Chapter 1. Exhibit.

   Several hundred miles from the burning forest, inquisitor Marcus was presented with a document, an additional piece of evidence against a target to track down and kill, an Anna van Allen, on charges of treason and heresy. The document, to be burned after reading, was a facsimile of the will of Charles Daniel van Allen, the disgraced archmage. The Church's secret police copied it during a breaking and entering in the cabinet of Charles' lawyer, who was still on the run.

   “[redacted]

   There is a story. Or more precisely a dark fairytale… How the first human become a Dragon.
   It was a time when Dragons indifferently watched mankind struggle, stuck in a primal, disorganized state. Until a cursed man turned shapeshifter fell in love with a fair maiden, who revealed she was of dragon blood. Her lover learned to see the world through the eyes of the beasts; he came to understand the weight of the many sins of men. Disgust, disguised a disregard. Yet, as the shapeshifter used to be human, he also knew better than to teach his fellow men through violence and fear. Instead, he talked to them and touched their hearts, he even introduced his lover as a beast, and she became what you know as Saint Cordelia (the Church would swallow acid rather than admit this).
   The shapeshifter helmed mankind to found a civilization, something Dragons could not bear men having. They descended upon the land and wrecked havoc until the shapeshifter turned into one of them and led the Dragons into the frozen seas, never to be seen again. Dragons could not kill him, so they cursed him to remain a beast forever. Yet this form still stands as our nation’s emblem, a white lizard, the Founder, known in other lands as Prometheus. Only us Dalians worship him as a dragon, only our Church, as imperfect as it is, understands that denying a saint part of his history is akin to blasphemy. Now, if only they didn't villify every Dragon that's not the Founder...
   If Prometheus found the answer to human chaos and tought them how to tame it, then my old shapeshifting friend Sagara may be our last hope. Our doom is close. In my dreams, I saw hundreds of ships sailing from the North.
   If we are not united, the barbarians will kill us, one by one. Even in the mayhem that has become of our kingdom, we have two dukes who are ready to take steps in restoring the country to the state it was under king William. But their weary hands are full with fending off warlords and bandits. Neither can risk overstretching without a clear plan, which neither has. Neither can summon representatives, the senate or the semblance of a High Council, too few believe in those institutions now that the law of the strongest befell with accursed land.
   But Sagara knows of a way. Yet Sagara abhors men and thus wishes for all us to burn. For good reason – the Church exiled her ten years ago and I know nothing of her whereabouts. However, there might still be hope. Twice a year, the Black Council, a meeting of mages our Church considers to be heretics, convenes in a secret location. If we can’t reach Sagara, at least we could use the Black Council. They have eyes and ears everywhere. Some of them had their sanity ripped off by tragedy and deprivation, but they are wise, and they don’t want Dalia’s ruin. The only way to know where the Council meets is to find Sagara's pupil, the secret warden of Rumane village. A minor deity the Church calls Little Devil, but the locals name Cinderella.
   This is all I know. The only thing I'm bequeathing you is my debt, and this quest. As my mind grows cloudy, I am welcoming this illness which will finally take me away.
   One final thing. Anna, my sons have abandoned me. Just as I abandoned you before you were even born. To save face. I have no right to ask anything of you. And yet, I beg you to go to Duke Clayton or Duke March, tell them about the Black Council, Sagara and Little Devil. Show them the letters we exchanged (I keep them at the usual place). Duke Clayton may listen to you. Duke March may send an expedition. Should they find Sagara's pupil in Rumane, I hope he’ll lead them to the Council.
   This kingdom not worth saving is still home. Your home. I pray that the ramblings of an old stranger somehow entice you to do what is good. Only then, maybe you'll redeem our name, one tarnished by the corruption of four generations, a chain of which I am the last link.
   I leave everything to you, Anna. Enclosed you will find the letters. They don't tell where the Council meets, but they're proof it exists.

   Now I can sleep.
   C.D. van Allen”

   Inquisitor Marcus turned the facsimile around, found no extra instructions, snapped two of his fingers and put the inch-wide flame beneath it. The wind carried away the remaining scraps.