Path of Dragons

Elijah stared at Gunnar Lindstrom, his expression betraying none of the conflict in his mind. The man was beaten, in pain, and wholly drained. He posed no more threat. And yet, Elijah still wanted to kill him.

Part of that came from the notion that, if he let him live, he might just find a way to complete the contract for which he'd been hired. But Elijah knew that was nothing more than a rationalization. In reality, he wanted to kill the assassin because of the frustration he'd experienced over the past two weeks. Being constantly peppered with deadly traps and shot from afar was enough to shatter even the strongest man's resolve.

Elijah summoned his scythe from within his Arcane Loop, but he didn't swing.

"Do it," breathed Lindstrom, his head hanging. "We both know you can't leave me alive."

"You want to die?"

The man glanced up with tired eyes. "Maybe I do," he admitted. "Or I just recognize the inevitable. I've been killing people for a long time. Too long. It was always going to end like this." He gave a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking to Elijah's weapon. "Well, maybe not like this. I didn't have shapeshifting monster-man lopping my head off with a scythe on my bingo card. But yeah. I'm ready. I've been ready for years now."

Elijah raised his scythe, but at the apex of the motion, he hesitated. Killing Lindstrom would be so easy. Letting him live would be much more difficult, both potentially and in the moment. By all rights, the man had earned his fate. He'd said it himself. He was a murderer.

But was Elijah any different? He'd killed plenty of people, too, and likely with less justification.

His hesitation stretched into a few moments, and still, he couldn't bring his scythe down. Would it have been different if the man had attacked him due to some enmity? If it was personal? Maybe. In the end, though, the assassin was just doing a job. Did he deserve to die for that?

Elijah's every instinct screamed at him that he very much did.

And that triggered a warning in his mind. As he stood there, scythe poised to decapitate an unarmed prisoner, he realized that he stood at a crossroads. In one direction was a life where he brooked no disrespect. He would tear across the world, daring anyone to challenge him. If they did, he would put them down without hesitation. He would become Earth's unquestioned apex predator. No one would stand before him. Instead, they would kneel and hope he was merciful enough to allow their continued existence.

In the opposite direction was a path clouded by the future. He couldn't see where it led, but he got the feeling that it would include a lot fewer sleepless nights. And much less guilt. Down that road lay some hope of being a good person.

Elijah wasn't so naïve as to think that stark dichotomy represented reality. Life was too nuanced for that. However, he did believe in the gist of it. The choice before him was clear. Give in to his bestial instincts and remove the rival who'd challenged him, or embrace his humanity and let Lindstrom live. Not just as a show of mercy, but also because the assassin could prove a valuable asset.

And no man forgot the enemy who spared his life.

That was when Elijah realized that he'd already made his decision. The scythe blade fell, missing Gunnar by a couple of inches before clinking against the cement roof.

Surprised, Gunnar breathed, "What? Why?"

"I've seen enough killing to last a lifetime," he said, extending his hand. Hesitantly, the assassin grasped it, and Elijah hauled him to his feet. "But if it turns out you're lying…"

"I'm not."

"Well, then you won't blame me for taking a few precautions."

"Wha-"

Elijah cast Shape of the Sky, and Gunnar flinched away as the transformation took hold. In only a little more than a second, he'd taken on his flight form.

"Clench up," he commanded, spreading his wings wide. They cast the man in deep shadow before Elijah threw himself into the air. Before he gained more than a few feet of altitude, he wrapped his talons around the sniper, then flapped his leathery wings. In only a few seconds, he was hundreds of feet above the ruined city of Delhi.

He circled a couple of times, then, after orienting himself, took off toward the south. After only a few minutes, the mountain range came into view. He gained even more altitude until he was at least a thousand feet above the tallest peak.

He'd never have done it if he wasn't positive that Gunnar could survive the combination of the cold and the thinner atmosphere, but he was certain that the man had enough constitution to live through much worse. However, he couldn't deny that he felt a significant degree of satisfaction knowing that it couldn't have been a comfortable trip.

