept his eyes closed, slowly wiggling fingers and toes, waiting for her to gently shake him. He needed to confirm this wasn’t just an extension of the very lifelike dream he'd been having. She used the tips of her fingers to quickly shake him, pulling sharply back when Shon twitched away. 

She stepped back and Shon rolled towards her to sit up. He blinked as she brought her finger to her lips. She didn’t usually bother, after two years all the servants knew Shon was more than capable of letting the others sleep for a few more hours. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the reason for her added caution. Only recently moved out of the nursery, the newest boy snuffled restlessly.

Nodding to the maid, Shon moved slowly, though it probably didn’t matter. The dorms kept the eldest near the door, the boys getting younger as the long hall-like room reached towards the window. As the youngest, the new boy had only two empty beds between him and the glass window, while Shon's spot was nearly to the door.

As Shon slipped on his boots, the maid shivered, breathing on her hands and turning away. He narrowed his eyes as she left then looked towards the window beyond the restless boy. Snow was falling beyond the glass. Shon rolled his eyes, reaching for the box below his bed and pulling out his short cloak, just long enough to cover his shoulders and arms. He would be expected to wear something extra now that it was officially snowing. He really didn’t see the point. It wasn’t that cold. But the others always looked at him funny, and the priests would yell about him getting sick. So rather than argue, Shon did as he was told.

The new boy whined in his sleep while Shon finished making his bed, and the oldest curled tighter into his blankets, stopping Shon before he could pass and leave. Glancing over his shoulder, Shon sighed and returned to pull the blanket off his bed. Folding it just enough not to drag on the ground, he tip-toed down the central hall of the dorm before slowly and carefully draping it over the youngest. His whimpers settled shortly after, and Shon shook his head. He would have to remember to grab one of the spare blankets before anyone noticed his was missing.

Leaving the dorm, Shon didn’t try to be as quiet in the halls. Servants scuttled about in their early morning duties, lighting candles and torches, getting everything ready for when the rest of the church began to wake for the day.

The head cook returned Shon’s nod when he entered the kitchen, going back to kneading the morning bread as Shon started his chores. This was the agreement they'd come to when he'd asked that they wake him up early. Every day he would get up hours before the other children and help prep the dining area for breakfast. It was simple work that he finished quickly, but it still freed up an extra servant to work the ovens.

When finished, Shon walked through the kitchens again, waving at the cook to let him know he was done before exiting into the courtyard for the real work of the morning. Soft snow floated lazily down between the naked branches of the central tree, dusting the ground like fine sugar on an expensive sweet roll. Shon hardly noticed the snow, reaching his usual practice area and breathing deep before sinking into his low stance to start his most basic drills.

This time of year, it would be hours before the sun rose, and though there were no lights in the courtyard, he didn’t need to see. Shon closed his eyes as he worked his muscles awake, breathing in the crisp icy air and feeling it invigorate him in a way that rarely happened during the warmer months. He thought of Master Veon-Zih, imagining the Monk standing beside him, matching his punches and kicks, occasionally offering a small lesson during the warmup. ‘Imagine your opponent with each punch. Where are you hitting? Be sure to aim through them, so you don’t stop short with barely a tap…’ His Master wasn’t here, though he was expected to arrive sometime this week. Still, Shon could see the man clearly in his mind’s eye as he worked, sweat beginning to bead on his head and neck.

He moved from the simple drills onto his kata. Working through the fighting forms and taking his teacher’s past advice, picturing his opponent with each strike. He tried not to let his mind wander as his muscles moved almost on their own. Over two years of going through the same motions every day had made them automatic, requiring him to focus harder now than when he'd first begun to stay in the moment.

His birthday was only a few months away, and it would be the last he spent in the church…

No, focus. His sweeping kick landed on an imaginary adversary at just the right spot in the middle of the shin, causing him to fall forward, perfectly in line for Shon’s next punch.

On the Spring Equinox, he would take the test to join the Temple. Everything else beyond depended on that…

FOCUS! Shon let slip a growl of frustration at himself, finishing his kata and starting the same again. He wouldn’t move on until he could maintain his concentration through this one.

