Twenty-One || Wylaf

Rue awoke to the sound of somebody knocking on his door.

"Hey, Artema!" Mint's voice, only slightly muffled through the wood. "You up?"

The answer was no. Laboriously, he shoved off the bed and got himself upright, but had to take a few seconds between sitting up and standing up to get his blood flowing again. His joints were sore, his head throbbed faintly, his eyes felt gummy. Part of that was from the prior day, no doubt, but another part was from the night.

They had come back from dinner, said their goodbyes to Elena, and as soon as he was back at the inn Mint pressed him for the recitation of events. He told her, as closely as he dared, what had happened in the temple earlier that day, and she reciprocated by telling him, just as roughly, what had happened in the forest. She wasn't as animated about it as she usually was when she told stories – he could see that she was tired, too – but he appreciated the exchange all the same.

Then he went to bed. Technically.

More specifically, he lay in bed for a long time, caught in the useless state between waking and sleeping where he felt too much heaviness from the day to do anything but lie down, but he couldn't actually get himself to sleep. His rest, such as it was, continued like this in long bursts, between which there were some fits of what could loosely be called sleep.

But the sleep, such as it was, was fitful and restless. He dreamed, but he didn't know of what, and when he woke from these dreams he was immediately hit by a wave of anxiety, his skin prickling cold sweat. Brief panic set in, and for a few confused seconds he realized he was late, or there was somewhere he had to be, or something he was forgetting to attend to, and he had to get out of bed right now and go take care of it.

The feeling washed away quickly, and he was too tired to act on it immediately anyway, but the feeling left him rattled and, naturally, he had great difficulty getting back to sleep after he was jolted awake.

Now, jolted awake by something completely different, he could at least forego the anxiety, although he could not forego the tiredness. He could at least take a moment to try and gather himself, though; he sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, trying to push back the pulsing sensation in his skull, trying to focus on what he had seen during the night.

No good. He had dreamed, he was aware of that, but the imagery was ephemera; he tried to grasp it, remember it, but it pulled away and fogged up and all he was left with was a strange sense of loss.

A remnant of the puppet's broken soul? Maybe. He had never dealt with a spirit in such a... condition... as those creatures before.

But something else, too. The panic, the anxiety– that was familiar. Although he hadn't felt that way in years. And he didn't want to feel that way again.

"Hey!" Mint shouted again, and he looked at the door. Somehow he felt even wearier.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again, projecting properly this time. "Yes?"

"Get out here, we need to talk."

Lovely.

He took a moment to make himself at least vaguely presentable, then another moment more to just lean against the door, eyes closed, controlling his breathing. When he was ready – ready enough, at least – he finally opened the door and found Mint leaning against the opposite wall, her arms crossed, waiting for him.

"Good morning," he said flatly.

She didn't bother with any further formality. "You still serious about going to see a dragon?"

It took him longer than it should have to realize what she was talking about, and when it sunk in, he nodded.

"Thought so," she said. "You're gonna need a boat, right?"

Right. Klaus had mentioned that. And then they had descended into bickering about whether and how thoroughly he was going to be immolated.

"Yeah," he said, and then realized. "You– you got a boat yesterday, to get to the forest."

She nodded. "Look," she started, "I figured, if you were still serious about your awful plan, I can at least refer to the right boat guy. Get you there and back real fast."

"Having a change of heart?" Rue asked.

Mint gave him a lopsided smile. "Not on your life," she said cheerfully. "But I figure, if you don't die, you'll be able to scoot out and then scoot back before noon. And then we'll have phantomite, and Klaus can do whatever he needs to do with it, and after that all we need to do is find Belle and Duke and kick them until they hand over the tiara."

"Such a simple matter," Rue said.

"I thought so." She grinned at him. "I expect to be weaving the fabric of the universe by dinner. Sound good?"

"It sounds absurd."

"That's the best part, isn't it?" She laughed. "It does sound absurd. This is... this is nuts, you understand that. Two miscellaneous bits of magic and a short walk and it's all over. I win. We win."

And that was perfectly true, absurd as it was; Mint might have been pushing the time-line a bit, but there was no denying that they were on the cusp of impossibility. Even accounting for any further complications in getting the tiara back, they would have the Relic in their possession before the week was out. The prospect sent something in his chest fluttering, and alongside it something else clamped down, icy and powerful; wild hope and honest, abject terror. To know what they had, to be so close to it–

He wasn't sure how to feel, or how to react, but Mint's enthusiasm crept up on him and he found some of his tiredness evaporating. He stood up a bit straighter. He dared to smile.

