SORCEROUS SIGNALS
Written by Conan Young / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti
Mark of the Dragons



















Mark and I have always been inseparable. My biggest desire is to repay all the kindness he's shown me
through the years. How many has it been? Five, going on six, if memory serves. His was the first face I
laid eyes on. Imprinting, I think they call it. He named me Amaterasu, after the sun goddess of the Far
East. He bathed my black scales, fed me what his family could afford before I learned to hunt, and shared
selections from his volumes of tomes.

Books, now that's a fascinating invention, far too delicate and intricate for our large powerful claws to
craft. Mark would read with me every night since I'd first taken up human speech. His family owns a lot of
veterinary manuals and medical journals, but his favorites were the stories of adventure in faraway
places. I preferred books that told a different kind of tale.

"There are many theories as to why the archosaurs died off. Some say the climate changed, others say
the food ran out. Most paleontologists believe the cause was a giant meteor that struck sixty-five million
years..."

"Where did that word come from?"

"Which one?"

"This one." I tapped a claw on the page.

"Oh, archosaurs. Ancient lizards. The group that included dinosaurs and all their relatives."

"Yes, I know what it means, I'm asking where it came from. My ancestors weren't lizards."

"Of course they weren't." Mark flipped the cover shut and patted my forearm. "The names come from
resemblance. Sometimes we just take the first word that comes to mind."

"It still amazes me humans could piece together these stories just by digging through layers of rocks."

"No more unbelievable than how you're able to keep track of millions of years of culture and history
without any written record," said Mark. "How do you remember it all?"

"Well, our ancestors' tale goes something like this." I pushed up from my straw mattress and tried to
recall the melody to the ancient rhyme:

Starfallen blight extinguished the light
Three years of night where withered green had ceased to grow
Time stretched scales and flame forged sails
Would blaze new trails through waters above and below
Death, rebirth brings feathery wings
We became kings where forebearers once reigned
Unbound from trees to claim the seas
Sailing the breeze as destiny ordained


"And that's all I know," I admitted. "Mercurios promised to teach me the rest of the translation some
day." The gray lightning dragon was the official town courier of Haghendak village. Every week, he and his
rider Keenan would bring us the latest news from the front lines. "I just wish he could stick around more
often."

"He does keep a busy schedule. Speaking of which, it's time to get back to work." Mark shelved the book
next to another of my favorites, a chronicle of famous inventions. It told of the steam engine and its
inventor, Heron of Alexandria, who lived two thousand years ago. The city of scholars was named after
its founder, the dragon Alexander, who was reputed to possess the brains of five dragons.

"But I thought you were done for the day."

"I still have one patient lined up for the evening." Mark was in charge of the veterinary clinic while his
parents were away.

The door chime rang. Jessica had come with her folks to pick up her puppy Benjamin. The girl was the
same age as I, but not much for philosophical conversation. Mark had to tell me humans take longer to
fully mature, a fact I found strange given how well Mark handled adult responsibilities at age seventeen.

"Now remember, Jessica, no more chocolate," said Mark. "Dogs can't eat all the same things we do. I
don't want to see Benjamin back here for poisoning treatment. Understand?"

"All right," said Jessica.

"You have to take good care of him." Mark handed over the puppy, who began licking the girl's face.

It was dark out after we saw them off, locked the doors, and turned up the boilers for the night. I
noticed Mark's confident mood from moments ago turn dour and apprehensive. He was reading over
some official paperwork by candlelight.

"Tomorrow's our big day?"

"You know it is," said Mark.

I also knew better than to press the matter. His feelings were set and there was no changing his mind.
The least I could do was stand by him.

~ * ~

"Are you certain you don't wish me to transport you?"

"We've been this way plenty of times."

"But we have to stay in top form, for when the call comes out."

"Maybe later, when I've finished fixing your harness."

"Oh, all right."

