[Warning. Story is pretty gruesome, so if you don't like that kind of thing, please don't read this.]
[This is a short story from the perspective of Brian of Bloomvale, during the Sea Dragon event. Thank you Dee!]

Brian of Bloomvale stood amongst many on a rocky outcropping by the lighthouse. Dead made of wax and strange ships that shot flame harried their group. A mage, unknown to Brian, had cast a magical dome to protect their fellows from the falling flames. Yet, he sees a person fighting beyond the safety of the dome. She was running across a bridge, as everyone was screaming for those beyond to take refuge, but he could see she wouldn’t make it. So, he decided to do what he could.

Brian felt the magic of the dome slide across his skin with a cool sensation as he rushed forward, across the bridge. Passing the crowd, he tuned out the calls to return, as he focused on his destination. He’d make it just in time, shield held aloft in the hope it would block the coming flames. He had seen others do it earlier, so why couldn’t he?

Then, the sun fell upon them.

Searing agony filled Brian’s nerves and raced along his exposed skin. He felt himself being burned alive as his hearing failed him. He had no idea if his shield did anything for the poor woman, as he fell to a knee from the force of the flames. His vision blurred, his teeth clenched so hard they might crack; He forces his feet back under him. Willpower and adrenaline sharpens into a tunneled focus as he looks to the woman, who still seems to be alive. His voice, so distant, yells at her to start running as fast as she can. He can barely hear the reply through the ringing in his ears as he follows behind her back to the safety of the dome.

Beyond the crowd, he finally gets a moment to breathe. Scorch marks coat his armor, burns cover his skin, and the sash at his torso crumbles away into flakes of charred cloth. He stands in a daze, trying to focus in spite of the pain, and failing all the same. He feels his legs shake beneath him, and he stumbles away from the crowd. Brian does not get far before they finally give way, and he crumples into a ball on the ground.

Everything becomes a blur after, as if the fire seared his memories away as well. Unbearable agony. The taste of honey. Labored breathing. One foot in front of the other. The feeling of an uncomfortable bed. Skin being cut from his flesh. Where was he? Did that other person make it? Did they make it? I hope they made it. I hope I did something.

Was it enough?
No, probably not.

Brian’s consciousness slips as he fades away into a tortured sleep.