Only one season until the rest of his life. Whatever that would be…

The snow was distracting him, it marked the start of winter better than the calendar. Shon stopped his kata, breathing deep and looking into the sky. The stars would be shining beyond the clouds, though they would fade soon as the sun slowly began to rise. He would go to the Temple again today. While the others tried to impress the Weavers Guild in the hopes of getting an apprenticeship with one of the trades after reaching maturity, he would pray. Though if that actually helped, he didn’t know. Was he making the right choice? Should he instead focus on something more practical? Or something he already had skill in? Gaven seemed to think Shon could make it as an artist at a Bard's College…

Shaking his head, Shon resumed his stance, taking an extra moment to breathe deep. In through his nose, then out his pursed lips. He'd been slated for the Temple. Everyone said so. But more than that, something deep in his chest cried out with a need to serve, to fight. Nothing better encapsulated that drive than an Hengist Paladin.

Shon started his kata again. 

***

Veon-Zih found Shon in Hengist's chapel. Though the most decorative of the rooms in the Temple, even it was considered utilitarian compared to the worship halls of Soleil and most of the other gods. Stone walls were lined with alternating windows and niches, the latter containing scale statues of Hengist's Chosen. Pews were separated on each side by a simple blue carpet leading from the door and officer's balcony to the altar with its blue and silver tapestry of an upright sword.

With no sermon scheduled the chapel was nearly empty. A young Paladin stood guard at the entrance while a priest dusted statues, and Shon sat alone in a central pew, head bowed. The knight nodded silently to Veon-Zih as he entered and made his way down the main aisle to pay his respects at the altar. The priest rushed forward to grant the Monk a quick blessing before he made his way toward Shon.

Sliding into the boy’s pew, Veon-Zih saw Shon didn’t have his head down in prayer. Instead, his ever-present journal was spread across his knees as he drew. Veon-Zih snuck a peek at the drawing. It was more elaborate than anything Shon usually drew. He had already finished a decorative border, that consisted of each of the knights lining the walls, and was just putting in the fine details of the man in the center, the god himself, Hengist.

“You didn’t want to join the others at the Weavers?” Veon-Zih spoke softly, not quite a whisper, but not loud enough to disturb the chapel's peace.

With his characteristic silence, Shon merely shrugged and nodded to confirm the observation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time for morning exercises. After a few months away, I’m sure you're eager to continue your lessons?” Veon-Zih had warned Shon that this last journey would keep him away far longer than any of his previous missions. With no new evidence surfacing of possible Warlocks in Clearhelm, he'd run out of excuses to stay away from his Monastery. Whoever these magic users were, and whatever they were doing, they were able to stay hidden for years at a time.

In the meantime, for the first time in nearly forty years, Veon-Zih had spent his time between missions in one place. Training Shon.

Branston had made the observation that Shon seemed to be opening up to Veon-Zih in a way the Cleric hadn’t seen before. Veon-Zih disagreed. The longer he spent with the strangely silent and stoic boy, the more Veon-Zih realized that Shon wasn’t as closed off as Father Branston’s statement implied. Most people just didn’t know how to approach him or translate his silent cues.

In answer to Veon-Zih’s question, Shon looked up from his drawing, meeting the Monk’s eyes and nodding resolutely. Veon-Zih didn’t bother to hide his smile and returned the nod, watching as Shon returned to his drawing. He could appreciate the simplicity of the boy’s communication. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to talk at all, just that he didn’t see the point in answering verbally when it wasn’t necessary. All you had to do to get him to talk was ask a question that needed words to answer…

“Why Hengist?”

The light scratching of pencil on paper stopped, the chapel ringing with silence at its absence. “He protects.” Shon’s voice was a soft whisper in the stillness of the worship hall, “Everyone is worth protecting, and it’s the duty of those who can fight to protect those who can’t.” he looked up, focusing on the tapestry and the altar, “I…” he faltered, “I want to be like that, like him.”

“You don’t have to be a Paladin to do that,” Veon-Zih said. He hadn’t tried to convince Shon to abandon his goal and join him. Often, he wanted to, but whenever he thought to try, he would see that look in the boy’s ice-blue eyes. The intensity and… longing, and Veon-Zih’s voice would die in his throat.