"We win," he repeated.

"Damn right," she said. "Get yourself together. I'll take you to the guy."

. .

No more than an hour later – after he had attended to final prep work and they had both gotten a decent breakfast – Mint was leading him out the door and toward the forest gate. They weren't halfway there, however, when they were stopped by a voice.

"Rue! Mint!" Klaus called. They both turned to see him and Mira approaching. He was walking as fast as he could on his bad leg, and actually putting some distance between himself and Mira with it. As he got closer, it became apparent that he was also a bit frazzled.

Rue felt something in his stomach drop. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe?" Klaus said. He shook his head. "Something I was expecting, certainly..." He stopped suddenly, looking between the two of them before his gaze settled on Rue. "Ah, but you were going to the Raging Mountain, weren't you?"

"The–"

"Volcano," he clarified.

"Yes," he said.

Klaus frowned. "Maybe I'm overreacting," he said. "But..."

"What's up?" Mint asked.

Klaus' gaze slid to her. "You're not accompanying him?"

"No."

"Then could I ask you to come with me?" Klaus asked. "I... think the problem may be magical in nature. You're better versed in that sort of thing than I am."

"What is the problem?" she pressed, then gave a little start. "Is this about the Prima Doll?"

"Yes."

She shot a quick look to Rue, then nodded to Klaus. "Yeah, yeah, I'll take a look," she said, and immediately broke rank. She projected her next words to Rue; "Sorry, but there might be more pressing concerns."

"Of course," he said. "Doctor, what's...?"

"Don't worry about it," Klaus said, and by the tone of his voice Rue believed him. Some of the urgency had died down, and Klaus gave him a little half-smile. "If it's something on our end, I'm sure Mint is more than capable of happening. And... well, as I said, I might be overreacting. The Prima Doll isn't complete. It may just need the phantomite."

Rue wanted to press the issue, but he finally gave in and simply nodded. "All right," he said. "Ah, Mint, where–"

"You were going to see Rod, right?" Mira asked. "I'll take you to him." She held up a small lunch bag. "I was just going out to say hello, myself."

"He's not that far," Mint added. "So best of luck with all that. I'll handle the problems on the home front."

"Thank you," Klaus said. "Come along, I'll explain what I can."

They turned and headed back toward the house, and Mira fell in step alongside Rue. "They'll be fine," she said. "Walk with me."

He didn't have much of a choice, and certainly no reason to object. Mira took the lead, and Rue fell in step alongside her, out the gate and into the forest. He was mulling over a few possible questions to ask, but before he had quite made up his mind about whether to pursue any of them Mira spoke up.

"You're headed out to the Raging Mountain?" she asked. "That's a bit of a trip. What's the occasion?"

"Klaus hasn't been telling you?"

"Bits and pieces," she said. "I don't generally ask too much, not while he's in the middle of things. Although around the time there was an unconscious boy appeared in our basement, I had to ask a few questions." She tilted her head. "So?"

"We need phantomite," Rue said. "I need to speak to Wylaf."

Mira nodded and looked ahead, her eyes un-focusing. "Ah, I should have figured." She was quiet for a few seconds, contemplative. "Are you sure about this?"

"Very," Rue said. There was a faint edge to his voice, a tone that also implied, Not you, too.

Mira made a low hum in her throat and nodded. "I saw Wylaf once."

"You spoke to him?"

"No, I saw him. It was during a terrible storm, all downpour and lightning. I was taking shelter in one of the caves out here and happened to look outside, and– and there was this shape, this great huge thing flying overhead. Every time there was a flash of lightning I'd see his silhouette, just circling over the forest in the middle of this storm." She paused, and when she spoke up again, her voice was much quieter. "Scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Do you... do you know why he was there?"

"I don't know," Mira said. "But looking at him– it's hard to explain. It was just such a primal sense of power, it... Klaus had to come looking for me in the morning, I just didn't know what to do after that. If you're going to try to talk to him..."

"I know," Rue said. "I'll be careful."

"Mm."

She led him down a little side path off the main forest path, which shortly exited the forest and sloped down to a little rock-walled meadow that sat on the edge of a river. Sitting in the middle of it was a small fire pit; next to the fire pit, a small dog. Rue's eyes immediately turned, however, upon the blazing scarlet machine settled on the surface of the water.

"Oh my- that's a boat?" he asked.

