The world around him was blurry, all he could perceive with certainty was a reddish-yellow glow in his field of vision and the heat that surrounded him.

  All he could hear was a ringing in the background of which he could faintly make out voices and screams.

  The only sense that told him what was happening around him was his smell, and among the scent of fire, ash and smoke, one smell predominated over them all.

  A smell that was now familiar to him and that he feared he would never forget.

  The smell of burnt flesh.

  Slowly he remembered what had happened.

  Miriam had come to them to negotiate, they thought, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

  Halfway there she had suddenly stopped. No one knew what she was doing. Eventually a plume of smoke rose from her and she was finally burning brightly as she continued to stagger in their direction.

  Everyone had watched in shock, either because they couldn't understand what was happening or, like him, because they understood what they were seeing.

  The fire that was engulfing Miriam's body grew brighter and brighter, so that she was blazing like a sun in the night.

  When he saw the fire begin to move over her and contract into a ball in the middle of her body. When he heard the rumbling, he knew they had lost.

  That's what dragons must sound like just before a city disappears from the map, it had crossed his mind.

  He remembered that he had shouted a warning, but too late. Then someone, probably Ivar, had pulled him along and they had fallen off the palisade.

  The last thing he had seen was an enormous ball of fire flying towards them, howling and hissing, like a predator looking for new prey after it had finished with Miriam.

  Too long, I stared far too long before I warned them. Shit, I knew what was happening, but I just couldn't believe it. How could someone like Miriam use such magic and what madness drove her to go that far? Anyone who knows even the slightest bit about magic knows the risks, especially of something as destructive as fire, he mentally reprimanded himself still in shock.

  Gradually, he realized the situation he was in.

  He was lying in the square behind the palisade, the gate of which no longer existed.

  The explosion had literally blown it to pieces. The remains of the gate were burning and scattered across the street.

  The buildings near the gate, as well as the surrounding palisade, were burning brightly.

  Some of the houses further away had also caught fire because they had been hit by the burning rubble that had been thrown around by the explosion.

  Slowly his other senses started to work properly again, and he began to think clearly.

  You have to get up! Three words that pushed all other thoughts out of his head. And he did.

  Slowly, and with his limbs shaking with pain, he struggled to his feet. His muscles felt as if they had caught fire along with the surrounding building.

  The smoke burned his lungs, and he had to cough several times, wincing in pain with every breath he took

  I can hardly breathe, even though we're outside. Luckily there's no one in the burning houses, he thought, gasping for breath.

  The people around him were either fleeing from the gate in panic, trying to help those lying on the ground, or staring, paralyzed with horror, at the burning remains of the wall.

  When the gate falls, it usually means the end of the defending party, except for heroic sorties and divine intervention, he remembered the words of his book on sieges.

  Unfortunately, he didn't see any divine intervention happening any time soon and none of the people he knew were heroes.

  After all, they were just people.

  Because of the smoke and flames, he couldn't see it clearly, but it was obvious that the dragon's men were probably on their way to them, or at least would be soon.

  As he stood there in front of the burning smoke, surrounded by the panicked inhabitants of his city who had followed him into this deception, as they had called it, he suddenly realized how old he was.

  He was definitely older than Mikal and Theodora. He was also significantly older than Horst Schlurfer, who always seemed a bit shrunken because he drank too much.

  He was also older than Boris and Ivar. Of course, he was also older than this Wyrmus Lindt, wherever he had gone.

  According to Boris' description, he was also significantly older than Wyrmus' partner, this Stephan Sturm with whom all this trouble had started.

  Probably the worst guest the smiling dwarf had ever had, despite yours truly. Oh man, I still remember. Boris was a bar boy and I always hid in the tavern when I was having trouble with my father, the then great mayor of Schlucht. I always showed him little magic tricks, or rather sleight of hand tricks, like putting a coin behind your ear and things like that, he remembered as he stood swaying in front of the inferno.

  He also remembered when Ivar showed up and explained to them that he had had enough of the capital and now wanted to work here as a guard.

  I remember telling him that we didn't really need anything like that here, and he just grinned and said perfect. I could understand him. When I was younger, I wanted to go out into the world too, I had somehow even made it to Aurum to go to university, but the fees ate up my life and besides, with each passing week I missed my quiet and boring home a little more, not that I would have ever admitted that , he thought of his first meeting with Ivar and how he had returned to Schlucht back then.

  Back then he had left without his parents knowing and later came back without knowing about their deaths.

