"Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realise they were the big things."

Robert Brault


Universe (H)-01 | Plane of Mortal Men
Class-Five Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/R3-O2
Pompeii | Campania, Italy | 79 a.C.n.

Once upon a time, in the days when the earth was young and magick flowed freely through the veins of the world, there existed a kingdom nestled at the foot of a mighty mountain. This mountain, known as Vesuvius, stood tall and proud; its peak crowned with eternal snow and its slopes lush with verdant forests.

The people who dwelt at its base lived in harmony with nature, their lives intertwined with the very rhythms of the land and sky. They prospered under the benevolent gaze of their king and queen, yet they were unaware of the ancient secrets slumbering beneath their feet; for deep within the heart of Vesuvius, far below the surface and where no mortal dared to venture, lay a hidden realm of wonder and enchantment.

It was in this secret chamber, bathed in the warm glow of molten rock and surround by the soft luminescence of precious gemstones and tomes long-forgotten by mortal man, that a being of immense power and grace lay in a deep, dream-filled slumber; a Sheathshifter whose form was that of a magnificent dragon with scales as vibrant and lustrous as the very seas.

His name was Xenon, and for centuries untold, had slumbered undisturbed beneath the mountain. His dreams were filled with visions of bygone eras and forgotten lifetimes; of when magick had been a tangible force and the very earth a place of boundless mystery and endless fears. He had witnessed the rise and fall of civilisations, their fleeting shadows dancing across the grand tapestry of Time. Yet his presence was naught more than a whisper in the fabric of reality, his breath nothing more than a gentle exhalation of sulphurous vapours that dissipated in the volcanic air.

The mountain's heartbeat, one of hundreds - thousands - scattered across the world, was his very own, and together they slept; guardians of an ancient and unfathomable power.

Above, and in the kingdom of Pompeii, life continued to flourish. The people built grand temples and bustling markets, their lives a vibrant mosaic of human endeavour. They knew of the mountain's majesty - but not of its guardian. They revered Vesuvius as a divine presence, offering prayers and sacrifices to ensure its continued tranquillity. Though their rituals were mere echoes of a long-forgotten pact, one that Xenon had sworn to uphold in the distant past.

It was to be, however, upon one fateful day; one that began like any other, that the delicate balance of this world would be shattered.

The sun, as always, rose brightly over Vesuvius, casting its golden rays upon the bustling city at its base. Merchants hawked their wares in crowded streets, while children played games in the shadows of the grand amphitheatre, and the heady scent of savoury dishes wafted down from the taverns. Pompeii was alive with the hum of humanity - and completely unaware of the cataclysmic force just shimmering beneath the mountain's surface.

For far below the earth, and deep within the mountain's hidden realm, the air had grown heavy with a foreboding tension. The very magma veins that threaded their way through Vesuvius began to pulse with a new and unsettling rhythm, as if the mountain itself had been stirred from its ancient slumber, and the very dreams that had Xenon wrapped deeply within their embrace turned... troubling.

His massive form stirred, cerulean-blue scales shimmering with an eerie light as his slumber was disturbed by a dissonant tremor - a discordant note it the very symphony of the mountain.

Yellow-gold eyes, like liquid sunlight glowing with their own unearthly light, slowly blinked opened; Xenon lifting his mighty head his senses sharpened, becoming acutely aware of the chaos unfolding around him. The heartbeat of Vesuvius, once a steady rhythm that did reverberate within his own chest, now pounded with an erratic and violent force.

Something... something was oh so terribly wrong.

In the depths of his ancient mind, Xenon recalled the pact he had sworn to uphold - the Vow he had willingly taken to protect not only the balance of the world but that of the mountain's very secrets. But it seemed that the mountain was no longer at peace. It was restless, a cataclysmic force threatening to unleash untold destruction upon the mortal world above.

With a snarl now twisting his scaled lips, and with a powerful, sinuous movement, the mountain's guardian uncoiled his massive body, rising to his full height. His wings, vast and leathery and glittering under the light of the cavern, unfurled with a sound like thunder; snapping open and casting long shadows upon the walls. And his breath, now hot and venomous, mingled with the rising heat of magma.

