Dragon Empire had reached its peak of power.

Fabulous cities, built from marble and gold. Grand temples and fortresses, their ivory spires rising high into azure heavens, heralding the glory of the Dragon God Ladon. The imperial army, loyal and invincible in all its might. Future generations could not imagine the magnificence that was reality back then, they would hear about it only in legends and stories. And even so, mere words were all too plain, all too mundane to truly describe the Dragon Empire…

The Clans of the Dragons were the protectors, the supreme rulers of this world.

However… The Empire proved to be little more than a beautiful crystal palace. The moment it had reached its peak of power, it was no longer able to support its own weight. Shattering into countless razor-edged shards, the palace of dreams turned into a battleground of nightmares.

The Dragon Wars began, and chaos dominated the world.

Lords who had once ruled together drew their swords and turned at each other, only to fall with the daggers of their once faithful servants sticking out from their backs. Treaties were broken, boundaries were shattered, armies were amassed. Countryside was burnt and razed. The Lesser Clans' pleas for mercy were cried into deaf ears.

The battle had continued on the grassy plains for the entire day and dusk.

Strategy had lost its value long time ago as the armies' lines had broken and mixed with each other in the chaos of melee. Crimson-colored swords and lances rang and clattered against shields and helmets as the soldiers engaged in hand-to-hand combat, fully aware that they weren't likely to return from this battlefield alive. Cries of war and death echoed over the sounds of mortal struggle.

The battle raged also above the plains, deep in the honey-colored skies. The form of the combat was more graceful and tactical, yet just as terrifying and brutal. Carried by their tireless leather wings, red, white and blue dragons wheeled, tilted and swooped, attempting every trick to gain an upper hand over their adversaries. Flare of flames and lightning filled the air, illuminating the scene of nightmare with the colors of red and blue. Every now and then one of the great avian reptiles screamed in agony and plummeted to the earth in a great ball of fire. Dragon blood rained over the armies below.

The sun had already set when the battle finally closed to its end. Grassy plains were now but a blackened, smoldering memory. The dark landscape was littered with hundreds, thousands of carcasses. Flames still burned here and there, their thick, choking smoke hiding the stars from sight. Acrid stench of burnt flesh and blood filled the air. Those dragons capable of flight had already left the battlefield, either to flee from certain death or to chase the remnants of the destroyed army. Every now and then blasts of fire, ice and lightning could be seen in the distance as the hunter and the hunted faced each other.

Two shapes moved along a coiling path on the edge of a star-lit, half-burnt forest. Leaning against each other for support, their progress was painfully slow. Every now and then they huddled against tree trunks, trembling as dark shapes of fighting dragons passed through the nighttime skies. Both of the travelers were on the verge of exhaustion, but they could not stop now, not when they still were all too close to this battlefield. Determination and the presence of each other were the only things that kept them going.

A pitching, reptilian screech cut through the night as yet another dragon saw its end.

"Just a little more", one of the two shapes whispered. With some sort of royalty in her features and the graceful strength in her body, she was a woman of haunting beauty. Bountiful avalanches of silver hair curled underneath her cowl, the frost-colored locks were so silky that they almost seemed to glow in the darkness with the light of their own. Her clear blue eyes watched her companion with great concern.

The man she leaned against was tall and almost impossibly slender. Although his shoulders were narrow, his limbs were wiry and strong. The face below his mane of leaf-green hair was twisted with pain and he gripped his blood-stained chest with his other hand. His pointed ears quivered, his golden eyes burned with will and determination as he glared at the dark shadows passing overhead. "Damned dragons", he muttered under his gasps for breath.

"Please, my love", the woman whispered, doing her all to keep her voice from shaking, "just a little more."

"Aye", grunted the man through clenched teeth, "just a little more to show those blood-lusting fools that they haven't killed me yet." Tearing his wolfish eyes from the star-littered skies, he turned to observe the path before them. "There!" he suddenly whispered, attempting to point forward. However, his hand was too weak and shook furiously as he tried to lift it. Gasping, he pressed it back against the wound in his chest. "There's a small farmhouse ahead!"