"It is not a boat!" a voice shouted, and Rue suddenly became aware of the red-haired man standing at the bow of the vehicle, polishing its hull. The man turned and scowled in Rue's general direction, but before he could actually focus Mira held up the lunch bag and his expression immediately melted into a grin.

"Morning, Rod," she said.

"Ah, Mira." He bowed and moved to meet her. "You are too kind to me."

He reached for the lunch bag, but Mira jerked her hand away from him. "Not so kind today, I'm afraid," she said. "I'm calling in a favor."

"What's the occasion?"

She looked over her shoulder, and Rue took that as his cue to move in next to her.

"Friend of yours?" Rod asked.

"I suppose so," Mira said, smiling gently. "Rod, this is Rue. been helping Klaus with his research–"

"Ah!" Rod clapped once, nodding in understanding. "Mint's friend? You were vaguely mentioned, once."

"Was I?" Rue asked. "By Mint?" He hesitated. "How did that go?"

"Said you helped her fight some unpleasantness in the underground ruins," Rod said, giving him a quick up-and-down assessment. "You're a swordsman?"

"Insofar as I have a sword," he said. "I was never really trained for it, though."

"Pity." Rod turned his attention back to Mira. "I take it your favor involves the boy?"

"It does. And it involves your ACV."

"Not boat," Rod clarified.

"Not boat," Mira agreed.

She nodded to Rue. He picked up the conversation from there. "I need transport to the Raging Mountain. Mint said that your– your vehicle was the best way to travel over water–"

"How flattering."

"–and I was hoping maybe you could take me there?"

Rod rubbed his chin. "The Raging Mountain? A dragon lives there."

"So I've been told."

"Hmm. What business do you have going after dragons?"

"Does it matter?" Mira asked.

Rod turned his attention back to her. "When you're withholding food from me, I guess it doesn't," he said. "Although I imagine there's quite a story behind that."

"A bit," Rue admitted.

"Well," Rod said, heaving an over-dramatic sigh. "I suppose I didn't have any major plans today. Why not?"

"You're a sweetheart," Mira said. She handed him the lunch bag, and he accepted it immediately, bowing his head to her. "And you be careful out there too, okay?"

"Naturally," Rod said.

Mira gave him a smile that suggested she didn't entirely believe him. "Of course," she said. "I'll see you both later."

A small chorus of goodbyes were exchanged, and Mira turned away and started back up the path, soon disappearing into the forest. Rod quickly checked the contents of the lunch bag and, apparently satisfied, turned himself toward the vehicle.

"Well," he said, "I can hardly say 'no' to a request from Mira." He looked over his shoulder. "Are you going out there for something from the volcano, or are you actually gonna look for the dragon?"

"I need something from him," Rue said.

Rod shook his head, smiling. "You've got something real important if you're willing to do that," he said. "Care to share?"

"You'll forgive me if I don't."

"Hah! Now I'm more curious." He turned back to the vehicle. "Well, maybe I'll wrangle it out of you later. You'll be wanting to leave now?" Rue nodded, and Rod indicated the passenger seat of the machine. "She'll take a few minutes to properly warm up, but you can make yourself comfortable while we wait."

Rue approached the machine, but couldn't quite bring himself to jump inside. He ran his hand along the side, across cool, smooth metal, feeling a faint thrum from somewhere deep inside. "What is this?" he asked.

Rod turned to face him and flashed a broad grin. "Ah! Let me tell you about the Pulsar-inferno Typhoon Omega..."

. .

Being told about the Pulsar-inferno Typhoon Omega came a far, far second to being shown what she was capable of.

Rue had taken quite a number of water vehicles over the years and there was nothing that could compare to the sheer smooth speed of Rod's machine. Magically boosted, which was already quite a rarity, and the sheer amount of power behind it was staggering. Rod had explained the theory – and Rue had understood – but there was quite a difference between understanding the concept and actually experiencing that kind of power.

The trip was quick; not even an hour later they were sidling up alongside the beach, and Rue was hopping out of the passenger seat and onto the dark volcanic sand. He checked to make sure he had everything – good to go – and turned back to face Rod. Rod was leaning out of the pilot chair.

"Pleasant ride?" he asked.

"Where did you get this?" Rue asked. "I've never..."

"Ah, ah," Rod said. "I'll tell you where she came from when you tell me why you're talking to dragons. Takes a lotta heart to do something like that."

Rue smiled faintly. "Deal."

