[i]I know we did bloody well! Tell me who didn’t, and how![/i] Jillian retorted in thought, contending herself with sourly frowning at him. Though calm and detached, as she was used to his demeanor by now, Jillian interpreted his words and gestures as speaking of regret and bitterness. She knew his kind; he would be too proud, too concerned with efficiency to openly show his anger, but it was there, hidden inside of him like the Withering was. It was the reason he had assured her that they had done well – not only to let her know, but to reassure himself. They were both victims here.

She listened to his tale with great care, at some point electing to vacantly stare into her cup while reconstructing the events that he spoke of in her mind. It was difficult to imagine, by his account Kevalorn surpassed everything she knew. She had met powerful wizards before, but even they were in all likelihood dwarfed by the dragons, but Kevalorn… he apparently had the power to pluck the same dragons from the sky without a second thought. To think that he did so while being restrained in multiple ways, it was terrifying. How does one fight such an entity? Who or what can stop a being of such awesome might?

Gerald’s tale of the dragons’ fate was disheartening. For reasons beyond her understanding, she felt a strange kinship with the dragons, and even though she had never met the Red, she mourned his loss. Yet, to think that Lailonsaire might have been destroyed so easily made Jillian feel quite empty inside. She felt no urge to shed a tear, or to lament, but there was a sobering void inside her bosom that reminded her she should feel sorrow over the fact that this once magnificent – if arrogant – creature was in all likelihood no more. She would not be able to speak to her again, to quarrel with her in a way that felt so very human or to ride above the clouds.

Jillian’s eyes turned to Elder Renold when Gerald mentioned him. He was an impressive creature, his mere size was far more imposing than Lailonsaire’s had been; there was no doubt that his power was equally greater to match. His name was familiar, she recalled, as the Green had mentioned him fleetingly. She had been seeking his affection, was that not it? At least, in a way that dragons did. Was he mourning the loss of the sisters too? Did dragons feel the same way about the death of their kin as humans did? Jillian skeptically eyed Renold for a few moments longer before reverting her attention to the necromancer again.

“End the Withering? What about Kevalorn? We were trying to keep him from his demon prison, were we not? If he got his hands on it, there won’t be a point in curing a disease. We’ll all be butchered like the dragons were,” Jillian argued, speaking much less agitated than before. She energetically took a sip, paying little attention to the taste, before going on:

“Besides, don’t you want to get back at him? That troll-faced bastard has much to answer for and deserves to be put down for what he did – and could still do.”

That was a noble goal, wasn’t it? If she could prove victorious over Kevalorn, revealed to be none other than the demon lord Hazzergash himself, then there would be no doubt of Jillian’s might and expertise. Every duchy would hail her as not only a heroine, but a paragon amongst mages. Not long ago, all of this would have been but a mere pipe dream, but after today, Jillian felt like it was somehow all possible. She had done the improbable, even the impossible, and her dream seemed more in reach than ever before. As terrible as the day’s events had been, she began to see a silver lining around it all. What did not kill her would only make her stronger, and that is what she had always desired. As for Kevalorn… the matter between him and her had become personal since the day began. Her meeting with Brand had been a significant portent of things to come. She had defied him, just as he had defied his master. The world had gone up in flames, only she was spared. The significance of it all was elusive to her still, but since that moment, she felt as if under the gaze of Hazzergash, a gaze that she imagined would linger. Jillian waltzed with an open flame, and there would come a time when she would have to face the god of fire again, of that she was certain.

“He’s not going to disappear like a bad dream, Gerald. I understand you want to sever the grip that the Withering has on you, but I see Hazzergash in our future. We have to be a step ahead of him if we want to avert disaster like we could not today,” she explained to him, surprisingly spirited and serious. Whether it was merely her dream talking, or if her prediction held true, none could say, but one thing was for certain: Jillian’s flame burned on.