Sol chose their path, and led the way. She let her siblings and compatriots rest little along the way, and swore bitterly at them every time they begged to stop. Sol was angry: at the world, at her siblings, at everything. And most of all, she desired vengeance.
For weeks now, they had been harried by the pawns of the Dragon Cult: Sol was beginning to suspect that whoever their true master was, they recognized that all they were doing was delivering more pawns to their death... but they were also delivering more poison to Morgan, who was sneaking the Dragon's Blood behind Sol's back.
Bold and strong as it made her, Sol thought that more, the Dragon's Blood made Morgan a coward, and pathetic. But she also recognized grimly that if she wanted to get to the root of the problem, then for now, there was no point in addressing it directly. Morgan, instead, was able to sense where the Dragon's Blood was, making her invaluable when it came to predicting ambushes from the cult, and moreover, in tracking where the cult members had tread.
This allowed the siblings to hunt down the root of the cult within a few short weeks: Sol was unsurprised to find their headquarters guarded not simply by more cultists and mercenaries, but Dead Dolls and other deathless puppets that defied both the natural cycle and natural morality.
Sol led a frontal, vicious attack on the enemy: as so many of the cult's living forces had been used in ambush against them, she expected their defenses to be weak, and centered around the undead. She was proven right: monstrous, deathless drakes and swarms of zombies of every shape and size swarmed out to meet them, only to be rebuffed in but moments by powerful exorcisms and blinding holy magic that made even Morgan flinch.
There were no games this time, no playing, no suppression of power for the sake of fairness or mercy. There was only the blinding, hellish wrath of the sun, as Sol punished her way into the cult's fortress. She did not care who she tore apart or tore into: slave, conscript, thrall, or fanatic, all fell before her magic, as her siblings followed behind her and their comrades backed them up as best they could.
Sol fought her way quickly to the inner sanctum, sparing no mercy and no curiosity: she was focused on her objective, and her objective was not the leader of the cult, whom she did not let speak a single word before blowing apart and storming past: it was the creature past the cult leader, the beast that had puppeted this cult and provided their dark magic, their raw materials, their poisons and enchantments and reason for being.
There, in the heart of the fortress, Sol found the Dracolich, and as they gazed upon each other, she had but one question for it:
"Did Veliuona send you?"
And the Dracolich, smiling its lipless smile, with a gaze of cold, calculated cunning and ruthless wisdom, replied simply:
"Yes."
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