"Yes, I'd agree," Ardasa said, standing up and taking one last look at the statue of Arda. "There is such a thing as too much piety, after all." She laughed a little at her own joke, then realized that perhaps that was not the best thing to say to a priest of the faith. "Erm . . . I mean . . . there are plenty of other matters to attend to."
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Rughoi sighed in relief, reading the last parts of the letter over and over again to reaffirm that it was real. Rebat was fine. The legion was fine. Rebat had written back regarding the status of the treaty being kept in Hekaga. He writes in glowing terms, not hiding in any way his admiration for the old city of dracons. At the bottom, he had signed with a Bythesea rune, as was the growing fashion among both dracon and kobold alike. Still, though, a part of the message worried him. It seems the Hekaga nobility are interested in furthering the alliance between the two nations, and wish to meet with him in person, or at least a close representative. Rughoi was not looking forward to that.
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That's odd. Kutur didn't know how exactly one votes for the next archmage, but he was pretty sure it wasn't this. He felt like he was floating, as if in water. It was dark all around him, cool as well, yet he felt at peace. He enjoyed this feeling of serenity, letting the not-quite-water flow around his scales and into his snout when he breathed. Then, a flicker of light shone out from far away. In front of it stood a figure, kobold by the looks of it. Suddenly, that feeling of water was gone. He was standing on solid ground, in thin air.
"Hey!" he called out, to the figure. It didn't respond. "Hey!" he shouted again. This time, he did, and Kutur now wished he hadn't. The kobold was dead, by the looks of it. His scales hung off his skin, and his head was tilted in a way that suggested there was no muscle holding it up. His fear grew ever more when it opened its mouth and spoke.
"Who am I?" it whispered, in a voice so strong that Kutur trembled. "Where is my throne?"
"Where is your throne?" Kutur said, unable to keep his voice from quavering.
"My throne, yes," the figure responded again. "Someone has stolen it. Someone who is neither first nor last, and not deserving of either. My throne, spilled from its perch by the blood of the tainted. Blood that has no ties to the dragons that bore the seed of the gods."
"Who are you?" Kutur asked. "I can help . . . I think. If I knew who you were, I could. I hope."
"Who am I?" The figure mimicked. His eyes, once dead and drooping towards the floor, suddenly came to life and oriented towards Kutur. They glowed and danced, as if there was a fire burning behind the iris. "I am the first, and had fate been truer, the last. Sutam is but liar, pretender, and player to what was once reality."
"Sutam was the Conquerer, was he not?" Kutur asked. "He was the famous second Son of the Dragons. There are almost as many tales of him as there were the first."
"Yet not quite as many," the figure said, pointing with a bony finger straight at Kutur's chest. "The blood given to him was from kobold, not dragon. The blood given to the liars after, all kobold, and now, not even that. I am first, and last. My throne is stolen. WHO AM I!?" he shouted, and in that moment Kutur knew.
"You are Arjun, who was the Brave," he breathed. The moment he said that, the dead figure began to change. First it was the snout, then the face, turning from gray to brown to dull red. Kutur was looking not at Arjun, but at himself.
"I am no longer. You are Arjun, who never was, yet always is. It is his blood that flows through you, and it is your throne that is stolen. Let the fire run free, my son. The Arjunids are not gone yet."
In the halls of the Constantsea university, Kutur looked up at the dome above. He was not in control of himself. He felt powerful, invincible, like he could jump and leave the sorry ground behind. Filled with that conviction, he opened his mouth to speak, but words did not leave. They had been replaced by fire, glowing white hot, erupting from his small form and scalding the dome above dark black. Then, the moment was passed, and he slumped to the ground in a dreamless sleep.
