And the rain had brought a little friend of it's own. Like people, dragons could get sick, and like people, sometimes they couldn't recover from it. So far, due entirely to the weather, they had lost four dragons, one two days ago, two yesterday, and so far one today. Cyrano, hadn't really known any of the four people who had lost their dragons (The Dragon Knights weren't a particularly large community, but like any society you picked your friends and the people you usually stayed away from), but he did feel their monumental loss, he could think of nothing worse than what had happened to them.

Most of the time, Cyrano didn't think about it. He spent all of his time training, for what there was really no answer to, but he kept sharpening his mind as well as harnessing his skill, and no rain was going to keep him from that. So now he sat outside, beating the shit out of a training dummy. His skin was extremely pale; all the color in his face flushed out with the exception of the rosy red hue that colored his high cheekbones. Rain and sweat poured down from every inch of his body in small streams and rivers.

A few others were outside in the freezing rain training, not many, but a few. There was a time when almost all of the knights would be out there practicing, rain or not. But that was a long time ago...that was before it happened. It was nothing more than a freak accident; really, no one on the planet could have foreseen its occurrence. It just happened, no rhyme or reason to it. It took place 2 years ago and effectively put an end to what was affectionately known as the "circle of survival".

Cyrano had been in the middle, and was blowing past his victims with relative ease. Then Petr had stepped in. Petr was 14, just a year younger than Cyrano at the time. He had curly, auburn hair, and hazel eyes. He stood about five feet, eight inches tall, and was roughly 130 pounds. But his true talent was his intelligence; he was as sharp as a newly forged sword. But he, like most of the other Dragon Knights, couldn't hold a candle to Cyrano. Petr jumped in and attacked Cyrano right away. Cyrano expertly dodged the assault, then, kicking his opponents weapon away from him, Cyrano thrust his own lance at Petr. What happened next would haunt his dreams for the next six months. The lance rushed forward, and struck Petr's armor, which completely shattered. Cyrano had never seen anything like it; it was like a window that had just been hit by a rock- TA-DA! you now have yourself a thousand fragments of what used to be a handy item. The head of Cyrano's lance continued on it's path, pushing through Petr's flesh, and punctured his heart, killing him almost instantly (to know one's great surprise, Petr's dragon, Thunder, took off almost right after it happened, and was never seen alive again).

So after that, the number of participants became gradually depleted. Cyrano, was, of course, the first to vacate the training ritual. Eventually, the number became too low to actually make it work, and so it just stopped. In fact, some knights almost stopped training altogether, to them it became nothing more than a chore. But all in all for Cyrano, after he let the initial guilt pass, it was a growing experience he couldn't have done without. Because he was "special", he had to grow up much faster than he should have, shouldering more responsibility than most adults did, but he was still a boy, and that seemed to be forgotten until Petr's death took place. People helped him out (none more than Elias did), and eventually he got back on his feet, and when he did, even at the innocent age of 15, he was a boy no longer.

All that was a distant memory now. He continued to pound the dummy with unmerciless passion, beating it so hard his knuckles began to bleed (he had thrown his lance away some time ago). He punched the dummy in it's mid-section twice, then went up, and with all of his strength, punched the dummy in the face. His fist landed with such force, the head broke off and landed some five feet away.

Cyrano stood there for a moment, his hands still balled up into fists and hanging at his sides. His breathing was labored, as to be expected when training with such dedication, and every time he exhaled, steam came up from his throat and violated the air like smoke from a chimney.

He looked around for a few seconds and realized he was the only one left outside. How long had he been training for? He wasn't sure. When your mind became so focused on something time became secondary. From above, the rain continued to beat down on him. He looked at the ground, which was slick and unsteady, and decided to do some laps. Most people didn't like to train in the rain, but Cyrano believed there was no better time, because in rain, something as rudimentary as running, became a training exercise in balance. He began to jog around the grounds quickly, stumbling when he first started out, but quickly regaining his balance. He had finished two laps when a familiar face stepped out of the fortress. Cyrano began to slow and gradually stopped, a little past where his friend stood.