Mossy growth mingled with the worn cobblestone road that led to downtown Haghendak. Our home
village started as a small farming community that grew into a fiefdom, and eventually became a center of
commerce as the craft guilds moved in. Unlike those in other kingdoms, the guilds under the Euphris
Empire saw opportunities for profit in innovation. Many strides in technology were made thanks to
humans who studied alongside dragons.

"Mark! Amaterasu! Fine day, is it not?" Barry, the local butcher, waved his thick greasy hand.

"As well as can be expected." Mark had grown cynical and downcast in recent months, not that I could
blame him.

"So what'll it be today?" Barry would have us peruse the special cuts hung on display beneath cast iron
refrigeration coils. I drew my wings in close. The place was always kept close to freezing. As Mark once
explained, humans invented compression based coolant systems by studying the frost breath of my
white-plumed cousins.

"Maybe later, we're in kind of a hurry."

"But…" I started to object. Although I'd brought in a sizeable haul during my morning fishing run, the
smell was tempting as ever.

"It's okay, I understand." Barry shook his head and took up his cleaver. "Business has been lousy ever
since they hit those shipping routes. Had to liquidate a lot of stock when the power went out again last
week."

Mark beckoned me on. I hung my head once I was able to pry my eyes away from the shop window.

We passed a flock of pigeons as they pecked away at the baker's discarded crumbs. It was hard to
believe I shared a common ancestor with these two-legged creatures that bobbed their heads or hopped
along the ground. They lacked the extra set of forelimbs that allowed us to walk on all fours when not
using our wings.

Then again, in my early years I had to have Mark to carry me before my wings were fully developed.
According to the pictures he's shown me, I would one day grow big enough to carry a small platoon.
Mark had little trouble pinning down my exact breed. It was all written in his family's books.

I'd started insisting we attempt a sky run ever since I was the size of a horse. I've seen plenty of
humans riding around on those creatures, which can't even fly. Then again, neither can humans. I don't
know how humans lasted so long, running around on those scrawny legs. Maybe that's why they needed
boats to sail the ocean's surface, horses to take them down long roads, or us to transport them
through the clouds.

"Hey Mark, I'll have that order ready for you by Friday," Smitty called out. "And greetings to you,
Amaterasu."

The smithy, by contrast, was always too hot for me. Mark's parents would send him out on occasion to
pick up the tools of their trade. Other than that, we had little reason to visit. Unlike the rest of the boys
his age, Mark never took much of an interest in fighting.

I preferred it that way. His hands were meant for healing, not wielding the weapons of war. Mark had
envisioned a life following in his parents' footsteps, staying on the farm and working with the animals he
so loved.

"No need to rush," Mark replied. "I know those military commissions have been keeping you occupied."

Smitty toweled off his sweaty brow. "You can say that again. Speaking of which, I heard the news."

"Yes well…" Mark was sweating and his words broke with modesty. "Comes with age, I guess."

"You know," Smitty set aside his sword blank and leaned in close, "you ought to do what your parents
did. Send out that letter explaining your beliefs. That's how they got into medicine. With new hatchlings
being born every day, there's going to be a need for the work they do."

"Already have. Already got my response from the draft office." Mark was murmuring too. "Can't say they
were too happy with it, but I scraped through."

Smitty slapped Mark on the shoulder and chuckled. "Good for you. Too many fine boys being taken from
their homes to kill other boys a long way from home. So when're you going to get your insignia?"

"We're on our way now," I filled in. Sometimes I wished Mark would look people in the eyes.

"Good luck with that. I'll see you around," Smitty called after us. Mark waved without turning his head.

From what I could tell, Mark has always been that way around people. His preference for books and
studying left little room for falling into the social graces of other humans. There were days he'd come
home from school, worse for wear, but wouldn't tell me what happened.

Then again, it wasn't hard to deduce. Often I would hear the voices of other boys taunting him. "It would
just make things worse," he responded, the first time I'd asked why he didn't strike back.

