Experience could grant an adventurer many things: physical strength, mental fortitude and flexibility, comfort with a favoured weapon, new abilities both magic and mundane. Given enough experience- enough quests under the belt, an adventurer would eventually develop the most important tool of all, the gut instinct.
The gut was a store of more wisdom than could fill an entire dusty bookshelf, knowledge that had never been learned directly and yet one just knew was true.
Lucia’s gut told her she was going to die.
The being towering over her might as well had ‘The End’ written on each of its scales like the back cover of a children’s book- her own story coming to a close as abruptly as a turn of a page.
She wanted to run; her instincts continued to scream that she should, but her legs just wouldn’t move. They were rooted to the spot, sinking deep into the toxic black mud of the swamp.
“You know this face… though you have never laid eyes on it.” The bass of the beast’s voice caused Lucia’s insides to vibrate in the most uncomfortable manner. “Your body knows to feel fear even as your mind squirms in ignorance.”
As if by command, she shivered, an involuntary chill up the spine that grew into a trembling that would not stop.
The creature of Chaos rumbled at the sight, a sneer joining the cruel smile on its leathery lips; revealing endless rows of ivory. “Even one such as you, shunned by Order, cannot escape the screams of your ancestors, trapped within your very bones.”
This was all a nightmare, it had to be. She was still asleep on the boat; Ilya would shake her awake anytime now and ask another silly question about simple things.
Curling its massive wings around the clearing, the beast gained an aura of smug satisfaction, soaking in its victims fear with delight.
“I am Visnavik’drok’sahrot.” It announced, the name spoken like a threat all its own. “I am the black dragon, the death of hope; the rightful ruler of this land.”
It leaned in close- she could feel its breath on her face. “And you, little Lucia, have the honour of serving me until the end of time.”
‘Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup-‘
The feeling of bark and thorn against her flesh returned as a serpentine vine burst from the ground below her, wrapping around her torso and pinning her arms to her sides. Like a splash of cold water to the face, the meaning of the dragon’s words and the reality of the situation hit the adventurer all at once. She was not going to be waking up from this one.
A mixed scream and sob ripped from Lucia’s throat as she began to thrash in her bonds, desperately trying to reach for her knives and free herself.
“Ahh~ this is so exciting!”
Ilya was suddenly there, palms pressed together in front of her mouth while her eyes sparkled with genuine joy. “‘Until the end of time!’” She repeated the dragon’s words, a mad giggle spilling from her lips. “We’re going to have so much fun together!”
Lucia flinched back as the little shadow drew close, her knife drawn and ready. “G-Get away from me!” She cried, tears flowing free as she struggled harder to escape. It was no use; it was like she was caught in tangling seaweed, drowning beneath the surface where no one could hear her scream.
Instead of ending her life with a jab to the throat, Ilya cut one of the sleeves from the adventurer’s damp shirt, exposing her shoulder to the air.
“This is going to hurt a lot, okay?” She warned, stepping back. “But then everything will be better, don’t worry! You’ll be like me!” The attempt at reassurance had the exact opposite effect, sending Lucia into a blind panic.
“Poor little Lucia.” The dragon mocked, relishing her sobs as it willed the vines to bring her in. “So tired of life and yet too afraid to end it.”
“Know that you have forever lost that chance. May the regret sting eternally.”
Lucia shrieked as the beast’s claw pierced through the flesh of her arm, past the thin layer of fat and the scar tissue of lesser wounds to dig into hard earned muscle. It dragged the claw in different directions, carving her up like a slaughtered pig while its terrible laughter echoed all around.
Her fighter’s constitution quickly became her worst enemy: every time she thought she would pass out from the pain, adrenaline would slap her back to lucidity, forcing her to feel every second of agony.
Blood filled her mouth somewhere along the way; maybe her throat had finally torn under the strain of her wailing, or maybe her gnashing of teeth had finally sliced through her tongue. Regardless of its source, she clung to the familiar taste of iron and the warmth from her beating heart. As long as the blood was hot, she was still alive.
Lucia’s suffering reached its peak as the violent slicing of dissection was replaced with the harsh burn of magic. For the briefest second it felt like her skin had been set ablaze, but an instant later, it was gone.
She was cold.
The vine that had ensnared the adventurer loosened its grasp, letting its captive splash back down into the sludge. Her body was shaking as she lay there on her hands and knees, choking down stuttery breaths that wanted nothing more than to tumble back out as sobs.