  He still remembered when he came home after all that time and sat down in the smiling dwarf.

  He had expected curiosity and maybe even anger, but instead the guests at the time had only given him embarrassed looks.

  No one seemed to want to look him in the eye and he thought that they wanted to punish him with silence for just leaving without any word.

  When he could no longer stand the embarrassed silence and finally asked them to say something and maybe tell the mayor that the prodigal son had returned home, Dirk, Boris's father, had come up to him and apologized for what he now had to tell him.

  No anger about his leaving, no interrogation, just an apology for the death of his parents, otherwise everyone had treated him as if he had never been away.

  Of course, he felt bad and wished that they had not parted on bad terms and even though the thought of the two of them always gave him a sharp pain in his throat, he had never cried about it to this day.

  If there was one thing he knew about his parents and on which he agreed with them, it was that they all loved Schlucht.

  They loved the houses and the people, the big boar fountain, the grinning dwarf and the vast forests and fields that surrounded them, all in the shadow of the mountain that was once the home of living fairy tales.

  He knew his parents would not have wanted him to fall into despair over their deaths and stay awake at night agonizing over what if questions.

  No, they would have wanted him to take care of their beloved home and that is what he did.

  He had expected a big election campaign and heated debates about his candidacy for mayor, but it was probably the big city speaking in him.

  In Aurum no post was given without hour long debates, smear campaigns and blatant bribery.

  But here people were downright relieved that he was taking over his father's old post.

  Finally, there was someone again who could resolve disputes between the various farmers before they got into fights or worse.

  Now there was someone again who negotiated on behalf of everyone with the traders and their local ruler and, most importantly, took care of organizing their festivals.

  To his surprise, he had learned that no one had ever applied for the post after his father's death.

  Whether it was due to a lack of interest or some strange form of loyalty, he couldn't say, but in any case, he could just take over the post without further questions.

  He had been mayor for thirty years and had never had to campaign, he just did his job and everyone was happy.

  Sometimes he wondered if it had something to do with the fact that he was probably the oldest in the village and that people somehow respected that, an idea that always made him smile.

  God knows he was no old wise man.

  He was born the mayor's son and would have had a good life either way. A life he left behind out of youthful rebellion because he longed for some romantic faraway land from his books.

  After making one mistake after another in the big wide world and sliding from one defeat to another, he finally returned to his homeland with his tail between his legs, where he had missed the death of his parents and taken on a job that no one else wanted to do.

  I was always lucky in Schlucht, at least until Aodhan and his people came here. Of course it was difficult for the people. Hardly any traders anymore, you always have to fear for your belongings and watch helplessly as your own friends and family are forced to do "labor service" in the mountain. he thought, thinking of his first encounter with the dragon, where he had fainted in shock.

  I'm definitely no Rüdiger, he thought to himself and smiled slightly, despite the destruction around him.

  All these years of living next to a dragon and now that our city is burning, he is not even responsible for it, but his crazy minions. Who would have thought that the megalomaniac dragon was the most rational of them, he thought to himself, and actually started to chuckle at the absurdity, which quickly turned into painfully burning gasps for air.

  I wonder how old they all actually are. I am definitely older than Martin and Miriam and probably older than Bartold too. Hmm, how old was Aodhan when they killed him? How do you convert dragon years into human years? 50 years for us, half a year for them - no idea. Shit, even if I count Westfold and Emmerstal, with the exception of the now dead dragon, I am probably the oldest in the whole region, he thought, astonished.

  With these thoughts in mind, he looked around at all the dead and injured people surrounding him. All people who were much younger and fitter than he was, and he asked himself why he was still alive after all the madness of this day, and they were not.

  He quickly realized that he would not find a satisfactory answer to this question, which strengthened his next decision.

  Who cares, why not? he thought with increasing certainty.

  Once again, he felt that warm glow in his throat as he focused his energy and took a deep breath.

  Like thunder, his voice boomed over the city, drowning out the shrieking of the flames, the panicked cries of those fleeing, and the pained moans of the injured and dying.

  “Listen to me, we have to fall back from the gate, they're definitely on their way here already. I know you're scared, I am too, but it's no use! Look around you! We can't run away, all of this is out of control, if we ever had it under control to begin with. They're not going to just take their toll now and then leave. They're going to burn the whole city down! Sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, they'll... They can't hold back, everyone you've ever loved, everyone you might one day love, will die if we don't fight now, and remember what happened outside our gates, we can win! Many of them are either lying dead outside our town or crouched at the edge of the forest, too injured to fight now. That's why I'm begging you! For your friends, your families and for yourselves, don't run away, grab anything that can be used as a weapon, help the injured you can and meet everyone at Gustav's shoe shop. It's far enough away from the fire, but still close enough to the gate that they must get past us and can't just disperse through the side streets in the town, I'll be waiting for you there".

