In the dark of the night, Gelida curled upon herself atop her bed and glared up at the ceiling. If looks could kill, the entire building would have turned into a flaming wreck by now.

It had been a dragon.

She could never mistake that roar for anything else. The horn heralding death that had rung throughout the forest had undoubtedly been the same as the one that had rung years ago.

Gelida knew that the correct course of action had been to tell Professor Mackenzie as soon as they had returned to the Academy. She knew she could still go and tell her without consequence.

But something had stayed her tongue. Something still stayed her tongue. If the proper authorities were informed of the great threat which sat so close to the capital, a subjugation force would be mobilized in an instant. This was what the chief and the rest of Mento Village were likely counting on as well. They had all been there when the sky had been turned to fire all those years ago; the nightmare of that dreadful roar had undoubtedly continued to haunt them just as it did her. There was no way they didn’t recognize it when they heard it again.

Gelida didn’t know why they hadn’t just directly sent a missive to the capital and had chosen this strange roundabout method instead, but she supposed it didn’t matter now. All was going according to their plan.

Except the fact Gelida still hadn’t informed anyone. Every time she thought to, the shadow of the black dragon flitted across her eyes, and her blood boiled in mind-warping rage. She could hardly see straight from the anger.

She had acted as though her father’s death couldn’t be helped in front of Cadmus and Alice; dragons were calamity incarnate after all—calamity could not be predicted nor fought. And that calamity had been struck by a calamity of its own too. She’d piled these feelings and rationalizations atop her grief and anger like burying a body under dirt.

But… seriously? Couldn’t be helped?

Of course it could be helped! No one deserved to die less than her father—NO ONE!

And here the dragon was, roaring about—living—as though it wasn’t the destroyer of her world—the manifestation of all that she considered evil.

Gelida wanted to destroy it—to grind its bones under the heel of her boot until it all turned to dust, and then to burn what remained of it. Perhaps then it would come to understand the smallest fraction of the pain it had caused her.

The idea of revenge rang clear in her ears, and various images of her viciously stabbing a long blade of ice through the dragon’s heart, of her burning it to ash in the flames of its own making, of her tearing off its limbs one by one danced their way through her brain.

It was an impossible dream, Gelida knew this. She had said as much to Cadmus and Alice: there was no such thing as ‘fighting’ a dragon. Even with a subjugation force assembled by the capital itself, chances of victory were slim.

She had researched this once—one fine day when she could no longer bear the grief and wanted to learn what she could have done in the face of that trembling earth and burning sky.

It was written that if a dragon was even suspected to be somewhere in the vicinity of Anguis, a great subjugation force would be sent out to meet the threat. However, the subjugation force in actuality would only be a confirmation force—chances of them actually managing to slay a dragon were so slim, it was barely worth considering.

If a dragon really was found, the capital would go into lockdown, with every manner of protection—mundane and magical—deployed to prepare for the encroaching calamity. In this manner it was perhaps possible to do the impossible—to fight off, and perhaps even slay a dragon.

Wouldn’t that, in a way, be a form of revenge as well? Surely, Gelida knew, she as an individual wouldn’t stand a chance.

…Would she?

Every time that obvious fact surfaced in her brain, another thing did as well.

“Saint George fought calamity, and even defeated it…” She whispered to herself for what seemed like the thousandth time, “Sigurd did as well…”

She had known of these people even before Cadmus had mentioned them, of course. She knew a great many things about dragons and those rare few who had overturned fact and logic and struck down the beasts who could not be struck down.

But she had buried that knowledge, along with her grief and rage. Such stories had not felt real to her—not because she doubted their veracity (only bits of history could be teased out from the mana in the air with magic, but even those bits helped form a rather accurate image of the past), but because she had seen a dragon with her own eyes.

Even now, when she closed her eyes, she could feel the air ripple with every wing beat, she could feel the earth shake so violently that her feet could barely keep her upright, she could feel the heat from the flames that cooked her body even though she was nowhere near them…

How could such harbingers of destruction ever be brought low, and not just by armies, but by mere individuals? The idea of it simply did not seem compatible with reality.