Shon didn’t look away from the tapestry, “But…” the chapel doors opened, and Shon turned with Veon-Zih to watch another young boy, no older than Shon, enter with his parents. They were obviously well off, possibly even noble, their clothing the height of fashion and well-made of expensive fabric. The father passed the boy something, and he walked alone down the central aisle. He met Shon’s gaze, the two exchanging a nod as he continued towards the altar, where he made his offering and received a blessing before turning to leave again.

“A friend of yours?” Veon-Zih asked once the doors had closed behind the family.

Shon shook his head, going back to his drawing. Veon-Zih tapped him on the shoulder and arched a questioning eyebrow when Shon looked up. Shon shrugged, “He comes almost every time I’m here, makes a large offering, and leaves.” he sighed and looked toward the altar again, “He wants to be a Paladin, but you can’t buy your way into the order.”

“Hengist accepts all willing and able to serve,” Veon-Zih quoted. Though people often forgot that not just anyone was ‘able’ no matter how willing. “You were going to say something else,” the Monk prompted, “before your friend so rudely interrupted.”

Shon narrowed his eyes, moving his pencil away from the drawing and tapping it absently on the opposite page, “I don’t know.” he finally said, “I’ve tried to describe it, but I can’t find the words…” he starting drawing again but continuing to speak, “I feel like this is what I’m supposed to do. Like there's something inside me that reaches out for it. Whenever I try to imagine myself older, I’m always a Paladin, serving the people and fighting evil. I’ve drawn this picture of myself, and I can’t erase it. It just feels… right.”

He took a moment to finish his drawing, paying close attention to each detail, going back and adding shading and texture so the art seemed to come alive in a way even the statues couldn’t achieve with their added dimension. “Paladins…” Shon muttered, finally setting his pencil down, “They're never alone. Hengist is always with them, even in the darkest times and most dire situations. The gods love us, they made us, but only the Paladins and Clerics ever truly feel it.”

Veon-Zih felt guilty. He'd taken many missions from both the Temple and Church, so he spent as much time out of the city as in it. The boy never seemed to begrudge him, appearing to enjoy the stories and lessons Veon-Zih would bring back. Shon often spent time alone, but the Monk had thought it was of his own choosing, preferring to read or draw than play with the others of his age. Had he actually been lonely all this time?

“You would hardly be alone at the Monastery. It's fairly bursting with Monks who share your passions and interests in the art-” but Shon was shaking his head, slowly working the finished page out of his journal.

“It’s not the same. People… people are annoying. They always want to talk while you’re busy. They get upset when you don’t answer right away or with what they want to hear. Even some of the gods would want me to change, to better fit what they teach, just like people. But Hengist… I already believe what he teaches. It just fits.” Shon ran his fingers over the drawing and that small smile Veon-Zih loved so much colored his features, “Discipline, service, honor. He wouldn’t be uncomfortable. If I could reach out and touch him, he wouldn’t pull away…” his smile faded, and Shon shook his head as if to dismiss that particular thought.

“Hey,” Veon-Zih reached over, patting Shon’s hand. The boy’s skin was cold, not unusual considering the weather but made strange in the heated chapel. But he didn’t pull away, “Why don’t we learn something fun and impressive today?”

Shon looked up sharply, his eyes wide and eager, then, with some concentration, he arched a black eyebrow. The Monk had to stifle a chuckle, saying, “It’s rather inefficient to have to climb back to your feet if you fall down, and downright deadly in battle, but there's a nifty little technique you can use to jump from your back to your feet in an instant!” he stood as he spoke and Shon jumped up after him, still a child despite the earlier seriousness.

Exiting the pew, Veon-Zih bowed respectfully to the altar while Shon shuffled past, walking to the altar and laying down his drawing reverently as an offering. One might not be able to buy themselves into the order, but it didn't hurt to try. 

***

“I think I hate the gods…” She sat on the floor with Her back against the locked door of Her room. A book rested on Her bent knees, and She stroked Her hair over Her shoulder. It was finally the length She liked, meaning they were probably going to cut it today… 

“Careful saying such things Red,” Ran spoke from the other side of the door, “they might decide to smite you.” 

