“I see you have brought the fight to us, Darmith.” The mighty night chuckled deeply, red gaze piercing the very souls of the opposition and the young black and green male.
“What, is that not obvious?” he snarled in return, eyes narrowed.
“It is. I just thought I might state it to the blind army you lead here.” Zaro smirked, landing just before the dirt covering the grave that he had been sat before yesterday. He stepped around it, defensively pressing his side to the gravestone as if it meant more than anything to him. No Star narrowed her pupils. She stared at it and managed to make out the words upon it, written in gorgeous handwriting:
To my dearest,
I hope you rest well with the Gods themselves.
I love you, and so does your daughter.
For the unique and loved one by the name of
Mhica.
No Star could almost feel the despair in the written words and she suddenly knew. Mhica. She was the mother of Phoenix and the mate of Zaro. And she was dead.
“What kind of twisted destructive device are you hiding behind you, Zaro?” Darmith demanded, tail lashing angrily.
“Twisted destructive device? Have you never seen a grave?” by the offence in his voice any sane soul could tell that Zaro was not lying. The opposing leader looked almost shocked.
“A grave? And who in your lonely life would you possibly love enough to bury and protect with your body?” he asked aggressively.
“HAVE YOU NEVER LOVED? Who gave you the knowledge and the idea that I lived a lonely life? I have a daughter – I had a lover! I AM A NORMAL DRAGON, LIKE YOU AND YOUR IDIOTS! I’m no different to you – I’m a creation of the dragon Gods! I’m a son, a father, a lover, a warrior, a leader and a brother! AND YOU CAN SAY THE SAME, BECAUSE YOU LOVED FLAME, DIDN’T YOU? YOU ARE A SON, A LOVER, A WARRIOR, A LEADER AND A BROTHER, ARE YOU NOT? SO, WHAT MAKES US SO DIFFERENT?” Zaro roared, voice echoing across the land itself and resonating throughout the mountains of Murquah. His voice clearly cracked and he seemed to be completely losing his nerve and he was letting down his mask, his wall of seriousness and cruelty finally being burned down.
“…The difference between us is that we kill only because it’s necessary. You kill because you enjoy it. You resurrect the dead to live painful lives fighting under your rule until they die again. You kill those that others love, you killed your own father. And I bet you killed your lover too.” Darmith responded with a deathly serious tone.
“YOU THINK I KILLED HER? DO YOU THINK I WOULD KILL THE MOTHER OF MY CHILD AND THE LOVE OF MY LIFE?” the dark dragon crumbled at last, tears quite obviously rolling down his cheeks and Winter raindrops gently pattering against his scales, “You don’t know what I’ve been through. Your life was fine up until Davreth died. And then you went downhill. It’s been a year or two, hasn’t it? Compare those years to a lifetime of pain, suffering, expectations, loneliness and pressure. You think you have it bad. Do you know why I fight this war?” his voice was slightly more quiet than his normal one. His heart was snapping with every second he breathed. This was a broken dragon. No Star could see it. The shred of sympathy in her came into play, encouraging her to comfort him. But it was his fight, “Because I wanted to be good enough. I could always end this war, you know. We could end everything right now. But that is weak. I would be weak. I would be living in exile, forced out by the very dragons I sought out to kill and break. I killed Davreth and Flame because I thought maybe… maybe you’d give in. I’d win. I’d be good enough. Do you know how much that would mean to me? It’d be over. We’d all be alive. She would be alive. I would be… happy. I could have been happy… But that never happens, does it? The bad guy never wins, huh? I bet you didn’t think that I had feelings. Everyone has feelings… if you’re willing to listen, if you can spare a moment. If these words are scribed into the very strings of time, then read them. If you are pressured, don’t end up like me. Don’t hurt others because of it. Never be lonely. Surround yourself with happiness. Surround yourself with positive friends, not negative. Please. Because now, I… I just… I want to… I JUST WANT TO DIE.”
Wordless, everyone stood silently, staring at the broken-down leader. Staring at the less than mighty night. Was this truly Zaro?]
It was like having a headache. It hurt but… it wasn’t that bad. It lasted, though. It was a lingering kind of pain – very unusual. He’d never felt it before. Had he caused this? What was it? Why did it hurt? He didn’t expect it to be this bad. Wasn’t something like this supposed to end quickly? Maybe it was a… a punishment of sorts. Whatever it was, he wanted it to end quickly. And when it ended he wanted everything to be quiet for a moment so that he could think. He needed to think after what just happened. Tears were still rolling down his cheeks. His legs had gone numb. Breaking down was horrible, huh? The gentle pattering against his scales of the rain was soothing. Maybe he could lay there forever. That sounded nice. Maybe a little cold, but nice. And maybe he could lay there and speak with Phoenix. Yeah. Phoenix was a bright little spirit, she always made things better. She was his daughter, his perfect little angel, she was gorgeous and unique… she was like nobody else. She reminded him of Mhica. Zaro wondered when he’d see her again. Where was she? He was sure she’d be up with the Gods, enjoying herself, being loved and loving. That must be nice. He wanted to be that peaceful. What he’d give to be that peaceful… Serenity… Oh, that sounded wonderful.
What was happening? His thoughts were so nice, so calm. Everything felt so right. What had he been missing out on all his life? Was the cost of peace a long, emotional speech, tears and a big confrontation? And some pain, of course, but mainly that. Huh. What was hurting? Was it his head or his heart? Or his chest? It felt like his head. No, where was everything? His legs were so numb. Walking was probably going to be a little hard. If he wanted to walk, that was. Maybe laying there would be better than walking. This spot was nice.
Hey, there was a little bit of red. Maybe he was tired. Tiredness wasn’t that bad. He wanted to stop and sleep. Zaro loved sleep. So… quiet, so… so calm. He could escape from everything… oh, he wanted that a lot… Some time to himself. Some sleep. Maybe the red was a little bit of blood. Haha. Maybe they’d clawed him up whilst he was in this state. That would be mean.
He hardly realised that he’d met the ground. Oh well. Did it matter? He was going to sleep anyway. Sleeping during a battle. Funny how they used to tell you off for sleeping on the job… now the leader of the army was falling asleep in the battle. Haha. Very funny indeed.
Silent, he drew his claws up onto his chest. A small watery kind of sound came from the sound of his chest and paw touching. Pain very gently rippled throughout him. It was hardly noticeable. His vision slowly adjusted and he saw the end of an arrow. It was white, so pure – but he could see that it was dotted with a couple tiny spots of blood. Was that… was that his own blood? Oh… oh dear. What a mess, and all over Mhica’s grave. He couldn’t have that. He moved and tightened his grip around the arrow, yanking it from his chest without hesitation and feeling an intense, sharp pain this time rip instead of ripple. He held back a gasp. He couldn’t hear anyone else. Time looked slowed. So slow. Calm. Calm. Calm. With Mhica. With her. With Mhica.
So quiet, so silent – peace. Peace. Peace.
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Journal Skin by: Zaellrin