And yet it had been done. Not just by Sigurd the Dragonslayer, but also by Saint George, and—to a certain extent—even her father Mylo Olvo. Indeed, her father had not slain a dragon like the former two, but his Cold spells had managed to negate a dragon’s wrath: Its flames.

Gelida peered at her tan hand in the darkness. If it was with her father’s spell, then maybe—just maybe…

She had to decide, and she had to decide quickly—before the dragon decided to go on a rampage once more. The capital would not find out unless Gelida told them herself; she knew her reaction hadn’t been subtle when she had heard the dragon’s roar, and she knew that Cadmus most likely suspected something, even if he bought her lie about the sound coming from wolves. However, despite all that, he simply had no way of knowing that the roar had actually come from a dragon, and even if he had somehow miraculously guessed that, he had no way to prove his suspicions. Gelida had gone with him and had said nothing of it after all, and the staff were well aware that she of all people would know.

Which was why the onus of telling the proper authorities lay with her. The decision had to be made, and it had to be made by her. Nothing would start without her starting it.

And so Gelida tossed and turned through the night, flitting in and out of reality, as her room kept secret her slowly-growing crazed laughter.

“…And with the wolves killed, we returned back to the Academy,” Cadmus finished regaling the story of the quest to Oliver and Candice.

Oliver gave Cadmus a flat look, “…You’re a horrible storyteller.”

Cadmus blinked and looked towards Candice for confirmation. Candice looked away.

“Anyway,” Oliver sighed, “Looks like for the first time you had a relatively safe and standard outing.”

“…Yes, seems that way.”

Alice angrily piped up, “What are you talking about? Cadmus almost died in our first encounter with the wolves!”

Oliver looked infinitely more interested now, “You did?”

“Yes!” Alice exclaimed indignantly, “We’re lucky that Dead Puppetry worked, or else he—he… well who knows what would have happened!”

Alice looked so queasy imagining the potential consequences that she seemed unable to even verbalize it.

Cadmus shrugged, “I admit, perhaps I did get lucky in that one instance. I was too eager to test out my spell and didn’t employ enough caution.”

Oliver threw his hands up in frustration, “And you left that out of your story? How could you just skip over all the interesting bits?”

“In any case,” Candice interjected, “Did you receive the seventy points that you wanted?”

Cadmus smiled and nodded, “I will soon.”

“Speaking of points, I’ve got news as well,” Oliver said, “You actually missed something pretty big while you were away.”

Cadmus waited. Oliver waited as well. Seeing that he wasn’t speaking, Cadmus began cleaning up the stack of books on dragons on his desk.

Oliver broke, “At least look a little curious! Trust me, this is huge!” He grinned knowingly, “It has to do with Camelot~”

Cadmus admitted, that did in fact catch his attention, “Camelot? What happened?”

“Got enough time for a midnight stroll?” Oliver asked.

Cadmus did not actually. In fact, Alice and he were supposed to be going to sleep right about now. However, this topic interested him too much to put it off till later.

“Very well.”

They forayed into the chilly night, wrapped in warm cloaks and pajamas as they made their way through the empty campus. Most rooms were closed and locked, as expected, but the Main Hall was still open, along with the ranking board.

It was a strange feeling being at a place that he associated largely with daytime, but Cadmus easily ignored it in favour of looking at the glittering rankings. Instantly, his eyes jumped to the place he’d last seen Camelot.

6th: Resurgent (Guild)—3,945 points

Cadmus blinked, and scanned the names above it.

1st: Rex Optime—5,621 points

2nd: Prosperity (Guild)—4,102 points

3rd: Victory (Guild)—4,059 points

4th: Einar Orso—4,022 points

5th: Blooming Flowers (Guild)—3,989 points

Cadmus realized, “Camelot has dropped in rank?”

“Yep,” Oliver said, “Optime challenged them for a sum of 1500 points, and Arthur accepted.”

“And Arthur lost?”

Oliver shrugged, “I guess…?”

Cadmus levelled an unimpressed stare at him.

“It was really weird, okay!” Oliver defended, “Optime won the match, but… Arthur didn’t lose…? Something like that—sort of like how Ardea’s match with Optime ended!”

“Arthur lost by a ring-out as well?” Cadmus asked.

