Once again, the temple priests clean up the carnage brought to their holy house. Jerek stands in the temple sanctuary, considering Yli’s statue.
“Boss?” Grig asks. “What happened to the days when we did good?”
“Those days are gone and worthless,” Jerek replies. “They don’t amount to anything.”
“Maybe,” Grig agrees, “But... at least those days felt good, yes?”
A little later on, Jerek goes to see Vindur, who has been told of Rathi’s death but can hardly believe the suddenness of it. A child so young should not be dead. Vindur’s troubled mind especially fixates on the fact that Rathi was “supposed to get a dragon”, as he'd been so excited to do.
“You need to get his dragon,” Vindur finally decides. “He was supposed to, but now he can’t, so you need to. It’s your new quest, Jerek.”
The next morning, Jerek stood outside the temple, looking off at Mare’s Crossing. Somewhere in that city there was a district called Silver Hill, and somewhere on that hill lived a servant and a dragon who had given an incredible invitation to one eager and earnest little boy. With a soft grunt, the warknight adjusted his cloak, checked the clasps of his belt and satchels one last time, and started down the road towards it.
Grig still couldn’t speak, rubbing at his freckled nose and the tears that brimmed in his eyes, but N’serric had no such restrictions.
“Are you truly doing this, my lord?” the sword asked, his voice uncertain, disbelieving, or perhaps even faintly awed. “This isn’t even a good deed. The boy can’t appreciate it. It’s just a quest, though hardly even that. What good will it do? ‘That was then, this is now.’ Isn’t that what you should be saying? Thats all you’ve said for years.”
It was a while before the warknight answered.
“That was now. This is then.”
Grig sniffled briefly, shifting his weight on Jerek’s shoulder. “For… for old time’s sake, Boss?”
Ever so slightly, the warknight nodded, recalling old friends and old ways. “For old time’s sake,” he agreed.