But you don't fucking know me homie you don't want war.

[Castile]

and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was

Ash rises then falls like snow across Tephra as flames erupt from every direction in effort to destroy everything – and everyone. Plumes of fire lick the grass and trees, charring every surface touched. Piece by piece, Tephra is being destroyed.

Castile cannot look around, not yet. His eyes focus on the porcelain dragon defying him. Talons and teeth rip, and their primal screams pierce the sky – a new noise in Beqanna. Wings clap against the wind gusts as they tumble through the air until Castile coils his hind legs between them and pushes off Casimira to force her to the ground and, in turn, for him to gain altitude. It all happens like a domino effect, however. By thrusting her down, she is forced into the hands of Ophanim where her attention then falls, abandoning her fight with Castile as he ascends through the smoke and abysmal darkness. He retains his new color – obsidian body and scarlet red backside – to melt into the shadows and arise above it with smoke tumbling from his body when he reaches clear air.

From his vantage, Castile’s eyes rove across Tephra’s landscape as it screams out in pain from the blazing fire. Trees groan as they fall, hissing as they burn. Chaos rains down on the kingdom; the tremors of opposition almost seem to awaken the slumbering volcano as the earth trembles.

Thunder claps. Lightning crackles.

Above the brewing storm cloud, Castile observes distastefully how the flames flicker away, one by one, by the rain. The storm is too random, too coincidental, to be natural. His lip curls in annoyance as he twists and dives down through the arcane darkness again, relying on his senses to fitfully navigate him. When he breaches, closer to the battleground, another surge of fire escapes his maw toward Leliana’s barrier and those shielded behind it – Mary, Sinner, Brennan – before veering and escalating upward again.

It’s during this sweep that his eyes first drink in Vulgaris’ fall, then the child with Wolfbane in pursuit. From here, there is nothing to be done. A few quick blinks interrupt the pang of regret in his gut. He didn’t want death, and certainly not of his own. A roar – furious, primal – pierces the sky again as a shift in his weight guides him toward Litotes, Kensa, and Dawn. Each piece of this puzzle is calculated. His gaze – sharp and intense – darts from Leliana to Litotes to Vadar to Cyprin and Starsin. If there is an opening, he intends to find it and seize it.

As though on cue, and reading his thoughts, the clown-marked male concocts large golems in attempt to harm the Sylvan monarchy – or, residents once he is done with them – and then bursts a beam of light from his body. Castile is spiraling down, tucking his wings and accelerating toward Litotes, the only other soldier seemingly intact. Although occupied by Kensa and the Cove woman (her scent unsettles him), Castile sweeps down and roughly grabs hold of the Pangean leader. He tries hard not to stop. Protectively, Castile clutches the lion to his underside, embracing him with his forelegs as he darts toward the crumbling hole in the shield. To assist in the shield’s downfall – or, at least its flicker of weakness - fire pours from his mouth toward the expanding hole forged by Vadar’s light beam.

And then they’re through.

Castile releases Litotes while still flying low to the ground, dropping the soldier down before a heavy beat of his wings diverts his direction toward Leliana.

Blood dribbles down his neck as its dotted with punctures from the porcelain dragon. A couple gashes streak across his sides.

Rage flashes across his rigid face before lunging forward, first trying to viciously snap and grope for her. Flames eject next, trying to utilize his every ounce of strength to break her focus from the shield. It won’t be easy to harm her, he knows. Her magic is far greater than he can fathom, but anything to distract her and weaken the barrier is enough. Anything to allow the Loessians further ability to invade is enough. Anything to win this is enough.

He climbs again, beating his wings down to ascend before gently banking to observe what has been done and what still remains.

But then his eyes fall to the Sylvans.

As scarlet blood traces jaggedly down his scales, he calls to them venomously. ”A poor choice for you,” he rasps as he hovers above them with his gaze still darting attentively across the masses. ”I hope Tephra has space for you because Sylva is no longer yours to control. It is a silent wasteland anyways,” he drops down slightly, closing toward them and circling languidly above. ”Thank you for making the decision so easy. I was waiting for the opportune moment.” His massive head inclines to regard them. ”Sylva can – and will – do better without the two of you. And besides, your low numbers have already dropped by one.” Valdis, his own daughter, has been whisked out of the forest, leaving the leaders alone in their home.

A rough laughter slips from him before torching the world – the Tephrans - again, ignoring the rain as it pelts his body.

castile