"I'll never understand why you like to come out here in this weather,” Elias said jokingly.

"What, are you kidding? This is perfect to train in. A person could learn so much if they just weren't afraid of getting a little wet." Cyrano replied, nothing but seriousness in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I'll stick to much drier climates if you don't mind" Elias cracked again, but to hear only the melody of the pouring rain in response. He looked at Cyrano with what was a mix of pity and sorrow. There was a time when you would only see a smile on his face. Even if you made a bad joke you could always rely on him to at least laugh at your attempt. Cyrano had always been stone on the outside, but ever since Petr's death, he had become stone on the inside as well. Ever since the accident took place, it was like the fun part of Cyrano had died, and Elias missed that part. Cyrano spent all of his time training now, doing nothing else but his traditional three rides with Ice. Talking to him had become like trying to sand down a rock; a very futile and time consuming attempt. Most of his words were reserved for Joshua and Martyn, and even they were kept in strict confidence. Even Elias, who had been Cyrano's best friend since they were born (on the same day, as it happens), struggled to get more than a couple of sentences a day out of him. In the shortest explanation, Cyrano had become nothing more than a ghost.

Elias was pulled out of his thoughts by snapping fingers. He glanced at Cyrano, no smile on his face at Elias' sudden mindless departure. Cyrano gave a shrug and held up his hands. In another life, the actual words would have been spoken: "What do you want?"

"Oh, um, yeah...um, Joshua wanted to talk to you" the words croaked out of Elias' mouth.

"Important?"

"Nah, I don't think so."

Cyrano nodded his head casually, more to himself than to Elias, and looked off into the distant horizon. The top of the trees floated in the air like big, leafy, green clouds.

"Should I tell him you'll be in to see him in a little while? Elias stammered out.

Cyrano nodded again, still looking off into the distance. After a while he turned around and began to run once again. Elias watched him for a couple of seconds and the reentered the fortress.

Cyrano loved the feeling of flying through the air on Ice. To him, there was no greater feeling in the world. There was a certain electricity in the air when you got up that high. It made the hair on your arm stand up on end. The forceful wind creased the hair on your head in a million places, causing each of the infinite number of strands to extend in every direction, jumping and dancing in the dark atmosphere.

He had just finished his meeting with Joshua, and as Elias had said, it wasn't terribly important. Joshua just wanted to "shoot the breeze" for the most part. Lord Joshua, Cyrano, and Martyn had sat in Joshua's study talking back and forth. Jacobe, Joshua's son, and regular tornado on two feet, sat in with them as well, although he remained mostly to himself.

Cyrano had kept a close eye on the child. There was something about him that just wasn't quite right. He was 6 years old, and he seemed normal enough on the outside, but there was something about that didn't seem to fit. Of course, Cyrano had never said any of that to anyone, he reasoned that he was the only one who saw it, and for him to tell anyone would probably result in being laughed at. But no matter, even if he was the only one who could see it, Cyrano still didn't trust the child. Jacobe always had a smile on his face, and did everything a typical child would do. To Cyrano, however, the smile was fake, a wonderful facsimile of the common courtesy. There was more going on in that small child's head than anyone realized, and Cyr didn't like it too much.

Eventually, the three men had got to the point for which Cyrano believed he had really been summoned to discuss. They shuffled through the pleasantries, sorted through the charades, and finally Joshua asked if Cyrano thought the recent deaths of some of the dragons was any cause for concern. Cyrano though about it for a second, and answered that he though it was really nothing to worry about. So far, only weak and young dragons had gotten sick from the bad weather. He explained that dragons could get sick from weather too, and they could die from it. Almost like a sort of "Dragon's Flu", if you would. He said he thought the storm would pass soon, and everything would be all right again.

