To face an army that much larger than himself, knowing it to be impossible, he had not been able to think his way to a solution. He had to, to a large degree, lie to himself – or at least, that was how he perceived it. He made himself as small as humanly possible, to escape the view of what he thought to be a grand dragon.
He'd never tried to explain that sensation to another, for it would have no doubt been one of those most insane things that they'd ever heard, but to Oliver it was the most real thing in the world. A great dragon, beyond Oliver, the greatest enemy that he'd ever faced – that was who he truly did war with, not that Emerson army.
The dragon was coiled up in something larger. There was that dragon, then there was that cocky sense of assurance he'd found in himself. That sense which had blossomed in his battle with Tiberius into something that seemed to have a life of its own – that which could seize a crown without the slightest shred of thought or desire.
