End Credits Scene: Flesh and Blood [S1E77]

“Even mighty dragons hatch from small eggs.”

— Scalar proverb

A gentle breeze wafted over Ashek as Arturim alighted silently from the rope behind her.

“My lady.”

Ashek stood slowly from her seat by the fire, looked the Greenfang master in the eye, nodded. He offered a bundle of letters, and she took them from his outstretched hand, her steel claws scraping against his palm. The iron was cold on his skin. She waved a wordless motion in the air. What news from the capital?

Arturim responded in kind. They escaped.

All of them?

All of them.

Ashek furrowed her brow plates, then carried the papers to the glass table in the corner of the room, lit it, and began to read.

For the first time, Arturim thought he had caught the iakim by surprise.


The door to Garada’s office opened smoothly, the envoy closing it behind him. The iakim stood, silhouetted against the far window by the morning’s light, watching Surosir below her, hands clasped behind her back.

“Word from Tanatine, ma’am,” he said.

“Oh?” asked Garada flatly, not turning from her position.

“They’ve captured the insurgent vessel.”

“Excellent,” she said. “And the insurgents themselves?”

“…fled, they say, ma’am. Escaped Karan Taul, or hiding out in the city. The king’s curfew remains in effect.”

“Fled?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The envoy watched as Garada unclasped her hands, raising one to stroke her chin as she watched the scenes below.

“Very interesting…”


There was a knock at the door to Raikos’ chambers, and he grunted. The serving vak eased the heavy door open slowly, carrying a tray.

“Breakfast, m’lord,” he said, crossing to the table by the window and setting the tray down upon it. 3 kalakar eggs, boiled to perfection just as the iakim liked them. He pulled an envelope from under the lip of the crockery, holding it up so the iakim could see. “And the latest briefing, sir. Clan Vexir delivered it not an hour ago.”

Raikos nodded, crossing to the table.

“It’ll be about the separatists, sir.”

Raikos raised an eyebrow as he eased himself down into the seat.

“About their escape. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“Dismissed,” said Raikos curtly. The servant’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly and departed.

Raikos sliced open the envelope deftly, removing its contents. His eyes rested for a moment on the envelope’s wax green seal, then grimaced and scrunched it into a ball, setting it aside as he began to read.

By the time he was finished, the eggs had gone cold.


“Look, just set something up with him, alright?” Ielar’s face was set hard with anger.

Arkis rested his head in one hand, his black glassmail shimmering with the movement. “It’s not as simple as that, alright? The king’s very busy right—”

“Oh, the king’s busy is he?! You know who’s fucking busy?! I’m fucking busy, trying to deal with this curfew shit!”

“The curfew is necessar—”

Arkis ducked his head as a paperweight flew past him from Ielar’s outstretched hand. “The fuck it is! They’re long gone, Arkis! Long gone!”

“We don’t know that.”

“Are Vexir not doing their job any more?! Is he fucking blind?! Everyone in the city is looking for them, if they were here, they’d have been found by now!

“He is, actually.”

Ielar paused. “What?”

“Blind.”

Ielar looked at the Black Claw, confused.

“In one eye. The sages say it’s beyond herbal remedies. The human woman, she tried to murder him in the cart, day of the execution. Cracked some bottle of something over his head. Didn’t do anything at first so he just…kept going, but it got into his eye, and…”

There was silence for a few moments, until Ielar broke it. “Oh.”

Arkis nodded, didn’t say anything.

“Is he…alright?” asked Ielar.

Arkis looked at his sister, blinked twice. “Somehow I don’t think he’s taken this week tremendously well, no.”

Ielar nodded.

“I’ll see if he’ll meet with you, but I can’t promise anything,” Arkis said, standing to leave.

Ielar nodded, and didn’t meet his gaze. “That’d be good, if you could.”

Arkis crouched down, retrieved the paperweight from the floor and set it back on Ielar’s desk. “Still on for dinner on Torr’s Day?”

Ielar looked up. “That’d be nice.”

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