Tristan followed Forsych down through the clouds, above the city where a whole bunch of Angelblood citizens went about their daily business. The whole time they flew, Tristan was just struck by how impeccably perfect everything was. Ornate rows of buildings, perfectly maintained and organized fields that were all equal size.

Felicity commented, "This is so…neat!"

"I know-"

"No!" she said as she glanced at him and made a near-hiss noise. "It's too organized!" She made a retching sound to emphasize her disgust with the locale. "It's too perfect. Reality isn't perfect."

"The Heavenly Realm is," Forsych called back. "Everything in its place, staying in its place, and perfectly organized."

Tristan could appreciate that, being someone who enjoyed organization. But he could understand where Felicity was coming from, as the chaotic sprawl of the forests of the Fey Realm were a far cry from the perfect plots plotted out on the plains below. They descended to a massive manor house that was bigger than the large warehouse his grandfather had converted to train on dragon-sized puppets in the Anorox Estate outside of the capital of Bhant.

Rolling his shoulders forward to stop the downward angle, Tristan arced up slightly before rolling his shoulders back again to descend to a light stop. Felicity landed on his head and began making her paw-claw biscuits again, whilst Forsych tucked his wings back along his spine and gestured to the wooden, white door. "Here we are."

The door was opened and a teenaged Angelblood citizen, dressed in a fine set of red clothes, stood to the side. "You wish to pay respects to the heaven dragon Shandralara?"

"Yes," Forsych replied. "I brought the dragonslayer."

The teenage boy looked at Tristan with a bit of fear tempered by professionalism. "Erm. Right this way. Although we must wait for the Highlord."

Forsych entered and waved Tristan in behind him. Tristan walked into the building; a massive, singular structure that was covered with hardwood that was a mix of gold and white colored timber. Elegant murals and designs were painted on the walls that depicted an ancient story Tristan was somewhat familiar with – the founding of the Realms.

But what dominated his interest the most was the enormous, Wyrm-sized dragon that lay upon a huge, crimson cushion. Soft, gold scales with white lines and traces along the edges created a mesmerizing pattern. Her large, sky-blue eyes were staring right at Tristan, and he felt truly insignificant before one of the rarest types of dragons in existence. He felt the hunt-urge rise up in his chest, a desire to defeat and conquer – but it was kept in check by the majesty of the beast before him.

Forsych walked up and bowed at the waist, "Shandralara, thank you for allowing us to visit."

She darted her eyes over to him and spoke, her voice melodic and soothing; like the singing of an angelic choir. "The sooner the Highlord gets here, the sooner this all ends."

Tristan walked forward and kept a good twenty feet behind Forsych, bowing at the waist. "Shandralara…I am Tristan Winterbloom. Lord of the Fey Realm."

"The Fey Realm? That is an old one." She let out a slight chuckle before sighing and rolling her head slightly to look at Tristan with a single, huge blue eye. The black slit down the center reminded Tristan that this was a predator without equal. "You are here to kill me?"

Tristan felt very uncomfortable in the moment, but ultimately nodded and kept his voice steady. "I was told you were willing to die."

She laughed a barking laugh, "Yes. I know I am to die in one day, four hours, twenty minutes…and five seconds." She sighed, "I have said my goodbyes to everyone. And I know that I would rather get it over with than just wait to die."

Forsych nodded and glanced back to Tristan, "That is one reason we wait for the Highlord. He will shepherd her soul, her consciousness, and see to it that she is reborn when a new egg becomes viable."

"I had a question about that," Felicity said as she raised a paw like a hand of a school child in a classroom.

"Go ahead," Shandralara said.

"When you die your Realm Protector gets your consciousness, your soul, whatever it is – and you just get to come back? That's so neat!"

Shandralara smiled, and the huge, pure-black teeth caught Tristan off guard as she had been speaking while keeping them concealed to that point. "Yes. As is the way in every Realm. I have died…twice before."

Felicity made her paw-claw biscuits on Tristan's head with more voracity, "The Matriarch does something similar…but you need to wait until you have an egg to go into? She just makes pods for us!"

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The dragon shrugged, the massive bulk of flesh raising ever-so-slightly at the front shoulder joints. "Different Realm, different rules, I suppose. Parrish? Bring me some water, please."

The red-clothed Angelblood teenager went to an open kitchen on the far side of the building and came back with a massive metal container with a huge, metal pipe sticking out of the top. He rolled it over on a small cart before putting down blocks under the wheels.

Oh, it's a giant straw, Tristan thought as he heard her slurping on the tube a second later. He immediately felt a pang of sympathy for the truly pathetic situation this dragon was in at the end stage of their life cycle. She cannot even get up to hunt, or nourish herself…this is going to be a mercy killing.

The door behind him opened, and he glanced back as he saw a broad-shouldered, decked-out in full plate, and carrying a war-hammer Celestial. They looked like a man, save for their head which was that of an eagle. And the eyes of that figure fell on Tristan. "You must be the Winterbloom dragonslayer arranged to come and end Shandralara's suffering."