She scoffed, tossing the hair back over Her shoulder and leaning forward as the lock clicked, “What are they going to do? Make this somehow even more boring?” She pushed against the door as Ran tried to open it, snickering as he struggled to push Her weight. “Inryuu won’t take me because I’m too good, and Yoryuu won’t have me because I’m too bad.”

“Red…” Ran said disapprovingly.

“I guess she doesn’t want to see the puppies after all…” Brom’s voice. She could practically feel his shrug, and She scrambled forward on Her hands and knees, letting the book, ‘Gods of Dragons and Men,’ tumble open to the floor.

She jumped to Her feet with an extra hop and spin toward the open door, causing Her dress to swirl around Her knees, “She had them? How many?” She bounced on the balls of Her feet, clutching Her curled fingers to Her lips in barely contained exuberance.

Ran chuckled, holding the door open while Brom made a sweeping gesture towards the hall, “After you, Firewyrm.” With that, She ran past them both and down the only hall. She managed to slow somewhat before passing the first open door, its tables filled with bottles of glowing liquid and colorful stones. The Archmage looked up from his massive tome to watch Her pass. She waved at him, giggling as Brom and Ran stuttered their apologies in a rush to keep up with Her.

The next few doors were closed, but from the last came the shuffling of many pawed feet and the quiet mews and yips of Her treasures. She smiled at each of them as she entered, but was pulled inevitably towards the only open cage and the other Archmage blocking Her view of it. She squeezed past Archmage Shaloon and gasped at the golden wolf with her five shimmering puppies, crowded around her belly, fighting each other for prime spots and suckling eagerly.

“Oh,” She cooed. Dropping to Her knees, She stroked the mother’s head, “You did such a good job. They're so cute.”

“Hmm,” Shaloon pursed her lips, muttering, “We will see.” then louder, “Where are Ran and Brom?”

“Here, Archmage…” Ran puffed as he rounded into the room.

“The Firewyrm is not to be left alone,” she snapped at them while the Firewyrm in question scratched the golden wolf’s chin.

“They were right behind me,” She said absently, sitting back on Her heels and cupping Her hands before Her. In Her palms, She summoned a little fire and spoke to the wolf, “I made something for you to chase when you feel better…” She focused on the fire, shaping its heart with Her will...

Archmage Shaloon took Her by the wrist, breaking Her focus as she pulled the girl to Her feet, “Not now, Firewyrm, we are short on samples. You two,” she let go of the girl's hot skin and turned back to Brom and Ran who stiffened, “Blood and saliva.”

“And hair?” Ran asked, taking the girl gingerly by the shoulders.

Shaloon waved a dismissive hand as he led the Firewyrm away from the wolf and her new puppies towards another door, “We have enough for now.”

The Firewyrm did a little happy dance. No hair and no scales! It was indeed a good day. Though even that good news couldn’t bring too much spring into Her step as Brom opened the door, and Ran ushered Her into the lab usually used for taking samples from Her treasures. It was even smaller than Her room, holding only a tall cabinet, a wooden stand with jars, tubes, and vials, and a steel table with heavy leather straps dangling from the sides.

Dutifully She moved to the table and clamored on. Laying down and staring at the stones of the ceiling, She tried not to listen too carefully to the clanking of glass and creaking of wood as Brom and Ran busied themselves getting ready. At least they weren’t going to cut Her hair.

They didn’t strap Her down. They hadn’t needed to for many years. Brom approached Her left side, lifting Her limp arm and examining the fold of Her elbow with a hum, “Still bruised, better use the right side this time Ran.”

She closed Her eyes, listening to the soft rustle of Ran’s robes as he rounded the table to lift Her right arm. The cold cleaning agent made Her twitch, and She focused on trying not to flinch as the long needle entered Her vein, trying to breathe through the discomfort as a pulling sensation accompanied the taking of Her blood sample.

“Open up, Goldy,” Brom stood at Her head, and She obeyed, taking a large swab in Her mouth and soaking it with spit before he pulled it out and replaced it with another. She didn’t bother to count them or try to keep track of the time. It always seemed to go so much slower whenever She did. Instead, She thought about Her newest treasures.

