Without any hesitation, Kinsoriel raced towards the source of the billowing smoke. He futilely hoped that this was somewhere else, that his sense of direction was somehow flawed.
“Please Wex,” he prayed to himself as he struggled to maintain composure, “don’t let that be my tower.”
Kinsoriel wasn’t nearly as pious as many other dragons were, but he still praised the god of knowledge and night. But perhaps he wasn’t devoted enough, or his prayer simply wasn’t important enough to respond to. Asking for divine intervention was no use to anyone anymore. The acts of the gods became little more than distant memory, something not even his parents had witnessed. Even so, he still wished in vain.
Beneath all these layers of denial, he knew the awful truth; that burning stone tower was his. As he landed before the structure, now a daunting height from his shrinking, his mind was alight as it tried to think of a way to save the library. Is it magical flame? No, the smell of mana was coming from his books and not the fire, as bitter of a thought that was. Could he stomp it out? No, he couldn’t think of a spell that would do that fast enough without crushing the entire place. Actually, could knocking over the tower stop it? Gah, that’s something a deathbound would come up with! Face to face with this disaster, it was degrading his critical thinking. Action needed to be taken now, he didn’t have time to think.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself. With deep concentration, he moved his front limbs in smooth wavelike patterns while focusing his mental image to that of water. He would drown these putrid flames in a lifesaving torrent.
“Storm Stream!” he yelled with a thunderous clap of his hands. Above the tower appeared a dark cloud with a boom that mimicked that of its summoner. Instead of regular rainfall, it poured all together in one continuous stream. The flames were doused out as the waters touched them, creating large puffs of steam. It took a solid minute before Kinsoriel would let the cloud disperse.
With a grim expression, Kinsoriel flew up to the only entrance atop the tower, preparing himself to assess the damages. As he descended the spiraling stairs, his eyes connected with the many books he housed in the walls. These had been singed completely before being put out. Such destruction was irreparable, even with his magical prowess. Sure he could repair the leather coverings and the paper pages, but the contents were beyond him and every other notable spell crafter he knew of. When he saw what had become of his main library, he was in shambles.
Every volume, every set, all brought to ruin. Amongst these blackened and water logged things were books that had only ever been handwritten; and now they were gone forever. The proud dragon didn’t weep, but a solitary tear found its way down his muzzle. He ran a hand gingerly along his once immaculate shelves, cringing as he felt their grizzled remains. He was choked up, not from any lingering smoke or steam, but rather the immense emotions he was feeling. All these precious tomes which he had gathered over countless years, some totally irreplaceable, were undone in an instant.
Whoever had done this was worse than evil. There wouldn’t be a container small enough to contain the remains of the perpetrators once he found them. He would erase them as thoroughly as they had done to his treasured library. And it wouldn't be quick either.
He continued downward towards the base of his tower. Down here was where he kept some of his favorite foods for later consumption, usually while he found himself reading and relaxing. The water from his spell seemed to pool here, drenching the floor. Much to his surprised delight, this final bookcase housed some books that were somehow untouched by both fire and flood. It wasn’t much, but he would take whatever he could.
Wex may have smiled down on him after all, because amongst the books that had survived was his very first. ‘Spellcraft for Wyrmlings, by Yigstoll’, given to him by his father. Not at all engaging anymore, but he remembered reading it over and over, it being his introduction to the world of magic. The sentimental value more than justified its place on his shelves, and he was relieved to see it well and good.
Tracing a finger in a horizontal line, Kinsoriel declared “Pocket!”. A small hole of space opened along the traced line, which was then filled with the books he had managed to save. What good fortune he had was still miniscule when compared to the devastation around him, leading his mood to sour once more. There was nothing more to gain from what was once his dwelling, so he ascended the spiraling stairs one last time.
Once he had gotten back to the roof, his keen hearing picked up on the rustling of foliage at the edge of the clearing. Thinking it might be whoever had done this, he reared back and prepared to leap upon them. Out from the tree line stumbled not the arsonists who had chosen death, but that fool who had followed him.
“Oh,” he said disappointed as he relaxed himself, “it’s you.”
“Y’know, you could have brought me with you.” Benjamin complained as he pat the dust off of his cloak.
Kinsoriel scoffed angrily at the remark as he leapt down from his poor tower. “How presumptuous of you, tiresome little human. I may not harm you, but do not think for even a moment that I will be a servant of pests.”
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He turned back to his tower, placing a clawed hand upon it with a heavy breath. “Especially when something of far greater importance was at stake.”
The air was left empty for a moment as they both said nothing.
“I know how you feel.” Benjamin said finally.
