“But nobles often forget where power comes from - metal. Steel and gold. The blade and the coin. They’re nothing without one another. The boyar always holds the steel, but his money comes from the merchants. A threat to take a ruler’s gold away is a direct threat at their divinity, and he’s bound to respond.”

“He fought with the merchants?”

“Well, they see the city as theirs as much as he does. They bring the money, the spices, the fabrics. It’s because of them that craftsmen from all over the land came to Nava. Noble families rush to spend their riches on goods considered common on the other side of the world. But when the fight was lost, they set the city to the torch. They burned it with a weapon from the desert, an inferno that burns rocks and water. It has a mind of its own, and it only stops when it decides to.”

“It blackens my heart to imagine them dying in the streets for other men’s causes. The lord and his men cowering in the keep, and the merchants hiding in their ships. Lying in gold while other men fight their battles. A city destroying itself from the inside. Street by street, the violence flowing like a plague. So, in the end, the merchants won?” - Jassen asked.

“No one won. But the merchants lived.”

“Couldn’t you tell me earlier? Couldn’t you spare me from all of this? I slaughtered six men coming here.”

“It’s only now that you feel remorse for them? When you learned that their deaths do not contribute to your dream? The way you swung that sword tells me this isn’t the worst thing you’ve done on your way here. You’ve left a woman and two children alone in a war-torn country. You’ve forgotten your own blood to come here. Don’t tell me it’s only got to you now. The path to Nava’s keep was covered with people’s ashes, but your path here was covered in corpses.”

“Why did you come with me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I like looking at the ruins. Maybe I wanted to see how you take it when you find out the truth. Maybe I just wanted my sword back. Most people leave with relief that they didn’t have to fight.”

“Because they’re doing it for someone else.”

“There’s a hero every year. Sometimes they come alone. Other times whole bands like yours come here to claim the beast. I make the walk each time. I tell them stories. But you’re the first to chop off a guard’s arms, I’ll give you that. And you’re the first to have a look of disappointment on his face. You really wanted to fight it, didn’t you? To do what no man was able to.”

“I did.” - Jassen said, looking at the rubble - “But that’s not the hardest thing, is it? It’s ruling it. Keeping the sword in the sheathe.”

“Heroes come here for the monster, and they want the head of the dragon to put in their keeps. It’s a dreadful idea to face it, but you only have to do it once. You either leave a hero or you die as one. Everyone can muster the strength once. No one can keep it up for years.”

And then he saw that gaze. No passion, no fire, only inevitability.