Joshua listened intently; soaking in every syllable that arose from Cyrano's throat. Joshua leaned back in his chair, ignoring his son who was currently playfully tugging at his arm. He looked deep into Cyrano's eyes, for what Cyrano wasn't certain, truth or maybe of some small disbelief, and then said he was inclined to agree. After a little more useless chitchat, Cyrano asked if he could be excused, he wanted to take Ice out for a ride before it got to be too late. Joshua excused him, and Cyrano got up to leave. As he reached the door, he glanced back and his eye's met with the small, childish eyes of Jacobe. The young Dragon Knight smiled, and cold chills radiated throughout Cyrano's whole body. 'The devil's grin', he thought to himself, and hurried out the door.

Lightning scorched the skies and thunder shook the earth. They weren't too far from the fortress, but he didn't want to go back quite yet. He found a large clearing in a forest, and asked Ice to land there. Cyrano could hear the soft pitter-patter of the rain as it struck the leaves of the trees. He jumped off Ice, the soft, wet soil giving way as he hit the ground, causing him to slip and fall flat on his face. He got up, wiping the mud from his face, and looked around. No birds sang, and no crickets chirped, the only sound was the soft, never-ending droning of the rain. Cyrano was not too fond of this.

There were two kinds of silences in the world. One was the nice, peaceful quiet, the second, far less likeable, was the suspicious quiet. This felt like the latter, unfortunately. When you were thrust into this kind of silence, you had that insatiable feeling of being watched, and of little purple men masquerading in the shadows waiting to disembowel you.

Cyrano looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anything. He ran back over to Ice and grabbed his lance. He twirled the weapon in his hand and listened for any kind of movement. 'This is not good', he thought to himself, it was like he was encased in a large tomb, not a thing stirred. A twig snapped and Cyrano's body involuntarily, but instinctively whipped around in that direction, but everywhere he looked he saw nothing but an ocean of trees. "This was a grave mistake" he whispered to himself honestly.

He was less than five minutes away from the fortress, he should have just gone straight home, but he decided to stop here, and now that seemed to be a grievous error. He didn't see the shadow creeping up behind him. He didn't see the intruder raise his weapon, but he felt it when the man cracked him in the back of the skull. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and his lance flew out of his hand.

His vision became cloudy as his head shouted out in pain. He saw his lance picked up and thrown to another interloper, and two seconds later heard it snapped in half, and the soft rustle of leaves as it was thrown away. He felt himself being picked up, and then being thrown into the trunk of a rather large tree. A thick wooden staff flew through the air and came crashing into his stomach, making him beg for the air that rapidly escaped his lungs. The staff came up again and whacked him in the side of the face. He was picked up again, and sat next to the tree trunk, his back actually resting on it. The two men, whom he had yet to see the faces of, stood on either side of him, and thrust the wooden staff against his throat. Each of the men held the staff tight against his windpipe, cutting off a lot of his oxygen but giving him enough to keep him coherent.

Cyrano watched Ice come around to try and help him, but to his horror, four more men materialized from the forest. They seemed to attack the giant, blue dragon without cause, cutting and piercing the animal with their swords, shredding the dragon's wings to pieces. Cyrano struggled to break free of the two men holding him, but each time he tried, the staff was pushed harder against his throat and he received a harsh kick to the kidneys.

Ice continued to struggle with the four men surrounding him, not knowing which to attack first. They continued to attack, and Ice roared out in pain on several occasions. Finally, the dragon decided to attack the man in front of him. His head bent down with a surprising quickness, and bit the man's head off. Blood rushed up from the now deceased man's neck like a geyser. Ice tried to maneuver around to get the other three, but they were to quick for him, running to whichever direction the dragon turned. Blood began to spew forth from many wounds sustained by the dragon. Ice roared again, valiantly trying to attack the three gentlemen left, but to no avail. The continued to poke and prod the animal with their weapons, and eventually, Ice growled in a final attempt to get away, but was held back, and he fell in a heap to the ground. The four men wouldn't stop though, and continued to stab the poor dragon.

"No! Stop, please!" Cyrano screamed, but his assailants weren't listening and continued their vicious assault. "No! Please!" Cyr cried, tears swelling up and stinging his eyes. "Just stop, pleeeease!" but he couldn't scream anymore. His pleading broke off into loud sobs, as the tears really began to pour down his face, smearing the mud that had already stained his cheeks.

