The answer came fairly clearly. An older man, a merchant who'd joined the militia, lightly wounded, was walking around the streets in a daze; he'd had an epiphany, a vision, from the battle in the sky. Even though all most could see was just the flashing of lights from the breath weapons and eye beams, he could see the entire battle, the red and the gold, the gold and the wyrmlord, in perfect clarity. It had taken hours for it all to sink in, but, finally, he knew what he'd seen; no ordinary, mortal man, but a vision of a god, a new god. And he, Masaema, was to be The Dragon's Prophet. This was his calling, his prupose, to spread the word of The Dragon, to all the people.