1ORIGIN MAGE, ILDONA
The day that the dragon comes to him lives forever in Dana's mind. The terraced hills of the Sanctuary were tense that day, rice paddies stirring with the restless sway of their crop below. They cast ripples across miles of ankle-deep water. On this day, the dragon's heavy breathing keeps pace to the whistling mountain air. He slithers up alongside Dana and bows his head low to the barrel of red tea set beside the elf's table. This high up, no one in the whole Sanctuary could hear them, not if they shouted and bellowed for an entire week. Here, so close to the highplace of the gods, only Amaterasu may catch an echo of their conversation.
Dana sets his cup down, breathing deep in the dry mountain air as the dragon slakes himself, waves of amber tea frothing along his tapered jaw. For ages, Dana has taught apprentice after apprentice, translating from the sacred text of dragons to pass down magic to the children of the Sanctuary. There is no one in the world left alive who still speaks his native tongue, save these gods. Dana is tired of teaching.
The dragon rises up from his drained barrel to gaze out at the hills' incline. Thirty years from now, no one recalls his original name, save Dana himself. There is an understanding between them both; the first mage, and the first dragon. He is no longer certain who fell first, but here they both stand, steeped in despair and soon to be completely eclipsed. Historians will debate until the end of time when the civil war began, but for Dana, it all starts from here, thirty years ago. There is a plan, a dragon and a wizard, and that is all it will ever take.
"Are you ready, old friend?" The dragon rumbles.
Dana is so very tired of teaching.