It had started, much faster this time. It had been a long time since Gregoir had actually seen dragons; the last time he was defending his old home. He had failed, and the memories of that day haunted him still. He recognized the scarlet flames, and the vision of destruction only the dragons could bring gave him terrifying thoughts. "Why couldn't I have died that day, with my family and friends? Why must I suffer still?", he thought.<br/><br/>He was still sitting on the small street bench, staring at the flames, his hands trembling - of fear, but of anger as well. He hadn't felt anger in a long time, and that feeling slowly consumed him, very much like the flames on the battlements. He stood up and reached for his lance. "I miss my long lost home, but nothing can be done about it. May this be my grave then, if so wishes fate", he thought, as he advanced recklessly towards the nearest battlement, his lance ready for battle.