The sentiment of rage in the councillors slowly receded, and allowed another one to seep within them. One that I am unable to tear off myself, one that has thrown a veil of grief over Aslakahm and is now finding joy in seeing the sorrowful lines on our faces. King Alghamior lays soaring before all inside the Rematerus, gently held as such by the healing attributes of the Chairs of Rejuvenation. A futile effort, truly, yet one that the councillors believe could force some vigor within him. His body indicated a strong refusal to move after his essence was consumed. A temporary solution to an eternal future. This large chamber embedded within the waves holding the kingdom feels like a tomb that gloats in gloom. Bliss and light flee from the cold, paralyzing blue, and the smell that fills it takes pleasure in causing doom. At least the walls showcase figures of ancient dragons, protecting us from above with their serene gazes. Purposeful as the Rematerus may be to replenish some lost essence—a monolithic structure compared to the egg-nests—it can’t fathom how to approach such a situation. The king already suffered greatly before consuming himself. And as I gaze around the premise, that suffering has now washed over the Starmakers, submerging them into an abyss that becomes prevalent.

  Many more dragons arrive, all bearing the same grim expression. Their eyes take comfort in searching the sprawling openness of this chamber, for bearing the sight of King Alghamior floating unconscious is more draining than locating the Tribunal. The Walls release cries of help outside, and none seems willing to give it thought. His councillors encircle him, all humming in unison and lifting their limbs graciously. I notice tears hiding behind the covering of their eyes, and my eyes shift downcast, a blur settling in. A silence of a multitude of words invades my ears, a silence that is rudely interrupted by shuffling wings and by the tinkling of tears. Materium’s greatest mind and caretaker of life has been replaced by paleness, dormancy and dependency. I was unable to provide him with a suitable response to the task given to me, before his fall into such a state. Will there ever be something I can deliver, beside disappointment? My strength stands firm in its desire to hide from prying eyes, a thought that releases a stream of tears down my snout. Now I have joined in the interruptions of some of my brethren, another thing for which I must be chastised and mocked. The humming ceases and the dragons bow before the council as they dance around the king. Despite the pleasant view before me, my ears are struck by the desperate Walls outside, and my mind is seized by the sole fact that the two sides of creation are now at war.

  “May existence reward our great king with gratefulness for the eternity it has guided it in,” the councillors say, and the attending Starmakers repeat.

  Suddenly, there is a shift in the demeanour of the council: the lines of sorrow are replaced by crinkles and squints. Their bodies tense, the suffering of the Walls alerting them. King Alghamior seems to decrease in importance t as they face the gathering crowd of dragons.

  “We are on the brink of invasion, Starmakers!” Councillor Garkalon says, gesturing. “Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have asked any of you to engage such mongrels in combat, given what we and they represent. Aslakahm needs you to stand up for it. War is not the way of dragons, and yet it has taken our king and kingdom captive in its ravaging hunger.”

  Councillor Orequelon steps forward in a gracious manner, despite the increasing tension within the chamber. “Lightstealers are not easily dealt with. Only those desiring to grip a Spear of Light may engage them, otherwise we will not force you into undesired conflict.”

  “Orequelon!” Councillor Garkalon shouts. “Choice is not on our side! Death is tearing down our Walls.”

  “The king wouldn’t agree to send our dragons into a losing battle.”

  “We won’t lose! For all the strength lying in their bodies, the Lightstealers lack the ingenuity natural to us. Our minds outmatch theirs. So do our roles within the Materium.”

  “You are not speaking about engaging them in discussions, Garkalon,” Orequelon replies with a sigh. “The strengths of a Starmaker lie in creation, not destruction. How do you propose we stand against the Tribunal’s laws?”

  “The Tribunal is gone, councillor,” interrupts Councillor Bauruloun. “We are responsible for ruling ourselves, especially given the loss of our great king. If open war is what the Lightstealers desire, we shall respond accordingly!” He clenches a fist, and groups of Starmakers cry in agreement.

  “Your ingenuity is leading us to a faster demise than this disease,” Councillor Orequelon says, frustration fighting to best him. “Those that want to fight, can do so. It will grant us the opportunity to strategize. Perhaps the Lightstealers don’t have a desire to entirely annihilate us.”

  “Let us send word to Rahmanegol,” Councillor Furieon proposes. “He’s already taken our king from us and we have endured plenty. He must understand that his vileness will have devastating consequences to his dragons as well.”

