Dragon's Footsteps
"It is like the myth of the dragons," Laura whispered.
"Dragons are not a myth," Geoffrey said, wondering why he sounded so cold.
"Myth or no myth, we follow in their footsteps." Her hand, white like his, was almost transparent. "Lorn and his queen were the last of their race, and now, so are we."
"But Lorn's queen…" Geoffrey's voice faded.
"We follow in their footsteps," Laura repeated, "although my sacrifice only saved one."
Geoffrey grasped her hand securely. Laura's blood-red lips curved, but she could not find the strength to show her old smile. "Lorn survived," she whispered, "as for his queen, everything has a price."
Geoffrey knew.
They had decided to make the transition to Guardians in order for their race to survive, even knowing Geoffrey did not have the strength.
In the half trance of the ritual, he could do nothing as his jewels drained, then shattered, and finally returned to the darkness. Geoffrey sank slowly into the abyss, only the thought of his beloved Laura keeping him from spinning off into its depths.
And Laura had saved him. At the climax of the ceremony she had somehow transferred her jewels to him, shattering her own mind and soul. Laura had saved him, at the highest price possible to pay.
He was now a Guardian, one of the living dead. Laura lay on the alter, alive, but closer to demon-dead, a transition he knew she was not strong enough to make. Her black eyes were so deep they could have been those of the dragon queen herself, so dark they could only be described as ebony.
"Geoffrey," Laura murmured, "Lorn and his queen still live." Her eyes closed. "And my dreams have been added to the weaver's web."
In a slow spiral, Laura sank into the depths of the abyss.
"May the darkness be with you," Geoffrey whispered, and slowly began to feel the weight of his choices. There was only one place he could go now. Geoffrey stood, and left the alter, and his beloved Laura. Then he began walking, following the dragon's footsteps towards the black mountain, and Ebon-Askavi.