The screams of death had all died down, but the clouds of billowing acrid smoke continued to rise from the once beautiful city of Valencia. The wind raked at the highest peaks of Skyloft Mountain, threatening to blow the Auroral Citadel clean off the grassy plateau of the highest knoll. Despite the harsh winds, the sun shone brightly over the silvery shining fortress, reflecting light into the valley below.
Rivulets of red crisscrossed down the intricate carvings on the door of the king's chamber. Eiden Hawthorn leaned heavily against the frame, fighting to keep himself upright. He was wounded, mortally, and he knew there was not much time left.
The Elementals of the PitchGoth Void had made their final assault, and Valencia had managed to stand against the harrowing attack. The toll in lives had been far greater than any of the dragon nations had anticipated. Many leaders had fallen. Most of the outer lying cities had been thrown into chaos, but at the very least, the land was safe from the Elemental's wrath, for now.
The blood pooled at the bottom of the door. Eiden coughed, fighting off a wave of fatigue. There was one task left to do. It would require all the strength he had left to complete it. He could only hope it was enough before he succumbed to his wounds. Eiden was the fifth son in the house of Hawthorn, and as such, had been blessed with the gift of sight. The Elementals had been stopped, but they would come once more. Eiden had foreseen a conflict the likes of which dwarfed the epic battle of his beloved Valencia. It would take place many years after his passing, and by then, most of what he held dear would be lost. The new king would need to restore the realm, and in order to do that, he would need the power of the house of Hawthorn on his side.
It took most of Eiden's strength to wobble over to where the nightstand sat. He reached up and removed the ancient crown from his head, and placed it with care beside the tiara of his long lost Graceline. Being careful not to bleed onto the nightstand, something that Graceline would never forgive him for, Eiden lifted the glass up and placed it over the crown and tiara. He lingered only a moment, letting the satisfaction of knowledge that he had a small part in the survival of the future sink in before turning to seal the room. The king's chamber would remain untouched until the next King of Valencia came to revive the land. The door slid shut behind him for the last time as he exited the room where he had slept for nearly twenty-five thousand years. A long and full life, by dragon standards. Slumping to the floor, Eiden began his last spell, and offered up a prayer to the next king. “May the next ruler of Valencia fare better against the Elementals than I have.”