Oliver nodded slowly, “Yeah, he lost by a ring-out, but it was a little different. At the start, they fought with swordplay for a bit, and Optime could barely keep up. Then he disengaged and they began firing spells at each other, and that part wasn’t like with Ardea’s match at all: this time, Arthur’s spells were stronger.”

“Magic circles enchanted by Merlin upon Dragonfire gold… I’m not surprised,” Cadmus mused, “Even risking the limit of a spell won’t be able to bring its power up enough to match them.”

“Optime’s magic wasn’t enough to match Arthur’s spells, yeah, but it was still powerful enough to…” Oliver paused in thought for a moment, “How should I put this? Redirect it?”

Seeing Cadmus’ questioning look, Oliver explained, “Optime pretty much used the same spells as Arthur—”

Cadmus nodded, “Understandable—the spells on Caliburn are all simple elemental spells, the ones that can be drawn the fastest. Optime would only have time to draw those to match the circles that Arthur already had ready to fire.”

“—Right, yeah. So they were using the same spells, but even if Arthur’s were stronger and faster, Optime’s still held against them. So Optime used his spells against Arthur’s with certain angles. Like, for example, when Arthur used Rock Spike, Optime used it too, but Optime aimed at Arthur’s Rock Spike from slightly below, which—”

“Which sent Arthur’s spells’ flying up—off target,” Cadmus finished for him.

“Exactly,” Oliver said, “Of course, that kind of thing wouldn’t work on fire magic, but against that Optime just used water magic, which had enough power to at least cancel each other out.”

“I see, so that’s how Optime kept pace with Arthur,” Cadmus said, “However, that doesn’t explain how he won. At that point, things would have been at a stalemate.”

Oliver looked vindicated, “Yeah, that’s what I thought too! But they were both moving around all over the place, and Optime was barely hanging in there, and then, suddenly, Optime destroyed the ground to create a smokescreen and closed in again.”

“But you said they fought with swordplay for a bit in the beginning, and that Optime barely kept up,” Cadmus pointed out.

Oliver’s vindication rose even higher, “Exactly! I thought it was a desperate final gamble or something, but then they actually clashed swords again, and even I could tell that Optime was fighting way better than before—and I haven’t even ever trained in swordplay!”

Alice asked, “And that’s how Optime won?”

Oliver’s excitement settled and he shrugged, “Kinda. Optime’s sudden increase in skill surprised Arthur, and he was forced back a few steps. I think he was about to mount a counterattack, but then everyone realized that he had already stepped out of the ring.”

Cadmus looked up at Rex Optime’s name on the ranking board again, “Thus, another victory by a ring-out.”

“Yeah,” Oliver rubbed the back of his head with a troubled expression on his face, “Honestly speaking, it looked a lot like Optime just got lucky, and that his last-ditch effort worked—that his increase in skill at the end was just desperation. But, of course…”

“...Two victories in such similar ways cannot be a coincidence.”

Cadmus once again looked at Rex Optime’s points. His victory over Arthur had sent him soaring over a thousand points over the guild in second place. Of course, that also meant…

14th: Camelot (Guild)—2,452 points

15th: Cadmus Guiles—2,432 points

Arthur’s guild had fallen to the position just above Cadmus’. Perhaps he had adhered to the lessons he’d learned in the Twin Peaks Tournament too stringently…

“I guess this is actually pretty good for you?” Oliver said, “Optime will graduate at the end of the year, and he’ll take his points with him. It’s better for him to have those points than Camelot, who you’ll have to compete with for the next three years.”

Cadmus frowned at the idea of having to wait all the way until next year to reach first place and only then getting started on his research.

“…Let’s return. It’s late—we should go to sleep.”

Oliver looked round at him, puzzled at the sudden sullenness in his voice, but Cadmus had already turned on the spot and begun heading back.

“‘Dragon fire may have many dangerous properties, but it’s still fire at the end of the day.’”

It was with these words that Gelida awoke to the morning sun, unrested, but her head clearer than it had ever been. She repeated her words and tasted them upon her lips. Then, she nodded, her fracturing mind once again wrapping into a single whole with determination alone.

She would not dally. Almost too calmly, as though this was any other ordinary day, Gelida cleaned herself up and got dressed. The day her father had been killed by a dragon had begun completely ordinarily; the day that she killed a dragon would begin completely ordinarily too.

