Resting on the layers of waves that seem to also have lost some of their glory, Aslakahm is held by a sorrowful Materium. Wreckage fills my sight, fading essence makes my eyes squint as I soar closer to the once mighty kingdom, and slouched Starmakers devour the joy the Tribunal granted me. Desolation has ravaged Aslakahm, subdued it and made it its new home. Even the Throne of Infinity stands tilted, unwilling to gaze upon the destruction below. I gape at Rahmanegol. How could a dragon bring such devastation to its own kin? What have the Lightstealers won from such disarray? The Jila stirs within me, feeding my increasing anger. So easily I can disrupt his essence. But I won’t waste my powers on such futilities. A curse still spreads, even if it has endured retaliation. Now it shall meet dissolution.

  Shackles call the limbs of the Starmakers their new dwelling. Some search us with their gazes, only for disappointment to fill their eyes upon noticing me. An ache that still haunts me, but I am not going to grant it any more power. Most of them are being led by Lightstealers across the kingdom, keeping them in order with Spears of Light. I glimpse a monument near the Rematerus, carrying a name. That of King Alghamior. Starmakers bow before it, their grief casting a veil upon Aslakahm stronger than that of the vanishing essence. I sense my wings pleading that I visit it also. Yet I shift my eyes and focus on the incoming Throne. Lightstealers are already atop it, regarding Lord Rahmanegol with a bow, and me with indifference. One Starmaker is present. Councillor Orequelon.

  Lord Rahmanegol lands and advances through the middle of the Throne, while I touch the Throne and remain on its edge. “Khonameol’s presence here is merely temporary,” Lord Rahmanegol says. “Don’t let it bother you. A curse needs solving.”

  Two Lightstealers regard me. One with utter disdain, another with concern and bewilderment. “Was it necessary?” the bewildered Lightstealer asks. “Losing a child for this?”

  “You’ll find out that it was,” Lord Rahmanegol responds. He spins his head to regard me. “He claims to have spoken to our parents.”

  Protests ensue.

  “How dare the Error utter such nonsense?!” the disdainful Lightstealer asks. “He intends to mock us now, after barely discovering his powers?”

  “Why would our creators bother with Errors?” the bewildered Lightstealer continues. “He is surely lying, my lord.”

  “Khonameol,” Councillor Orequelon says. “Why do you speak such foolishness? Isn’t our fall already enough?”

  I shake my head, amidst continuing complaints meant for me and what Lord Rahmanegol has said. “I apologize for ingesting the egg. My snout was forced.” I glare at the lord. “It is the truth.”

  “No, it isn’t!” the disdainful Lightstealer interrupts.

  “Targhanion!” Lord Rahmanegol cries.

  “Lord, you can’t truly believe hi-”

  “Please.”

  Targhanion scowls at me once more, whispering curses, before gazing away. I blink at him, then shift my gaze downcast. Nothing but futility will emerge if I chastise this wrathful dragon.

  “You were supposed to sacrifice yourself,” Councillor Orequelon says. “Even in that you failed.”

  Lord Rahmanegol spins toward all the present dragons. “If what Khonameol informed me about is true, then we can place this curse to rest. We can be unburdened. Peace can return.”

  The bewildered Lightstealer steps forward. “Do we really have to trust in his words? This curse doesn’t affect him in any capacity.”

  “Existence sustains even him, Irarmajon. I don’t believe he is lying. I saw in his eyes amazement. That can only be granted upon witnessing glory.”

  Irarmajon raises one claw. “Then what information has he been given that we weren’t?”

  “Connection,” Lord Rahmanegol replies, still uncertain of what to understand of Tribunal’s words. “Connection is the source of healing.”

  Targhanion scoffs, while Irarmajon subdues a grin. Councillor Orequelon frowns. “We have accepted you even after our separation. What sort of connection do you speak about?”

  “And we are now present in Aslakahm,” Irarmajon continues. “We have returned to dwelling in the same place.”

  ‘Connection is the source of healing’. Truthfully, both sides of creation now co-exist, a reality that hasn’t persisted since The Great Separation. And while, according to the lord, Starmakers are beginning to regain their once lost strength and stars are returning to their lost glow, the curse still lingers. What sort of connection did the glorious Tribunal speak of? What is missing from this issue?

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I snap my head upward, realization filling me with hope. Connection can take many forms. But the most crucial one is physical. That must be the answer.

  I step forth, garnering attention. “Physicality. Conception and Havoc must connect on a much grander scale. Through touch.”

  “That is absurd,” Irarmajon complains and waves me away. “Lord, what have you been able to make out of the Tribunal's supposed words?”

  Lord Rahmanegol rubs his chin, eyeing me attentively. “Must I now embrace arrogance? Must I allow Starmakers to mock us further?”