Ever since She'd first been allowed to help care for the other subjects of the tower, She'd claimed them as Her own. They were a strange and beautiful lot, predatory animals with metallic fur or gem-colored scales. This generation was still healthy, but She knew they would grow sickly the older they got, their bodies unable to handle their own power. She couldn’t do anything about it, so She focused on keeping them as healthy and happy as She could for the time She had them. Until the next generation was bred.

The newest puppies were a variety of red scales or gold fur, just like Her. Maybe they would survive longer. After all, She was perfectly healthy…

She grew drowsy, Her hand going numb as Ran continued to take his samples. Her mouth was dry enough to feel as though it were still stuffed with cotton even after Brom had stopped giving Her swabs to soak. “I want to play with them… before… I go back…” She gasped out, opening Her eyes to see Brom shake his head at Her.

“For a little while, maybe…” he answered. She smiled. It was the best She was going to get. They were always too busy to let Her out for long on sample days. Tomorrow, perhaps the day after, She would be given more time...

She jerked awake as Ran slid the needle from Her arm, “All done, Red. Don’t sit up too fast.” She didn’t sit up at all, rolling off of the table and climbing to Her feet, eager to get back to Her treasures before being forced to Her room. She felt a bit woozy and hadn’t intended to fall asleep but tried not to show it as Brom opened the door for Her to sprint out.

Archmage Morndancer had joined Archmage Shaloon. They stood together outside the wolf’s stall, “Useless…” Morndancer muttered, holding a puppy with glints of gold fur beneath each of its red scales. 

“Perhaps it will better show the relationship between-” Shaloon started only to be interrupted by the puppy squealing and wiggling in Morndancer's suddenly tight fist.

“We’ve seen it a hundred times before,” he snapped at his colleague, “It will grow, but it can not breed. Can not evolve or further our efforts.” They hadn’t noticed the Firewyrm. She slowed, eyes fixed on the struggling captive pup. “Useless…” Morndancer said again, then threw the puppy at the far wall.

Its yip was silenced by a sickening crunch and wet plop as it bounced off the wall and landed unmoving on the floor.

The Firewyrm screamed.

She was still dizzy, but She lunged for Morndancer anyway. He disappeared beneath her clawing fingers, reappearing further away. Her neck itched, and Fire flickered at the hem of his robes, spreading to the pile of straw used to pad the cages.

“Red, don’t…” someone grabbed Her shoulders but let go immediately, cursing in pain at the heat causing Her hair to undulate in the shifting waves.

“Firewyrm, calm down,” Shaloon ordered, stepping between Her and Morndancer, who was trying to pat the spreading fire out of his robes. Her heart pounded in Her ears. crimson bleeding into Her vision, narrowing Her focus on the man who had so callously killed one of Her treasures. Her arm tingled and Her neck itched. Her vision wavered, She was too dizzy, too drained. 

Fingers snapped, and She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the tightening collar around Her neck, Her fires going out in a blink as She fought for air that wouldn’t come. The voices around Her seemed to come from far away, their words barely registering, “If she has enough energy for this, then obviously we have been skimping on samples.” She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even cry out as the collar continued to squeeze, “Take her back, we can never have enough blood. And cut that damn hair…”

***

Her head hurt. She squeezed Her eyes shut tighter, but that only made the pounding worse. Struggling to move Her fingers, She eventually managed to lift Her hand only to flinch as the move put pressure on Her sore elbow, Her left side. They had drained Her on both sides the second time then. She moved past the pain and brought Her hand up to pat Her head. Her hair was shorn short, right up against the scalp.

Letting slip a groan, She rolled over and flinched violently as the shift put pressure on Her left upper arm. They had taken a large patch of red scales as well, ripping them free by the root. She finally managed to squint Her eyes open to find She was back in Her room. The only light the shine of the moon reflecting off the snow through Her window. She looked at Her candles, but they wouldn’t light, and Her head pounded harder.

Curling into a tight ball, She tried to scan the rest of Her room, but it was empty. The books and comfortable chair, gone. Squeezing Her eyes shut again, She cried silently, the pitiful yip of Her lost treasure ringing in Her ears. “I hate the gods…”