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Once he finished his speech, he immediately collapsed to his knees, coughing and wheezing.

  For one thing, he had never burdened his larynx so much with magic before, and for another, it wasn't a good idea to magically play around with your lungs and larynx like that when you were surrounded by fire and smoke like he was.

  He waited a few moments until his body had at least calmed down a little, his gaze, which was again slightly blurry, fixed on the ground.

  This enabled him to see one of the dead lying some distance away, next to a hunting knife that would probably pass for a short sword in some places.

  He crawled on all fours to the corpse and the knife, picked it up and slowly stood up again.

  The fire had not left much of the dead man’s face, so he could not make out who it was.

  For a moment he looked at the burned face, which was dark and crusted, like a roast that had been in the fire for too long.

  After a few moments he vomited, mumbled his thanks for the knife and set off for the shoemaker's shop without looking back. With every step he took, the air around him became a little clearer.

  After everything that had happened, he felt pretty ridiculous with the dwarven tankard in his hand.

  It would have been a fine projectile, but that seemed like a waste to him.

  His original idea had been to use it as a kind of close combat weapon for intimidation, but when he saw waves of attackers storming against their palisade and breaking just like waves, he realized that there probably wouldn't be any direct fighting.

  However, now that he was probably running into exactly that, he didn't feel particularly comfortable with the tankard in his hand.

  Nothing that had happened had even remotely gone the way he had imagined.

  Their readiness to defend themselves was just meant as a bluff. After all, they knew that the dragon's men were now missing the dragon and they had been sure that the bandits would retreat if they encountered resistance, since Aodhan was dead.

  Yes, the bandits retreat, and the whole village celebrates in my pub. The brave farmers, decent, simple folk who rebel against their oppressors and drive them out. Just like in the stories you were always told as a kid. And if everything had gone to plan, we would have achieved this fairy tale without a drop of blood. Were we just too naive? he thought to himself, staring slightly stunned at the fiery remains of the gate and the adjacent palisade that had seemed so mighty to him just a few moments ago.

  This naive dream has now literally gone up in smoke, he thought to himself, turning away from the gate.

  Armed with a beer mug, he now walked uncertainly around the burning rubble and wondered what had gone wrong.

  When the attack began, he was tense, but also firmly convinced that they would give up as soon as they realized that they couldn't overcome the palisade so easily.

  But they didn’t.

  For reasons he couldn't understand, they kept attacking, stepping over the bodies of those who had run to the palisade before them.

  When they started throwing everything they could at the bandits, it hadn't really felt like a real battle to him, at least not the way he had always imagined it.

  It just didn't feel quite real, it was just too absurd for that.

  Throwing things at each other. We did that as children, he had told himself.

  Of course, he was somehow aware that as children they hadn't thrown stones, bottles and plates at each other, but dirt, apples and snowballs during winter time and certainly not with the intention of hurting each other.

  nevertheless, he couldn't get it out of his head how much the whole thing reminded him of games from his childhood.

  Today, however, he had to ask himself whether he had killed anyone with his throw, and the honest answer was that he didn't even knew.

  Not knowing felt almost as wrong as the thought of killing itself.

  You don't kill, it's wrong except in extreme self-defense and even then, shouldn't you somehow know for sure that you've killed someone. Shouldn't you somehow feel that? I simply never had the time to check what would happen if I hit, or whether I hit at all. I always just grabbed the nearest thing to throw. I didn't even really aim, I just threw it downwards, after all, there were enough of them that you had to hit someone. Yes, I definitely hit people and definitely injured them, but did my throws really kill anyone? he asked himself uncertainly.

  The thought of this question was deeply strange to him, and he wasn't even sure which answer he would prefer, which also felt wrong.

  Yes, the only thing I know is that this whole thing feels wrong, what is happening here just isn't right. But right or wrong isn't important now. The only thing that matters is to meet up with Albert and the others at Gustav's shoe shop, because Albert is right, he thought resolutely and walked with firmer steps towards his destination.

  He knew that the whole thing had gone too far to give up now and he was pretty sure that the dragon's men wouldn't care much about their surrender by now.

  Albert's thunderous voice had only confirmed this to him again.