Finally, the staff at his throat let up, and Cyr broke free, but not for long. He had gotten two steps away when the staff swept down on him, slamming into the back of his skull once again. He fell to the ground, the left side of his face hitting first. Everything began to get cloudy and dark again, but for one perfect second, his eyes met Ice's. The dragon's eyes were full of compassion and love, while Cyr's contained only sorrow and regret. Before everything faded into black, Cyrano mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to his dragon, and Ice in turn offered back one of his many "dragon smiles". He heard one of his enemy's say "grab everything he's got", but then everything drifted away, and Cyrano lay unconscious in the mud. It was the last time he got to see Ice alive.

He heard birds. 'Is this just a dream, or is this real', he wondered. His eyes slowly became unglued, and the bright daylight coming in from his window pierced his eyes. He moaned from the pain that erupted in his head, and his hand slowly moved in that direction, and he realized his head had been bandaged. Where was he? The surroundings looked familiar, but he wasn't sure.

"Oh, great, you’re finally up! I was beginning to think you were going to stay like that forever." Cyrano turned his head in the direction of the voice, and he saw Shyla.

"How-" he groaned again from the pain, "how did I get here?"

"You'll have to thank Elias for that one. That poor boy went frantic when you weren't back by nightfall. He started asking if anyone had seen you, and when everyone said no, he hopped on Rock and took off looking for you. He didn't come back until he found you the next morning." Shyla responded, checking the bandages that were draped around Cyr's head.

"How long have I been out?" Cyrano questioned, despite the agony he knew it would cause.

"Almost four days."

"What happened?" he struggled to say.

"We're not sure, we were hoping you could tell us."

"I-I don't know, some people attacked me and Ice-" he suddenly stopped when he said his dragon's name. "Is Ice-" He couldn't even finish the statement, he was so horror struck. Shyla simply nodded in response. Cyrano bursted out into fresh tears, and they slowly crawled down his cheeks.

Shyla bent over and gently, almost motherly like, wiped the tears away. She kissed him on the forehead, and whispered into his ear. "Shhh, just go back to sleep, everything will be fine."

And so Cyrano did, and Shyla and Elias watched over him every second.

He had been up and around for nearly a whole day now. He had come to grips with Ice's death, and the impending conversation, which was about to take place with Joshua. It was okay, he knew he'd be back someday. He walked into the study, and Joshua greeted him accordingly. Jacobe, sat in one of the chairs.

"Hey, Cyr, how are you doing?" He asked softly.

"I'm fine" he answered back.

Joshua nodded. "I don't-" but he found he couldn't find the words. He had done this a lot in the nearly one hundred years he had been the leader of the Dragon Knights, but now, it was different, and his voice and heart betrayed what he knew he was supposed to do. This wasn't right, Cyrano was perhaps the most talented young knight he had ever had the privilege of knowing, and he couldn't picture walking around the grounds everyday and not seeing Cyrano's face. This wasn't supposed to happen to Cyrano, he was too good for something this horrible to happen to.

"It's okay, I'm ready to leave." Cyrano stated plainly. He looked down at Jacobe, and there was the strangest smile on his face, one that was a mix of both happiness and pride, like he had something to do with this sequence of events.

Joshua nodded once again. "We're going to miss you very much" he said sincerely.

It was Cyrano's turn to nod this time. He said his parting words to Lord Joshua and walked out of the study, where Elias waited for him. Cyrano gathered up his stuff, and together they walked out of the fortress and across the grounds. They stopped at the entrance.

"It's going to be weird without you here, you know" Elias said, smiling. "I don't know what me Shyla are going to do without you" the tears were starting to build up in his eyes.

"Hey man, I'll be back, I promise. I wouldn't leave you guys alone like that. I'll find another dragon and I'll be back, you'll see." Cyrano said, smiling. Elias returned the smile and they embraced each other, comrades in arms, best friends, brothers.