[ Dragons cannot weep. For the longest time, even for dragons, Aurican assumed it is because dragons cannot grieve, cannot feel the sorrow that lesser beings have. He started to have doubts when Patersmith passed on, but as the centuries went by, so did those doubts.

But when the elves were attacked, it felt as though he was torn in two. His most precious treasure, ripped and burned and smashed to pieces, all the beautiful culture and lives simply destroyed, obliterated even. It was an agony that soon became a blessing, for it had numbed him when Burll flew into hellfire; when Blayze was ambushed; when Smelt was knocked out of the sky by lightning bolts. And oh, he missed them, he wished Burll was here beside him to see his future descendant before him. Good, steady Burll, gentle Burll, the bedrock of the metallic patriarchs.

What does this make Aurican?

The balladeer, of course.

He will write his brothers history in tears now, but in triumph. Even now, he can barely see the small flame through the sheen of his tears. He rubs his old hand against his eyes, wiping them away. ]

Not in vain, then.

What happened after the war?