  Running away was not an option either, for one thing running was simply not his strong point and for another where would he go?

  Everything he had was in Schlucht and the thought of leaving behind the smiling dwarf felt just as wrong as everything else today.

  Grotar alone knew how long the pub had been in his family's possession after all.

  No, he would stay and fight and with every step he took he realized that he probably wouldn't survive.

  To his surprise, he didn't feel any fear at the thought. The idea of dying was so surreal to him, so foreign, that he simply couldn't grasp it.

  Instead, he thought about all the unexpected last times that must have happened to him today.

  I slept for the last time this morning. Such a small thing, but probably the most relaxing thing you can do. Will being dead be like sleeping? Well, I guess you could say being dead is like sleeping, only without waking up. My favorite part about it is that dim half-sleep you're in just before you fall asleep at night and just when you wake up in the morning. I guess there won't be anything like that. Being dead is a final state. I mean, death is probably the most final thing there is, it went through his mind.

  I'll probably never see the sun rise again either. What a pity, I like the sun, it's always so warm and bright and... just there, he continued his thought, and finally came to the increasingly important last times.

  What did I actually eat and drink last? What was my unexpected last meal? Damn it! I can't remember, come on Boris, you're an innkeeper, you can always remember everything your guests order in one evening, you must remember your last meal! he thought tensely.

  He thought feverishly about his last meal. He couldn't say why, but suddenly it seemed incredibly important to him, as if he just couldn't go on without remembering it.

  Yes, that was it, a ham sandwich with apple juice. Shit convicted criminals get something better for their last meal. If only I'd known that this would be my last meal. I would have gotten the best fruits from the area, the most impressive pig, and let the good wine flow from father's old store and then drank it from the beautiful dwarf tankard, that's what it's really there for. I would have invited the whole town, oh why be so stingy, I would have sent invitations as far as Westfold and Emmerstal! If only I had known! he thought excitedly.

  At first, he found the idea of such a pompous last meal quite funny, but the more he thought about it, the sadder and more desperate he became.

  It wasn’t just a nice fantasy, had he known that he was going to die that night, he would have done just that.

  He would have invited all his friends, acquaintances and pretty much everyone he could get in touch with and celebrated with them all day.

  He would have told everyone how much they meant to him and forgotten all the little arguments he had ever had and toasted with the people.

  After all, what were a few spilled drinks or a small, missed bill compared to death and who wanted to die with anger in their heart because of such trivial things.

  But none of that would ever happen now because he was going to die and that's when he began to understand what death meant.

  I don't want to die, was the thought that kept repeating itself in his head for the rest of the way.

  After this realization, he thought again about running away, but still didn't do it, because despite everything, he still came to the same conclusions he had drawn before.

  Albert is right, I don't want to die, but Albert is still right and he is here, waiting for me, he thought as he left the fire behind him and reached the shoemaker's shop.

  There stood Albert, waving wearily at him, surrounded by other tired and frightened villagers who were still there with their improvised weapons in their hands.

  He wondered if they were all having the same thoughts as him on their way, as some nodded at him as they passed and a few raised their hands in greeting, which he automatically returned, not quite understanding what was happening.

  Finally, he stood exhausted next to Albert and greeted him.

  "Hello Albert... I'm glad you're still alive," he greeted his friend, laughing hysterically inside at the nature of his greeting.

  “Yes, um, thank you, I'm also glad that you're still alive. The palisade... I was lucky that Ivar jumped down with me before it... happened. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't be here now,” Albert returned the greeting, seeming to be talking to himself as much as to him.

  “Ivar was with you. That's good, I lost sight of him during all this, where is he?” he asked with relief.

  “I don't know, the last thing I saw was him jumping down the palisade with me. After that I was briefly unconscious, when I came back to my senses he was nowhere to be seen,” Albert answered hesitantly.

  “But I didn't see his corpse either,” he added quickly, looking into his friend's increasingly frightened eyes.

  “Oh... well, at least if he's still alive, he'll have heard your speech and is probably on his way here,” said Boris, trying his hardest to believe what he had just said.

  Now a little further away from the remains of their old gate, they stood there in silence for a while, looking at the fiery remains of the palisade, knowing full well that at any moment the murderous remnants of the dragon's men would rush through.

  As if to distract himself from this reality, he finally broke the silence.

  "That was a nice speech, by the way," he said finally.

  "Do you think so? I just said what was going through my head," Albert answered uncertainly.

  "No, it was really good, you can see that the people seemed to have listened," he replied, pointing to another group of survivors who were just coming towards them.

