Long ago, when Creation was young, things were different. The edges of the world were sealed from the devouring chaos of the Wyld. We ruled Creation and all lived in perfect peace and harmony with all things, for all things knew their place in the world.
Then demons came into the world, slithering in through cracks in the sky. They claimed themselves the true rulers of Creation.
They stole the blood from children's veins and fed it to lizards that crawled in the dust and sharks that swam in the sea to make powerful abominations that walked on two legs and claimed to be greater than human by force of their new power. But though the stalking beasts tried to pervert the perfected hierarchy of the world with monstrous might, we were not beaten.
They chipped holes in the seal of the world and let trickles of chaos come in and wrap themselves in parodies of human form. These claimed themselves placed above humans, leaders come from the gods. The false folk spoke with voices of bells and the tongues of sleek cats, but we were not deceived and these too were defeated.
But when they found the cracks in human hearts and slid inside, they claimed those as well.
So it was the first Anathema drew breath in the world. They stole the powers of the sun and the moon and with it they set to make their demon selves the new Lords of Creation, to destroy the very structure built into the world. They had the tongues of cats and the might of sharks, and they deceived many and killed those they could not, and when they grew bored they slaughtered their own kingdoms and built new cities of corpses.
But there were those whose hearts had no openings for demons to use, and they prayed to the makers of the world, the Five Immaculate Dragons, and because of their virtue the dragons heard the prayers as they lay sleeping. Each took human form and came to walk among us. The Immaculate Dragons blessed the greatest and most virtuous with the powers of their elements, and these were the first Exalted. They led the Dragonblooded host against the demons, driving them from the world and casting them into a prison made of their own bone.
Though the demons had been defeated and banished from the world, they could not be banished from the hearts of humans. So long as there were cracks in human hearts, they could still find their way back in, and there would again be Anathema upon the world. So it was the Immaculate Dragons set the Dragonblooded as princes of the earth, that they might fight corruption and heresy wherever it appeared.
Once, in the dawn of things, humans struggled in the world, for Creation was full of great monsters and greater makers. The gods of the elements, of sea and tree, wind and flame, of the stone that supports the world, saw their suffering and blessed the most noble with their power, that they might be Exalted and make the world more righteous, and for a time things were well.
But the gods of the sky looked down and saw what the gods of the world had done, of the might of their champions and the many challenges that remained. And so they descended from on high to Creation, and they picked those they found most noble to wield their power, the power of the sun and the moon and the stars.
And they were so mighty the air around them burned, and so too their champions. But the power flared around them and could not be controlled, for it was not grounded in loam and salt. The champions of the sky had looked upon heaven and the lights blinded their eyes from seeing the earth of Creation, and the power burned out their hearts and left only shards of mad crystal flame in their chests. Unable to see the path of righteousness they turned from it and declared instead that they must unmake the world, for as they could no longer see it, it should no longer exist.
To save the world, the Exalted of the earth fought the Exalted of the sky and bound their hearts under the soil and salt they lacked. But some were so bright and mad that even this would not hold them. They escaped their prison to find new hearts to consume.
Humans were made the lowest of all creatures. One day the gods came to them and said, "Give us Heaven and the Dome of Divinity, and we will give you Creation. For we have asked the dragon souls of the earth and they have told us it may be done."
"How can we do this?" asked the people. "We are but mortal, and the rulers of Heaven were not born and cannot die."
"We will raise you up. We will burn away your mortality with our power. And when you win, we shall give you the Mandate of Heaven, and you will be as gods on the earth."
"If you can give us this power," said the people, "we will do as you ask."
"Power," said the dragon souls, who knew humanity, "must be bound by blood, by family and tradition." And so humans were given power from the dragons, and the gods knew them to be great heroes.
"But we fight the tyranny of the world," said the gods, who knew power but not humans. "We have not blood or family, and tradition must be overturned." So they made their own champions and gave each a piece of their own essence, unbound, the essence of perfection, of change, of fate decided. And from them they made heroes who could do what could not be done.
And for their service they were given the Mandate of Heaven, and made the world into a place of glory.
But their power was unbound and untempered, and it burned away all that was human inside them, until nothing was left but a piece of a god. And the piece, which was the pure essence of a thing, struggled against the world, which was not, and the struggle drove it mad.
So the blood of the dragons defeated them in turn. Those that could be bound away were, and those that could not were cast into the wyld, to become kin to the demons and fae who lurked beyond the boundaries of all things.
A figure wrapped in dark leather stepped carefully through the doorframe onto the dusty street. It wore long butcher's gloves, flared wide enough that they covered the long sleeves of its long jacket all the way to the elbows. Carefully, it removed those, dropping them into a barrel of foul-smelling liquid set against the building, revealing slim white human hands, somewhat clammy with sweat. These reached up to grasp the monstrous black birdlike mask covering its head. It was a plague mask, with a long funnel of herbs set at the mouth in the hopes of filtering poisons from the air. Underneath was the face of a young man, yellow hair unruly and damp. Carefully, he set the mask down against the wall, next to the liquid-filled bin. His jacket he left on as he crossed the open area, although he moved with a gingerliness as if uncertain if he should touch anything.
On the other side of the street, almost backed against the opposite wall, a Dragonblooded stood, watching silently. He was dressed in typically martial fashion, in yellow robes with a prominent red breastplate over them and a pair of red bracers on either arm. A sword hung at his side, a long one by mortal standards but little more than a dagger for him. All were intricately and expensively crafted. The robes had a complex abstract pattern woven into them, while a roaring lion was etched into the front of the jade breastplate.
Tsi was not familiar with the intricate politics displayed by the skillfully drawn lion. He found the presence of the image strange, violating his understanding of the Immaculate Philosophy, but for a Dragonblooded to do something was to define the Immaculate teachings.