“You did it!” Ilya was before her again. She lifted her head to stare at the hem of the girl’s dark grey tunic, stained pure black by the filthy water it had absorbed. “The first one hurts the most, but the second one is a lot easier. I hope I’m lucky enough to get another soon!”
“Ilya… why?” Lucia breathed, two words that held hundreds of questions. Why did you do this? Why are you capable of doing this? Why did it have to me? Why does it always have to be me?
Ilya tilted her head slightly. “What d’you mean?“
“It’s a fucking monster!” Lucia cried out, pushing off of the ground to look up at Ilya directly, teary eyes pleading, begging her to understand.
“Don’t call her that.” Ilya’s chipper attitude and friendly energy suddenly evaporated, her smile curling into a scolding frown. “She’s your Queen too now, you have to be respectful.”
Lucia shook her head, slowly at first but growing ever faster with each turn. She just couldn’t take this.
The former adventurer shuffled back in the mud, taking one last look between the ancient dragon and her minion before scrambling to her feet and sprinting out of the clearing.
“Hey!” Ilya reached a hand out as her new friend fled into the darkness. Why was she running? They were friends now; friends were supposed to stick together. At least that was what she thought; she had never had a friend before.
Lady Visnavik slapped her tail against the ground. “Leave her.” She ordered, a dry laugh on her breath as she licked the blood from her claws. “Once branded, there is nowhere in this world she can run to where I cannot find her.”
Ilya knew it was only a statement meant to stop her from running off as well, but the way her Lady worded it made the girl smile.
They could never get lost or go missing, nor could they ever be taken away and hidden. Lady Visnavik would always know exactly where they were, and if they had proved their value, always collect them. It was a comforting thought.
When her claws were finally clean, Lady Visnavik brought her index finger down to draw a circle into the dirt of her islet. “That is one of the tasks I had given you complete.” The dragon hummed. “Now the other- your report.”
This was the moment of truth: if the information she had gathered was good enough, she would be proven worthy of the trust her Queen had placed in her.
Lady Visnavik would be pleased, she would praise her again; those wonderful warm feelings and electric sparks would shoot through her body.
Ilya shook herself from her daydream, quickly rushing to sit in the indicated space before her mistress could grow impatient.
“U-Um, where should I begin, my Queen?” She stuttered once in position, tilting her head back to look up at the dragon’s harsh and ridged face. There was so much she had learned, but she wasn’t sure how to sort it into important and unimportant parts.
“The existence of this kingdom itself intrigues me.” Lady Visnavik replied, her claws tapping in that familiar thoughtful rhythm. “The grandmaster chieftains and war shamans that paid me tribute were far stronger than any human. How could they have been toppled so completely?”
“The first king of Louterre was… was a hero.” Ilya answered, the novelty of responding to someone else’s questions for once sitting odd in her chest. “They call him the Hero-King. He fought all of the strongest guys on his own and then his really big army came in and took care of the rest.”
“Um… at least that’s what one of the books in a library said…” At the last moment she poisoned her definite explanation with doubt, her confidence faltering under her Lady’s attention.
“Of course.” Vibrations tickled Ilya’s right ear as a low growl rattled through Lady Visnavik’s chest. “The cosmic fluke, beloved hunting hounds of Order, the spring of strength eternal… a hero.” The word was hissed like a curse, spat to the wind like bile.
Her Lady’s snout twitched with agitation as she looked down upon her servant. “This… Hero-King… his line holds the throne to this day?”
Ilya nodded. “Yes, my Lady. I heard they aren’t as good as he was though, I don’t know if the king of right now could do it again.”
Lady Visnavik let a puff of warm air blow through her nostrils and teeth- a scoff. “Even if his descendants inherited the power, the stress and strain of many battles are needed for a hero to reach such heights. Without bloodied hands a hero is in name only.”
It took a moment for Ilya to digest the explanation, her unattended gaze slowly sinking over time. Though the stories went on and on about the great feats of the gods’ chosen heroes, she realized looking back that they failed to mention anything about how someone could get so strong in the first place. They all made it seem like a hero came out of the womb with the ability to conquer the world- something that apparently wasn’t true.
“Then… it’s best to kill heroes early, right?” She asked, gripping the handle of her dagger tightly. If heroes started at the same place as everyone else, it should be simple to smother them in the crib. “If they die before they can get strong enough, they can never be a threat.”