Healing spells were the only means I had to comfort him. While my black plumage signified a heavy siege
lineage, Mark had taught me to grant life rather than take it. Instead of growing to sustain the dreaded
dark flame of my ancestors that had consumed countless lives, I'd learned to master the Promethean
heat.

I've often wondered. Humans once believed magic came from us, given our great power. We once
believed they possessed the key to magic, given their complex technological achievements. Perhaps the
truth was somewhere in between.

"Good day to you, Mark and Amaterasu," Elaine greeted us the moment the hanging doorbell rang. We
had reached her corner shop at last.

Elaine had studied business at the Al-Garistad university when she was younger, which was
commonplace for women nowadays, but unheard of a thousand years ago. This was before human
societies started adopting our ways. For millions of years, there was never a question about gender
caste. Dragon couples always raised our hatchlings together, always hunted together. I suppose humans
likewise saw our customs as unusual, at first.

"Show her the papers," I prodded Mark.

"I know. I'm getting to that." Mark riffled through the travel pack slung over my back and took out his
documents, which had arrived air mail last month.

Elaine peered through her bifocals, another fascinating human invention for helping their visually impaired
read books, among other things. "Everything seems in order. I remember the day your mom and dad
came for their insignias. Has it been that long already? Well let's see what we've got."

I noticed the glum expression on Mark's face. "What's wrong? I thought this was supposed to be a
momentous occasion."

"You know how I feel about this whole affair." Mark sighed and patted my neck.

"Here we go!" Elaine climbed down from the stepladder and handed them to Mark. They were sold six to
a pack.

"So let's see how they look." I could at least offer Mark some encouragement. I wasn't going to let him
leave until he complied. Besides, there wasn't much he could do with me parked right outside the
doorway.

Mark grumbled. He opened the package and rolled up his sleeve to the elbow.

"Just press and rub," I instructed. Gone were the days of branding status symbols into one's flesh. The
new methods were much more humane.

When it was done, Mark's wrist sported his brand new Air Force insignia, the bright red cross of the Field
Medic division.

"And we have something for you too." Elaine affixed a wristband around my forearm, like the tracking
bracelets scientists use to study bird migrations. It had a matching symbol. "Have a nice day, you two."

"Thanks," I said.

Mark reverted to his quiet self once official business was concluded. On the way back home, I noticed
he'd rolled his sleeve back down to hide the insignia like some inflamed insect bite.

~ * ~

I found Mark kneeling in the flowerbed the following morning. At first I mistook his behavior for a human
ritual I hadn't yet learned. However his labored sobs told a different story. I crept up and peered past
the tiger lilies. Then I saw her.

Mark's parents had gotten him the kitten when he was five. He named her Penumbra. Their
companionship was far older than mine with Mark. I knew she'd been sick, but Mark and his parents were
healers.

Yet Mark did nothing but let his tears fall on Penumbra, as if an invisible force bound his hands. Why
didn't he do something? If she were that sick, Mark ought to do everything in his power to cure her.

Before I knew it, I had said that aloud to Mark.

Mark shook his head in defeat. "I can't restart her heart now. It's been too long. Even if I did…"

He stood aside. I approached and touched my snout to the small animal. Any residual warmth was fast
fleeting. The most powerful healing magic in the world couldn't reconstruct memories or personality once
those had departed.

The shovel Mark had brought from the shed shook in his grasp. "I guess there's only one last thing to
do."

"Shouldn't we wait until your parents return from Al-Garistad?" I didn't mean to overstep my bounds. If
the cat were a member of the family, then it was only appropriate to wait until the family was together.

"No, that'll be another three days." Mark picked out a spot nearby and began digging. "The least
Penumbra deserves is a prompt burial."

I scratched at the dirt, but Mark waved me off. He wanted to do this alone.

"Why do humans bury their dead in the ground?" I asked.

"You know. To return them to the earth."

"We do the same thing, except in our culture, the ocean is the great provider."

"So I've read." Mark paused for a moment. "Are you saying we should?"

"If you're willing. I'll take us out there."