Kinsoriel tilted his head back, staring at him with a look so fierce it could cause stone to shudder.
“How dare you make light of this tragedy by saying such a thing. You know NOTHING of what I feel. Had I not rushed into making a promise like I was hatched yesterday, you would be splattered across the ground. Or can your feeble mind not understand that?”
Rather than shrink away, Benjamin continued to stand. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not trying to insult you.” He pointed a thumb to himself. “I am the Author, I DO get it.”
Kinsoriel wanted to argue against this with all of his being, but even amongst such powerful emotions, the deathbound’s reasoning was at least partially correct. Insane or not, he may well indeed be a writer of some sort. If there would be any who could fathom this tremendous loss, it would be someone who shared an appreciation for the art. Some writings from mortal writers had found their place upon his shelves as well, so it wasn’t impossible to say they could have it in the first place. That didn’t mean he would apologize however; he just dropped it.
Not saying anything else, Benjamin seemed to be looking around the area, probably for his own book. Even while he was still wallowing, Kinsoriel couldn’t help but chuckle as he heard the man grow frenzied while looking for something that likely didn’t even exist. Seeing another suffer helped him forget his own plight, if only for the moment.
“Where is it!? It has to be here, it has to be!”
A while of searching later, he came back and sat next to the dragon, legs crossed and empty handed. He had to take deep breaths to regain his composure, looking up to Kinsoriel when he had finished.
“This is beyond bad, you know. Everything could come apart at any moment with that book in the wild.”
The well studied dragon had little if any sympathy for him. He just lost thousands more than the human after all.
“Perhaps now we can say you might understand my losses.” He said down to the author rudely.
Benjamin glared back at the dragon. “Don’t you get it? Your entire world is at stake! If anyone messes with that book improperly, everything could go ‘poof’!”
He made an exaggerated motion with his hands for emphasis before getting up and off the ground. Kinsoriel looked on with lidded eyes, wondering if he should even bother with the mad man’s doom saying.
“Well I don’t see the end of anything in the near future, except those deathbound arsonists of course.”
Saying those words aloud reminded the dragon of what he should be doing instead of moping around. He unconsciously dug up the ground beneath his claws as his rage built.
“Speaking of, I have quarry to find. Follow.”
Benjamin did as he was told, hanging alongside the dragon as he began tracking the presence of mortal blood. Suddenly, the human snapped his fingers, earning an annoyed look from the dragon.
“What now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Kinsoriel asked before flicking his forked tongue back out, tasting the air.
“The arsonist has my book!” said the Author enthusiastically.
Kinsoriel corrected him without looking back. “Arsonists, not arsonist..”
“No,” With great gall, the fool decided to share his theory, “it was just one. And it wasn’t the group you fought that did this, it’s someone else.”
Kinsoriel laughed dismissively between flicks. “Oh, and who would that be then? Do tell.”
“Harax.” he replied.
The black dragon paused and had his head perk up a bit. Thinking he misspoke or simply meant something else, he needed confirmation.
“Harax?” he asked, “Describe him for me.”
With a chin rub, Benjamin began rattling off descriptors. “Bigger than you are at regular size, orange scales, very territorial, lives in a stone cave ov-”
“Enough!” Kinsoriel cut him off with a stomp. There was no question about it. He was describing the same brutish meathead he thought he was. To say they were on bad terms would be putting it lightly, but he was a dragon as well. Dragons settled things in person if there was a feud, subterfuge was craven and cowardly. Another ugly invention of mortal kind. Could this really be the case?
“I refuse to believe you. Not only is Harax a dragon, but he is an adherent of Valorian. He would not do this.”
Benjamin held his hands on his hips before shrugging. “Alright, don’t believe me. That’s fine.”
He then started to walk off, leaving Kinsoriel amiss at the sheer impudence
“Where do you think you’re going? Stop this instant!”
He did not. With a single bound, Kinsoriel lept in front of him, pointing at him with a claw. “I said STOP! You will not act out of turn, do you hear me?”
“Of course I do, I just don’t have time to waste. I’m getting that book, and it doesn’t matter if you come with me or not. So go ahead and go after your own leads, I’ll be doing the same.”
The black dragon could swear in every language he knew, and it still wouldn’t be enough to express how much he despised being treated this way by a deathbound. He swallowed his indignation for now though, realizing Harax may in fact be the answer he needed to another problem.
“Nevermind that. We will go to Harax then, but you will follow me. You are not the master.”
With a thumbs up, the Author agreed. Kinsoriel grumbled and growled, but said nothing further. He would much rather be on the trail of those who burnt his tower, but what better way to rid himself of this nuisance than paying a visit to someone who hated deathbounds more than him?