Knowing that her night-vision was far poorer than that of her love, the silver-haired woman trusted his observation. Attempting to summon a hopeful smile to her lovely face, she said: "Perhaps we could find a cellar there to hide into!"

"Aye." The man didn't seem to share her hope, but nonetheless he strengthened his grip around the woman's shoulders and moved forward. "Don't strain yourself", he warned all too belatedly, "Don't forget, my love, you carry our children…"

With slow, short steps the two refuges approached the small house. They half-supported, half-dragged each other while moving closer to their destination. Although the building itself seemed to be undamaged, stifling stench of smoke hung in the air. The man and the woman were glad for the darkness that hid not only them, but also the razed cornfields that had to be close by. Right now they could stand no more sights of desperation and destruction.

They were only a few steps away from the house as the man suddenly felt something snap inside him. He screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground.

Gasping with horror, the woman bent over her love. "Husband!" she shouted, her delicate hands working feverishly as she tried her all to ease the man's pain.

A few desperate moments later it became clear that her utterance had been heard. Flying in a V-formation, an entire group of black shadows swooped down from the stars, heading straight towards the small house and the two refuges at its doorstep.

The Dragon Clan had claimed to be the protectors of the world. It was their duty to uphold the peace of the world, to keep all the Lesser Clans and innocent bystanders under the shelter of their great leather wings. However, when it came to the matters of war, there were no such things as "innocent bystanders". There were only allies and enemies.

With a mighty roar, the dragon flying in the point of the formation released a blast of fire. With a thundering boom the roof of the little house exploded to splinters. The sturdy log building collapsed like a heap of twigs. A shower of red sparks rose high into the skies and burning debris rained everywhere.

The silver-haired woman did not know for how long she laid there, her head pressed against her husband's chest. The sound of the explosion rang in her ears. Bright spots danced before her eyes, a testament to the bright flash of destruction. Wood splinters had peppered her entire body, she could feel the pain of a dozen little wounds and scratches. A thin rivulet of warm blood ran down her cheek.

She didn't care.

On the moment, she was aware of only a single thing: the heart no longer beat in the chest she pressed against her cheek.

Her husband was dead.

The dark void within her was immense. Although the destroyed house burned with blazing heat, it could do nothing against the terrible chill within her soul.

Her husband was dead!

Glimmering silver tears running underneath her tightly closed eyelids, she gathered the remnants of her husband into her arms. "Don't leave me!" she cried, her words mixed with chokes and sobs.

The man did not answer. A bloody, finger-sized splinter of wood jutted out from his temple. His face was forever frozen into a mask of pain, his wolfish eyes stared directly at the black skies. That familiar glow of determination had left their golden depths. He would never see their children…

"He's gone already, woman", announced a firm male voice from somewhere nearby.

"Don't leave me…" was the frost-hair's only reply. The woman buried her face into the blood-stained chest of the dead man.

"You are hereby under arrest", continued the unknown voice after a short moment, "Accused for unauthorized trespassing in our territory. Come quietly and you won't share the same fate as your man did."

At this remark, the woman's head snapped up. She focused her blue eyes -- tear-filled, yet blazing with hatred -- at the speaker. The unknown voice belonged to a broad-shouldered man, dressed in the uniform of a Dragon Army officer. He was holding a long sword in his hand and was flanked by numerous other soldiers. Obviously, the members of the dragon flight had assumed their human forms to better deal with their new prisoner.

"You killed him", the woman whispered, her words barely audible to the soldiers.

"A necessary sacrifice for the war", the officer replied casually. "Now are you --"

"Sacrifice?!" the woman repeated, slowly rising to her feet, "He was my husband! And you killed him!" Her eyes suddenly picking up a cold, blue glow, she took a step forward. Her delicate, blood-stained hands clenched into fists. Her words felt so plain, so meaningless! They could give only a pale image of the storm that was raging inside her!

Many of the dragon soldiers took hesitant steps backwards. For a reason or another, they had a bad feeling about this. Only the officer held his ground, leveling his sword at the woman. "Calm down or I shall be forced to harm you!" he ordered matter-of-factly.