“Your enthusiasm for bloodshed pleases me.” Lady Visnavik praised with mild chuckle, sending a delicious shiver through Ilya’s limbs and leaving her pleasantly numb. “But before you go slaughtering fledgling heroes in my name, answer me this: how will you know who is a hero and who is not? By what method will you know where they will be born?”
Ilya deflated, looking back down at the dirt. “I… I don’t know. I don’t have one.”
Lady Visnavik puffed again, shaking her head. “Because one does not exist. Heroes are nonsensical beings, the entirety of their lives from beginning to end, without design.”
The dragon’s tail began to swish behind her, creating ripples in the water with each irate movement. “Born from random occurrence, they awaken to their abilities by pure chance. Who grows strong enough to be noticed by the gods and who dies nameless in a hole is based on nothing.”
A sigh escaped from giant lungs. “A kingdom built on a foundation of luck could not have survived this long through luck alone. I assume their military forces remain sizable?”
Ilya mentally scrambled, rapidly stuffing away the new information and trying to remember everything she had seen or heard on her journey.
“Um… I never saw any soldiers at all.” She realized. “All I saw out there were normal looking guards and a bunch of adventurers.” Ilya had no clue if the amount of adventurers in Louterre was more or less than normal as she had nowhere else to compare it to, but it felt like a lot.
“There was a smith that said adventures take care of monsters and Chaos stuff.” She recalled, thumbing a bead of resin that had leaked out from her dagger’s handle and solidified there. “He said it’s because all the soldiers are at the border or watching the orcs.”
Lady Visnavik turned her head in a very specific direction, staring past the wall of trees and shrubs surrounding the clearing to the lands beyond. “Mm, I remember overhearing mention of the stronghold of Krod. I had thought them wiped out entirely when regular tribute stopped, but it seems they were merely occupied.”
There were a few moments of silence before a rumble came from the great dragon’s chest. “Humans, conquering the land and lording over their fallen foes; orcs cowering under the thumb of a martial force and penned like cattle, how the roles have reversed…” Her upper lip curled back. “It makes me sick.”
Ilya wasn’t too happy about it either: it was bad enough that the Kingdom of Louterre pretended to own her Queen’s highlands, trying to back up the claim without a hero was even more insulting.
The orcs who lived here before seemed much smarter in comparison, recognizing Lady Visnavik’s greatness and bringing offerings to show their fealty. The more Ilya heard about the highland tribes of old, the more she wished she could meet them- any who lowered their heads to the black dragon were friends to her.
Maybe she could go to Krod one day. Maybe with Lucia; she said she liked orcs.
“What of these adventurers then?” Lady Visnavik continued questioning, moving the report forward and away from things that irritated her. “Any of note?”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“There’s Lucia, but we have her already.” Ilya said redundantly. “From what I saw I think she’s one of the strong ones.”
On the surface, Lucia didn’t seem that strong, there were other adventurers that looked more impressive, but while they always had to form parties to get the job done, Lucia always worked alone. She was capable enough on her own to have a good record with the guild, despite how little everyone in it thought of her. The wood elf lady said it herself: other parties would have been slaughtered by that zombie, but Lucia held her ground.
“There were a bunch of adventurers that kind of sucked in comparison. Like this one warrior that I snuck up on really easily and could have stabbed.” Lucia had been distracting said warrior at the time, but the idea that Ilya could be at any advantage whatsoever, over anyone, didn’t reflect kindly on his abilities. “I’m not strong at all so he must not be either.”
“Annabelle’s… kind of an adventurer?” She continued when her list of proper adventurers quickly ran dry. “I don’t think I could stab her though, she’s way stronger than everyone else.”
“I like Annabelle, she’s nice.” Ilya’s thoughts suddenly made a complete 180, from thinking about the saint as an enemy to thinking about her as a mentor. “She gave me these nice clothes and taught me a lot of this stuff I’m telling you and- oooh ooh!” Ilya interrupted herself, hands motioning excitedly. “She taught me how to cast a spell! I actually did magic!”
“Yes, I felt it.” Lady Visnavik said to her surprise. “When I peered through you to see what it was, you were casting [ Harm ] on yourself.”
A mocking smirk formed on her Lady’s lips, long neck curling so she could lean close. “Try pointing it at someone else next time.”
Ilya looked down at the dirt bashfully. Her Lady had felt her cast her first spell? She remembered thinking about her mistress just before the magic changed, did that have something to do with it? Maybe Annabelle would know, but she would also probably freak out again.