  He also knew that it was probably the last speech he would ever hear in his life. It was also the first speech of this kind that he had ever heard himself, which of course made it the best of its kind that he knew.

  “Hello Albert and hello Boris, um, it's good that you're still here,” the two heard as a sooty and exhausted looking young man approached them with a sharp stick in his hand.

  Under all the soot, it took him a while to recognize him as Mikal Steinberger.

  “Oh hello Mikal, I'm glad you're still alive to,” he greeted back.

  “Yes... that's nice,” Albert also greeted him.

  “Thanks, well, I think so too. I heard you and unfortunately, you're right, they probably won't let us go just like that, even if we give up... so what's the plan now?” Mikal asked, while the other survivors had also come closer to them and were now looking expectantly at Albert together with Mikal and Boris.

  “Plan, well, they have to pass here in any case if they want to go further into the city, so we'll wait for them here and try to prevent them from coming further into the city,” Albert explained, while scratching his hair

  I've known him most of my life and I can't remember Albert ever being lost or clueless. No matter how crazy the situation, he stays calm and finds a solution, he thought, proud of his friend, and waited for the rest of the plan.

  "So, we'll form a sort of line that they can't get around and oh I see a few of you have brought bows with you, very good, with those you can go into the surrounding houses or onto the roofs and shoot at them. The rest of us will just form this line, especially the ones with long weapons, like Mikal with his spear," Albert explained his plan further.

  "What about those of us who don't have long weapons?" asked their butcher Hermann, who was appropriately armed with one of his cleavers.

  "A few of them could hide in the houses and then come out later to surprise them," Mikal thought out loud.

  "Great idea," Albert agreed.

  After they had formulated a rough battle plan, everyone got into position, since his tankard didn't count as a long weapon he went into Gustav's shop with Albert, who was armed with some kind of long hunting knife, and waited there with the others for the impending attack.

  Did he just think up a tactic out of nowhere? He must have forgotten to mention that when he was with the jinn’s, he probably worked there for a while as an officer or something like that, he thought, impressed.

  He still remembered how, as a boy, he had always been so excited when Albert came to their pub and showed him little tricks with coins, or how he had taught him darts.

  To him, Albert had always been this unattainable, composed guy who somehow managed to do everything.

  Too young to be a parental figure, but old enough to be respectable, unlike his other friends.

  The big brother he never had.

  Of course, that was just hero worship from a young boy to a young man, but even after he grew out of that childish adoration after Albert returned, he still hung on his every word whenever he managed to get him to talk about his time with the jinn’s.

  The fact that Albert rarely spoke about that on his own had only made it more exciting for him.

  And although he still admired Albert, as he grew a little older, he saw him more and more as a human being rather than an idol, which had allowed them to become friends.

  While he waited with Albert for what was probably certain death, he thought feverishly about how he could best communicate his thoughts and feelings to his friend without having to give a whole speech.

  I definitely have to tell him how much I've always admired him and how great it was for me to have him as a friend, but how do I do that without sounding like a little kid? I have to do it soon, because... because otherwise I probably won’t get another chance to do so, he thought feverishly.

  "I have to say, Albert, respect," he began, whereupon Albert turned his head to him in confusion, as if he himself was lost in thought.

  "Despite all this madness, you're probably the only one here who can still think clearly. Not only that, but you and Ivar have been conjuring up one plan after another all day long, but that shouldn't really surprise me. Since I've known you, you've never let yourself get upset, always had a plan and somehow mastered every situation," he continued, and when he noticed that Albert was just looking at him questioningly, he finally continued uncertainly.

  "I just mean, I know that nobody else wanted the job except you back then and nobody has ever applied to replace you in all that time, but that's probably because everyone knows that they couldn't do a better job than you," he concluded his speech and took a deep breath.

  Somewhat confused, he saw that his friend's face had taken on a completely surprised and speechless expression.

  Albert looked at him with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. His eyebrows were raised so high that they almost disappeared into his hair.

  I am such an idiot, that must be incredibly embarrassing for him, but I just had to get it off my chest, he thought with a certain touch of shame.

  "Boris... do you really think that..." Albert began, but was abruptly interrupted by Mikal's voice, which reached to them from outside.

  "They're coming, people! Get ready, they're coming!" they heard him shout wildly.

  Now the time has come, I hope dwarven craftsmanship keeps its promises, it flashed through his mind, and he gripped the tankard in his hand tighter. Desperately clinging to it like a man who was about to drown