While Mark kept his arms wrapped around my neck, I hovered close to the surface and set Penumbra
adrift amongst the waves. Mark had swathed Penumbra in a simple linen shroud with a flower from his
garden.

Every creature has its purpose, Mark taught me. I reflected on the parallels to another type of
relationship humans developed. They first domesticated these desert mammals, not for labor or food,
but to hunt the rodents that infested their granaries. Like the bond between humans and my kind, it was
forged from mutual self-interest.

Mark held me close. The fragment he'd lost had exposed a dark canyon. For several placid minutes we
watched the rolling currents usher her away. A song of ancestral memory, one I'd hoped to never need
for someone dear to Mark, seemed the most fitting tribute:

Timeless crystal shatters
Winds erode mountains to dust
Castoff feathers flutter to the earth
Autumn leaves descend
Fallen flower petals on forest floors
Become the virgin soil
Snowflakes in the springtime thaw
Skyward rise, in clouds coalesce
To begin their descent anew
Streams become rivers
That fill the oceans
The watery embrace
From whence we arrive
To where we return


The sun had dipped low and turned the waters orange. One last tear ran off Mark's face, skimmed down
my black feathers, and fell into the sea. I could tell there were many things he wanted to ask, perhaps
why the song translated without form, but the question that came out wasn't something I was prepared
to answer.

"What happens to dragons who lose their riders?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"This war we've gotten caught up in. If something were to happen." Mark avoided my eyes and lowered
his head. "What would you do?"

"I never…" Find a way to carry on, I hope. That's what I should have said. "Let's not talk about this. Not
right now."

"Okay, sorry. I wasn't trying to imply anything. You and I are going to get through this together."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

The blare of a battle trumpet interrupted our thoughts.

"What was that?" I could hear screams and the explosions that chased them.

Mark was leaning back in the direction of shore. "Amaterasu, we have to get back! Now!"

I beat my wings in heavy strokes, the fastest I could go without flinging Mark from the harness. What
reason did the Empire have to punish our town of Haghendak? The loyalty of most citizens was forced,
but they were loyal nonetheless. Their regular tributes ensured we were spared the brunt of the conflict
that embroiled our homeland.

The situation was no less bleak when we reached the outskirts. I tried to be optimistic. Aside from a few
plumes of smoke, I couldn't see any major damage. The attacking air force must have already withdrawn.

That was when I heard the rhythmic clack of armored soldiers charging through the streets. There were
at least three strike units accompanying the humans, judging from the scents, although they weren't
anyone I recognized. The battle trumpet sounded again and the marching slowed to a halt.

Once I caught a glimpse of the leader's banner, I realized these weren't Imperial troops. The gryphon
standard. Rebels. What were they doing here?

"Mark…anybody, help." Someone was calling out from beneath the burning beams of a nearby building.

"Smitty?" I touched down beside what was left of the blacksmith and started heaving aside the
smoldering rubble. Mark managed to drag Smitty out from underneath.

"What's going on?" Mark laid him down a safe distance from the fire and cast a quick diagnostic spell.
The man's injuries were numerous. Broken ribs, third degree burns, a dislocated shoulder, and smoke
inhalation.

"They came," Smitty coughed. "Said I wouldn't be supplying the Empire any longer. The leader intoned a
word. Then this blue explosion—"

"Citizens of Haghendak!" the leader announced from the town square. "Rejoice, for the Erake Resistance
has come to liberate you from the clutches of Imperial rule!"

I had heard of these rebels before. Their leader was a young man named Erake, whom they believed was
the foretold hero of prophecy who would save them from Emperor Nazgar Sayiin. The story goes that
Sayiin had overthrown his predecessor by kneeing him in the reproductive organs during a duel. Since
those dark times, the kingdom of Euphris has suffered under his iron grip, until such day that a savior
emerges.

Yet for ordinary citizens, life went on.

"From this day forward, you are no longer subjects of the evil Emperor Sayiin!" Erake continued.