Rod nodded, and gave him a quick salute. "All the best," he said. "I'll be here waiting for the good word."

"Thank you."

Rue turned to face the Raging Mountain.

The island itself was lush; the beach was a length of dark sand and little else, but on either side the foliage was dense and lush and vibrantly green, the heavy bushes sometimes giving way to tall, thin palm trees. The foliage pressed around him more tightly as he moved further inland, the beach rapidly narrowing and giving way to a fine and somewhat rocky path the further up he went, but it never quite closed in; he could easily navigate the footpath, and had the benefit of occasional pools of shade as he went.

It wasn't long, however, before his hike started to turn less accommodating. The foliage followed him for a while, but eventually the volcanic soil gave way to rockier terrain, where plants had a much harder time growing, and after a short while of following the path he soon found himself leaving behind greenery and making his way across a rock path– cracked, crumbling, and a little meandering.

But there was a definite path. Humans had been this way before him; the path was deliberately carved in the stone, and while time had not been kind to it the proportions were such to make a comfortable footpath for people – multiple people at once, at that – to make their way with relative ease up the side of the mountain.

So he followed that. Not that he had any real indication of where he was going other than the path that had been carved into the mountain, after all. He wasn't exactly sure at what point he would stumble into a dragon's den. Before the apex, he assumed – the way Klaus and Mira had spoken, it didn't sound like there and back again was supposed to take too long – but that still left a lot of ground to cover, and if they had approached from the wrong side... well, he could be there a while.

But he had a feeling, as he zig-zagged his way up the mountainside, that he was just where he needed to be. The path had been cut here for a reason; whoever had made it had done so very deliberately and for a very long time. If the path somehow didn't lead somewhere of significance, it would have been an incredible amount of wasted time and effort on the part of whoever had carved it, and while that was a possibility he doubted somebody would have gone to so much trouble only to realize that they were headed in the wrong direction.

Although eventually he started to think that might be the case.

As the path moved ever upward, it became rockier, cracked, damaged. Thinner, too; what had been a footpath meant for a small cluster of people started to narrow down to only a couple at a time, and eventually only one. He still had some leeway, enough that he didn't feel in immediate danger of falling, but with the sheer rock wall to one side and the sheer cliff to the other, a faint dizziness was starting to creep up on him.

Finally, after perhaps an hour of walking, the path suddenly terminated.

It caught him somewhat off-guard, even though he could see it coming from a fair way down the slope. He must have been getting tired. Tired and foggy; he wasn't sure how far up he was, but the air was probably getting thinner and he needed to take a break, anyway.

The path widened somewhat before it smacked clean into a wall, and he sat down there and leaned back against the mountainside, giving himself a few minutes to catch his breath. When he felt a little clearer, he leaned forward and looked down the path, then out, over the rest of the island and back to the beach. He could still make out the Pulsar-inferno Typhoon Omega, a dab of stark crimson against the light blue shallows.

Now what?

He inhaled deeply, exhaled, rested his head against his arms. Well, that was a waste of time.

At least he got a nice view out of it.

He had been hoping that the path would lead up to the dragon's den, somehow. Somebody – a human being, no doubt about that – had carved this path for a reason, and it wasn't so they could come to a stop partway up the mountain and take in pleasant scenery. This had to lead somewhere. Had to.

Maybe it was incomplete, though. Maybe they had gotten partway up and turned around. Maybe the dragon had decided they had gone far enough. Maybe they had grossly miscalculated whatever they were doing. Maybe...

Maybe he was missing something.

He looked back at the wall. The logginess that had been taking him was starting to clear up, now that he'd had a few minutes to breathe, and thoughts were crystallizing. The wall where the path terminated wasn't like the rest of the mountainside; it was darker, the texture all wrong. He stood up and ran his hand over the wall. Porous. Dark. Dense.

He looked further up the mountain, following the vein of scoria, and saw overhead where the lava flow had started. Then he looked down, following the dark flow further down the mountain.

He had to get a better look.

He transformed into a bird – small, quick, and probably not built for flying at this altitude for too long – and hopped off the ledge, carrying himself on the breeze a short distance out before turning and facing the volcano's side again. He flew past once, doubled back and checked again, and gave it a third pass just to be certain. He returned to the ledge before gravity could weigh too heavily on him and changed back. He turned to face the scoria wall again.