  I shrug. “You are not meant to do anything. If you don’t want to save existence, then you can retain this hatred you have sown between each other for what little remains of eternity.”

  Lord Rahmanegol grows silent, despite rising complaints from his Lightstealers. They direct insults at me, but I have no resources to listen to them. I turn away, watching the kingdom beneath. Gazes greet me, a few Starmakers searching for hope that may arise from the Throne and this gathering. Anxiety runs through the essence of a couple of Lightstealers that regard me also. Aslakahm holds its breath for a resolution that, from the increasing rage behind me, seems to not come any sooner. For all the arrogance Rahmanegol despises, his dragons seem to embrace it.

  “Enough!” Lord Rahmanegol finally intervenes to disrupt the protests. “I have heard plenty from you, and I am beyond tired. I have no more patience to listen to your bickering. I have no more desire to stand and lead you, while you disregard and disobey me.”

  I return to my initial posture, noticing the lord instruct Councillor Orequelon to come in the middle of the Throne, and stand before him.

  “This won’t suffice,” the councillor whispers.

  “Come!”

  Reluctantly, Councillor Orequelon moves toward Lord Rahmanegol. He positions himself in front of him and their gazes lock. None has the intention of continuing with what I told them. The more they regard each other, the more their faces are subdued by scowls.

  “Why must I do this?” Lord Rahmanegol whispers, then exhales forcibly. “I would rather be forced to watch you create for all of my remaining existence, than to feel your sickening essence.”

  Councillor Orequelon crinkles his snout. “I share the sentiment, light eater. The mere fact that I step on the same Throne you defiled urges me to find the deadliest black hole and lead it to Aslakahm.”

  “What would that do?”

  “It would make every Starmaker desire to abandon this once great kingdom and let it dwell near destruction.”

  Lord Rahmanegol lifts his claw unwillingly. “I only do this to save the Tribunal's creation. Don’t consider yourself worthy.”

  He shoves it forward, seizing Councillor Orequelon’s head. A tremble emerges from within his claw and his face strains as he forces himself to feel the councillor. Essence flees from Lord Rahmanegol, heading for the councillor and replenishing some of the damages he endured. All the present Lightstealers approach with concern, calling upon the lord to stop. No responses emerge, both Lord Rahmanegol and Councillor Orequelon seemingly in a trance. Vigor surges through the councillor’s body, the hues upon him regaining their power. His sprinkled dots pulse violently, their light growing in strength to the point of threatening to blind us all. Despite this, Lord Rahmanegol appears to suffer no affliction, even if his essence depletes. Then I notice some of the scales clinging to his back breaking, crumbling down toward the surface of the Throne. Eventually, Councillor Orequelon’s body radiates, the beauty of the Starmaker I thought forgotten, returning once more. Both dragons tumble away from each other, Lightstealers fleeing to reach Lord Rahmanegol and aid him.

  “Lord, are you alright?” Irarmajon asks, almost on the verge of soaring to arrive faster to his side.

  “I… will be well,” Lord Rahmanegol replies through heavy breaths. He plants himself firmer on the surface beneath, then regards Councillor Orequelon. A frown wraps his face. “What did you do?”

  The councillor regards his body with bewilderment. “I… don’t know. My body has returned to its glory.”

  Councillor Orequelon spins himself, twists his tail and opens his wings, each new movement casting a smile upon his snout. He looks and moves as if a curse never even subdued him. I bow and whisper gratitude toward the Tribunal. They have given us the solution we needed.

  Lord Rahmanegol waves aside his Lightstealers, finally regaining his composure. He tilts to look at me. “I will never understand why the Tribunal chose to tell you out of all dragons this. But… existence is saved.” His eyes become distant, and I glimpse longing in them.

  Councillor Orequelon doesn’t regard me. Instead, he lifts himself and soars above Aslakahm, causing the Starmakers beneath to gasp in awe and shock. He twists and spins with enjoyment, what little I glimpse of his face radiating as a result. Lord Rahmanegol calls his Company of Lightstealers closer. “Inform every Lightstealer about their new task. Call upon the Starmakers to receive their healing.”

  They nod and immediately disperse toward the kingdom. I gaze at them fleeing, a smile invading my face. This destruction can now be put to rest. All because of the Tribunal and their glorious care.

  “You know you have no place here,” Lord Rahmanegol says. “The Throne won’t accept you as a new member of it.”

  “My duty lies elsewhere. I wouldn’t have taken this role, even if it were offered to me. Not after the truth that has been revealed.”

  Lord Rahmanegol grunts. “Return to the Jila. Seek the Tribunal.” He spins, walking toward the opposite edge of the Throne. “I shall also embark on a last mission of my own.”

  He flies away, while I linger to watch the Starmakers below turn to hope, as news about the cure to their ailment spreads throughout Aslakahm.