The Draconian’s Last Decree: Protecting Abigaeli

The Heresy of Iron

The silence that followed Jacton’s declaration was more violent than the screams of the dying village outside. It was a vacuum, a sudden drop in pressure that made the eardrums of every soldier in the room throb.

Kaelen Drax-Oryx, a man who had bled beside Jacton in a dozen trenches, took a slow, staggering step back. His dual daggers, forged from the bones of a shadow-drake, trembled in his grip.

“Jacton, put the sword down. You’re exhausted. The Light-stones, they’re messing with your head. You don't know what you’re saying.”

“I have never been more awake, Kaelen,” Jacton replied. His voice was no longer just a rumble; it carried a resonance that vibrated through the marble floor and into the soles of their boots.

Behind him, he could feel Abigail. He didn’t need his Draconian Eye to know she was there. Her presence was a physical warmth against his back, a sun at midnight.

He could hear the frantic, small breaths of the child she held, and the soft, rhythmic hum of her own breathing. It was a melody he had never heard before, the sound of life that wasn’t trying to kill him.

“He’s turned!” the lead Inquisitor shrieked, his voice cracking with religious fervor. The Inquisitor’s mask, a jagged visor of black glass, reflected the flickering fires from the doorway.

“The General is tainted! Purge the traitor! Claim the Priestess for the Emperor!”

The five Inquisitors lunged simultaneously. They didn’t move like men; they moved like oily smoke, sliding across the floor with supernatural speed. Their blades were jagged, designed to tear flesh rather than cut it, and they hissed as they sliced through the air.

Jacton didn’t wait. He met them halfway.

He swung The Spine-Breaker in a massive, horizontal arc. The blade didn’t just strike; it pulverized. The first Inquisitor tried to parry, but the sheer momentum of Jacton’s fury snapped the assassin’s sword like a dry twig.

The claymore continued its path, crashing into the Inquisitor’s chest plate. The sound was a sickening crunch of collapsing metal and bone. The man was launched backward, his body skipping across the marble like a stone across a pond before smashing into a statue of a weeping saint.

But the others were already on him. One slid beneath Jacton’s guard, his dagger biting into the gap in Jacton’s thigh armor. Jacton grunted, the sensation of the cold steel entering his flesh feeling distant, as if it were happening to someone else.

He grabbed the Inquisitor by the throat with his gauntleted hand and squeezed. There was a wet pop, and Jacton tossed the lifeless body aside like a piece of refuse.

“Stop!” Abigail’s voice rang out, clear and sharp.

A pulse of golden light erupted from her, expanding in a ring that pushed the remaining attackers back. The light was beautiful, but it carried the force of a battering ram. The Inquisitors stumbled, their shadow-magic flickering and weakening in the presence of her pure celestial energy.

Jacton stood in the center of the hall, blood, both his and his enemies’ dripping from his armor onto the white marble. He turned his head slightly, looking at Abigail over his shoulder.

“Get to the rear exit,” Jacton commanded. “The Grey Wilderness is only a mile from the garden gate. If you reach the mist, their trackers will lose your scent.”

“I am not leaving you to die for my life,” Abigail said, her eyes flashing with a stubborn fire that matched his own. She set the child down behind a pillar and stepped forward, her hands glowing with a soft, intensifying light. “You chose to stand for me. I choose to stand with you.”

“A touching sentiment,” a new voice drawled, dripping with honey and venom.

From the deep shadows behind the high altar, a figure emerged. Selene Sol-Aethelgard walked with the grace of a panther, her auburn hair contrasting sharply with her deep violet gown. She didn’t radiate light like her sister; instead, she seemed to swallow it. The air around her shimmered with a dark, oily distortion.

“Selene,” Abigail gasped, her face paling. “You, you were supposed to be leading the evacuation at the North Gate.”

“Evacuation?” Selene laughed, a cold, melodic sound that sent shivers down Jacton’s spine. “Why would I save a kingdom that was always going to be mine eventually? The Emperor offered me a much better deal, sister. I give him you and the Bulberic Legacy, and I get to rule the ashes of this world with a real man by my side.”

She turned her emerald eyes toward Jacton, her gaze lingering on his scarred face with a hungry intensity.

“Jacton Vane-Krieger. I’ve watched you from the shadows of the Light for years. I saw the way you broke cities. I saw the power in your hands. You’re wasting yourself on her. She’s a candle in a hurricane. I am the hurricane.”

Jacton tightened his grip on his sword. “You’re a vulture, Selene. You feast on the things you’re too weak to build.”