Forsych came over and bowed to the figure as Tristan replied, trying to be as courteous as possible. "Yes. I am Tristan Winterbloom, Lord of the Fey Realm. You would be Highlord Yoriand?"

The figure nodded curtly and walked past Tristan, completely ignoring Forsych, and went to the huge dragon. He gently raised a hand and placed it on her scaly hide. "You are sure about this, yes, old friend?"

She nodded and looked to Tristan, "I am ready to die. And I would rather my death help another grow rather than be meaningless. Purpose, even in this…my last decision." She brought her head slightly around to the Highlord who cupped her huge jaw with his arms. "You'll keep me safe?"

"Of course, dear friend." The Highlord looked back to Tristan. "Do what you must, as painless as possible."

Tristan drew his sword, spinning his essence-crucible and shoving the energy down his chest, through his arm, and into the held pommel of his sword. Dragon's Doom activated, and the weapon elongated as it glowed with a bright, silvery hue. "I must get to your weak point…please pardon my climbing upon you."

She let out a slight, barking laugh. "Like when the children used to clamber on me. Do what you must, dragonslayer."

Tristan nodded and tapped Felicity with his open hand, "Pidä silmällä mitä tahansa" (Keep an eye out for anything).

She flapped off of his head as he walked forward and used her large scales as handholds. The trial of the sap's improvement to his strength allowed him to easily clamber up the large creature, and he walked atop her spine, using the long, black spikes to help steady his footing and stay along the midline. Finally, he reached the point between the wing-muscles, right above where the heart was.

With a single, defining thrust that took all of his might, the blade slammed home – through scale, muscle, sinew, and into the heart. The weakest spot on any dragon. Instantly shutting off blood flow to the brain, causing death mere seconds later. The dragon's form sagged under his feet as she came to rest.

The teenage, red-garbed teenage boy ran to the door, face in hands, as he fled the building crying. Forsych stood resolute facing the scene, and the Highlord below Tristan just gently brushed the dragon's massive jawline.

Tristan pulled the blade out – watching the small spurt of blood that continued to flow and trickle up, cleaned the sword on his cloak, and then held his hands up; heel of the palms connected fingers extended like a set of closing jaws. Spinning his essence crucible and flooding his body with the power, he whispered, "Mighty beast which now lays slain, I take from you what you can no longer use and is mine by right of conquest." The silver essence flooded out of his hands and coated the enormous dragon's body. He felt his reservoir empty to half as it took so much power to encompass the whole form.

He felt a tingling rush all up and down his body as the essence captured her crucible and flooded back into him. A flash of gold flared in his vision, blinding him momentarily, before vision returned. He felt a comforting warmth, like a hug from his mother, and the memory brought a slight tear to his eye.

Then, he dropped to all fours and began gulping down the blood. As much as he could stomach. Gorging himself on the blood of a heaven dragon – something he knew his grandfather had never done before. His whole body was wracked with a spasm that made him feel a warm rush. Just like when he had drunk too much starberry wine, his whole body went flush and he felt a sense of calmness wash over him.

Pulling his head back, he glanced over at a horrified Forsych and Highlord. "Sorry," he said as he wiped his face and mouth with the cloak. Then, he felt the horrid pain in his stomach and doubled over, letting out a grunt of pain as he slammed his fist into his armored thigh to try and redirect some of his mind's attention elsewhere. It did not help. But, thankfully, only a few seconds of turbulent stomach aches and cramps afflicted him before fading.

The Highlord looked to Forsych with an enraged look on his face. "What is the meaning of this desecration?!"

Forsych was gobsmacked and just stood there, mouth open.

Tristan slid down the dragon's bulk, "Part of being a dragonslayer. I consume the essence crucible, gaining access to a new spell type that my heritage is normally blocked from utilizing, and then I consume the blood to gain resistance to unwanted spells of the same type." Tristan suppressed a belch.

The Highlord's face was one of pure disgust as he turned back to Tristan, "That is barbaric."

"Sorry," Tristan said. "I figured that my contact at the Citadel would have filled you in with how it all worked." He glanced back at the dragon's body – the wound up on her back completely unseen from this angle, and even the blood that had trickled and flowed out of the wound was going down the other side. He turned to face her corpse and bowed, "Thank you for your generous gift."

"Well," The Highlord grumbled out, "She died quickly. Thank you for that mercy." He looked to Forsych, "Bring him to the palace to discuss inter-realm affairs." The Highlord went to the open door and jumped up; Tristan heard loud wing flaps as he must have ascended incredibly quickly.

Felicity landed on Tristan's head, "And now you can heal yourself!" She batted playfully at his long ears.

Forsych just gestured to the door, "…Outside," he muttered as he let Tristan leave first, and then shut the door behind. Almost immediately, he touched his hand to the frame and a flame of bright, golden energy flared up before a crackling red fire took over.

Tristan was about to comment about how the dragon parts were going to go to waste, but kept his tongue in check. They already gave me something no other Elf has; rejuvenation as a spell type. I should not press my luck and risk upsetting them. Instead, he kept silent and waited. Forsych came over, grabbed Tristan from behind, and lifted off into the air.

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