“Uh,” Ryan said, dumbfounded. “Is that who I think it is?”
“If you’re thinking it’s David’s Dragon, the god who pretty much started this whole mess and is a stupid fuck-face, then yes. It is who you think it is.”
“I’m not a fuck-face,” the Star Dragon said. “You’re a fuck-face.”
Ryan squeaked next to me.
The Star Dragon peered at him. “What was that noise he made?”
I shook my head. “That was his Sam Is Mocking a Higher Being Directly to His Face Again noise.”
“You capitalized that,” Ryan whimpered, eyes bulging as he took in the constellation before us.
“Well yeah. Because it’s true.”
“I assume it happens often, then, if you’ve given it a name?” the Star Dragon asked.
“I tend to be insolent,” I admitted. “It’s something I’m aware of and will strive to be better about in the future.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Go fuck yourself—I mean, oh gee. I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”
The lights were brighter now, and growing in number. They stopped rising about chest level, until it looked as if the clearing was covered in a sea of them. I reached out and touched one and felt—
thank you thank you thank you for keeping us safe
—something pulse just underneath my fingertips. It was benevolent and sweet, and I was shocked that it was directed toward me.
“What are these?” I asked.
“The hopes of your people,” the Star Dragon said simply.
“I don’t understand.”
“Heroes often don’t,” he said. “And that’s why you are one.”
I looked away from it. “I don’t feel very much like a hero right now.”
“And why is that?”
“I…. Surely you saw what I’m capable of. What I did. What I could have done.”
“The Darks.”
“Yes.”
“Your cornerstone.”
“Yes.”
“And the darkness within yourself.”
“Yes.”
The Star Dragon sighed. “It was always going to come down to this, Sam. No matter what way you spin this, it was always going to be you or them.”
“So I still didn’t have a choice,” I said bitterly, staring down at Myrin still trapped beneath the Star Dragon. His mouth was open in a silent scream.