It was the writers' block again…Sorry. But I did say I WOULD NOT abandon this fic, even if it took a while to get the next chapter out. And I spent the time I had writers' block for THIS chapter planning out the final chapter and epilogue, so it wasn't like it was a waste of time or anything…I apologise for the wait, though.

A while ago – oh, all right, ages ago – I got a review asking me whether this would be Heath/Vaida. I'm just confirming that it won't be, since this chapter could be taken as a little Heath/Vaida-ish. But…I'm just writing it as friendship. Somehow, I like trying to write in little things about friendship, and I think it's nice just trying to show their closeness in the fic. (Huh?) I'm not sure if that's successful, though, and it is quite a complicated friendship, since there's quite a lot of respect (on Heath's part, anyway), and also Vaida's 'get lost' attitude. Plus I see her as more of an eccentric 'aunt' figure. A kind of…evil…eccentric aunt, though… ; p

Also, the spacing's a little messed up. doesn't seem to be agreeing with my computer at the moment...


Chapter 7: Those who fall into the dark.
Two days later, Heath stands guard outside the camp, along with an almost-healed Vaida. Although the wyvern knight still suffers a little pain when she bends, and the scar might never fade, the healers' staves have done much to speed up her recovery, and she had insisted the previous day that she be involved in both fighting and guard work, despite Heath's obvious alarm. Now, he approaches her, confused as to why she seems so angry with him.

"Ah…Commander?"

"What do you want?!"

"Are you sure you should be helping? Aren't you still injured?"

"I'm fine! When have I ever needed your opinion?"

"…" Heath merely stands there, waiting and listening. It's a technique that has never failed to work on her, and eventually, she roars out at him:

"It's all your fault, anyway! What'd you get us involved with them for?" Heath speaks in the same calm tone he always uses during one of her moods.

"If I hadn't, you'd have died."

"And? You should have just left me behind. Then you could've reported back to the Fang, kept serving Bern. But no, you…helped…me. You know what this means?" Heath is silent. He knows from experience that speaking will only infuriate her more. "Well? I'll tell you. You broke the oaths we took to Bern, to the Black Fang, and to King Desmond. You outlawed both me and yourself from Bern forever, and gave us both the name of deserters. Got anything to say about that?"

"I wasn't going to leave you to die, Commander! You're the best wyvern rider in years. You're famed for your fighting, and your command abilities. And you're...my friend." Vaida's expression has softened a little, although her scowl still remains: the combination of flattery and affection has worked, and she merely slaps him lightly on the side of his head, muttering under her breath.

"You're too sentimental, boy." She's repeated the same words countless times to him, and so Heath smiles, knowing he's been forgiven. The expression does not go unnoticed by Vaida, who slaps his head a little harder this time.

"Eh…What're you looking so soppy for? Back to guard duty with you, recruit!' They pass the rest of their time on guard duty in companiable silence. True, their lives may not be as they had wished, but they are once again friends, and that is enough.


He is there at last. Matthew stands outside the building that he thinks may house the one he wishes to destroy, staring up at the ornate architecture of a roof meant to shelter those with a height much greater than that of humans. A breeze chills his back: there is a small rustling noise behind him, and suddenly he is not alone. He tries to spin; to take a dagger from his cloak, but he cannot move.

"So, you have come to avenge her?" The voice is harsh, yet quiet, and a piece of bloodstained, dark fabric – a cape? – flutters past him in the wind. He tries to speak, and, to his surprise, finds that he can.

"How do you know?" A laugh from behind him.

"When you consumed the quintessence, hoping to be given greater strength in return, you left your soul open for the master of that morph, whose quintessence you took, to see. But I am not the one you seek to kill. You are looking for one of my servants." Rage fills him. This man knows the murderer! He knows where Matthew must go, then, for his revenge!

"Where is he?"

"I will tell you, in good time. But you have neither the strength nor the speed to defeat him, and that is why I am here. You see, I would like to make a deal with you. I will give you the power to kill this man, but only if you agree to certain conditions. To gain this power, you will need to sacrifice more of your soul. And before I allow you to kill him, there are certain lives I would like you to end for me, with this same power. If you succeed in this, I may even be able to return Leila to you."

Matthew needs no further persuading. If Leila can return, then it will all be worth it. Everything will be all right, with her alive again. And so he agrees. The man – for he now sees who he was speaking to – walks in front of him, and holds up his hands, muttering. Even as Matthew feels fresh strength empowering him, he also feels his emotions beginning to leave him – a little less happiness at the thought of Leila's return, a little less guilt about his attack on Merlinus. His memories of those he left behind begin to fade: a blue-haired man wielding an axe; a calm Ositian knight; a young lord, intent on finding his father, fencing with a nomad-girl with long, green hair and a sacred blade – all these flash before his eyes, and are gone. The last image he remembers is that of a pink-haired cleric, loud, but kind-hearted, sitting on a fence and waiting for his return. And then all is gone but Leila's name, and all that his heart carries is her face.

He listens to the instructions on where to find the people he must kill to regain Leila, accepts the company of morphs who will fight with him, and checks his weapons before setting out, heart cold. His only wish is to see Leila again, and, for that, he will do anything. Behind Matthew, waiting like a vulture at the entrance to the Dragon's Gate, is the man. The loose end of his turban sweeps back, revealing a horribly scarred face, as he speaks.

"Beware, young thief. For I am Lord Nergal, and those you will be killing were once your comrades!" And Nergal's exultant laughter rings throughout the Dragon's Gate.


Ugh...I think I've been translating too many Ancient Greek scripts lately...it seems like this is in a weird mixture of their style and my own. Also, whilst I was writing this, 'Nergal's Wrath' kept playing in my head. But it really sounds more...exultant...than wrathful, doesn't it? Thus the use of the word 'exultant' in the last sentence. (laughs) My mind works in reeeeally strange ways...I blame the hyperness. Anyway, until the next chapter, and thank-you to those who are reading this, as well as to those who both read and review! Eclipsedragon