The chamber shuddered around his mighty form, and Xenon knew that he had no time to lose.

The dragon moved with grace and purpose through the labyrinthine tunnels of his subterranean home. The glowing veins of magma lit his path, casting an otherworldly glow upon his scales, and he could feel the mountain's agony as if it were his own; its very essence tearing apart as molten rock surged through newly-formed channels and caused his heart to ache with a mixture of fury and sorrow.

Vesuvius, his ancient home, was under threat, and Xenon would not stand idly by.

As he ascended through the winding caverns, the intensity of the heat increased, the ground shaking with great ferocity. Xenon's keen senses detected the presence of intruders - beings not of this time or place; their existence naught more than a ripple in the very fabric of reality. He could hear their frantic calls echoing through the tunnels, but their words were lost within the discordance of Vesuvius' awakening.

Xenon finally emerged into a vast chamber, its walls glistening with molten rock. And there, amidst the chaos, he saw them; alien beings of living stone, along with their mortal accomplice - a traitorous human who had knowingly aided them in their nefarious scheme. He could see it all within his mind's eye, the magical threat of the Pyroviles' machinations weaving through the very heart of his home. They were drawing power and heat from his domain, from the very lifeforce of Vesuvius, and using it to fuel their insidious plans; rocky forms all but glowing with stolen energy.

Gilded eyes narrowed, Xenon's rage building as he realised the source of the mountain's distress.

His connection with Vesuvius - with the very earth - allowed him to see all that did happen within his domain; both the past and present, and before his very eyes the conversations that had taken place, the deceit and manipulations that had brought the Pyroviles to finally reveal themselves-

Xenon understood, with a single and sudden heart-stopping realisation, the terrible choice that did not only lay before him, but also the very one whose presence resided within the metallic, unnatural machine they had trapped themselves in.

If the mountain erupted, it would indeed stop the invaders and very devourers of Vesuvius' powers. But it would also destroy the kingdom of Pompeii that existed at its base.

Yet...

If the mountain did not erupt, Xenon felt that his most ancient and honoured Vow would become void; for the Pyroviles would end up burning the planet, leaving naught but molten rock in their wake, and the mortal inhabitants of Pompeii would be left facing a far worse fate.

A deep, primordial growl suddenly tore its way through Xenon's throat, the dragon's fury rising with the realisation of the injustice before him. The mountain's agony mirrored his own as it trembled around him, yet its pain only caused his resolve to harden.

Xenon had to act, to fulfill his most ancient Vow and protect the balance of the world, and with a roar that shook the very foundations of the mountain, its guardian unleashed his painfilled fury.

Wings beat with tremendous force, sending gusts of hot air through the chamber, and the Pyroviles turned; glowing eyes widening as they beheld the wrath of the mountain's most ancient secret and primal guardian.

Xenon's claws slashed through the air before the Pyroviles could react, tearing through their defences like their stone and rock bodies were nothing but parchment; slashing and shredding with each and every swipe. His breath, a searing torrent of fire and magick, engulfed the aliens, overwhelming their life-stealing abilities and reducing them to nothing more than molten slag. The human accomplice with them tried to flee, but Xenon's tail swept out, knocking the mortal to the ground; golden eyes burning with righteous fury as the dragon brought his massive form to bear down on the intruders, his victorious roar echoing through the caverns.

The mountain shook with increasing violence as the wrath of its guardian was unleashed. Molten rock, like a fiery river, surged through its veins, the pressure building towards an inevitable eruption. Yet, amidst the rage of the volcano's, Xenon's heart continued to ache with pain; the knowledge of the destruction that would soon befall the kingdom he'd sworn to protect weighing heavily upon his soul.

But the dragon knew that there was to be no other way, and as Vesuvius' once snow-capped peaks burned with raging fires, glowing with an ominous red light, Xenon burst from the depths of the earth, his massive form erupting from the mountain's summit like a comet scorching its way through space.