It was all one stream, originating from only one eruption point, and didn't extend too far down the mountain. He wasn't particularly well-versed in the nature of erupting volcanos, but it seemed unlikely to him that a single river of lava would have made such a precise path down the mountain. It didn't look like the results of an errant volcanic stream; it looked like a poor bit of patchwork.

The path hadn't ended. It had been sealed.

That would be a problem. If he had some mining tools, he might be able to make headway against the rock, but the only thing at his disposal was a sword and that would do him little good. He cracked the hilt of it against the stone just to be sure, and while he managed to break off a small bit of rock he knew that making a real dent would probably take him the better part of a week.

So that was out.

Maybe he could go back to town and recruit Mint for this. She wouldn't need to deal with the dragon, but her magic might be enough to displace the rock, or at least damage it enough that a pickaxe would finish the job without much more difficulty.

Or maybe there was another route up the mountain. Old lava vents he could crawl through, like...

Like the one just above him.

He sheathed the gladius and reached for the wall. He caught a decent handhold, then another, and started to climb. The vent wasn't too far overhead, and the porous rock gave him a good surface to hold on to; soon enough, his fingers were hooked on the edge of the vent, and he yanked himself up into the opening.

The tunnel was larger than he had expected, although it was still a little too cramped to comfortably crawl through, at least in human form. It was also terribly dark; the sunlight came in at a bad angle, plunging the tunnel into shadow only a few feet in.

Rue knew it was a bad idea. With luck, the tunnel would lead into the mountain, where the dragon's den presumably was. Without luck it might wind him right to the source of lava.

But he also felt confident about his gamble. The way the mountain looked, the path he had been following couldn't have continued up its side; the way the wall ended, the way the lava rock flowed, it looked as though the path had continued on its way into the mountain, and there was a chance – a reasonable one, not to be dismissed – that the vent would take him to wherever that path had gone. And if not...

Best not consider.

He focused and transformed, calling up the memory of the fiery lizard-creature from Elroy's labyrinth. Smaller than he was, low to the ground, equipped with its own light source and powerful hooked claws to dig into the stone. It was also fairly flexible; he checked to make sure he had enough room to completely turn himself around in case leaving became a priority. Thus assured – mostly assured, relatively assured, assured enough – he turned back down the tunnel and walked.

The salamander's flame cast enough light to see by, but it turned out to not be completely necessary. The path followed a gentle downward slope, but it was a straight shot from there; no deviations, no branching paths, just a fine, uniform line leading him forward, and down, and deeper...

And toward light.

He wasn't sure he saw it at first, but dousing the salamander's fire made it easier to see. It was pale, indirect, an obvious egress from the tunnel– and, fortunately, not a fiery one.

He slid through the remaining length of the tunnel and poked his head out, peering into the surroundings. The air was cooler here, and though there was plainly a wall across from him he could tilt his head back and see, far overhead, the cone widening and flaring out into the sky. The sun was not yet overhead, so most of the light inside the room was indirect, and the salamander's poor eyesight was doing him no favors.

He stepped to the edge of the tunnel and looked down. The tunnel opened out in the wall several feet above the floor. He leaned out, digging his claws carefully into the stone, and managed to drag himself carefully into the room, descending the wall vertically until he reached the floor. Once he was back on solid ground, he abandoned the salamander's form and stood up properly, trying to get a sense of where he was.

A massive, rocky room, carved out of the middle of the volcano. It had been the central lava vent, once, but something had plainly carved itself a living space out of the opening, and a substantial one; the spherical room was huge, divided into long shelves several feet high and dozens of feet long, creating a strange tiered effect both a few levels above him and several levels below. Above, the room opened upward into a massive dome of a ceiling that merged into the rest of the lava vent, opening out into the wide caldera of the volcano and allowing natural light to stream in; below, in the middle of the room, the tunnel leading down into the lava bed was sealed shut by a single, heavily weathered boulder.

The light down in the room was only just enough to see by, and not in a particularly good detail. The shelves were rocky, interspersed with boulders; directly across from him was a massive, sprawling line of dark rock. The distance between each shelf level were too much for him to see up above, but a couple of levels down he could see indications of something that was not simply rock. Even in the indirect light he could make out faint gleaming. Nothing was distinct, at that distance and in the shadows, but Klaus had mentioned that Wylaf was a collected of gems and metals. If this was his lair – and by all indications, it certainly seemed to be – then chances were he was looking at the hoard.

And the dragon...

"An intruder...?"

He froze.

