Celyd watched Kaza run into the burning house to his mother, his every motion set on a rescue that Celyd knew was impossible. View of the lad was blocked by the blaze already licking at the wood and lining the doorway. Celyd closed his eyes and the fear he felt for disobeying a direct order from the Prince of the West simply could not compare to the sorrow he felt at the realization that his sacrifice for the better good, if one could call it that, had amounted to nothing.

  Prince Benji walked towards where he lay, pinned to the ground by three Black Army soldiers. A sword's tip pressed to the nape of his neck to ensure he knew that resistance was futile. Futility. He came to realize, No action within Basi Haya nor within the realm at large, served any purpose other than to be a sharp contrast to futility yet when it was all said and done, the deeds carried out through the span of a life amounted to nothing in the grand scheme of things. Hence showing that everything, be it the gathering of dew upon a rose's petal, or the breaking of ground with a hoe, served absolutely no purpose. He tried to take solace in this, repeating the thought as if it were a mantra, trying to enlarge it and bring about a touch of nonchalance that might smother, if not vanquish the feeling of sorrow that had sent a tear trailing down his cheek.

  "Oh look at that, the Priest is crying." Prince Benji pointed out and the Black Army soldiers who were nearest laughed as if the Prince was born to play the role of a court jester, a putrid, nefarious jester with a touch of barbarism and a dash of malevolence. "What did you call me, Celyd? An insufferable piece of fish dung?" That voice, how he'd grown to loath it over the weeks spent together. At first he'd treated the Prince as one would Royalty, basically tripping over himself to dip the lowest in a bow, hoping the Prince will see how willing Celyd was to wipe his arse with his tongue after the runny shits. That's how everyone treated Royalty, and in his mind he'd had grand fantasies of pleasing the Prince of the West to the point where a friendship would blossom and the Prince would uplift him from a mere Citadel Priest to the position of Grand Holy of the West. Now, looking at the Prince's silver coated metal boots from where he lay, his chin biting into the dirt. He realized he would find greater pleasure stripping himself naked and dipping himself in pig's blood before swimming directly into the maw of a Leviathan bull hoping to befriend the parasites dwelling in the creature's gut.

  The Prince spoke casually, his eyes on Celyd and the Priest... neigh, once Priest... opted instead to stare at the burning wooden shack, hoping against all hope that the boy would emerge. "Now what do you presume you're if an insufferable piece of fish dung holds the power to take your life? What does that make you, Celyd? What's lower than fish dung?"

  Celyd didn't answer. What point was there in indulging the pampered fool? His eyes remained on the flames engulfing the wooden shack, there was no hope of the boy emerging, the smoke alone would kill, the fire turn him to ash. Kaza was no more, and Celyd found himself trying to remember the details of the boy's features, specifically his eyes. Then he felt an urge to laugh, for what good would the memory of the boy serve a man who was soon going to join Kaza in the place beyond death?

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  A metal boot on the crown of his head, pressing down, spreading agony across his scalp and the point of his chin that dug into the ground. "I asked you a question, cunt, what is lower than fish dung?" An unsatisfactory answer and the Prince will stomp his head until it caved. A satisfactory answer and the Prince would look for another question, more absurd, more stupid, until he found a reason to stomp his head in either way. Celyd felt weary, not the weariness that came of delivering a sermon of Sin to the young acolytes at the Citadel for the better part of a fortnight. No. This weariness came of a desire to quit, to quit the next breath, the next thought, the next pump of the heart. To be no more. What relaxation that would bring, to be away from the cunt with the boot on his head.

  "You are not fish dung, your eminence. I apologize." Celyd spoke between clenched teeth, the pressure sandwiching his head with the ground eased a fraction to allow for better speech. "You know when a dog dies under mysterious circumstances and its carcass remains untouched for the fear of one becoming unclean, and the maggots come and eat away at the flesh and the stench is horrendous? Now imagine a man, a full grown man, making his way to the rotting carcass of the dog while naked. Stroking his cock until he spills his seed upon the maggots, then scooping the maggots with his seed and placing them in his mouth and chewing the mixture. You know that sight, when the man opens his mouth and you see the maggots and his seed mashed in an unholy paste? Well, that view and the reaction it warrants, your eminence, that is what you are." He paused.

  The sword pressed deeper into the nape of his neck, breaking skin and no doubt drawing blood. The boot on his head lifted and Celyd knew it would come down with a bone sickening crunch and he would be no more.

  Sweet release.

  He welcomed his end. Only to see the two boots of the Prince settle before his eyes. "Celyd." Prince Benji said. "A quick death is too big a mercy for you. I will send an emissary to the Citadel to proclaim your untimely death at the hands of moon worshippers, then I'll take you to the lowest chamber of my father's palace and there I will ensure you live a long full life praying for death in every —"

  The Prince's words died out as the sky lit up. A cloud of fire spread to the horizon, hundreds if not thousands of Dragons unanimously unleashed the very breath of Sin. Up and up the flames went before the roar of the henchmen of Sin reached them. The flames were taken up by the wind, spreading, heat rained down on them and the Prince took three steps back. The soldiers holding Celyd down laxed in their tenacity for violence, fright and awe warring for attention as they eased back. Some soldiers and villagers collapsed on the ground and curled in on themselves, their backs exposed with their limbs drawn in to minimize the chance of being in the Dragon's discern. Others just stood, staring at the sky, mouth agape.

  With the freedom afforded him, Celyd could do no more than lay on his side, propped on his elbow staring at the sky. He'd seen of Dragon's raging in the night. Lighting up the sky, but in spaced bursts of flame, never in unison, never all at once.

  Something has changed.

  Celyd did not know why he turned to face the wooden shack, neither did he think anyone else turned their attention from the sky. But turn he did, and that's when he saw him. The boy, Kaza, emerging from the wooden shack, engulfed in flame, walking as a King would taking a stroll in his Palace Gardens. He wore fire like a merchant wraps himself in a robe, the flames fell and rolled and climbed, sheathing his body but allowing for his outline and his eyes to be seen.

  And those eyes. They were those of a Dragon's, only the once dark slits were now the hue of fire.

  Celyd smiled.

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