She stepped out of her room and looked around at the hustle and bustle of her fellow students. She had forgotten, today was Monday, and it was time for class. She followed the flow of students into the campus, and then split off from them to head towards the exit.

The guards were there to watch the gates, but they were more there to stop intruders from getting in rather than stopping people from leaving. Still, just as a cursory check, they asked her where she was going, and all she had to do was show the quest sheet from Mento Village that she still had on her person.

“A quest? On a weekday?” One of the guards asked.

Almost as naturally as breathing, Gelida lied, “I was assigned work ahead of time so that I could skip class today and go on this quest.”

The guard smiled, “Oh, I see. Go ahead then, and be careful, alright?”

Gelida gave a hollow smile and nodded before moving on. It was as though her body knew exactly what to do, beyond even her thoughts; she made her way to the carriage service that she and Cadmus had gone to at the start of the quest, and showed them her quest sheet again. Thankfully, a different clerk was sitting behind the desk this time, and he easily granted her request.

Gelida guessed that it was probably not a common occurrence for students to use their quest sheets again to return to a place they had already been. There would be no point to it, and they would only end up in trouble.

All had gone smoothly, until the carriage Gelida had been provided had been stopped at the gates of Anguis. Her mind felt as though it were drifting through a fog, with only the echoes of dragon roars and flashes of memory to keep her company, and so only a very distant corner of her mind realized that there was some sort of commotion occurring at the gates.

The carriage driver drew close to the guards and exchanged a few words with them, and after several moments, they were finally allowed to continue, having to carefully weave through a rather large number of heavily armoured horse riders and several crowds of gilded carriages that had gathered right outside the gate.

“Apparently it’s an expedition of some sort,” The carriage driver yelled back at her once they were far enough away from the gates, and his voice pierced through the carriage walls, “Acernia has been conducting some training exercises near our Northwest border recently, and the bigwigs up top want to make sure that they don’t get any ideas.”

Gelida nodded to keep up the pretense that she cared—that she was still present—already having forgotten that the carriage driver couldn’t see her anyway. Perhaps because he wasn’t receiving such a willing reception, the carriage driver fell silent, and the rest of the way passed in dull quiet, leaving Gelida to stew in her own madness and memories.

Over time the sun reached its zenith, and then it sunk into the ground far to the West, and it was after the moon and stars had been twinkling dimly above in the sky for a while that the carriage finally approached its destination.

Just like last time, Gelida called for the driver to stop when they hit the bridge. She didn’t quite remember what she had said, but he had turned and left as bid—albeit hesitantly—and that was all that mattered.

Lighting a flame spell for light, Gelida stumbled forward, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, as though drunk. She felt deeply exhausted, like even her bones had reached their limits, even though she hadn’t been doing anything other than sitting in a carriage for the past few hours.

With only the flickering shadows upon the trees as her witness, she pushed onward through the fog of tiredness and dizziness. Then—she wasn’t quite sure after how long—the forest opened up and a familiar sight came into view.

Springville.

She stepped into the village, the dream of her childhood playing out all around her, and she suddenly found that the air could not keep up with her lungs anymore.

She could see her friends, Noel and Lucia, run right past her as they laughed and played hide-and-seek; She could see Reed with a crowd gathered around him, boasting about having just fought off three bears at once; she could see the old preacher announce, as he did every day, about how the old gods had been real, and how they had been the ones to grant people magic.

To look upon them once more was enthralling, but to hear them all at once was almost deafening. She staggered forward, her body moving without her input, and it knelt. For a single, solitary moment, a great clarity fell upon her. The fog lifted, and all she was surrounded by was a mass of memorials and ash.

And in front of her was the most important memorial of all. A memorial for a man who did not need a memorial, because he would never be forgotten.

Mylo Olvo.

And suddenly, she was crying, her breath turning into one heaving gasp. She caressed the roughly-made wooden cross as though it were her father’s head—as she had done once before.

“Ah… dad…” she sobbed, burying her face into the ash-laden dirt.

Her exhaustion overtook her, and her vision slowly faded, still caged by memories as it was. And, as her sobbing form stilled, under the uncaring night sky, she slept there, accompanied only by the ashes of the dead, the ashes of her home.