His roar echoed across the land, its sound reverberating with both his profound sorrow and relentless fury, as the volcano's eruption became nigh unstoppable; a force of nature that would come to completely cleanse the world of the Pyroviles' corruption. However, and as he rose high into the sky, amidst the chaos and destruction, something caught Xenon's attention.

It was miniscule, almost unnoticeable amidst the overwhelming emotions he was currently feeling, but something tugged at his heart - at his very soul.

And it was then he saw it, a small yet powerful bubble of magick shimmering near the base of the mountain; magick that, Xenon did realise with no little surprise, was being drawn from his domain - magick stolen much in the way of the Pyroviles.

Rage reignited within Xenon, and his wings collapsed, folding against his side as he suddenly - dropped; falling like a stone through the mountain's fury. And with an almighty growl that resonated through the tumultuous sky, his wings snapped back open, breaking his descent.

The ground trembled as he landed with a thunderous crash, his massive form towering over the small yet powerful bubble of stolen magick that shimmered at the foot of his ancient home, and golden eyes were ablaze with righteous fury as they locked onto the source of that stolen power; a... witch?

Xenon's breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the mortal female. Her petite form stood tall with defiance, her hands outstretched and palms facing the sky as she chanted ancient incantations - channelling the very magick of the mountain through her slight form. Yet her eyes, a shade of blue so light that they could have been stolen from the very skies, seemed to reach into Xenon's heart; a heart that had lain dormant for centuries, as they met his gilded gaze - met his golden eyes that were alight with the knowledge that she was indeed drawing power from his very domain - siphoning its powers much like that of the Pyroviles and using it as her own.

But a thread of confusion tempered the dragon's rage.

Something about this slip of a mortal was different, something in the way her presence rippled through the fabric of the lands - of Time itself.

And then he noticed it - the scales adorning her left forearm, shimmering with a cerulean-blue that was an exact match to Xenon's own.

The dragon's eyes widened with shock, his massive head jerking back in surprise.

This mortal, she was not just a witch; she was connected to Xenon, to his magick in a way no other had been before - in a way the dragon could scarcely comprehend.

Though, and before Xenon could thing further upon his discovery, he startled as a voice cut through his mind; clear, resonant, and echoing with a familiarity that had his heart aching anew.

'Elderan,' the witch did dare to call, using his True name. Yet the sound of it, so rarely spoken; forgotten by those who now did tread the earth, pierced through his fury. 'Please, I know you are angry, and I understand why. The Pyroviles threatened the balance you swore to protect, but I beg you to look beyond your rage and see reason.'

The girl's plea, filled with urgency and raw emotion, resonated deep within Xenon, and he hesitated; wings partially unfurled whilst his breath, naught but smouldering heat, wafted over her protective bubble. He leaned in once more, looking closer at not just the witch, but at the very strands of time that wove around her, and discovered with no little curiosity that she was there, in the present, yet had also been inside that strange machine deep within the mountain, caught in some kind of temporal flux.

The witch, she was not of this time, yet she existed in it; a paradox that did tug at Xenon's ancient senses.

And her scales - his scales...

'Who are you?' Xenon demanded, his voice but a rumble of thunder that sliced through the mortal's mind. And he watched with growing curiosity as her blue eyes widened with surprise; as if she hadn't actually considered he'd actually reply.

'M-my name is Eithne,' she revealed, her mental voice coming through shaken yet resolute. 'I come from a time far from this one, have been sent back to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The Pyroviles, they sought to destroy this world, but I swear to you, I mean Pompeii or your mountain no harm. I am only trying to save them - to save us all.'

Xenon's mind reeled with the implications of what the witch, Eithne, had revealed. She had somehow travelled through time, had been sent back by some unknown party with a piece of him within her. And her presence, her knowledge, her determination, along with her fear all mingled into one complex tapestry of emotions that Xenon found he could not ignore; golden eyes softening as his raged ebbed, perceiving upon the truth of her words - at the very flickering currents of time that did surround her.