Selene’s smile vanished, replaced by a snarl of pure malice. She raised her hands, and the shadows in the room began to detach themselves from the floor, rising like pillars of black smoke. “Weak? I’ll show you the strength of the void.”

She lashed out, a whip of shadow-energy cracking through the air. Jacton raised his arm to block, but the whip wrapped around his blade, the dark magic hissing as it corroded the steel.

Selene pulled, her strength amplified by the dark ritual she had performed in secret. Jacton was jerked forward, his boots skidding on the blood-slicked floor.

“Jacton!” Abigail cried out. She raised her hands, and a beam of pure, concentrated starlight shot toward Selene.

Selene didn’t even flinch. She swiped a hand through the air, and a wall of dark glass materialized, shattering the starlight into harmless sparks. “Your light is a toy, Abigail. I have been practicing the Old Ways.”

Kaelen, who had been standing frozen in the doorway, finally seemed to regain his senses. He looked at Jacton, then at Selene, and finally at the dead Inquisitors on the floor. His eyes were filled with an agonizing conflict, duty vs. brotherhood.

“Kaelen!” Jacton roared, struggling against Selene’s shadow-whip. “Choose! Now!”

Kaelen looked at the shadow-dragons beginning to form behind Selene, then he looked at the blood on Jacton’s face.

He let out a primal scream of frustration and lunged, not at Jacton, but at the remaining Inquisitors.

“For the General!” Kaelen yelled, his daggers blurring into a whirlwind of steel.

The room erupted into total chaos. Kaelen and the last of the loyal Draconian guards clashed with the Emperor’s secret fanatics. Abigail dove toward Jacton, her hands pressing against his chest. She didn’t heal his wound; instead, she funneled her light directly into him.

The sensation was like drinking liquid fire. Jacton’s Draconian Eye didn’t just glow; it ignited. His vision turned into a blinding landscape of gold and silver.

He felt the darkness of his armor being purified, the heavy iron becoming lighter, stronger, infused with the celestial energy of the Aethelgard line.

With a roar that tore his throat, Jacton yanked his sword back. The shadow-whip snapped. He didn’t wait for Selene to recover. He moved with a speed that defied his bulk, closing the distance in a single leap.

He swung his claymore downward. Selene shrieked, throwing up a shield of darkness, but the sword, now humming with the combined power of Shadow and Light, cut through it like hot wire through wax. The blade grazed Selene’s shoulder, drawing a line of black, smoking blood.

Selene stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock. “How? The Shadow cannot hold the Light! It should have destroyed you!”

“It didn’t destroy me,” Jacton said, his voice echoing with a dual-toned power. “It completed me.”

Selene’s face twisted in fury. She realized she couldn’t win this fight, not yet. She looked toward the child cowering behind the pillar and flicked her wrist. A bolt of dark energy shot toward the boy.

“No!” Abigail screamed, throwing herself towards the child.

Jacton reacted instantly. He didn’t use his sword; he used his own body. He threw himself in front of the bolt. The dark magic hit him square in the back, the force of it driving him to his knees. He felt his lungs seize, his heart stuttering under the assault of the curse.

“Jacton!” Abigail reached him, her tears falling onto his scarred cheek.

“Go,” Jacton gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “The Grey Wilderness, the mist, go now!”

“I won't leave you!”

“You have to!” Jacton grabbed her hand, his gauntlet glowing with the last of her gifted light. “If you stay, the Emperor wins. If you go, we have a chance to build something better. Go!”

Selene laughed as she retreated into a swirling vortex of shadows. “Run, sister! Run into the fog! But remember, the Draconian Eye never loses its mark. I will find you. And I will watch as the General dies for a dream that never existed.”

With a final, mocking bow, Selene vanished.

Kaelen staggered over, his armor shredded, his breath coming in ragged gulps. “The reinforcements, they’re coming, Jacton. Thousands of them. We have minutes.”

Jacton looked at Abigail. He looked at the child. He forced himself to stand, his legs shaking, his vision swimming. He reached out and touched Abigail’s face, his thumb brushing away a tear.

“I told you the shadow was the only thing that was honest,” Jacton whispered. “I was wrong. Your light is the only thing that matters.”

He turned to Kaelen. “Get the horses. We aren’t just fleeing. We’re starting a revolution.”

As they stepped out of the burning temple and into the cool, misty air of the Grey Wilderness, a massive roar shook the earth. From the clouds above, a Draconian Shadow-Dragon, the Emperor’s personal steed, descended, it’s wings blotting out the moon. On it’s back sat a figure in white armor, a man Jacton thought had died ten years ago.

“Father?” Jacton breathed, his sword slipping from his numb fingers.