Ham found himself screaming at the top of his lungs, and he heard the rest of his allies doing the same, bracing for the final wave of orcs to crash into them. He had hardly any strength left to hold them off, and he doubted any of the five could claim otherwise.

  Their world, as they knew it, was thrown into chaos, and it seemed they were at the center of the turmoil. Ham felt this was one of those historical moments people wrote books about, but he wasn't sure he'd be around to read it. A critical point in history, even if they didn't yet grasp its significance.

  But it didn't matter; nothing mattered to him in that moment. He was beyond conscious thought or reasoning. It was do or die, and he knew it. They all knew it.

  So, he swung his sword down, only vaguely aware of the similar actions taken by the others supporting him in the defense of the Soul stones. He wasn't aiming at all—gods knew there were enough bodies coming toward him—but he was sure as hell putting every last scrap of his strength into it.

  His sword clashed with the opposing warrior's weapon.

  He was still screaming, almost everyone was, and the clashing of weapons was loud enough to wake a whole village. But somehow, through all the ruckus, Ham could hear the 'clink' as the two weapons met. Then, everything went white.

  For a few moments, all Ham could hear was static. The sensation was extremely akin to an explosion, but Ham had no way of knowing that for sure or what could have caused it.

  When his senses didn't return immediately, he had to wonder if he had actually died this time, and if that was how it felt. He did remember an array of weapons coming toward his head just a moment before. Maybe one of them, or a few, had found their mark, and the explosion was nothing but his body's sensory response before he passed away.

  But no! He could still breathe, he could still feel his body, his hands firmly gripping his sword and shield. The familiar weight of his armor was still on his shoulders, albeit not as oppressive.

  What he couldn't feel, however, was the earth beneath his feet or the hits from numerous weapons coming at him from all sides, as it would have been if he were still in battle. The bone-deep weariness was gone.

  There was a burning sensation in his chest, radiating outward into his limbs. As Ham reached out, curious, and touched it with his senses, he felt it for what it was: pure, unadulterated power, a power that was both alien and familiar to him at the same time. He could tell it was an ancient power, at least as old as the realm itself, for he had never felt anything like it before, and it was coursing through him.

  There was a shift in the air, as if simply acknowledging it had given Ham some form of control over it. Then the haze began to clear, and Ham saw what had really happened.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The land where the orcs had been moments before was now an outward-facing crater, spread in a semi-circle, leaving the ground where the stones still stood like a small island, untouched by the carnage outside. The crater was filled with the strewn about bodies of the remaining orcs, who were apparently blasted away by some immense force. Was it them who did that?

  Ham could see only one orc who was still mobile, and even that only barely—the leader. He was dragging himself back through the crater by one hand, the other side of his body simply missing. For the first time in the whole battle, Ham noticed genuine terror on his face.

  He was looking at Ham.

  Ham cringed at the pitiful state of the man and finally moved his gaze inward to verify what he had already half-guessed.

  He found himself floating 10 feet off the ground, with black and green tendrils of smoke leaking from him, coating his weapon. He looked like some sort of avatar of death, sent from the heavens to deliver justice, to wipe out the wicked. It felt almost comical to him in his current mental state.

  On a hunch, he looked above, following the wisps of black energy that were leaking from his sword and all his armor joints. It was all coalescing behind him, or rather linking him, like so many moving ropes, to a majestic black dragon made of what seemed to be some sort of poisonous gas. It was poised as if guarding him.

  Ham wasn't the most educated person around, but he wasn't so dumb as to not immediately recognize the figure. It was myth made manifest.

  "Lord Beledros Witherbloom," Ham gulped, his heart racing once again, seeing the image of one of the five founding dragons of Strixhaven appear like this. "Holy cow!"

  It finally clicked—the orc leader wasn't afraid of him, even if he was a part of it. It was one of the freaking founding dragons whose appearance had finally broken his will. Ham didn't blame him.

  As Ham looked about for his companions, still somewhat dumbstruck, trying to find something familiar in a suddenly bizarre world to ground himself, he found himself failing in the attempt. There were similar scenarios unfolding with each member of their group.

  Rhaldri, glowing with a divine light, stared in amazement at Shadrix Silverquill, another of the founding dragons that manifested as a being of pure white light. Beside her, Gharan looked much like his usual self, though he appeared fully healed—Ham figured perhaps that was impressive enough that embellishments were deemed unnecessary. But he too faced a founding dragon: Velomachus Lorehold, a dragon with a body that appeared to be carved from solid stone. Gharan looked ready to throw down with him for some reason, which terrified Ham.

  Nearby, the blue water genasi was confronted by Galazeth Prismari, a dragon whose form mirrored her own heritage, composed entirely of water. The two seemed almost like reflections of each other.

  Finally, Will stood at the center of a network of green light, beams connecting him to Tanazir Quandrix, a dragon made of intricate geometric patterns of the same green energy. He was the only one who seemed to be taking it in stride.

  When Ham looked back at Beledros Witherbloom, he found him looking at him, regarding him, almost measuring him. Ham's breath was caught in his throat; he had never felt so exposed. He was sure that being could read more off him than he knew himself. But apparently, whatever the dragon was looking for, he found it satisfactory.

  Then he simply looked up and roared, breathing out a jet of poison and gas.

  Ham’s eardrums nearly burst apart as it was synchronous with the other dragons as well, who each shot out their own breaths. Each of them differed radically, made of different elements and configurations, many as impressive as they were beautiful. Geometric patterns of energy, an amalgamation of natural elements, shockwaves that crackled, and pure radiance. All together, the cacophony of their roars could be heard the world over, and the display of breath weapons seen through the half.

  At first, Ham thought it to be a challenge, to perhaps let the enemies know that they would not be allowed to have their evil ways, but soon he realized it. It was not a challenge but a declaration. A declaration that the time had come. That the dark prophecy was running its course. That the war was upon us. And the champions of the people, who would be leading the war efforts and people alike, the Avatars of the founding dragons, the Avatars of Arcavios… were chosen.

  Ham was not entirely certain how that felt to him. Him, the Avatar? Leading the war? What about his own ambition? His revenge? Sakoe?

  Before he could delve too much on that, the forms of the founding dragons started dissipating, and they all dropped to the ground to land on their backs. As they watched, the stones of power, now spent, faded back to a dull grey. The imagery, otherworldly a moment before, suddenly went mundane.

  Then, before they could properly collect themselves and their thoughts, they started hearing footsteps, hundreds of them, walking nearer, with the clacking of armors audible, loud and clear.

  "Drop down your weapons and surrender!" Someone shouted. "It's the Dragonsguard."