Had he too not sworn to protect the balance of the world - to guard the secrets of the mountain and protect those who did live upon its lands?

With a deep, sulphurous breath, the dragon came to a decision.

Without another word spoken - mental or otherwise - Xenon extended a single claw; gently touching upon the edge of the magical bubble protecting the witch and those with her. The enchantment shimmered under his touch, responding to his presence, his magick - and a connection was suddenly formed; a bond of trust and understanding that did transcend Time itself.

Eithne's eyes widened as she felt Xenon's powers mingling with her own, helping to strengthen her resolve.

'Together, we shall shield those who cannot shield themselves,' the dragon's voice rumbled through her mind, filled with a determination that mingled with his genuine curiosity. 'Though we must act quickly. The mountain's fury cannot be held back forever.'

Blue stared into gold, Eithne swallowing heavily before she nodded her agreement; fear being swiftly replaced by a newfound sense of purpose and determination. She closed her eyes, her features scrunching up as she concentrated; pushing out even more with her borrowed powers, feeling them intertwine with Xenon's own ancient magick - and the protective bubble expanded, encompassing more of the terrified villages who had sought refuge near the base of the mountain.

As the ground shook with increasing violence and the sky darkened with ash and fire, Xenon threw his head back and let loose and almighty roar; not of anger, but that in declaration of his Vow. And with a powerful spread of his wings, he moved to fully shield Eithne and those their combined powers were protecting; his massive form casting a second protective shadow over them all as he began to draw upon the very powers of his domain.

The protective bubble rippled before suddenly expanding, the combined magick of dragon and witch weaving together in a seamless dance of relentless power and protective might. The eruption raged around them, the ground continuing to tremble underfoot, yet within Xenon's embrace, they were protected - safe. The mountain's volcanic fury could not touch them, the dragon's presence helping to temper its destructive forces.

Eithne's eyes snapped open the instant she realised what it was the dragon was doing, her light-blue eyes wide with awe and gratitude. And she whispered her heartfelt thanks, the echo of her words trembling with emotion in his mind.

'Thank you, Elderan. Thank you for saving them.'

Xenon lowered his great head so that he could meet her gaze, his golden eyes glowing with a mixture of sorrow and hope. 'I protect my own,' he revealed with an exhale, his warm breath tickling the scales adorning her arm. His gaze flickered to the unusual sight before returning to those sky-blue eyes. 'And you, Eithne Þēodnes, are more connected to me than I can hardly perceive.'


Universe (D)+01 | Plane of Mortal Men
Class-Five Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/R3-O2
Cirque des Mōr Rēowa | Swynford, Alba Highlands | 979 a.C.n.

Lights flickered, the cerulean-blue scales of the dragon and the fiery eruption of the volcano fading as its illusional existence was broken; dissolving into wisps of shadowed smoke as an arena and the illusionist who'd created such a scene came back into focus.

Gasps and applause echoed through the watching crowd, children's faces alight with wonder whilst adults shared nostalgic smiles, as the final images of Xenon and Eithne, locked in their protective bubble, faded into the aether. And the Master Illusionist standing at centre stage, a wiry wizard dressed in a sequined jacket, took a deep bow, his arms spread wide in a gesture of flourish.

"Thank you, thank you, witches and gentle-wizards," he called out, his voice carrying easily through the enchanted room. "And thus concludes the tale of Lord Xenon and his Lady Eithne, a story of bravery, magick, and an ancient bond that saved a kingdom."

Among the audience, a young girl with fiery curls and wide yet curious silver-grey eyes sat enraptured. Eithne Prince, barely seven years old, clutched tightly at her mother's hand, her excitement scarcely contained.

"Did you hear that?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she tugged at her father's sleeve with her other hand. "The witch was named Eithne! Just like me!"

Her parents could only share a look, her mother smiling as her father rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement.

"We did hear that, sweetheart," Althea replied warmly, her gaze returning to her overly-excited daughter as she added, "But did you know that I named you after that very witch in question?"