It was a powerful voice without being a voice– a single, resonant thought, somehow heavy and ancient, intruding into his mind. The word itself was not even a word, not as such; it was a thought that carried a concept, translated into his own language for the sake of expedience, but behind it he could feel the original power– intent, accusation, a hint of uncertainty.

Then the ridge of dark stone ahead of him shuddered, shifted, moved, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Rue was aware of dragons; large winged reptiles, fire-breathers and flame-weavers, extraordinarily rare. He had heard of them from stories and read about them in books, but he had never seen one in the flesh, or even met anybody who had. His concept of them was primal, powerful, and abstract in the extreme.

Now, suddenly staring at one, he understood Mint's trepidation.

Wylaf unfurled himself from where he had laid down, a solid object slowly breaking into its individual parts. Limbs that had been tucked under the body shifted, allowing his claws to splay against the ground. His tail peeled away from his side, sweeping long across the floor until it settled along the edge of the far wall. His head rose, lifted up into the air by a long, powerful neck, and turned slowly to examine the room. Even in the darkness, his eyes gleamed amber.

"An intruder..."

Then his gaze turned toward Rue, and he stopped.

"You," Wylaf intoned, his mental projection huge and strong. His eyes narrowed, and his limbs shifted again. His body weight settled back, and then he shoved off the ground and hauled himself upright, his leather wings unfurling slightly to help him balance as he rose up to his full height. He lowered his head and craned his neck, taking a heavy step forward to turn his whole body to face Rue.

Rue became sharply aware of just how easily he could fit into the dragon's jaws.

"I closed myself to human intervention," the dragon said. "How did you-"

Wylaf stopped himself. His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes narrowed quizzically, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No... you are not human."

Rue swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to find his voice.

"I– I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "You're– you're Wylaf?"

The dragon's lips drew back, revealing a flash of razor teeth. He made a deep thrumming noise from somewhere in his chest– a laugh. "You invade my demesne and then ask my name?" His tail cracked against the ground. "A strange set of manners they impart these days. But it saves an introduction." He shifted his weight, settling slightly. "Perhaps the thief would like to inform me of his name?"

"Rue Artema, and–"

"Artema..."

"–I didn't come here to steal anything. I wanted to– to ask you a favor."

"A refreshing change of pace," Wylaf said. "What manner of favor?"

"I heard you... you have a collection of precious ores."

"A favor, and yet you still seek to steal from my stores." But Wylaf's voice was amused rather than irate, and his body language had relaxed substantially. "Carry on, boy. What riches bring you to a dragon's den?"

"Phantomite."

"Mage ore?" Wylaf tilted his head again. "An unusual request. For what purpose?"

Rue paused, trying to put together a simple explanation and realizing that he would need more than a few words to explain. So he explained; about the Prima Doll, about its purpose. Wylaf listened, impassive, until he was done explaining what would be done with the phantomite, and once Rue went quiet he took a few more seconds before he began speaking again.

"You would use the phantomite in service of obtaining Valen's Relic."

"Yes."

"Unacceptable."

That caught him off guard. "Wh-what?"

"Unacceptable," Wylaf repeated. "Either you do not understand the power of Valen's Relic, in which case you can't be entrusted with its use, or you do understand its power, in which case your pursuit is beyond reckless. Neither possibility is particularly enticing, and neither of them lead me to believe you can handle the power of that Relic."

No. No, this was not the conversation he wanted to have, not again. "I– I know what it can do. Or at least what Mel says it can do. Please, I–"

"Mel!" Wylaf said. "You've spoken to her? She approves of this madness?"

"She's helped us, yes."

Wylaf growled deep in his throat, a contemplative sound rather than a threatening one. Rue saw it as allowance to go on.

"Please," he repeated. "I know what she said it can do. There's only one thing I want from it, I'll seal it back if I need to, I–"

"Inhuman," Wylaf snarled, cutting him off immediately. "Yet so predictably human. A single desire for which you would risk the stability of the world? Selfish."

"It's not for me!"

"Then why pursue it at all? At behest of someone else? Puppetry, then. You are not convincing me of the nobility of your intentions, boy."

"I lost someone," Rue said quickly. "I owe her my life– I owe her everything– I need to repay that debt, I–"

"And necromancy!" Wylaf laughed again, louder, and with a new edge of cruelty. "Are you familiar with Sorcerer Yordaf, boy? That was his earnest desire, too. Love lost too early, and in pursuit of its return– abomination. He made contracts with demons, allowed them to use his hands as they would while he slept, allowed them to spread their corruption until the town was nearly consumed by it. Stitched together his chimaera in a fit of infernal madness. You recognize this."

