For once, her escape had been swift enough.
The Windrider gradually slowed down to her equivalent of a casual stroll, relaxing from flying faster than all terrestrial beings ran to only flying faster than most of them ran. Her body was used to so much more than this, to velocities capable of killing many lesser creatures on their own from sheer inertia.
Alas, her age would only let itself be temporarily overlooked, but never forgotten.
Despite her relatively sluggish flight, she was still making progress towards the next stop on her journey, and that was all that mattered. Or at the very least, all she knew she should’ve been focusing on, on the mere fact of progress instead of fretting about its exact pace. Easier said than done.
...
…
Blast it.
The low thrum that left the dragon’s throat went unheard above the calm waters, not a single fellow flier sharing the nearby afternoon sky. She thought she had remembered the direction to take, that her long sharpened sense of place in the world would let her find her way without any aid—and yet, she wavered, coming to a stop in the middle of a vast ocean.
She wasn’t doomed, nowhere near. Even if she were to become truly lost, her return would merely be delayed until she made it to shore somewhere and then followed along with it. And that was the worst-case scenario—Latch’s foresight made sure of that. Once the Windrider had stopped, she opened the thick canvas bag affixed to her red wings, telekinesis ruffling through the assorted junk until she’d pulled out a small, metal item.
She may have been living amongst the people of Golden Sky for over a century by now, and yet she felt just as distant from them and their inventions of brass and iron as when she’d first encountered them. If not for her and one of their greatest tinkerers having taken a liking to each other, she would’ve probably long since left them for good.
Even despite the accomplishment she thanked them the most for.
Discarding that thought, the dragon recalled her friend’s instructions on how to use the supposed navigational tool. Two needles spun freely in its circular brass chassis, moving through a dense forest of unfamiliar symbols. The red, iron one always pointed south, a feat accomplished though means beyond the Windrider’s comprehension. The green, silver one, however, pointed to a beacon at the location Latch had specifically arranged for to be her resting spot on her way back. It was a provision the dragon was equally grateful for, and worried by.
Was her diminishing strength that easy to sense?
----------------------------------------
The remainder of the Windrider’s journey towards her resting spot was spent in annoyed silence, verbal and mental alike. She ignored her body’s complaints, forcing them silent despite their best efforts—she hadn’t even crossed into her sixteenth century yet; she couldn’t let herself be overtaken by such minor annoyances. And so, she raced on, chill air staining her down with salt as she passed by any onlookers in a red and white blur, much too fast for most to even react before she was long gone.
Her destination was almost too small to even be called an island.
It was small enough for even terrestrial beings to be capable of running circles around it, she imagined. A tower of stone and brass took up a non-insignificant part of it, housing the beacon that had beckoned her over, as well as its singular maintainer. Surrounding it was a grove of trees small enough for one to see the base of the tower from the shore, and beyond that, only the unending ocean.
The mere existence of this structure so far from the continent baffled the dragon greatly. She’d listened to Latch’s explanations of sea and air routes, of using these so-called beacons as safe refuges amongst the waves and as jumping-off points for further exploration, but none of it really stuck.
It felt useless to her, perhaps even cruel to the people forced to stay there and maintain the devices in solitude. She’d also heard something about these positions being voluntary, though, so maybe it wasn’t as evil as it seemed? Something to ask Latch about once she’d returned, she supposed.
Following the custom of this culture, the dragon knocked on the tower’s door with a modest application of telekinesis, her physical paws far too short to reach. The building remained silent as a grave, with only the shimmer of the calm waves washing against the shore gracing her ears—
“Greetings,” a voice spoke from behind her.
Her sheer startle sent her flying to the top of the beacon, her hide erasing her from sight before she could even consciously react. Once her mind had overruled her instincts, she turned around, breathing deeply as she descended and examined the island’s occupant.
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She almost never encountered creatures truly new to her anymore, not after having circumnavigated the globe so many times—and the beacon keeper was no exception. Though, the only other times she’d seen their kin be depicted or described were as harbingers of death, otherworldly beings that killed with a single touch.
She doubted she had to worry about being touched, considering her swiftness. “^I greet thou in peace, specter.^”
Their singular red eye focused on her just as much as it focused on everything else nearby, what amounted to their expression unchanging. Not particularly emotive. Their head’s light gray matched the color of their raised collar, giving way to a darker torso underneath. The yellow stripes across their body glowed dimly, with only the protrusion on their head being bright enough to be noticeable. “Our guest?” they asked, words echoing through open space.
“^That is indeed true, specter, but not by mine will,^” the Windrider explained, keeping her distance.
The ghost slowly nodded before turning their bulky body towards the entrance to the beacon’s tower. “Inside, freshwater. Provisions. Firm ground,” they explained, each word pronounced by a slightly different voice. “If questions, us answer. We ‘Sun of Great Beyond’. You?”