If it were possible, Eithne's eyes grew even wider at her mother's admission, and she asked, "Really, Mama?" her voice filled with her growing awe. "Am I really named after her?!"

"Aye, little lass," her father interjected as he reached over to ruffle her curls affectionately. "Yer mother loved that story so much that she wanted to pass on a bit of its magick to you. And now you see why. It's a tale of courage and adventure, just like the spark we see in you."

"Your grandmother used to tell it to me before bed," Althea agreed when Eithne looked to her for confirmation. "And when you were born, I just knew that you had to have a name that was just as magical and brave."

"Now, gather close and listen well, for this next tale is one of Dark Magick and a brave soul who dared to challenge it; a story of a sickly handmaiden and the covetous queen she once willingly served."

Eithne turned back to the stage as the illusionist started another tale, his voice weaving an intricate web of magick and mystery. Yet the six-year-old could hardly contain her excitement, her small body almost vibrating with the newfound connection to his previous story, and she asked, "What happened next, Mama?" not wanting to miss a moment of the unfolding narrative despite the tale having shifted. "Did the dragon and the witch save everyone?"

Beside her, Althea took a deep and unseen breath, exchanging another glance with her husband. The tale of Xenon - of Elderan and the witch known as Eithne, it was one of the witch's mist cherished, yet the truth behind it was far more complex and less comforting than the whimsical performance on stage. Though she leaned down, plucking her daughter from her seat; smiling at the slight shriek of surprise Eithne released at the action, before she settled her down on her lap; an arm coming to wrap around her waist for both comfort and to ensure she wouldn't fall.

"Once, in a kingdom shrouded in shadow and mystery, there lived a young girl named Enya. She as a kind and gentle child, but her health was frail, and she spent many days confined to her bed, dreaming of a life beyond the four walls of her home."

"Eithne, my love," Althea began, speaking softly and causing her daughter's expression to become curious almost instantaneously; the girl seemingly knowing that whatever she was about to be told, it was something serious. "The tale of Xenon and Eithne is indeed filled with bravery and magick. But it is also a reminder that not all tales have simple endings."

"What do you mean, Mama?"

"The story we heard tonight, like all stories... they often change over time," her mother explained softly, smiling despite the way her heart swelled with both love a good tale and the weight of the truth it did hide. "The one we heard tonight is a beautiful version, but the real tale has more depth and lesson."

"The kingdom was ruled by a queen whose heart was as cold as the darkest winter night, a 'mistress of evil' whose Dark Magicks and power were feared by all. The queen's ambition knew no bounds, and she sought to claim dominion over all the lands, no matter the cost."

"You see, lass," Eldric added as he swapped seats, sliding into his daughter's and beside his wife before wrapping an arm around both. "Xenon and Eithne did save many people that day, but their story did not end with the eruption of the mountain. They made great sacrifices to protect others, and their bravery came with a cost."

"What kind of cost?" Eithne questioned, her eyebrows furrowing as her young mind tried to grasp the concept.

"Enya, unaware of the true nature of the queen's magick, served her faithfully. But as the handmaiden's health worsened, she began to see glimpses of the queen's dastardly deeds. She witnessed the suffering of those who fell victim to the queen's insidious spells, and her heart ached with the desire to help."

Althea tightened her arm around her daughter. "The magick they used to save everyone from the wrath of the mountain required a lot of their own energy. They poured their hearts and souls into that protective bubble, ensuring the safety of those within. But in doing so, Eithne's spirit was said to have become part of the very magick of the land, and Xenon... well, he disappeared."

Eithne's eyes widened even as her expression fell, understanding dawning upon her young features. "So, they didn't get to live happily ever after?"

"Not in the way you might wish," her father interposed with a gentle shake of his head. "But that doesn't make their story any less important or beautiful. They became legends because they did what was necessary to protect others, even if it meant they couldn't be together in the way they might have wished."

"One fateful night, the queen fell gravely ill; rumours already spreading through the castle that her own magick had turned against her. And desperate and delirious, she summoned her ever-faithful handmaiden to her chamber, demanded a cure for her affliction."

