“How could you not see it coming?” Nawfal asked the meek looking young veneficiar draped in crimson robes with golden plates over it. “It happened suddenly sir! We just noticed a figure grow gradually in size and then…” At the sigh of Nawfal he went silent. The senior dragon praetoriar massaged his temple than turned around as the segmented hem of his tunica started flailing towards the imperial magus.

He placed his right hand over his eyes as he noticed the familiar dragon with pristine, glistening white scales with horns and sharp feathers of prismatic shade descend down at the ground. A large leather saddle with golden ornaments at the center of its hulking body and on top of it the hulking draevhen figure of Augermil oozing with solemnity, majesty.

The scorched ground still bearing the tortured silhouettes of the unfortunates trembled twice. Once because of the weight of the dragon pushed onto it. The second time – a heavier tremble – as Augermil leapt off from the saddle.

Nawfal watched and waited for his old friend. He knew no matter what, Augermil went and gently patted the large, elongated avian like head of the dragon adorned with horns resembling the antlers of stags, just much, much thicker and smoother when it came to its surface while the tips emanated an arkhaine mist of prismatic hue.

Then at long last, their hands joint together in a sturdy shake at their forearms. “What is the situation?” Augermil asked his friend while the young aevhen veneficiar watched from behind and bowed to the towering figure that bathed it in gentle shadows.

“Just calm down boy. Take deep breaths.” When the aevhen veneficiar opened his mouth to speak, words do came out, but they were jumbled together as excitement and anxiety fused within the heart of the magus. As he inhaled and exhaled back and forth for the next several moments, Augermil sighed while Nawfal ignored the boy and headed past him while his slit pupils lit up in an arkhaine aura. “Just write it down.”

As the boy nodded in agreement, Augermil walked past him noticing the pensive expression on his friends face. “Noticed anything?” Nawfal shook his head as he crossed his arms. “It was definitely the work of an infaerni.” He answered in a low tone as crowd gathered around held back only by the guards and by the low roar of Augermil’s winged mount that now rested atop a building.

When the channeling mana inside his eyes turned into proper inscription allowing for seeing the unseen, he immediately noticed what made his old friend frown. Dark smoke lingered emitting an ethereal smell that burned their spiritual and physical noses at the same time as soon as the spell activated and spread across his noble visage.

“Any idea which way the suspect may have come from?” Augermil looked around while asking. “According to a few survivors who noticed the figure and found him strange, he came from the harbor and headed north.” Hearing those words Augermil tapped his silken beard covered chin while pondering.

“Noticed anything?” Nawfal’s eyebrow arched as he noticed the sudden light of realization lit up in Augermil’s eyes. The tall, elderly Draennith Praetoriar tilted his head towards his mount scaring birds away spewing prismatic flames at them. Its long neck swiveled down at him then took off towards the harbor. “Come, let’s check something out.”

Without saying a word Nawfal followed after him with calm, but hurried steps. When the two arrived at the crowd, it parted like waves at the order of a powerful magus, and the two headed straight towards their destination. “What?” Halfway through Augermil stopped as he noticed a tall figure in dark robes, a hood over their head where darkness nested itself while a crimson stole with eerie, unfamiliar runes embroidered into its matte fabric ran around the hood and flowed down His shoulders.

Yet the figure disappeared when Augermil turned his attention and for a few moments searched for the Him, before he gave up. “Nothing – just my imagination.”

**

“I ask you my brothers and sisters! Should we truly live while looking over our shoulders, restricting the freedom of our children?” A man of the trauscian tribe with sharp, angular face and an imperious voice to go with it shouted from the top of his lungs. His clothes well-kept and had a silken look to them, yet on closer look one could see that it was just an imitation made through weak transmutation where the magus relied on nothing but vague concepts.

He stood on a sturdy crate at the center of the forum – one of the many within the capital where the citizens can voice their ailments, their hardships in hope it reaches the ears of the upper echelons.

“Nay!” The crowd yelled in unison, their voices reached far beyond the walls of the building, leaking into the streets where the guards sighed while feeling anxious themselves. Just like the citizens, they were used to an enemy that showed its face, not relied on underhanded tactics.

“Do we truly believe those who looked out for us would threaten our lives, the lives of our children, their friends and their families? Or is it a wicked scheme of those living in luxury, seeking thrill in the suffering of us?” The man continued and even the few custodiir who stood inside and listened with tired expression now set their attention on him and yelled with the crowd.

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Unaware of a small, hunched down figure slithering into the crowd like a sly serpent. His voice seemingly weak, a thin smile on his face. As the man continued riling up the crowd, veins appeared on the figure’s androgynous face, crystals popped forth from his body and glistening golden and silver blood poured while a wickedly radiant fire raged within the crystalline formations.