The flight was not a short one, either. Certainly, Elijah could cover much more ground now that he wasn't flying in circles, but his destination was still more than a thousand miles away. Maybe closer to two, which was just a baffling distance – almost as long as the continental United States was wide.

But that was before the world had changed. Now, not only was Earth much larger than before – current estimates put it at something close to the size of Saturn, but some people claimed it was much larger even than that – but the terrain had been mixed up and relocated. The result was that what had once been the United States no longer existed. Instead, its component parts had been scattered across the whole world.

As he flew, he wondered about things like gravity. Old-world physics suggested that the gravitational pull of a much larger Earth should have been far more powerful, and to the point where a mortal would have been incapable of survival. That clearly hadn't happened, so he was forced to make do with the only explanation that made sense – magic.

Perhaps some Scholar would figure how it all fit together.

In any case, those musings kept his mind occupied until he'd left the mountain range behind. From so far up, he saw the island of New York glittering in the distance, but he didn't head in that direction. Instead, he went for the tiny dot that was the Conclave Spires, landing in the center of the road leading to New York.

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Pedestrians scattered at his approach, giving him an easy enough landing. Gunnar was not so lucky, and Elijah just dropped him when he was ten or fifteen feet above the paved surface. To his credit, the assassin hit with a roll that brought him to his feet as Elijah touched down, dispersing his own momentum not unlike a landing airplane, though instead of coasting on landing gear, he did so at a light jog.

By the time he came to a stop, he'd returned to his natural form.

Turning, he saw that Gunnar looked annoyingly unbothered by the entire thing. Elijah supposed it made sense. From what he could tell, the man came from a military background – he'd practically admitted as much – and that probably included jumping out of airplanes or rappelling from helicopters.

But Elijah's experience with that sort of thing came almost exclusively from eighties action movies, so he suspected there were quite a few gaps in his knowledge.

"Nice flight?" he asked.

"I've had worse," Gunnar admitted. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere I can confirm your story," Elijah answered. "Don't try anything. I don't want to have to hunt you down and kill you."

As far as he knew, Gunnar had been entirely disarmed. He'd already searched the man, and the knives he'd secreted across his body were in Elijah's storage space. He left the damaged rifle, pistol, and machete on the roof, as much because he didn't feel like wasting the space as to show Gunnar that, even with those weapons, there was nothing he could do. There was a possibility that he'd missed something else, but his choice to let Gunnar live meant more than just a decision not to kill him. In a way, he'd chosen to trust him, at least insofar as he could trust an assassin who'd been hired to kill him.

Gunnar didn't articulate a response, but instead just nodded.

After that, the pair strode toward the Conclave compound. As they did, the pedestrians – mostly Merchants, but with some adventurers among them as well – watched them warily. Fearfully. Many even ducked behind the berm bordering the road, as if that might save them should Elijah decide they needed to die.

As frustrating of a reaction as that was, Elijah didn't blame them. In their place, he might've done the same thing. But it definitely didn't improve his mood. Annoyance gripped his mind as he led Gunnar into the compound, where he paid their fees before taking a seat in the waiting room.

Only a few people remained inside, the rest having surreptitiously fled the moment they saw him. Apparently, it wasn't just his arrival in the form of a giant, flying lizard that had unnerved the civilian population. His reputation had clearly preceded him.

"Is this normal for you?" asked Gunnar, sitting next to him and watching a couple duck through the door, as if they could somehow avoid Elijah's notice.

Elijah shrugged. "More or less."

"Slaughtering whole cities will do that, I suppose. You should think about getting a disguise."

Elijah almost laughed at that, largely because he imagined himself walking around with fake glasses and a bumbling demeanor – like Clark Kent. It was certainly an amusing scenario.

"Where are we going?" asked Gunnar.

"Argos."

"The trade city?"

"Yep."

"Why?" he asked.

"I have friends there," Elijah answered. "And one of those friends might be able to confirm whether or not you're telling the truth."

"Fair enough."

Those two words told him a lot about Gunnar. For one, either he was an incredibly good actor, or he was secure in the story he'd told. For another, he probably knew all about Atticus.

