Rein grasped ropes upon ropes across the lines of the town, and then dragged them across towns along with his dragon-fighting brethren. A band of rebels had fought from within red fiery hands, pushing them into a cave at the end of the dragon territories. They eyed him warily, felt his pulse, and held out their arms to him. He killed the dragon scout sent terrorizing the town, and then they grudgingly accepted him by welcoming him into the folds of their army.
They told him all the history behind their battle; the dragons were overlords that ruled whole kingdoms with an iron fist. Rein had no intention of making alliances or strategies. He was not interested in the freedom of the common people. Revenge was all. They discussed their plans, to which he had little to contribute; his sight was always set on the bigger picture. Each dragon that bit the dust drew him closer to the core of their empire. Yet, something gnawed at him at the back of his mind.
As the rebels claimed, they were one, unifying from different places, working together to design a new world. Well, I do not really care about that. The one world that he wanted was a world without dragons. It was then Rein found himself taking the frozen stars and sitting still under their light, staring at the space in the sky--a flame burning in memory of a dragon that had fallen, on a successful raid. Those people had no connection whatsoever with him. His only connection was flames. Again, the voice of the Spirit rushed at him and became louder: you are moving slowly, moving faster, urging him. "You are not like them. They will slow you down."