Despite objections from his Company, Rahmanegol chose to join in the hunt for ashes. News has arisen from the Materium, information that brought a rage unlike he’d felt in recent eternity. Lightstealers are reporting that the essence of faded stars is depleting. Rapidly. A situation that endangers the eggs themselves. A matter that requires Rahmanegol to cast aside any other task or worry to glimpse for himself if his Lightstealers are correct in what they speak.

  Irarmajon and Targhanion soared ahead of him, a fallen star awaiting their arrival. Sarsameon and Puareniol chose to visit a different galaxy altogether, a decision with which Rahmanegol agreed. Perhaps other places within the Materium may display a different reality. Maybe stars endure different things in distinct galaxies. Hopefully that is the case.

  Targhanion hastened his flight, while Irarmajon appeared to halt his. Then Rahmanegol understood what his Lightstealers had been speaking about, and a scowl gripped his face.

  “This?!” he demanded. “This is what remains from a lifeless star?”

  The fallen body before them had crumbled into barely any essence. Tiny black particles, with thin white waves washing over it and tiny sparkling dots spread across it hovered just out of the broken shell of the celestial body. Targhanion dug his claw within the dwarf ahead, absorbing the particles with a concerned gaze.

  “So they were correct,” Irarmajon said idly.

  Rahmanegol approached Targhanion, his eyes searching his claw to properly number the particles absorbed. The Lightstealer spun, revealing only five particles that soared within the essence of his claw.

  “This doesn’t suffice,” Targhanion said. “No furnace will craft an egg with only this mockery.”

  “One star,” Rahmanegol said, “is meant to bring forth one child. One single star.”

  Irarmajon joined and took a closer look. “This is a matter of perilous significance. We’re speaking about life. About our own children.”

  Targhanion tensed, the power in his white lines taking shape. “This is all because of Alghamior and his idleness! We warned him, and yet he made no advancements. Nothing has changed since we visited him. And now this is our reward.”

  “Don’t be so quick to make assumptions,” Irarmajon chastised. “We have no idea what has transpired in Aslakahm since our visit. But this… is dire indeed.” He acknowledged Rahmanegol. “He must explain to us how this could have happened.”

  Rahmanegol withdrew, rage building up within his essence, despite his best efforts of fending off against it. There is no room for wrath in this. His mind must remain focused and ought to push aside any frivolous matters in order to bring a resolution. Rage only urges him into losing composure. It mustn’t now.

  One star had been enough for an egg to be crafted by the Furnaces of Creation. Since Materium’s inception, that was the order established by the beautiful Tribunal. That was how life was meant to come forth. Why then do stars barely bring the necessary essence now? What is this curse?! Alghamior had been given further eternity to fix this calamity. This is the response Rahmanegol receives for the trust he was willing to extend to the Starmakers, despite an existence of arrogance and foolishness on their part; insufficient essence. An unprecedented situation that hunts down all dragons. Life finds itself incapable of being properly birthed.

  “Lord,” Irarmajon intruded his thoughts, emerging from behind his flapping wing. “Must we prepare another convoy?”

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  “No,” Rahmanegol snapped. “He isn’t making any changes. He isn’t finding a solution. Everything crumbles before his sight.”

  “We could hear him out, at the very least.”

  Rahmanegol shot him a glare. “I heard him out. He claimed honesty and assured us he is fighting to find a solution.” He leaned closer to his Lightstealer. “Five particles when twenty five was the natural outcome of a faded star? Is that telling you that Alghamior is rushing his wings to resolve this, Lightstealer?”

  Irarmajon shrugged. “Surely Alghamior knows the threat we left him is severe. They won’t stand a chance against us if we choose to subdue them. Will he truly force his dragons into such a matter out of his own absurdity?”

  Rahmanegol exhaled. “More than any other dragon in existence, do I want to trust him. To lend him the necessary eternity to fix this.” He gestured for Targhanion’s claw. “This is a sign that I can’t. Not anymore. The Tribunal crafted us and made us the protectors of the Materium. Of life. How dare he allow the extinction of dragons to take root?”

  “Let us return to Zhozpzsn, my lord, and speak to Sarsameon and Puareniol. Find out what they were able to uncover.”

  Rahmanegol considered his Lightstealer’s words. Waiting for them would be wise, but it won’t change anything. Evidently this situation affects the entire Materium, for what difference does another galaxy make to the one they now traverse? Invasion upon Aslakahm feels inevitable, despite the concerns that idea brings Rahmanegol. Overseeing Alghamior and forcing him to actually labor in finding the cure to this disease sounds like the only viable solution. Would that actually change the course of the Materium? Would Alghamior become capable, considering how much he wails he is bested by this?

  He sighed, dropping his head. “Another must’ve taken his place. The beautiful Tribunal should’ve never chosen him as their successor.”

  Targhanion gripped his shoulder. “Lord, he means nothing in comparison to you. You, out of all the dragons, will solve this.”

  Rahmanegol shook his head. “I am not the Tribunal. I could only wish to be on their glorious level.” His eyes grew distant, but he blinked, regarding Targhanion. “I lack Alghamior’s wisdom to deal with the complexities of what we inhabit.”

  “You are the lord of Lightstealers. Nothing can oppose you. Not even a curse.”

  “What makes you so certain, Lightstealer?”

  Targhanion formed a shuddering fist. “I trust in my lord. In the power and might you display.”

  Power. What can it do against death itself? Against a curse that now claims the unborn children of the dragons? Rahmanegol already struggles to maintain Zhozpzsn as it is. It may not endure what the Starmakers face, but Lighstealers are growing more anxious. More aggressive and eager for war against the dragons that hinder their tasks. Adding Aslakahm onto his burdensome pile of concerns would only make matters worse. What dragon could lead both sides of creation and do so adequately? Only the Tribunal can accomplish such a feat. The beautiful, yet gone parents.

  Rahmanegol exhaled. “The Grand Separation may have been a mistake. One of the gravest of existence.”

  “Nothing would’ve survived if the separation didn’t occur, my lord,” Irarmajon said, frowning. “Which dragon could’ve endured living alongside a Starmaker for eternity?”

  “Perhaps we could’ve. And perhaps another king would’ve arisen, one far more suitable than what they now have. One that would take proper action.”

  A spectacle of light erupted in the corner of Rahmanegol’s eyes. All of them spun to acknowledge its source: in the far distance, a star had just exploded into thousands of pieces across the Materium. One of the three brightest stars that fend off against the warm darkness surrounding all. Wrath surged through Rahmanegol, his body twitching as a result. Eternity is running out, while eggs become scarcer to craft. Alghamior is playing with Rahmanegol and his patience. Aslakahm needs a new ruler. One that will ensure survival.

  “Finally,” Targhanion said. “The time for retribution is arriving.”

  “Send the word to the Lightstealers,” Rahmanegol said to Irarmajon. Worries tugged on his words as he spoke. What will emerge of this? “We descend upon Aslakahm. Soon.”