By the time they realized what had happened, the flames reached with an overwhelming force, breaking the foundations of the forum apart amidst a thunderous howl, the screams of the passerby folks. Ash rose from its place, an ash that sought its way into the people and with a silken embrace, smothered them slowly.

**

“Another attack?” Isocrates whispered the question to Naghig, his grasp around the ear of his keg tightened while Naghig remained calm, focused on the small object held in his right hand. In the other a sharpened knife which easily cut through the marble like piece.

He glared at his disturbed reflection in the keg while various thoughts coursed through his mind. Worries about his family, what if they become another target for the attacks. Thoughts that this shall be blamed on them, making it even less likely that he may see Luelia who was with Mirayroth he learned just before the news.

“Aren’t you worried?” Then he turned and asked Naghig who calmly continued slowly slicing off parts of the sleek obsidian, in which he saw an unfamiliar feminine form. “Why should we be worried?” Naghig asked with an uninterested tone.

Anger welled up within Isocrates and he gulped down a hefty amount of his mead. “Because it will be a matter of time before they sent down a hail fire upon us.”

Naghig ignored him, placed his thumb onto the blade and it began to wobble, retract further into the hilt then when he released it, continuing sharpening details on the feminine figure still missing its face. Then he stopped and sighed. “If you’re so worried about that, go down and ask around the docks.”

Isocrates raised one eyebrow. “So you do care?” Naghig positioned the knife with its sharp tip pointed at what will become a head and started carving the lines of the hair out, slowly adding up to the mound beneath. “I am like the Emperor. I simply wish to know everything that goes on in the capital.” Isocrates watched as Naghig finished sculpting the long, cascading hair. He pressed his index finger onto it, and the dark marble gained an ashen red shade.

**

Aurelithae’s feet rhythmically beat against the mosaiced floor, her sharpened claws tapped against the table’s glassy wooden surface, cold sweat born of focused spellcasting flowed naturally down on her scaled face as the fuzzy, longing sensation remained. Her frail, clawed hand clutched the metallic cusp filled to the brim with gloomy, silken beverage with a bitter taste which puckered her face wrinkle free.

The verdant leaves of the trees rustled by the gentle, cold breeze, the lush canopies shaded the vibrantly shaded grass, and the dozen maidens clad in sleek angularly segmented silver plates with wine silken, high collared tunics beneath them – each more mesmerizing than the other.

Her attention wandered from one enchanting aevhen face to another, then as the longing faded at last, Aurelithae turned to her teacher. “May I ask something?” Magistraira Prisceirith arched her thinly drawn, richly hued brown brow before a warm smile ornated her enchanting face. “Of course your majesty!”

For a moment she closed her eyes, and recalled that dream and her body shivered in small part because of the outlandish form of the Umvraoth, but mostly as she watched the reality of Oneiron bend into itself, the warped, sonorous scream emitted by the horror born of the Almodo’s infinite mind. The cold emptiness that seeped into her body, and which occupied the innocent face of Sigiwaer, draining his gaze of all emotion.

“Are there aspects of Maghia which can drain us instead of creating this urge, this ecstasy?” She then finally asked while staring at her shivering hands after she put down her cusp.

Prisceirith tapped her chin with a pensive look, her swirling azure eyes stared at the sky where lone particles of the Illius swam towards the glooming peaks of Dhaugruz. “Drain us like that? Haven’t heard or read about any aspect that would have such vampiric tendencies. Even the vile aspect of Infaerni and Umvraoth instill the longing while also damaging, tainting our psyche.”

Then she turned her attention to Aurelithae. “May I ask why this question surfaced into your Majesty’s head?”

“Just a strange dream I had months ago that gnawed at me. I’m not sure how this question came to be, but I remember waking up feeling a gaping emptiness that shivered my body.” As she was mulling on the question for months now, on how to inquire either Prisceirith or Terrianis, Aurelithae answered without hesitation.

“No memory at all of the dream or about this strange aspect?” Prisceirith asked immediately which abashed Aurelithae a little. “The aspect itself. I remember walking around in a seemingly endless forest where the trees were made of pure essence.”

“I see. Could be that it was simply an after effect of the dream. Maybe you met with one of the Deossos who wished to remain unknown before you, or maybe it was the Almodo. The few who allegedly witnessed Him regaled of experiencing a similar feeling of emptiness.”

When Aurelithae heard that she felt relieved for a moment, yet the darkness which occupied one of Sigiwaer’s eyes still chilled her being. In all the depictions and associations hammered into her, not one had darkness associated with the Almodo except when it came to the Umvraoths, Infaerni and the Aydvroeghs – a wicked triumvirate of myriad beings.

Though before the two could continue, Albron appeared in the distance drawing both of their attention onto his gallant, towering form clad in his dark armor golden, draconic ornaments. The segmented plates which rested upon his broad shoulder and massive arms effortlessly moved, defying the stiffness of common metals.