"Curse you, dragon!" she snarled, heedless to the soldier's warning. Taking another step forward, the glow in her eyes turned into a blaze and spread out to her entire body. The tears on her cheeks turned into steam as the flame within her blood grew in strength. Her ear-pitching wail carried over the landscape and far into the heavens themselves: "Curse your wars! Curse you, Ladon! Curse you all!"

With those words, she began to grow, her silhouette quickly molding into another form. Her neck grew in length, fists turned into taloned paws, fangs appeared into her mouth, a pair of mighty wings sprouted from her back. An armor of glimmering silver scales covered her entire being. Only her blue eyes, filled with hatred and anger, remained the same as they burned into the Dragon Clansmen before her. "May you all perish and die!"

The officer swallowed and took a step backwards. He knew that he had made a serious mistake. The Power of the Dragon was directly connected to the will and emotions of the one who possessed it. The greater the emotional turmoil of a Dragon Clansman, the greater was the power of the beast flowing in his veins. This beast within was well known for its bloodlust, and it was quick to take any chance to quell its thirst.

This being said, there were very few things as dangerous as a furious dragon.

They progressed in eerie silence. Their dark cloaks did not flutter, their boots gave out no sound as they walked high over the tree tops in a perfect crescent-shaped formation. Moving along something that seemed to be nothing more than a thin path made from faint, silvery glow of the moon, the seven figures slowly descended toward the ground and the source of the soul cry that had summoned them. Their pace was calm and steady, for they had all the time they needed to accomplish their task.

Let world explode around them, let all the living creatures perish, the Seven always had time.

Finally, after something that seemed like an eternity, the boots of the first cloak-clad figure touched the ground. Withered grass did not bend under his heels, nor did he stir any of the dark ashes. Soon followed by the other six, the first one took a few steps forward and inspected the scene of destruction before them.

Blackened, smoldering ruins of a small house rose before them. The farm's courtyard was littered with dozens and dozens of burnt and slashed bodies, each one of them lying in a more twisted position than the one before. Metal swords and armor were sooty and melted almost beyond recognition. Lifeless eyes stared at the eternity. Here and there the scene was broken by large, dark bulks of dragon carcasses. All of them, beast and man alike, had been slain quickly and mercilessly.

In the very middle of this all, there were two bodies huddled together in a last final embrace. A green-haired man and a silver-haired woman. Her beauty had been destroyed by countless of wounds covering her from head to toe. The frost-colored locks were partially stained with red.

"We heard your cry", the first one finally spoke, "and we have answered to your summons."

"Alas, we are too late", replied the second one, "she is dead already."

"Ah, it has been so long since I last saw a mortal", said the third one, "I have forgotten what they look like when they die."

"Although he has died, that man is no mortal", noted the fourth one. "He is one of the faery folk."

"Love between a dragon and a faery", contemplated the fifth, "I would say that it is most unusual by mortal standards."

"No, not unusual", corrected the sixth one. "The right term would be… unique."

The seventh said nothing.

Although it was not necessary for the Seven to communicate through words, they thought that it was appropriate to discuss matters aloud whenever walking in a mortal world.

"All the greater reason for us to follow her call", decided the first one. "Enough talk. On to our task."

"Aye", agreed the other five and the seventh said nothing.

Walking slowly and deliberately, the seven cloak-clad figures took their places, forming a circle around the two bodies. Moving in a perfect unison, they took a step forward and raised their hands.

"But who shall wield this sword?" asked the second one, "this weapon, this tool…This Quicksilver…"

"Who will guide it to carry out its task?" pondered the third one.

For the first time in years innumerable, the first one did not immediately know how to answer. Seeking for inspiration, he turned to look at the two dead lovers on the ground. To his surprise, the solution was right before his eyes.

The woman carried three -- no, four souls of unborn children. They would never be born from their true mother, but…

"Their children will", answered the first one.

"Do the souls agree?" asked the fourth.

The fifth was silent for a moment. Then he confirmed: "They agree."

"So be it, then", concluded the sixth and the seventh said nothing.