Once more, silence returned to the scene, the dragon’s expression remaining perfectly flat as her golden eyes scanned the area. The ghost understood the message, turning around and about to return to their previous spot, when they heard the dragon’s telepathic voice again. “^Answer me such, Sun of Great Beyond. Dost thee not grow somber in loneliness?^”
Their answer echoed through the dragon’s mind as they hovered away, phasing through the golden sand, “Not alone.”
The ghost’s words provided a quandary, but one the dragon was hardly interested in pondering deeply over. A simple press of the brass handle opened the way into the beacon’s tower, the mechanism whining as if it hadn’t been used in decades. Inside, as promised, was a sealed box of provisions. Among its contents were a wooden bottle of water, eagerly emptied, and several meals—Golden Sky’s customary flat bread, sugared Lum preserve, and salted soybean curds in thick, peppery sauce.
Off-putting as their culture and people might have been, she couldn’t deny them their culinary sophistication. Though she still wished their creations were less… intensely flavored, at times.
*ring, ring-ring*
Oh?
The high-pitched chime coming from the island’s tiny pier made the Windrider turn around on the spot, spotting a hardly unfamiliar sight rearing from the waters. In most places, the blue-red jelly kin were known as nuisance at best, and ocean’s malice made manifest at worst. Under the Golden Sky’s reach, however, they were kelp harvesters, medicine providers, or simply marine couriers—and the latter seemed to be the case here.
Their gray tentacle was lowering a small brass capsule into the basket affixed to the end of the pier when they spotted her. Instead, they floated closer, flashing the red orbs on top of their body to catch the dragon’s attention as they held the capsule high in the air for her to receive.
The Windrider took the package with a quick telekinetic grab, and a wordless exchange of nods later, the courier was back under the waters again. She watched the jellyfish’s faint red light fade away as they followed the guidance of a thick underwater rope attached to the pier’s end, connecting the tiny island with the nearest landmass.
Unsure what to do with the small capsule, the dragon flew back inside the beacon, intending to leave it for Sun of Great Beyond to read once they had returned. As she was placing it down, though, she took notice of the recipient field, a single symbol engraved in soft wax.
Latch’s nickname for her.
Taken aback, she worked the capsule open, breaking its wax seal before unscrewing both halves. Inside lay a single tightly rolled sheet of the most common writing medium in Golden Sky, a dry paper made of seaweed that always felt more fragile than it actually was. As far as she was considered, the only reason they had stuck to it was because of the lack of a suitable alternative.
With the message taken out, she dumped all the metal parts into a large basket in the chamber’s corner. One day, they would be transported back to Golden Sky and smelted to be reused in perpetuity, but the dragon neither knew nor cared about that.
At last, she unrolled the small page, the Golden Sky’s emblem taking up a hefty chunk of it: a combined symbol of its ever conflicted twin deities, their inherent strife giving way to ingenuity, creativity, and invention, at least as far as the civilization folklore was considered.
Outer ring of solid gold, symbolizing Chaos.
Three silver stripes inside it, symbolizing Order.
The medium didn’t convey their colors, but the iconography was so common inside the brilliant city that her mind had filled in the blanks. Underneath the grand seal, the words written in rushed, messy cursive:
> V,
>
> Assuming I planned it correctly, you’ll get this at your rest on East Edge Islet! No worries if not, sadly I’ll get to tell you everything in person, anyway.
>
> Expedition was delayed!!
>
> Aggravating beyond words. Sages mumbled something about The Twins being in particularly harsh conflict lately and some more of their usual vague warnings—can’t care less, but the bookkeepers do and so another week to go. Just in time for you to get back!
>
> I know you didn’t want to go; you were clear enough about that, but another thing happened! Which I can’t tell you about here! If we were to leave at our original date, I would’ve told you because you would really want to know but if the bookkeepers found out, they would have me buried in salt and I’m not risking that if I’m leaving late and can just tell you in person!
>
> Just know that it’s something VERY important and something you’ll want to know about! But not as important as to have you skip your rest to fly over here! Not urgent! Important, not urgent! Eat, rest, take as much time as you need, V. The news will be waiting for you when you arrive!
>
> I hope your pilgrimage hasn’t had any more obstacles than usual!
>
> Missing you dearly,
>
> ╒═══════════════════════════════════╕
>
> through this stamp, I attest to these words
> having been written by me,
>
> HIGH TRIUNE’S ADVISOR IN ARTIFICE
> ELDER OF THE GOLDEN SKY’S MECHANISTS’ GUILD
> BARON, BY THE VIRTUE OF THE SUPREME TWINS
>
> Great Latch of the Utmost Grand Gate
>
> ╘═══════════════════════════════════╛