lyune had watched that day, as interested as his mistress, when navy fought, soul to body, with shuwen against their stubborn dragon. maybe then, freya wonders, lyune had seen the bonded strings between them, those same ones that can be pulled into the physical realm and made real.

used, in the form of sygna suits.

navy takes a comfortable seat and she stays standing. a shift to her side is mimicked by lyune, their breaths synchronous in anticipation of the fight ahead. 

"not my style, but i've been called a hermit before," she says. 

Michael Navidson

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she wonders after vortigern and what's been made of the dragon since the day the grizzled bear before her beat him into submission. stripped him of his pride so he might look upon navy without scorn. 

a monument to a lie. what a dreary sentiment. if it's a lie, what do they work towards? what is all of this, if not for this semblance of peace? no, she'd rather hope this a monument to their future. their honest future. 

still, he talks of fighting to the end, as though there is an end, a triumphant moment where peace is had. saved. coddled. but that's not true either. it's never safe; it's always contested. 

the people at large will enjoy it, for a time, but there will be some who can never stop fighting to protect it. like him. like her. 

she says, "there'll always be a new evil." and lyune bathes the battlefield in white-hot flames.

Michael Navidson

☉

the urshifu is big, but it's damn fast, and unless he's in the air, he has little hope of avoiding the bear's attacks. so he doesn't. a hexagonal barrier glitters over his scales, sparing him the brunt of the attack, but allowing him to keep him close. his slit eyes fixate, neck squirming, and the brutal triangular shape of his head lashes out like a blur, fangs seeking flesh. 

he's ripped apart vertebrate by burrowing into flesh, splattered his mistress with viscera let blood fall from the sky like unholy rain. freya's gaze darts to him, but she does not urge him to hold back.

navy can take it, and so can his urshifu. 

"someone asked me once," she starts, bittersweet smile, "what i'd do instead. if we didn't have to fight. and i couldn't think of anything. then, i was still content to let myself immolate on the battlefield for the sake of martyrdom.

"raising a few dragons proper doesn't sound so bad anymore." she bares her teeth. "but first we need to take sootopolis back."

Michael Navidson

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dragons, she thinks and memories of the morningstar estate flood unbidden to her mind. the nesting caves, the wide yawning ceilings, marble flooring lit by flickering candlelight, how the caverns were always alive with the sound of the ancient beasts.

she misses her home terribly and she knows lyune does too. the centuries'-old dragon snarls as he is beaten by shuwen's fists, but he will not break to the warrior bear.

freya blinks rapidly, jaw tightening.

"no," she says and clicks her teeth together. miss wayland, comes fernando's monotone taunt, tarnishing her feelings of nostalgia. "i have more important priorities than settling down and becoming a pregnant housewife."

Michael Navidson

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the comradery she shared with Melody Miro gives her some ability to imagine what it must have been like for her in galar. she would have wanted it nearly as much as freya did - home. displaced again and again, fighting for a people who've lost their will to fight, who keep losing their will to fight. 

"i'm not the kind of person to get married," she says, somewhat uncomfortably. complex emotions tug at her chest and though this talk brings to the forefront one man, another face - rounder, with soft green eyes - lingers in the pockets of her happiest memories from galar.

"no, i can't. when we liberate sootopolis, that's when the war really begins. they'll retaliate." another onslaught of glancing blows, fueled with a new surge of energy. lyune's form shudders in response; one of the crystal slivers twined in freya's braid shines.

DRAGON'S FURY

SALAMENCE Z-MOVE

salamence empowers itself to its maximum potential. primal fury overtakes it as it razes the battlefield and opponents before it, eliminating all terrain effects.

his muscles bulk and a fire smolders in his throat. 

"and we will show them no mercy."

Michael Navidson

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much of freya has changed in the past few years. a large number of her volunteers at the draciary are from the amnesty program. two and a half of her closest friends are rocket turncoats (ana fell doesn't fully count, as she only remembers the last six months); her partner is a rocket turncoat.

second chances have changed dozens of lives for the better. how many people did Isaac Merlo save on the shores of their last faction skirmish? how many civilians saw another day because of Caleb Harcourt's actions in the frozen icelands?

but in war, there is no room in her heart for mercy. those who stand against her on the field will receive no olive branch - only blue-tinged flame. 

shuwen falls and molten fire still drips from lyune's maw, smoking the ground.

"then we cut them down just the same, navidson." her eyes narrow, flicker from her anguished adversary and to her dragon. one single, short word spoken in draconic and lyune snaps his jaw shut, snorts smoke from his nostrils, and the bloodthirsty giant of a dragon is made stoic.

"i won't fail my people again."

Michael Navidson

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