The human village looked like a refugee camp. Not one in a developed country, but one in the Necromantic Union.
And I, instead of helping my humans, had been cooking for an army which was doomed to fail, and…
"Sylvan," Aron said, as he took a hold of my hand once more. "Did they ask you for help?"
I shook my head.
"Then how could this be your fault?" Aron asked, his voice was kind.
"It's not," I could have wept when I saw Almira coming from the only building in the village. One with the snake and staff sign of all healers. "And we don't want his help! If he helps, the king will find out what he is, and he'll kill him!"
I wanted to run to the old woman and hug her, but Aron did not let go of my hand.
Nathaniel was chanting the word drake. Finally, I snapped, left my illusion body for just a second, and then I was back at the war camp.
Nathaniel's lava cake ended up on his head.