"How long were you following me?" Elijah asked.

"I've been hunting you for months," the assassin said. Then, he described the chain of events. "The only reason I took my shot when I did was because I suspected that if I didn't, you'd just get stronger. Eventually, you'll outpace us all."

"Maybe."

By that point, their turn had come, and together, they planted themselves in the center of the spires. The nervous space mage activated the apparatus, sending them across the world to Argos.

The first change Elijah noticed was the increased humidity, which was accompanied by much denser ethera. Outside of the grove or the areas surrounding Primal Realms, the atmosphere surrounding Argos was thicker than anywhere else Elijah had been. He reasoned that that was due to the Temple of Virtue and the still-growing ancestral tree at its center.

Looking at the city in the distance, he saw the tree sprouting atop the hill. Its branches extended for hundreds of feet, casting the temple itself in dappled shadow. More importantly, Elijah could feel it, almost like a secondary locus. The sense of it was vague, almost like looking at an image through stained glass, but it was interesting nonetheless. From afar, he'd felt nothing of it, but as he and Gunnar drew closer to the city, the sense grew clearer. When he reached the gates, where he was greeted by a pair of pleasant guards, the sense was nearly as pristine as what he felt within the grove itself.

And to his eternal joy, everything was working as intended. Once, he'd made a promise to heal people in that temple, but events had gotten away from him. Thankfully, others had stepped up and filled in where he couldn't. There were more than a dozen Healers working inside the Temple of Virtue. Most were tending to the sick or injured, but a few were busy handing out food to the less fortunate.

Idly, he considered that his sister would have approved. Alyssa always did have a soft heart.

The trip through the city prompted a good deal of nostalgia. Argos had grown far beyond the scope of the city he'd first visited what felt like a lifetime ago, but the tone remained the same. Some of the details remained unchanged. Like the gossiping grandmothers sitting on balconies, the smell of olives and jasmine that seemed to pervade the place, and the general friendliness of the residents – it all took Elijah back to a much simpler time.

But among that familiarity was evidence of the city's growth. Argos had established itself as a trade hub, mostly due to Atticus' influence. And because of that, there were dozens of large warehouses, a wealth of businesses, and a generally higher quality of life than anywhere but Ironshore. The people were happy, healthy, and, compared to just about everywhere else, rich.

The best evidence of that were the palaces. Belonging to the city's merchant kings and queens, they mostly followed the same aesthetic, looking like picturesque Mediterranean villas. That meant white walls, red tile roofs, and enough ivy to tear down a castle wall. The grounds, limited as they were, were dotted with sculptures brimming with ethera and inventive topiary.

But none of those mansions could compare to the one belonging to Atticus. Elijah didn't even need the directions he'd gotten from the man's store. If there was one thing he knew about his friend, it was that Atticus liked to live large. So, it stood to reason that his mansion was the biggest and most ostentatious in the city.

"Money can't buy taste, I suppose," Gunnar mentioned as they approached the gate.

Elijah just shook his head, though in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but agree. As much as he loved his friend, he knew Atticus would never dodge accusations of tackiness. Never was that clearer than when they were escorted by a guard through a pair of solid gold gates emblazoned with the man's initials.

Atticus himself greeted them at the front door. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts, flip-flops, and a robe, which left his ever-expanding belly on full display. A thin gold chain tangled in the mat of hair on his chest, and he'd begun to cultivate a truly luxurious beard. Clutched between his teeth was a cigar, and he carried a glass of some unknown liquor in one hand.

He threw his arms out wide, jovially exclaiming, "My friend! I have missed you! Come, come! You must meet my wife!"

"Wife?" asked Elijah. "When did you get married?"

"Ah, that is quite a tale! Come in," he invited. "I will regale you with the story."

"Right," Elijah said. "First, this is Gunnar Lindstrom. He's technically a prisoner. You have anywhere we can keep him –"

"Not to worry, my friend," he said seriously. "To the dungeon!"

"You have a dungeon?" Elijah wondered aloud, but by that point, Atticus had already disappeared inside. Elijah had no choice but to follow along.