Mark had just finished tending the worst of Smitty's wounds. The tricky thing about healing arts was the
precision and finesse they required. Smitty was fortunate, if one could call it that.

We moved closer to the town square for a better look. Most of the citizens shared our wariness, though
a few stood around to listen to the declaration. The biggest presence was that of the three strike units
the rebels had flown in on. I didn't recognize the crimson-feathered crusader, or the yellow-crested
gladiator, but the blue-winged slayer named Azure had risen to prominence alongside her rider.

Erake strutted in his polished golden mail, flaming sword on his hip, long blue tassels fluttering in the
breeze. Indifferent eyes regarded him and his gathered troops. He grew disappointed after a moment, as
anger filtered into his otherwise gormless expression.

"Excuse me," Erake shouted at no one in particular, "but we're out there risking our lives every day for
your sake. The least you could do is show some proper respect!"

The townspeople parted on the opposite side of the square. Elaine stepped forward, cradling a heap of
blood soaked rags. The small child inside shivered.

"Jessica," I gasped. I started to assume the worst when I didn't see the girl's parents anywhere.

"She's still alive." Mark broke into a run before I could stop him. "I have to save her!"

"Mark, wait!"

Too late. The flaming sword flashed from its scabbard. Several rebel troops followed suit. Mark found
himself staring down a semicircle of multiple longswords and musket barrels. They must have noticed me
too, for the yellow gladiator reared up and spread its massive wings.

"Oh, so this small town has its own Imperial dragon squad, does it?" Erake sneered. The tip of his sword
was a handspan away from Mark's throat. "Trying to set up an ambush?"

"It's a heavy siege breed, but a young one," Desiderata, a red haired woman who wore the robes of a
battle sorceress said. She was sizing me up, confident I posed little threat to the rebels. An advanced
practitioner like her could level a city block with a flick of her finger.

"Please, you must let me through." Mark swallowed and tried to steady his nerves. "I'm the town healer.
There's an injured child over there."

"A healer you say? I know for a fact the Empire has drafted all able-bodied young men from the towns
and villages." Erake closed his steel grip around Mark's wrist and ripped away the sleeve to reveal the red
insignia. "Especially if they're dragon riders!"

"I'm not a soldier. I'm a field medic." Mark was running out of options. There was little I could do to help
him. "I would never kill anyone."

The hysterical laughter that ensued spared Mark an impromptu execution as Erake and the rebels
lowered their weapons for the time being. Mark's concern however was the injured girl's worsening
condition. He still couldn't move from the spot.

Erake stepped up again after conversing with his wingmen. "Then consider this your lucky day. We could
use someone with your skills on our side. Your dragon ought to supply some much needed firepower as
well." It wasn't a request.

"I'm sorry…but I can't take sides."

Erake's face hardened with disgust. "What did you say?"

"I'm not on anyone's side," Mark said. "That's why I became a medic. That girl needs my help."

Erake still barred the path. "Hey, I don't remember dismissing you from my sight."

"Let me go!"

It happened so fast, I couldn't believe what I'd seen. Mark lay crumpled on the street, his cheek gashed
and bleeding where a golden armored fist had slammed into him. The rebel troops boarded the crimson
crusader and yellow gladiator. From his perch upon his dragon's saddle, Erake shot one last bloodshot
glare at Mark before commanding his squad.

"Let's get out of here. See if we ever come to the aid of these ungrateful peasants again."

Before they took to the skies, I caught a glimmer of regret in Azure's eyes. Then they were gone.

"I'm fine," Mark insisted as I helped him up. "That's not the important thing right now."

Despite a puffy eye and blood trickling from his mouth, Mark led me over to Elaine and the injured girl,
and we got to work.

~ * ~

One day's worth of respite would prove an unreasonable request. The townsfolk had gathered in the
square before the first rays of sunlight peered over the horizon. My initial concern that the rebels had
returned was unfounded. Rather, their attention was focused on a more familiar and far friendlier sight.

