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Blood dried black at his wrists as Nyx packed the carcass of Artax in a ritual to give voice to the dead. He filled the last dragon’s body with soil and cinnamon and elder-blessed seed and prayed for her final omen.
“For a thousand years we have held it,” the dragon’s body said. “So long as one of our number remains, the Long Night will not fall.” Its eyes went dark, its tongue lolled out of its mouth and the dragon lay still.
Nyx looked to the sky and the vanishing of the stars above. All around, the villagers wept.
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Originally published in Wyrms by Shacklebound Books.