It was just another Saturday morning. It was grey, hinting the coming of a storm. Dark, uninviting clouds seemed to swallow the sky, and the only suggestion of a new dawn came from the slight orange tinge of a clump of clouds. The people were scattered across the country. A quiet village mother greeted the dreary day, setting the kettle to boil. Nameless drunks squinted their eyes and groaned, stumbling up stupidly as they wandered from their make-shift beds in alleys, leaning on each other as they tried to find their way home. An expecting wife rose to the smell of warm buttered toast and the smile of her husband â "Another breakfast-in-bed for my pretty ladies," he said, spreading his fingers on the swell of her stomach. Fools and strangers awoke to the alien and embarrassing feeling of not knowing where they were, coupled by rumpled covers, silent dressing, and hasty departure. These were the events of just another Saturday morning.
Using the ominous storm-bringers as camouflage, a solemn black owl felt no need to hide above the clouds as he carried a sealed letter to his master. With powerful strokes, the sharp-eyed bird crossed desolate forests, abandoned homes, lighted villages, and lonely caravans. Following a path of dew-covered grass â a dull grey, reflecting the sky â he came into view of an immense, dark mansion. Years of secrets and cold masters had lent the home a mysterious air. Harsh black-steel gates barricaded the entrance with a darkly enticing snake twined around the handles as a lock. Four towers crowned the top of the mansion while wide windows graced all four sides of the house. A harsh, steeled look patented the manor.
Yet, far under the back tower, a light flickered against the windowpane, and a single rose tendril found its way through the window's opening. A hand snagged the rose vine and pulled it back inside. However, the seed of doubt cannot be unsowed âĤa rose resided in this mansion? This was news. Change was enveloping the manor - changes that would become all too visible in the weeks to come. But for now, it was a secret shared with the room's inhabitant and his dear pet. No one needed to know for the moment.
The owl glided through the still, dawn air. He perched at the window of the lighted tower-room and knocked his proud beak at the frame. A pale hand thrust its hand out and offered an arm, drawing the owl into the glow of the firelight. Stormy eyes scan the sky. Just as quickly, the face disappeared and the window was snapped shut. A lithe hand drew grey silk curtains, blocking the inside room from any outside spy, and turned to his messenger. The man snatched the envelope hanging from a dark brown pouch, breaking the seal with quick, easy movements. As quick grey eyes scan the page, eyes that have witnessed more then one his age should darkened as his forehead creased in thought, hands absently smoothing the letter's creases.
Dragon,
We don't know who you are. We don't know what you stand for.
We also have no one else to turn to.
Midnight, the muggle pub near Mede Common.
Send word.
Flame
The man christened "Dragon" folded the paper and sat still, and his eyes glazed over in thought. Finally, a self-satisfied smirk formed on the handsome face, half hidden in shadow. So they've decided to come to me after all...
Flame,
There'll be no need to know me.
Tomorrow.
Shadow