Divine Intervention: One
Death walked the streets of Dracoraeion in the early hours of dawn.
She wandered the streets, her long, black gown whispering as she moved, rustling in the north wind as flakes of ash and snow drifted past her. Pale rays of sunlight cracked through the black smoke clouds on the horizon, casting long shadows of crumbling towers and walls, reflecting off dirty gold and torn banners.
She walked in every room, in every house, laying to rest the victims of a conflict so old and so far removed, she barely even remember how it all began.
Why, mother?… So unnecessary, she thought, as she closed the eyes of a slain child, soothing its face that had been twisted in terror as it clutched to its mother still, even in death. Cool fingers smoothed over pale, dead skin, and what was left inside – that last glimmer of life, of soul, the essence of magic – drifted away with her touch.
She walked in the palace where they had once sat, proud and glorious, the seven elder of these once proud people, annihilated in just one single day and night of misfortune. For all their differences, the cruel fates of their people had been so eerily similar. Now here they lay, their bodies turned stone, broken in their thrones, pierced by cursed blades. No more blood stained the hall, it had all turned to ash. Bleak, grey oblivion the only thing left of the once mighty dragons.
One was amiss.