The solemn chime of a bell rung out over the lake, making the two combatants pause their back and forth.
Bran took a few steps back while Arthur remained where he was, panting.
Neither of them were in a good state.
Their fight had dragged on and on with Bran continually drawing energy to himself from the Coil and the jiaolong outside supporting it, and Arthur continually regenerating himself. They were at a stalemate but also on a knife's edge, or at least, Bran was, not that he wanted his father to know.
The sky darkened and a cool breeze blew across the lake as something began to emerge out of the water some metres from the gathering of boats. These boats scattered and sank as the watery thing revealed itself to be a dragon, a carved one of wood, the bow beam of a Viking longship.
Arthur stared at the long, long boat as it came to float upon the surface of the lake and noted the single person standing at its centre.