He put the thought out of his mind, looking back down and fixing his eyes to the ground by the Dragonblood's feet. Pictures weren't important now. "It's extremely odd," Tsi said. "As I outlined in my message, a number of patients arrived, all displaying symptoms matching those given in old texts for Great Contagion in its final stages."
"There's been a resurgence, then? You've confirmed it?"
"That's the odd thing," Tsi explained. "They were all ambulatory when they were admitted. Most brought themselves in. We quarantined them immediately, of course, but...ambulatory, every last one. And, well you know this already, but one of the problems with treating Contagion, in the first days when people tried to treat it, was that people rarely knew that's what it was until very near the end, when the skin had begun to green. And that happened shortly before the body lost integrity. There was so little time for treatment before death, not when they were so close to bursting. There's some record of - well, you know already, I'm sure. This, though...this is unmentioned in any of the books I've read. That's why it's vital I get in touch with scholars on the Blessed Isle." He gestured emphatically, not noticing how the Dragonblooded grimaced and shifted away from his waving hand. His eyes were bobbing up and down, staring off to either side, up toward the man's chest, then back to the ground by his feet respectfully. "There's some weakness - dizziness, mostly, not so much they can't walk about. A touch of fever. Their skin is remaining firm. I've cut two in a sealed room, and the blood clotted up normally. Small cuts, of course. But still. I need to find out if there's any record of something like this."
"So - you don't think it's actually the Great Contagion?" the Dragonblooded asked slowly. "A false alarm?"
The doctor shook his head, sending his blond hair flying about for an instant. "No. It's probably Contagion, though I wouldn't bet my - well. Their other symptoms match up exactly with the records of the initial symptoms of Contagion, just extremely mild versions. That's why I need to know what the libraries back in the Realm proper say on the subject. I think we may be able to treat this." He smiled a little, realigned his gaze back to the man's feet. "As I said, there's already a full quarantine in place. Once the first bunch showed up we sent people around, checked out the whole town for anyone else and brought them in. And I suspect that the skin tint as an initial symptom, meaning it likely can't spread out as easily. It's containable, and with -" His eyes were still at the Dragonblooded's feet. One stepped backward, the foot twisting to brace against the dirt. Thin, almost clear flames flared around them. In mesmerized horror, he tracked them upward inch by inch, until, barely aware of it, he took in the man's determined expression, yellow eyes fixed on the building beyond him and a terrible mass of flames gathering in one outstretched fist.
"No!" he shouted, lunging forward to grab the man's arm, heat flaring around him.
Then the heat vanished but the world was awash in light. It wasn't from the Dragonblooded, Tsi realized. The other man had taken several steps backward, flames dying back and mouth open in horror, but Tsi barely noticed, staring instead at his own hands. They were unburnt but glowing.
Gold and blue light streamed up in a beacon visible for miles.
The Dragonblooded had already recovered from his shock, reaching for the sword at his belt, the flames flaring up again like a bonfire.
I'm going to die.
The Dragonblooded charged at him, swinging his blade.
He raised his hand automatically to ward off the blow, even as another part of his mind cataloged every way it was useless to try.
The light covering him flared, and the blow slid off his palm, like it was deflected before it could reach his skin.
Tsi slid around the charge, dropped into a crouch and kicked, the blow hitting the Dragonblood's well-armored side. He staggered, almost knocked off balance by the blow, but he righted himself a second later and spun to face Tsi again, flame pouring off his blade as it swung.
He ducked. The blade screeched through the stone wall behind him, sending a thick shower of white and blue sparks down over his head and shoulders. Tsi flinched, closing his eyes and raising one arm to shield his face.
"Die, Demon!"
Tsi opened his eyes to see the blade raised above his head. He rolled sideways as it stabbed down, the blade sinking into the stone. For a second, it stuck. Then the Dragonblooded wrenched and it came out with a shower of stone fragments. The sword whistled toward him, much too low to hope to duck. Instead he jumped, pushing off the wall so he was shooting over the Dragonblood's head, one leg whipping out and kicking the other man in the head, sending him facefirst into the stone blocks even as Tsi landed on the ground.
How did I - was that even possible?
But that hadn't had much effect either. The Dragonblooded pulled his head back, roaring in fury, then swung the sword with one hand while the other fought to clear the bits of stone and dust from his eyes. There were smears of blood across his face, and the blow was wild, missing Tsi entirely.
I should run. I can't possibly fight off a Dragonblooded.
Not that running would do much good. They'd raise the Wyld Hunt, if this one didn't just cut him down now. His life was already over. But at least he'd have a chance...
He took a step back, looking down the street. His eyes fixed on the hospital. If he ran...if he lost... The Dragonblooded exploded in flame. Heat washed over him. He staggered backward several steps, arms raised over his eyes. He heard the blow coming and dived to the side, the sword cutting into his arm. His other hand reached out as he tried to regain his balance, grabbing the wooden pole holding up the cloth canopy above the door.
Then Tsi ripped it free and swung it with all his might, smashing it into the side of the man's face with such force the end splintered.
The Dragonblooded barely flinched. He raised his sword for another blow.
Something white barreled into him before he could swing the blade, knocking him off his feet. For a second, a giant wolf stood atop Tsi's opponent, then it tore the man's head off with a snap of its jaws.
A small figure in black was sitting on its back. The wolf's head turned to him, blood dripping from its fangs. "Quick!" a girl's voice said. "Follow me!" And the wolf jumped from the body and took off down the street.
Tsi hesitated. He looked toward the other end of the street. Soldiers were pounding their way around the corner, led by a figure whose blue armor and massive sword all had the glint of polished jade.
He ran.