"Mercurios?" I thought I'd recognized the gray-plumed lightning messenger, and his rider Keenan. "What
news from the front?"

"Not good, I'm afraid," Mercurios replied, while Keenan offloaded bundles of periodicals for sale. "The
Republic of Vinland has issued a declaration."

"What for? Aren't their sanctions against the Euphris Empire enough?" Mark asked.

"I hadn't hoped for a repeat of the occupation ten years ago," Mercurios nodded at me, "for those of us
who aren't old enough to remember. Yet their president has a personal score to settle with Emperor
Sayiin. He seeks to restore his family's honor for the failed assassination attempt."

Mark rubbed his cheek, where the swelling had gone down since yesterday. "Revenge never solved
anything."

"Be that as it may, Vinland forces with rebel support are inbound to Al-Garistad. They're planning to take
out Emperor Sayiin at the seat of his power."

Mark went pale. "My mom and dad! They haven't returned home yet!" He leapt into the saddle. His
parents had been staying at the Shrine of Stars, where they often performed charity healing services for
the city's poor and needy. The shrine was founded as a confluence of the Church of the Crystal Dragon,
the Followers of the Dragon of Scorching Sands, and the Disciples of the Thunderbird, the oldest of the
three major religions.

"Hey wait, are you insane?" Keenan shouted when he saw what Mark intended. "It's a sixteen hour flight,
and even then, you'd be flying right into the middle of a war zone!"

"I'll make it in twelve!" That was my promise to Mark.

Mercurios didn't try to stop us. "In that case, good luck and Godspeed."

I nodded before lifting off from the square. Keenan clutched his periodicals by his side, irate I'd almost
blown them away. Still, he gave us an obligatory wave while shaking his head.

The shadows fled across the countryside from the rising sun. We reached the line of cumulus clouds
when I realized the oversight in my rush. I strained to keep steady and accelerate my wing beats against
the accumulating fatigue.

"You haven't eaten today." Mark patted my neck. "Neither have I. We'd better stop for something."

"No, we haven't a moment to lose." Yet the ground was winning the tug-of-war. I veered towards the
shore where the river fed into the sea. "Hold your breath!"

The dive added half an hour to our time, but it proved a success. I tossed Mark one of the queenfish I'd
skimmed from the surface. We didn't have the luxury of stopping to build a campfire.

Four hours into the flight. Mark's clothes had dried in the sun, and I was able to coast on the winds to
save strength. There have been experienced fliers who could train themselves to sleep while gliding
several minutes at a time on a single wing stroke. I wasn't so lucky. I had to stay alert no matter what.

Six hours into the flight. It was high noon and the sun was oppressive on my black wings. I dipped
below the clouds and traveled from shade to shade. My worst fear was that Mark would become
dehydrated. He'd lost about as much sleep as I had, so I hoped he would rest. Yet I didn't once feel his
grip on the harness ease up.

Ten hours into the flight. Scorched rubble had displaced many of the major roads and bridges to Al-
Garistad. Pastures and fields still burned, and from the outlying villages, towering mushroom clouds
billowed skyward like diseased brains.

Eleven hours into the flight. I caught a distant glimpse of a broad formation flying the proud colors of
the Vinland air force. Just when I was beginning to think there was no sign of the rebels, the red
crusader and yellow gladiator swooped across my field of vision, throwing me into a spiral swerve. Mark
almost lost his grip. Leading the charge was Erake, flaming sword held aloft, golden helmet flashing, and
tassels flapping in the wind as he spurred Azure onward.

"Put them to flame, for glory and fame!" Erake cried before his formation soared ahead at breakneck
speed to engage the Imperial air force. Whether I was exhausted from flying nonstop, or the rebel fleet
was that much faster, there was no way I could catch up.

