If there truly was a golden age in Alagaësia, Valten thought, it certainly had come and passed long before the current day. The Riders did their best given the circumstances, but Valten found himself at the edge of a cave in the mountains surrounding Doru Araeba, gazing over the ruined city. Smoke rose from smoldering buildings. The stench of death and decay filled the valley even up to his elevation. Deep in the city, a large crater marked the self-sacrifice of an elf who merely wanted to help while ending his agony. Whether or not Thuviel did a bit of good in the end, Valten did not know. Nor did it matter anymore. The age of the Riders had ended.

"If only we could enjoy one last flight," said Iormúngr, Valten's dragon. The elf glanced at his crippled dragon, at the various scrapes, welts, lesions, and scratches that marred his indigo hide. And at the stubs where Iormúngr's wings had once been. It was all his dragon could do to climb through the brush of Vroengard to hide in a cave, and Valten has too little strength to heal their injuries.

"Yes, once more," Valten whispered.

The poison brought on by Thuviel's sacrifice had killed many of the life forms within the valley and was sickening those who survived but lacked necessary wards. Valten could not find enough energy from the landscape to ease their fatigue, let alone heal or protect. The colossal blast and subsequent fires killed much of the flora and fauna in the valley and weakened what remained. They both were falling ill as a result, and both had accepted the fact.

"If only we could go back in time. Change the past. I cannot believe Fate wished this upon Alagaësia on a whim."

Valten was not so sure. Yes, the events of the past handful of years caused far too much pain and death to ever justify. So many dragons died today alone that they as a species may never recover. Vrael and Umaroth, the leaders of the order, were not yet dead but had fled to heal if it does them any good. Normal Riders like himself hid on the island or fled across the ocean, knowing that they were prolonging the inevitable.

And yet he knew, like most others, the reasoning behind Galbatorix's rampage, and though insane the Mad Rider had many good points. The Riders could have been more generous with the masses. Below, many of the crumbling structures had been gilded with precious metals or decorated with ornate sculptures and carvings. Their treasury held chests and crates of gorgeous gems and jewels, artifacts both minor and valuable, important documents too sensitive to be held in the grand library. Riches only accessible to the Riders themselves, and occasionally to the monarchs of the other races. They held important knowledge and advances that could have better moved the races of Alagaësia forward.

The Riders could have done a better job teaching their apprentices as well. That alone would have prevented the initial spark for what Valten saw below. Galbatorix would have been able to save Jarnunvösk or may have never taken the trip in the first place. Moreover, those who joined him, full Riders with malice and corruption in their hearts, might have been weeded out or caught if they were taught better.

Alas, the Riders had become arrogant with their power and influence and their golden age. A man lost his dragon, driving him to insanity. With his intellect, Galbatorix managed to convince himself of the Riders' faults, driving him to seek revenge. Only, he went much farther, and one thing led to another, and now Valten sat at the edge of a cave on Vroengard, unprotected from an invisible poison, next to his dragon who had lost his wings and was also unprotected.

Some activity below caught Valten's eye. A black dragon roaming the destroyed streets. Shruikan.

None of the traitors had left yet. Shruikan's saddle, along with the saddles of the remaining nameless dragons, kept getting fuller with plundered riches. Maybe they will keep their newfound wealth to themselves, maybe they would share it with the masses, maybe they will use it to rebuild a new world of their liking. Valten did not know what would happen, and he did not expect to live long enough to find out.

"I wonder if Verveda's egg was captured or killed," Iormúngr mused sadly. "I wonder how many other eggs might survive."

"I wish I had an answer, I really do," Valten said. Thirteen crazed and insane dragons could not continue a species. Many others, like Iormúngr, were too injured to survive, let alone continue a species. It was the only thing about this fall of the mighty Riders that truly made Valten angry and sorrowful. Kingdoms, empires, governments, and organizations could rebuild or rise. Riches could be found and replaced. Peace could be fought for. But a species cannot return if too many are killed.

Their emotions mingled through their bond, mostly sorrow. Iormúngr dipped his scaly head, reflecting bits of indigo light all around the entrance of the cave. The crippled dragon snarled, then tapped the ground with his snout.

Valten felt a curious sensation run through their bond, one that he could not identify, as he had never felt it from Iormúngr before. The dragon raised his head and closed his eyes.

"I know I should mourn, and fear the fate that awaits us, but Valten, I am glad that we still have time together. The future is out of our hands, but we can still watch the sunset as Rider and dragon. I feel content; we have done what we could. The rest is up to Fate."

"Why the sudden shift?" Valten asked.

"It is not a shift but a realization. There was no mere whim. Fate must have had a reason, and I wish we could fight it, but we cannot, and thus it is best to accept it. What will be will be, and we will not be there to see it. So why plague our remaining time wondering and worrying about this new reality we find ourselves in? Let us enjoy the setting sun one last time."

Valten caught a glimpse of Iormúngr's thoughts. His dragon was thinking of their bond and friendship. And about the egg he had sired, a beautiful blue orb that he just knew would have a bright future. And Valten also saw what the dragon had been thinking when he tapped the ground.

For a moment, Iormúngr had used what magic he had left to give the land a minor blessing. To endure. Not to thrive, not to recover. That was beyond his ability. But to continue until good times returned.

"Valten, I am glad we have lived these past few centuries together. Yes, let's watch the sunset."

The giant fiery ball that lit and warmed the earth slowly descended to their left, casting them in a red glow.

It did not bother them to think they would not see the sky light up again.

A/N

I do plan on rearranging these short stories by chronological order once I feel this entire collection is complete. For now I am writing these pieces as they come to me, and I have several more ideas in mind.