“But my, that saint of yours…” When Ilya looked up from the ground, Lady Visnavik’s head had pulled back to a more comfortable position. “How well she knows her place and how perfectly she plays the role assigned to her.”
“After all of the aberrants I have been forced to stomach in this changed world… to find one so true to their nature, it is refreshing.”
Vibrations again tickled Ilya’s ears as Her Queen chuckled darkly. “I eagerly await the day that loving smile crumples into despair. How delicious her tears will taste.”
Ilya’s thoughts pulled her back in- it was good to know that she wasn’t wrong in liking Annabelle. The saint was different to the other preachers she had met: warm, giving, closer to the ideal that all their stories said one should be. She had been a great help and guide, and Ilya hoped to continue taking advantage of that kindness.
‘What one should be…’ Her own thoughts echoed around her head to return to the forefront.
Her Lady was very adamant that everyone and everything had a way of being that was right, that everyone had a role to play and a set of rules that should never be strayed from.
Annabelle followed the rules, Lady Visnavik liked her.
The orcs and humans didn’t follow the rules, Lady Visnavik was disgusted by them.
Heroes had no rules to follow, Lady Visnavik hated them.
“Is that the extent of your report, then?” Her Lady interrupted her thoughts once again. “Was all that time wasted?”
“Well, um…” Ilya panicked, scrambling to produce more intel so as not to disappoint her Queen. “There were a lot of different kinds of people out there! I saw humans, and orcs, there are a few wood elves too but I only saw one of those…”
“What about the dwarves?” Her Lady asked suddenly, surprising her with an unknown.
Ilya blinked. “The what?”
Her Queen pointed a single claw, holding it straight and level a few feet off the ground to suggest height. “Puny bearded things with ale for blood.”
“I… I didn’t see anyone like that.” Ilya replied. “I didn’t hear about them either.”
Having alcohol for blood sounded interesting though. Would stabbing them count for using her Lady’s scale properly? Could she open them up when she was thirsty? When she was older, of course.
Lady Visnavik resumed her thoughtful thrumming. “The cowards must have retreated into the depths to hide.” She said. “A shame, dwarven crafts are always a welcome addition to my hoard.”
“Oh! I saw a snow elf though!” Ilya remembered, hoping to ward off Lady Visnavik’s disappointment. “His name was Issnur, he told me how to get out of town and where to go so I could learn things for you!”
Her Lady’s head slowly pulled up and back with suspicion. “That is not an elven name. Where did you find this… snow elf?”
“He owns a bar in town.” Ilya answered innocently. “The Silver Dragon.”
Visnavik’s pupils shrank into thin slits, head leaning all the way back in. “The what.”
----------------------------------------
It was the dead of night, and the Silver Dragon Tavern was closed. Seats were up on the tables, the floor had been swept and scrubbed, the lights were low, and Issnur stood alone behind the counter, cleaning the remaining mugs. He had kicked the last drunkards out an hour ago, waking the humans from their stupor with a puff of icy air and locking the door behind them.
It was an average day all in all, steady profit with the added bonus of a new face he had never served before.
Lucia seemed like the upright sort, escorting a little orphan all the way back to Bearwood at the church’s behest, but that was also why Issnur worried for her. For as mighty and capable as the adventurer seemed, as long as she stayed by the girl’s side, she was in an unknown amount of danger.
Those four still hadn’t turned up, nor had their bodies. Ilya was not to be trusted.
“Mister Issnur, Sir.” A young voice broke the silence of the empty bar, sounding too chipper to be sincere but too lifeless to be a joke.
The snow elf flicked his eyes towards a dark corner of the room that the light over the bar couldn’t reach. A small silhouette stood in the darkness, arms held behind the intruder’s back innocently.
‘Speak of the devil…’
“We’re closed.” He stated, the warmth of his ‘on the job’ persona nowhere to be found. “How did you get in here?”
“My Queen has a message for you.” Ilya replied, acknowledging his question with a smile but refusing to answer it. She stepped out of the corner as she spoke, taking two- three steps closer to the bar before revealing the object she had been hiding behind her.
A skull.
A half-orc skull.
The little monster held out the head of her victim, necrotic energy spilling out of its eye sockets and gathering around its fleshless maw. A symbol glowed hot like a cattlebrand on its forehead, familiar script pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then, on its own, the foul totem spoke.