Rue hadn't said anything, but his own disgust and horror must have been plain in his expression. He nodded.

"And you will recognize that even demons were not the worst of his works. You have seen them, I can see that– those creatures, those husks. He tore bodies and souls asunder to make them."

Rue shook his head. "You said he was possessed..."

Wylaf snorted. "And yet his worst transgressions were done in pursuit of Elroy's mad design. Yordaf sought the Relic to bring back his beloved, and allied with Elroy. The husks were made in pursuit of creating the key to unlock the Relic."

And then Rue understood. "The Prima Doll."

"Inconsequential. You must understand my point."

"This is different."

"It always is, isn't it?"

Rue bit his lip, tried to think. "It– it is. You can tell I'm not human. I– I'm carrying her soul. I won't–"

"Astounding," Wylaf admitted, "but also inconsequential." He lifted his head up, regarding Rue from his full height. "Yordaf was willing to do worse than murder– he rent souls apart. He allowed that town to be annihilated. What are you willing to destroy on your path? What consequences are you willing to bear? To unearth that Relic... its mere presence could endanger the world. Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then leave." Wylaf turned around and stepped up to the next shelf. "Abandon your pursuits. Recognize your insufficiency. Move on."

"Unacceptable."

Wylaf was halfway up the second shelf when he stopped. His next twisted, and he fully faced Rue once more. "What's that?"

His heart was pounding, he was flush with fear, but something stronger than that compelled him to continue speaking. He stepped forward, almost to the ledge, and forced himself to meet Wylaf's gaze. "I said– I said that's not acceptable. I'm not leaving without phantomite."

"Such cheek," Wylaf growled. He flashed his teeth again. "I'm almost impressed."

He half-turned so the whole length of his body was visible, his claws digging into the rock, his tail idly scraping the floor, his burning eyes focusing intently on Rue. Then he turned fully around. His body was too long to comfortably fit the shelf; his tail had to coil up to his side, bladed tip twitching and flicking, and his foreclaws bit into the ledge, scattering a shower of rock beneath them. He must have been waiting for something, but Rue was unsure what, and he tried to assess the dragon, determine what he was waiting for.

Wylaf's weight shifted. Rue had no chance to react.

The dragon shoved off the stone, hurtled across the divide, and slammed onto the shelf at Rue's level, not twenty feet to his side. Rue threw himself out of the way as a cloud of dust and rubble erupted around the dragon's claws, but it was useless reflex. Hardly a moment later he was suddenly pinned to the ground beneath Wylaf's foreleg, the dragon's heavy claws scraping furrows into the stone on either side of him.

Wylaf lowered his head until his face was a few feet above Rue, amber eyes blazing down at him.

"Well," the dragon said. "That was unimpressive."

Rue tried to move, but Wylaf simply pressed down a little harder, applying firm but gentle pressure, completely immobilizing him. The dragon lifted his head away, looking at him quizzically.

"I'm going to release you," he said, "at which point you will have space to leave."

Slowly, Wylaf drew his claws away. Rue remained lying on his back for a few seconds, trying to gather himself enough to stand again. He flipped over and clambered back to his feet, checked himself over quickly. No injuries, no damages; mostly he was shaken. He drew in a quivering breath and turned again to face the dragon.

Wylaf looked down at him. "Are you going to leave?" he asked quietly.

Rue did not respond immediately. He was shivering, he was scared. Those claws were easily the size of his torso and more than capable of ripping through rock; flesh would be no defense against them. He knew that if Wylaf was going to demand he fight for the phantomite, he didn't have a chance.

Maybe it would be best to leave, then. This was the closest place to get it, but Klaus had been right; if he could wait a few months, or several, then they could retrieve phantomite far more reliably and without risking substantial personal injury. It was just a matter of exercising patience. He had been at this pursuit for three years; surely a few more months – assuming Klaus could track down phantomite, assuming he could afford it – would not make much more difference. And he couldn't throw his life away. Not while he held Claire's.

So he just had to not die.

He drew in a deep, trembling breath, held it, forced himself to calm down. Then he looked at Wylaf.

"No."

Before he had properly recovered he was slammed back into the ground, pinned between Wylaf's claws again.

"You're not terribly bright."

Rue had barely enough room to breathe, but he used it. "I'm not– I'm not letting you stop me."

