The decision to steadily begin unshackling the Starmakers came hardly, and it was accepted with massive concerns. Rahmanegol himself fought against the idea. Now that the creators of life have been healed—their attempts at morphing into stars finally succeeding, without them experiencing a horrendous death—there was no indication if they would retaliate against the dominion of the Lightstealers over Aslakahm. Caution is still visible in their demeanour, and glares are noticeable in the eyes of those Rahmanegol leads, but no conflicts have emerged since the invasion. Despite their obvious differences, Starmakers seem to have understood their dependency on Lightstealers. And his dragons seem to have accepted sharing their habitation with those they grew to despise throughout eternity. Rahmanegol had begun to better grasp the necessity of this conflict and why, according to Khonameol, the Tribunal allowed it to occur. Existence has only known peace in its early birth. Before the Grand Separation. Before deeply sown contempt and unnecessary conflicts amidst Conception and Havoc. Now, peace has returned. And hopefully, it shall never leave the Materium, despite what further altercations may arise from both sides of creation. Nevertheless, the Tribunal’s providence has shown itself once again. Even if the Materium may know violence and decay in the incoming eternity, there will always be the parents to tend to it and ensure its survival.

  Clangs emerged from beneath. Aslakahm underwent considerable transformations and the efforts of rebuilding were enormous. Surprisingly, many Lightstealers offered to help the Starmakers reconstruct and expand the kingdom. Zhozpzsn will thus cease having a role within the Materium. Lightstealers that desire to still maintain a distance may dwell there if they please. But from now on, every dragon is meant to co-exist in the kingdom that began since existence itself. In Aslakahm. The home of the ancient dragons, and Tribunal’s beloved dwelling.

  He gazed downward at the growing labors of the dragons. Glaritius—the material produced within the Throne, bestowed upon Aslakahm and Zhozpzsn by the Tribunal—was hauled and handled to create new nests and repair existing ones. The waves supporting the kingdom expanded on their own accord, creating new space within the infinite bounds of the Materium for constructions to be made. Another aspect of existence that Rahmanegol found impossible to grasp. Alghamior believed that the Tribunal stretched it with their unseen hands. He used to fabricate answers to aspects no other dragon could discover. Such was the way his mind functioned. A mind that was lost to the nothingness that spreads and encapsulates all that exists. At least now, after a resolution had been brought to Aslakahm, Rahmanegol can atone for what he did and seek what was stolen from him. Does he even deserve to receive it?

  Vibrations arose from the Throne and ascended through his limbs. Rahmanegol spun, glimpsing approaching Lightstealers. His Company.

  “Are you certain of this, my lord?” Irarmajon asked, his four white eyes bursting with concern. “Is there no other path besides the one you have chosen?”

  Rahmanegol shook his head uncaringly. “Too much has occurred. Far too much essence has been wasted. Far too little has survived my claws.”

  Targhanion kept his gaze downcast. Presumably because he doesn’t want to glimpse this departure. Yet Rahmanegol knew that the recent withdrawal of his status within the Company brought more grief than the present farewell. Considering all his disregards, all the hatred he allowed rampant, this was always going to be the necessary outcome. The new council that ought to be formed must contain only dragons concerned with peace and focused on the safety of existence, not with those craving violence and death.

  “Is your return to Aslakahm a possibility?” Sarsameon asked.

  Rahmanegol shifted his gaze toward the Materium. Toward the path he will traverse in his quest for the Field of Rebirth. “Doubtfully. I lack the desire to carry this burden anymore. Now it’s yours to share with the Starmakers.” He regarded his Lightstealers, nervousness exuding through their bodies. “The ancients have caused plenty of chaos with their disagreements. Learn from our mistakes.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Puareniol bowed. “Your words are invaluable, my lord. We shall pay attention to them. We will ensure a proper council is formed, alongside the Starmakers.”

  Rahmanegol strolled toward them. “Let the events that transpired be a lesson to you,” he said firmly. “The time for conflicts is to be abolished. Am I clearly understood?”

  “If the Starmakers rise against us?” Irarmajon asked. “What do you propose we do then?”

  “Then you are to maintain the peace. If not, return to Zhozpzsn. We are to behave with care, even if the Starmakers choose a different path.”

  Targhanion tilted his head upward. “Lord, are we truly meant to do nothing if they decide to fight us?”

  Rage exploded within Rahmanegol. What must it take for this dragon to denounce his search for foolish wars? Demise? His muscles tensed, despite his best attempts to subdue them. There is no further point in this discussion if his Lightstealers choose to continue in this manner. “Your place within this Company is already over, Targhanion. Search for as much death as you want.” He stopped before him, then leaned closer, breathing in his retreating head. “No dragon shall grant it to you.”

  Targhanion shifted, losing sight of Rahmanegol’s piercing gaze. “As you command, my lord.”

  Rahmanegol withdrew, his eyes bouncing from dragon to dragon. “Each of you has witnessed the horrors of war. Despite what many of our Lightstealers may believe, no one has emerged victorious from this invasion. We are fortunate the Tribunal hasn’t discarded our kin, considering what he did.” He exhaled, then turned its back on his Company. “I made a terrible mistake by not trusting Alghamior. That grief will always live with me.”

  He departed from his dragons. An ache began pounding in his claws, as the memory of claiming Alghamior’s essence returned stronger than the most powerful cosmic storm Rahmanegol crafted in his eternity. Steadily, his eyesight began blurring, but he shook his head, trying to fend off against it. The Field of Rebirth will grant him the necessary eternity to lament the loss of his dear brother.

  “Lord, what of the Error?” Irarmajon interrupted his walk. “What shall we do concerning him? The Jila he houses is a considerable threat.”

  Rahmanegol halted and thought, choosing silence as his immediate response. Khonameol had been forthcoming in his desire to control the chaos within him. Considering the worries he showed for Alghamior and the rest of the Starmakers, he found it hard to believe Khonameol would turn to destruction. Dualities have always been a subject of great interest and even greater dread. The dragon they chose to experiment on bore strengths resembling Khonameol’s, but nowhere near as powerful. Regardless of his fear, Alghamior continually ensured fair treatment to the Dualities, and chose to allow them to leave Aslakahm unshackled. If this curse hadn’t taken hold of the Materium, Khonameol would’ve suffered the same fate. Blessed be the Tribunal for intervening. Otherwise, this disease would have claimed all and no other fear could have been greater than that of complete decay.

  He eventually groaned. “Khonameol has been of great help to both sides of creation. Don’t forget that he claims to have been granted an audience by the Tribunal. He could’ve released the Jila upon me, after I released him. Yet he didn’t.” Rahmanegol resumed his pace. “He already knows his home, and I made sure he understood his place within the Materium and within what shall become of this kingdom. I doubt he will become an issue.”

  No further objections or questions came from his dragons. Rahmanegol reached the circling edge of the Throne of Infinity, sighting Aslakahm one final time. Desolation was beginning to flee from the intense hope the cure delivered. Nothing will be capable of erasing his actions on Aslakahm and on Alghamior. However, as he witnessed the dragons cooperating, a tiny hint of joy urged him to take a deep breath. Maybe existence won’t remember him as a senseless tyrant. Hopefully.

  Rahmanegol stretched his four wings. With the loss of some of the scales that protrude from his back, he felt lighter. Would that help his flight be quicker? That would be of use inside the Field. He glanced over his upper wing. “Farewell, my brethren.”

  He leaped from the Throne, trying his best to impersonate a slither, and hastened toward his new eternal refuge.