“Foolish scion of Order, hiding away in domains already claimed, is it cowardice or malcontent that compels you? Donning the guise of your lessers- has the pride of silver lost its lustre?”
The shadows of the tavern seemed to to writhe and twist as the accusations spilled out, the low venomous tone commanding them to life. “I have not lost sight of my lineage, nor the respect I am owed as Ancient. By any metric, your arrogant trespass of my lands warrants a response.”
Issnur felt something inside him twist, a discomfort he hadn’t felt in a century, not since he last stood before the Brilliance of Gold.
“But you must know as well as I what a clash between true dragons entails. The attrition, the stalemates, the collateral damage…” The voice let the thought linger for a moment. “How terrible it would be if such strife found its way to your site of solace.”
The creature of Chaos continued. “A single disrespectful elf is beneath my notice; the glimmer of metallic scale, however, would be much harder to ignore.” The skull in Ilya’s hands couldn’t change its expression, but she could, the girl’s mouth setting in an unhappy frown.
“So stay in your little bar; enjoy playing pretend… but if ever you show your true face, know that all you hold dear will wither and die.”
After a long silent pause to allow the threat to sink in fully, the ancient concluded its message with one more cruel joke. “I leave you with a token of my sincerity: the very first victim of the black dragon to have his remains sent home.”
“This can’t be the end…” The voice coming out the defiled head suddenly changed, from sadistic and feminine to one more familiar.
“It hurts…” The tortured soul of the paladin cried. “Help me…“
Issnur’s fingertips instantly shifted form, magical winds swirling around his claws as his arm readied to strike down the servant of evil and end the suffering of a good man.
“Wait!” Ilya shouted, diving under a table before she could be obliterated. “Don’t kill the messenger!”
Peeking up above the edge of the table, the street rat shot him a dirty look. “You’re not supposed to do that.”
“You’re no mere messenger.” The silver dragon snarled. “You killed him, didn’t you? You killed them all, and now you parade around his skull like a trophy.”
“Is Lucia next? Where is she?!” The power in his fist intensified threateningly.
He heard a shift of cloth- Ilya might have shrugged. “I don’t know, she ran off.” The street rat said, like Lucia’s current whereabouts didn’t concern her.
“If she’s escaped your clutches, then all the more reason to deal with you here and now.”
“No!” Ilya ducked back under the table. “My Lady is watching and listening to everything right now! She’ll be really mad if you kill me!” The words rushed out quickly but their content was clear enough to make Issnur freeze mid-swing. The mark on the skull flashed behind his eyes- a rune.
As much as he hated this little monster; hated every crime she had committed, he couldn’t risk her mistress seeing him retaliate. His silver scales could save him from the ancient’s wrath, but they wouldn’t be able to protect the town.
“If not me, it’ll be someone else.” He warned. “There are other dragons of Order in this world, all more dogmatic than I.”
“Like that one in the cave by the lake? Are they a friend of yours?”
Issnur flinched.
“Get out.” He spat, his draconic fist clenching tight at his side while his remaining elven hand pointed toward the exit. “Get out!”
Ilya again peeked up from her hiding spot, glancing around to make sure no more dangerous things were being aimed at her. Finding nothing, she emerged, placing the defiled skull of Darius down on the nearest table. “This is yours now.” She stated.
“LEAVE! NEVER COME BACK HERE!”
Without another word, the servant of evil turned and scurried out of the room like a roach. Issnur heard the front door swing open but not closed.
All was silent for a handful of seconds before the slam of a fist on wood caused all the glassware on the bar to clatter. “No escape, huh? Even all the way out here.” The silver dragon huffed, gritting his teeth. “What a mess.”
He eventually looked up from the counter, across to where the skull the ancient had spoken through sat, still overflowing with necrotic mist. Carved into the forehead with brutal precision was the draconic character for ‘to mimic’ or ‘to perform in kind.’
A hatchling learning how to hunt, dancers following the same rhythm, a puppet on lowly strings; the same character was used to describe each.
When Issnur picked up the grim totem, the only thing he could feel was the cold pulse of necromancy- whatever spell the Chaos dragon had infused into the rune, it was gone.
There was no rune of scrying anywhere on the skull, but he wasn’t so naive as to think that meant there wasn’t one elsewhere. Had it been carved into something else? Into an object on Ilya’s person… into Ilya herself? What a sickening thing to consider.
Shifting his perspective away from the skull as an object of evil, stewed in curses, Issnur looked with fresh eyes upon the servant of good whose head he held. No one should have to experience such suffering; no one should have their suffering extended beyond death.