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  Councillor Garkalon stomps the floor. “Rahmanegol is a beast, councillors! He brought an army to terrorize Aslakahm and now you believe he will listen to words? Why didn’t he before? Why was violence his one and only option?”

  “They share the Materium with us, Garkalon,” Councillor Orequelon replies. “This curse is disrupting us all. Think about what solutions we’ve attempted so far, only to be left in darkness. We can’t fully blame the Lightstealers.”

  Councillor Bauruloun scoffs. “We can and we shall for this and for how they’ve treated us throughout eternity! Gaze at where our king now stands. Can you be honest in saying that you understand what the Lightstealers have done? They forced knowledge to sacrifice itself!” He steps forward then stumbles while lifting himself on two limbs. “Starmakers! We are needed to defend our king’s home. Be not afraid of the terrors we ought to battle. Light is on our side, even when it seems to have abandoned us!”

  Dragons tense at the words of the councillor, signaling that they’re considering what he’s speaking. I frown as I search the premise and am rewarded with determination instead of concern. “Brethren, why would you sacrifice yourselves?” I ask and disdain erupts from those surrounding me, prompting me to stop.

  “Councillor, be mindful of the instructions you give to our dragons,” Councillor Orequelon says, pulling on his arm. Then he stepped in front of him. “Starmakers, consider our king’s commands. If you desire to be of help until we find a better alternative, then the Spears await you.”

  “Orequelon, what other alternative is there?” Councillor Garkalon asks. “Do you now claim to possess greater knowledge than that of the king?”

  “We must rely on their understanding of what war delivers. We need to be mindful of how we tread this conflict, or otherwise we will all perish unnecessarily.”

  “They’ve taken our king from us!” Councillor Bauruloun cries. “We must repay what we’ve been dealt with. Hasn’t’ an eternity of seeing our children lost to them, our own faded brethren absorbed in their despicable limbs, been enough?”

  “Councillor,” Councillor Orequelon whispers, “don’t push our drag-”

  “We’ve been pushed enough by now, Orequelon.” Councillor Bauruloun spreads his wings. “Prepare to stand against the Lightstealers.”

  A tremble seizes the councillor’s wings, yet he persists in displaying himself to the multitudes before him. Each member of the council shows signs of fatigue, while the other symptoms raise powerful concerns within me. This disease manifests itself in their bodies, tearing away their energy and strength, forcing them to take such rash decisions and brush aside the consequences. Fluttering wings alert me that Starmakers have decided to leave in search for Spears. Does Aslakahm even possess enough weapons? Static wings tell me that some are obeying the advice of staying hidden until the storm passes. Do the Lightstealers intend for such a resolution out of their invasion? More losses will only cause further pain. I can’t abstain when my own brethren sacrifice in vain. They must choose me to do so since I’m inane.

  I step forward. “Councillors, I am here. Send me to the Lightstealers. Why allow beauty to be wasted?”

  Councillor Bauruloun scoffs and waves me away. “Error, leave us. Find someplace else to wait. Our attention is needed elsewhere.”

  Councillor Orequelon approaches me. “What is it you have in mind, Error?”

  “Lord Rahmanegol desires conflict. I can be the only casualty we endure,” I say then glance at the departing Starmakers. “Our brethren deserve better than death.”

  “You would renounce your life in such a manner, Error?” Councillor Garkalon asks. “How do you think that helps us, precisely?”

  Councillor Orequelon snaps his head toward him. “Listen to the Error.”

  With hesitation, all councillors acknowledge me. Is my proposal of that much interest? “If it means impeding a war, I would.” My eyes shift downward. “Maybe Aslakahm will remember me for something.”

  “Wise words, Error,” Councillor Orequelon says. “You may have some uses after all. Rahmanegol will be a challenge.”

  A shiver ascends my back. Can I even be a significant hurdle for the Lightstealers? My physicality is nowhere near theirs. “I will… try. I will offer myself in exchange for the Starmakers. If death has arrived for me, then I shall accept it in peace. Will you accept my plan, mighty councillors?” I ask then I bow.

  The councillors exchange glances, then nod to one another. “Force Rahmanegol to accept your proposition,” Councillor Orequelon commands. “Force him to claim you only.”

  My eyes widen and I regard the councillor. What if I can’t and he makes another decision? I doubt I can offer Lord Rahmanegol an engaging battle, considering what I am. “I… will, councillors.”

  King Alghamior’s tail twitches. I snap my head upward, my eyes filling with joy, my mouth opening in awe. “The king has-”

  The Wall protecting Aslakahm falls with a screeching sound, mighty enough to topple the entirety of the Rematerus.