"What a daring plan."

But the pressure eased slightly. Rue used it to re-adjust himself into a less painful position and started scooting back, working his way out from beneath Wylaf's claws. If the dragon noticed, he wasn't bothered by it.

"Is that really what you think you can do? Unleash such magic as never belonged in this world, and just... not let it happen? What makes you think you above anybody else have the power to prevent that?"

Rue shoved himself back and managed to work one of his arms out from Wylaf's grip. The dragon lifted his foreclaws away, apparently finding the game unnecessary, and gave Rue an opportunity to stand again. Rue didn't take it; he lay back for a few seconds, eyes closed, and then simply sat up.

"I..." He massaged his forehead. "I don't know."

Wylaf settled back on his haunches, tilting his head inquisitively. Rue managed to stagger back to his feet again.

"I don't know," he repeated. "But I made her a promise. If you won't trust me with the phantomite, I'll find it elsewhere. I'm not giving up."

"I can kill you where you stand," Wylaf growled. "That, I imagine, would complicate your plans considerably."

Rue stiffened, waiting for the dragon to move against him again. Instead, Wylaf lowered his upper body until he was lying down again, easily languishing in front of him.

"And yet, you are still willing to face a dragon." He adjusted himself slightly, shifting to lean his weight to one side, and lowered his head closer to Rue's height, almost lying down entirely. "Your sense of self-preservation is curiously lacking for somebody pursuing the power of a Relic."

Wylaf's posture was entirely non-threatening now, radiating power and, now, a deep sense of calm. Rue relaxed into it.

"Because I don't want its power. Not just to have it."

"I know." Wylaf closed his eyes. "Your intentions are... pure." He opened his eyes again. "Tell me of this woman, and how you came to owe her so much."

Rue obliged, and the dragon let him talk without interruption. When he had finished telling Wylaf about Claire, Wylaf had another inquiry, about what Rue had already accomplished in Carona. And when that was done, Wylaf closed his eyes again and tilted his head down, making a deep hum in the back of his throat. "I see."

He raised his head, then pushed off with his forelegs, then his hind legs, raising his whole body up in a slow wave. He turned, peering down into the core of the room, and stepped down to the next shelf, and the next.

"I don't entirely approve of this," Wylaf said. "But I approve of it enough, and I trust Mel's judgment to fill in the rest."

He stepped down to his hoard and shifted some of the collection to the side, then reached it and plucked something out of the mass. He curled his claws around it, and made his way three-legged back to the shelf Rue was standing on. There, he opened his claw, and set on the ground a lump of metal about twice the size of Rue's fist.

Rue stared at it for a moment, somewhat stunned, and slowly approached the clump of metal. He lifted it – lighter than he had expected, still quite solid, and seemed almost to resonate in his hands – and turned it over a few times, although there was not much to notice in the poor light of the cave. He looked up to Wylaf.

"Are you... sure?" he asked.

"Of course not," Wylaf said. "But it's a gamble that I am willing to take. Perhaps your purity of intention will reign in the raw magic of that Relic." He paused. "And if not, I will at least know who to blame."

Rue ignored that. "Thank you."

Wylaf looked to the wall and flicked his head slightly. There was a tangle of magical activity, abrupt and intense, and with a deep booming noise something exploded; Rue saw the flare of light through a short tunnel.

"The footpath is open," Wylaf said. "I'm not sure how you got in here, but I imagine it was far less comfortable, and you weren't burdened with the phantomite."

"That did lead in here," Rue said. "Why did you seal it?"

"My dalliances with humans turned... sour... at a certain point," the dragon said. "I did not wish to involve myself in their affairs any longer, and I was hoping they would not involve themselves in mine." He exhaled and lay down heavily. "But it's been quite a while since then. I don't believe I have much need to keep myself isolated any longer."

"Since you're expecting the world to end," Rue said.

"Yes." Wylaf considered the statement. "Do try not to let that happen."

"It won't."

"Such certainty." He nodded. "I wish you the best of luck, Rue Artema."

"Thank you," he said again. "This means... everything."

Rue turned to where he had seen the tunnel and started back out the mountain. Behind him, he heard the shift and scrape of Wylaf settling down fully.

"Come back to me when this is done," Wylaf said. Rue stopped at the turn into the tunnel and looked over his shoulder. Wylaf lowered his head, resting, but watched Rue with one blazing amber eye. "Tell me the end of this story."

Rue smiled faintly. "All right."

He left the den.