Holding the underside of Darius' skull with one hand, Issnur pressed the other atop the crown to release his tortured soul within.
“[ Order’s Absolution ].” Pure white light emanated from Issnur’s palm, banishing that which tainted the paladin’s remains and bound him to accursed un-life.
“Thank… you…” Darius spoke his last, everything that he once was soaking into the skin of the world to disappear forever.
“Rest in peace, valued patron. It was a pleasure to serve you.”
----------------------------------------
When Ilya once again reached the end of the path outside town, she brought a flat hand to her brow. It didn’t seem to actually help her see any better, but Lucia did it once, so it must have had some use.
As for what she was looking for, it was a very specific and very special tree.
It was the same tree that had whisked Lucia away from her old life of purposeless wandering and the same tree that had ferried her toward a better one. It would ferry Ilya back there too, if only she could find it again.
Eventually, she gave up on finding it visually. Retracing her steps, Ilya walked toward the treeline until she stood in the spot where she had secured her very first friend. Closing her eyes to remember the scene, Ilya focused on the sight of the giant hand, retreating back into the forest.
Opening her eyes again; seeing where a hand was not, Ilya made a beeline towards her target.
The trunk of the lesser ashwood rippled like water when she drew close, the illusion of rigid bark melting under her fingers when they brushed against it. Twice before had she passed through, and yet her instincts still cried that she was about to hurt her nose by walking face first into a wall.
Sucking in a breath and closing her eyes, Ilya let her blind faith in Her Lady’s magic guide her.
The feeling of weightless nothing crept up her arm as it sank into the tree up to the shoulder, her right leg numbing shortly after when she stepped forward. Before she could chicken out or hesitate, Ilya dunked her head beneath the surface, pulling the rest of her body in behind her.
In an instant she was suddenly somewhere else, hours away, emerging from a much larger tree deep within the heart of the black dragon’s swamp.
Lady Visnavik was sitting upright waiting for her, claws digging trenches in the mud irritably.
“There is another.” Her Queen stated, not as a question, but a truth she had been denied.
“How many more usurpers den in my lands without my knowledge?” She asked rhetorically, teeth clenched as a vicious growl rumbled under her words. “How many more maggots writhe within my soil, ignorant of the name that should echo in their nightmares?!” As the black dragon’s fury grew, the forest began to die around her. Boughs of trees curled back in fear, their leaves turning brown, then black, before crumbling into nothing. Chunks of bark rotted and peeled away from heartwood, falling from the disintegrating canopy to become one with the muck below.
“When were you planning on gracing me with this information?” Visnavik demanded, pressing the full weight of her baleful gaze upon the tiny human.
Ilya dropped to her knees, grovelling before her mistress in a panic. “During my report my Lady- all part of the report! B-But you wanted me to go to-“
“Are you blaming me, slave?” The dragon interrupted, the clearing growing darker with each syllable, rejecting the moonlight that should have been flooding in.
Any sentence Ilya could form collapsed into a string of fearful apologies, an endless stream of “I’m sorry!” with the occasional “please don’t throw me away…”
Visnavik disregarded the slave’s tears, slowly stepping off of her islet and into the water. “It seems my long rest here has bred disrespect and confidence among the vermin. It has fostered complacency in my habits and secrecy in my slaves.”
“No more. This next message I shall deliver personally.”
The black dragon’s great wings flapped forcefully downwards, violently disturbing the water of the swamp with rolling waves that swept Ilya away and out of her sight. With steadily increasing strength, the wings flapped again, and again, and then again until the last beat successfully pushed her up off of the ground. She rose into the air, breaching through the devastated lattice of branches above until the stars were the only thing that could contain her.
The moon was full and bright, spotlighting her ascension and casting her gargantuan shadow upon the land for the first time in centuries. Children of Order used to cower at clouds passing before the sun, terrified to delusion by the thought of her in the skies above, waiting to swoop down and claim them. It was how the world was meant to be- how it would be again.
If the lessers had forgotten their fear, she would simply have to remind them.
Flying ever higher into the night, the black dragon breathed deep of the cold alpine air, filling her lungs to capacity before letting loose a long and dreadful roar, loud enough to shake the heavens. The voice of the Absolute reverberated across the entire highlands, reflecting off the mountains, blowing through forests; waking the living and the dead alike.
Visnavik’drok’sahrot had awoken. The world would never know peace.