Regardless of the odds stacked against them, the Empire wasn't going to surrender Al-Garistad without
a fight. With the rebel leader flying at the forefront, the lines clashed like opposing tidal waves. I didn't
know whether or not Mark and I were fortunate to have never tasted battle. It escaped my
comprehension how soldiers could tell friend from foe amidst the brutal melee of steel and gunpowder.
Then the dragons had their say. Fireballs and frost tornadoes tore across the skies. Ball lightning and
crushing air blasted craters in the earth and troop formations alike. Poison clouds and acid fog consumed
everything they touched.

The twelfth hour arrived like a silent visitor, every moment thereafter measured in grains of hourglass
sand. I had only a vague idea of where the Shrine of Stars was located based on Mark's descriptions.
Had we come on a clear day, I might have picked out its majestic cross-shaped spires, designed to let
dragons perch above while humans held their weekly services. Yet I saw nothing but heavy smoke and
noxious fumes in the direction Mark kept trying to steer me. I circled but couldn't get close, as if the
polluted winds had grown sentient and were forcing me back. Explosions echoed and mixed with the
screams of the damned, a symphony to soothe the reaper's hollow heart of dust. Mark's parents were
nowhere in immediate sight.

"Don't give up hope," I said in spite of it all.

"We can't," Mark said. He knew as well as I did. Hope had already departed on broken wings.

A sudden silence claimed the battlefield. The crumbling buildings, raging fires, and shrill voices had
washed together into a sea of white noise. We landed where the haze was thinner and the air was easier
to breathe.

The first breath I took was the furthest thing from fresh air. Mark coughed and held a cloth over his face.

A menagerie of shattered forms once associated with living creatures greeted our eyes. Faces and flags
were charred indistinct. Countless tributary streams flowed together into a common pool of deepest
crimson. Broken swords, spent rounds, and ashen armor littered the ground like parade confetti.

Atop a mound of rubble, we encountered a prone golden figure beside the blue slayer who died trying to
protect him. Arrow shafts and sword hilts protruded from him like hedgehog quills. His flaming sword
was still attached to his hand, which lay several meters away. In the end, the rebel leader had gotten the
recognition he sought.

"Oh no."

Mark rushed over to the gutted ruins where the Shrine of Stars once stood and began heaving aside the
rubble with his bare hands. The thick smell of copper and the sight of half-buried personal affects
confirmed the worst of our fears. There had been a service going on when the attack took place.

Two years of medical training did not prepare me for this. I tucked my head under my wing. A wave of
intense nausea overwhelmed me and drowned out all my other senses.

Almost.

"…doing here? Mark! Amaterasu! What are you doing here?"

We turned our heads. Neither of us had heard them calling before, with the sounds of battle still ringing
in our ears.

Mark's eyes reflected the glimmer within the surrounding darkness. He rushed over to greet Natalie and
Hayden, his mother and father. Their field medic uniforms were soaked through from injuries not their
own.

"We came to rescue you." Mark blinked and wiped his eyes. "When we heard what was happening."

"Damn fool! You should have stayed put." Nonetheless, Hayden pulled Mark into his arms.

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" Natalie scolded.

"I'm a field medic too." Mark showed them his faded insignia. "This is what I do."

"How many survivors?" I asked.

"We're still counting them." Natalie led us on.

They didn't have to say it. Despite their admonitions, I could tell Mark's parents were glad we'd come.

I helped them clear away the building debris to set up a makeshift camp. Injured soldiers and dragons
from places far and near lay beside men, women, and children from the city. The moans and pleas that
emanated from these broken bodies were an agonizing clamor.

"These civilians didn't ask for this war."

"That's irrelevant now." Mark took out his kit.

"Who do we help first?"

"It makes no difference."

"I suppose not."

The skies had dimmed to  a steely blue. With heavy hearts, we set about our sordid task.
The author has had numerous short stories and flash fiction published in various literary journals.  
He is studying literature at Bergen Community College in NJ, where his short works "My Annoying
Roommate" and "Butterfly Over Vienna" have won Best Fiction in their Labyrinth journal over two
consecutive years.  He is currently revising the first of his Lunar Realm YA novel series.