An Oath of Brothers by Morgan Rice

reassurance or for worry.
    Thor took a knee and drew his sword, immediately on edge, not knowing what to expect up here. All around him his brothers did the same, all of them rising to their feet and instinctually getting into a semicircular formation, guarding each other’s backs.
    Yet as Thor stood there, looking out, he was shocked by what he saw. He had expected to see an enemy facing him, had expected to see a rocky and barren and desolate place.
    Instead, he saw no one there to welcome them. And instead of rock, he saw the most beautiful place he had ever laid eyes upon: there, spread out before him, were rolling green hills, lush with flowers, foliage, and fruits, sparkling in the morning sun. The temperature up here was perfect, caressed by gentle ocean breezes. There were fruit orchards, lush vineyards, places of such bounty and beauty that it immediately caused all of his tension to fall away. He sheathed his sword, as the others relaxed, too, all of them gazing out as this place of perfection. For the first time since he’d set sail from the land of the dead, Thor felt as if he could truly relax and let down his guard. This was a place he was in no rush to leave.
    Thor was baffled. How could such a gorgeous and temperate place exist in the midst of an endless and unforgiving ocean? Thor looked about and saw a gentle mist hanging over everything, looked up and saw, high above, the ring of gentle purple clouds covering the place, sheltering it, yet also allowing the sun to streak through here and there—and he knew in every ounce of his body that this place was magical. It was a place of such physical beauty that it put even the bounty of the Ring to shame.
    Thor was surprised as he heard what sounded like a distant screech; at first he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But then he felt a chill as he heard it again.
    He raised his hand to his eyes and looked up, studying the skies. He could have sworn it sounded like the cry of a dragon—and yet he knew that was not possible. The last of the dragons, he knew, had died with Ralibar and Mycoples. He had witnessed it himself, that fateful moment of their deaths still hanging over him like a dagger in his heart. There wasn’t a day that went by when he did not think of his good friend Mycoples, when he did not wish she was back at his side.
    Was it just wishful thinking, his hearing that cry? The echo of some forgotten dream?
    The cry suddenly came again, ripping through the skies, piercing the very fabric of the air, and Thor’s heart lifted, as he felt numb with excitement and wonder. Could it be?
    As Thor raised his hand to his eyes and looked up into the two suns, high up above the cliffs, he thought he detected the faint outline of a small dragon, circling in the air. He froze, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
    “Is that not a dragon?” Reece suddenly asked aloud.
    “It is not possible,” O’Connor said. “There are no dragons left alive.”
    But Thor was not so sure as he watched the outline of the shape disappearing into the clouds. Thor looked back down and studied his surroundings. He wondered.
    “What is this place?” Thor asked aloud.
    “A place of dreams, a place of light,” came a voice.
    Thor, startled at the unfamiliar voice, wheeled around, as did all the others, and was shocked to see, standing before them, an elderly man, dressed in a yellow robe and hood, carrying a long translucent staff, inlaid with diamonds, a black amulet at its end. It sparkled so bright, Thor could barely see.
    The man wore a relaxed smile, and he walked toward them in a good-natured way and pulled back his hood, revealing long, golden, wavy hair, and a face which was ageless. Thor could not tell if he was eighteen or a hundred years old. A light emanated from his face, and Thor was taken aback by its intensity. He had not seen anything like it since he had last laid eyes upon Argon.
    “You are correct,” he said, as he locked