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Title: The Wheel
Genre/s: Drama
Rating: PG
Words: ~800
Concrit: Encouraged
Mary Sue: No
Warnings: references to blood and possible death
Pairings: None

Word Paynn drummed his fingers against the cold stone bench he sat on. The cell inside the Dragon Temple was damp and smelled of mold, but he frankly didn’t care. It was over, and he had lost. The waiting was simply the denouement.

It wasn’t long before the heavy door opened, grinding against the floor with a deep rumble, and Connor Penn entered. The two stared at each other for a long moment before Word finally spoke in his slow, cultured drawl, “Still wearing your armor? Are you expecting me to put up a fight? My, my, you haven’t even the courtesy to clean off the blood.”

“You’ve lost, Paynn. Your war is over,” the bearded man growled. Dark circles made his eyes seem sunken, but he held himself tall despite evidence of exhaustion.

Word chose to show his distain by inspecting his finger nails for dirt rather than look the other man in the eye, “You came to tell me something I already know? How dull.” He waited a moment while Penn forced himself to stay composed before continuing, “Do you really believe it’s finished?”

“What?” Connor’s mind was forced to switch tracks. He’d expected threats and maybe ranting, not a simple question. But then, Word always had some surprise tucked up his well tailored sleeves.

Smiling a long, thin smile, Paynn turned his eyes back to the man at the doorway, “Consider this, Penn: Why was I doing all this? Do you really believe that I am so narrow of focus that all I wanted was power?”

Connor hesitated. Truthfully, that didn’t sound much like the white-haired man at all. He always had layers to his plans, to his goals, “Fine, then. What was it that you really wanted?”

Word leaned forward, hands braced on his knees, “Haven’t you considered what will happen next? Oh, I don’t mean immediately,” he waved his hand dismissively, “I’m sure there will be peace and celebrations—for a time.” He paused, watching for a reaction, but saw only cautious attention, “It’s a cycle, Penn! This has all happened before, and no one learned from it then. They certainly won’t now. That’s what the prophesy was about. Who will they sacrifice next time?”

Connor tensed as he cut Word’s building tirade off, “He’s not dead.”

His resolute response elicited a bark of laughter, “So you’re still convinced he will survive, are you? As what? A shell?” Gray eyes gleamed as he mercilessly pushed on, “Did you even tell him what activating the Gold Draconium structures would do to him? Did you tell him the truth of the legend? Just as what happened to the first Dragon Booster—”

“Shut up!” the Dragon Priest snarled, but Word’s derisive laughter filled the room, “I—I thought there was another way—I thought—” he choked on the words, knowing they weren’t entirely true as much as he wished they were.

“My point still stands. What happens when humans forget once again?” He waited, but received no reply, “This is what my part was to be, to prepare for the future. Someone must set the stones for a new foundation or they will simply build up from the remains of the old one. That is why there needed to be a war. The refuse needed to be removed so it couldn’t contaminate what was to come.”

Connor spoke slowly as he considered what the other man had revealed, “Is that what you wanted? To rebuild in the image that you have chosen?”

Snorting in disgust as he crossed his long arms, Word responded, “Humanity has already proven that it can’t make the decisions for itself. Someone has to take the lead.”

With conviction he didn’t really have the strength left to feel, Connor spoke, “You wrong. They can learn. They won’t forget this time. We can rebuild our world, dragons and humans together.”

“Our memory is short,” Word warned, “You’d be wise to remember that. The Dragon Priest’s of old thought they could preserve the knowledge, but they failed. If you give people the chance, they will always disappoint you. It’s better to not give them that option.”

Penn shook his head sadly, “If you give them the chance, they can also exceed every expectation you dreamed of.” He turned away, hand on the door, “I’m truly sorry that things have come to this. You should tell the council what you told me. Perhaps they’ll be more sympathetic when they judge you.”

“I’d prefer to let history judge me. Vision is so rarely rewarded by those in the present. When the war comes again, I’ll be remembered,” Word replied with confidence.

He saw the armored priest hesitate before he pulled the door shut behind him. Deafening silence threatened to suffocate him so Word filled the space with the sound of his drumming finger tips, “It’s a shame neither of us will live to see who is right. I would so love to gloat—”