September 8th, year 948 Age of Peace

Gate City

Just after Dawn

Lyle yawned so wide a small tear formed in the corner of his eye. He sniffled a few times then rubbed his face with the back of his gloved hand. Adjusting against the stone wall, he heard the man next to him let out a yawn of his own.

Lyle chuckled under his breath.

“Contagious, ain’t it?”

“You’re not meant to be sleeping on duty,” the second man said as he gave Lyle a side eye.

Lyle shrugged his shoulders.

From these highest battlements of the city walls, one could see far out into the Omnirian borderlands. Rolling hills and rocky plateaus dominated the western front for dozens of miles. At their end, they came abruptly to a dark green forest of pine and fir trees. Situated between two great mountain ranges — Brenalazdir to the north and Aizadurian to the south— this formed the border between Omnirius in the east and foreign lands to the west.

“At least they are almost done building this place,” Lyle sighed to himself. “I’ll be glad to go home.”

“Cheers to that.”

“Oi!”

The man looked at Lyle, surprised by the outburst.

“All these months we been stationed up here, an’ I don’t even know where you’re from!” Lyle rested his polearm against the wall and looked at the man expectantly.

“Krain,” the man mumbled.

“Krain, eh? Not too far for you then, is it?”

The second man shook his head.

“You?”

“I’m from way south o’ here. Ever heard of Viemen?”

The man thought a moment.

“I believe so,” the man said as he glanced back out into the borderlands. “Viemen is…”

Lyle waited patiently, but the man never finished his thought. He seemed preoccupied, staring intently at the horizon.

Lyle waited a moment more but still the man said nothing.

“Hey, fella, you alright?”

Lyle walked over to the man and shook his shoulder gently. His eyes were wide and unmoving; beads of sweat were gathering on his brow. Lyle traced his gaze, curious to see what had captivated him so completely.

In the distance, a crisp, blue sky stretched out before them, bleached by a bright yellow sun. A shape suddenly became visible as it drifted out from behind a large mass of clouds and dipped low into the sky.

Lyle backed away from the ledge slowly as realization dawned on him.

“Is that…?”

The second man nodded absentmindedly.

The two stared in disbelief as the form continued to descend toward the horizon.

“It’s moving south...” the man said, his voice trembling.

“South…? SOUTH!?”

Lyle pushed himself away from the banister and bolted toward the ladder, leaving the second man standing alone and in silence. From below, the sound of the warning bell tolled rapidly and echoed throughout Gate City. A commotion was brewing below as Lyle ran from post to post, attempting to warn the others. A single word was quickly becoming clear above the clamor and confusion.

Dragon.

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***

September 9th, year 948 Age of Peace

Omnirian Magistrate Headquarters - Eadenfros

Early Morning

The men and women cleared a path as Zorren hurried down the luxuriant marbled halls of the Magistrate compound’s head office. His long green cloak billowed behind him as he walked; a man kept pace beside Zorren, speaking with him in a hushed tone.

“And you are certain of this?” Zorren whispered. “Absolutely certain!?”

“I am.”

Zorren’s lips shriveled into a scowl.

“Then we must put a stop to everything else— even your investigations. The council must be told at once.”

Zorren tore open the door to his office and the two slipped inside.

“You seem upset, Zorren.”

“Do not patronize me,” Zorren snapped. “This is—”

“Serious?” the man asked with a smile. “Dangerous?”

Zorren ignored him.

“A dragon? Such a beast has truly come to Omnirius…” Zorren paced back and forth with his hands behind his back. “And you saw it flying where, exactly?”

The man folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “South. I have confirmed it with my own two eyes.”

Zorren stopped.

“How far south?”

The man playfully raised an eyebrow.

Zorren let out a deep and frustrated sigh before sitting back into his chair and folding his hands on the desk.

“I am sorry, Frederick…” Zorren mumbled to himself.

Just then a knock came to the door.

“You may enter.”

A man dressed in Magistrate robes entered the room. He wore a worried look on his face.

“Virtua Zalphineas, I am Urant, messenger for the Fourth Chamber.”

Zorren nodded to him. “Speak freely and quickly.”

Urant hesitated.

“I-Is it true? Has a dragon crossed our borders?”

Zorren flicked his eyes to the man against the wall; Urant’s eyes followed.

“It is as you say,” Zorren answered.

Urant shifted his weight.

“How shall we proceed, Virtua?”

Zorren thought a moment.

“Inform the other chamber heads that they will be summoned to the Grand Hall in one hour’s time. We will discuss the matter there.”

Urant bowed his head in acknowledgment.

“And…” Zorren added as Urant reached for the door, “We are not to speak of this to anyone aside from the Chamber heads.”

Urant turned to face Zorren and bowed his head once again.

“I shall not have this compound be run amok with fear and chaos. Am I understood?”

“Understood, Virtua Zalphineas,” Urant said, bowing his head one final time. He stole a glance at the man against the wall before leaving the room.

“Virtua?” The man mocked, “How ingratiating.”

Zorren rubbed his brow.

“If you have time to waste with your remarks, you should spend it doing something more useful.”

“Have I not already been useful to you? I confirmed your dragon rumor, did I not?”

Zorren folded his arms and faced the man as he spoke.

“Can you kill it?”

The man seemed stunned. He stared at Zorren in surprise, locked in his gaze for several moments, before throwing his head back in laughter.

“Ahaha! Zorren! You are surely joking, are you not?”

Zorren didn’t move.

The man wiped tears from his eyes. “Well,” he continued, “You must be, if you think that any single person could best a creature of such caliber on their own.”

“Even with your abilities?”

“Absolutely,” the man said flatly, his joy having quickly faded. “One would have to be mad to even think about engaging it alone. Kastharii of that size could easily burn Viemen to ash in a single night.”

Zorren folded his hands behind his back.

“…Would it be satisfied?”

The man looked up in shock.

“Surely you don’t mean…?”

He expected a hint of playfulness in Zorren’s stare, but there was none to be found. Indeed, Zorren was never the type to joke; it was one of the few qualities that Vrastus genuinely disliked about him.

“That is quite ruthless,” Vrastus added in a grave tone, “Even by your standards.” Vrastus took a long breath in as he studied Zorren’s face. “Have you ever witnessed Kastharii feed? Heard the crackle and pop of mortal flesh as it burns? Bone burnt to ash? Screams rising over the sound of roaring flame?”

Zorren shot him a look.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Zorren snapped. “Would it be satisfied?”

Vrastus thought a moment.

“I cannot say. It may… or it may not.”

“Enough of your games!”

“I am being truthful,” Vrastus insisted, “These are not mere beasts that move according to primal instinct. They are ancient beings with machinations of their own design. Most of which others are seldom, if ever, privy too. It may have simply come to this land on a whim,” Vrastus said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Or perhaps…”

Zorren turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Perhaps?”

Vrastus met his stare, returning a faint smile.

“Perhaps it has a reason.”