"It is said that Eithne's spirit protected the lands she had saved for generations to come," Althea continued for her husband. "While Xenon, though continuing to uphold his Vow and protecting the mountain's secrets, travelled far and wide; seeking the one whose his scales did adorn."

Eithne's silver-grey eyes brightened with possibility. "Did he find her?"

Her mother could only offer a gentle smile, brushing a wayward curl from her forehead. "That part of the story, my love, is still being written. You see, the witch of whom Xenon had seen standing inside that protective bubble was from a time that had not yet passed. She was from the future, a future where their paths are said to be destined to cross again."

"So, they will meet again?"

"Aye, they will. Xenon is still said to be out there, embarking on a journey guided by the very magicks of the land and the bond they did share. Though separated by time, their connection was- is very strong, and the dragon knew that one day, he would find the witch who wore his scales, the Eithne of his future."

"And just like in the story, magick has a way of bringing those who are meant to be together back to each other." Eldric tightened his arm around his wife and daughter, his voice soft and filled with an undeniable love. "Xenon's journey is one of hope and determination; a quest, they say, to find his other half."

"Does that mean, even if they weren't together at the end of the story..." Eithne's face scrunched up as she tried to make sense of what she was being told. "...that their tale is still not over?"

"Exactly, love," her mother replied with a smile. "Their story is one that continues even to this day, filled with new adventures and discoveries. Xenon's search is a testament to their bond, showing all that true connections can indeed transcend the very boundaries of time and space."

"Enya, despite her naivety and own frailty, knew that the queen's sickness was the result of her own dark deeds. And she was quick to realise that the only way to save the kingdom and herself was to put an end to the queen's reign of terror."

Eithne's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, her young mind needing a moment to process the story's deeper meaning. "They were still heroes, then, even if they didn't get a happy ending?"

"Absolutely," Eldric confirmed. "Their heroism lies in their willingness to do what was right, even when it was hard. They show us that true courage often comes with great sacrifices."

"And that is why I named you Eithne," Althea interjected. "I wanted you to carry a piece of their bravery and magick with you. To remind you that even in difficult times, you have the strength within to make a difference."

Silver-grey eyes widened before sparkling with pride and determination; Eithne straightening her shoulders as she looked between her parents. "I want to be brave like them, Mama, Papa," she told them. "I want to help people too."

Althea's heart swelled with pride, and she hugged her daughter tightly. "I know you will, my love. You have the same spark of magick and bravery that Eithne had."

"Enya agreed to her queen's wish and concocted a potion, but not to cure the monarch, but to end her life. And despite her reasonings, her heart was heavy as she poured the potion into the queen's goblet, praying to the gods that this act of defiance would free the kingdom from darkness."

As they spoke, the illusionist continued to weave his tale, his voice carrying through the enchanted room. The flickering lights and wisps of magick danced around the arena, casting an ethereal glow over the crowd, and Eithne's attention was drawn back to the happenings on stage.

Nestled between her parents, her silver-grey eyes alight with a renewed sense of purpose, she however asked, "Can we stay and listen to the next story? Maybe there's another dragon."

Eldric chuckled, sharing an amused glance with his wife. "Of course, we can, lass," he agreed, ruffling his daughter's hair once more. "Stories are how we learn about the world and our place in it. Each one has their own lesson to teach us."

"And remember, Eithne," Althea reminded, "You have your own story to write, and just like the tales of old, your journey will be filled with challenges and triumphs. But we will be here, every step of the way."

The young girl smiled, her heart filled with the warmth of her parents' love and the inspiration of the very legends she did so cherish. And as the illusionist's voice continued to reveal another tale of treachery, magick, and adventure, Eithne Prince was ready to listen and dream; her mind already well on its way to crafting the first chapters of her own story, one that she knew would be filled with its own bravery and magick.

"But there was more to the queen's power than Dark Magick alone, a secret she did hold dear and unlike any other before. It was one that would soon come to light, however, for as Enya's potion took effect and the queen breathed her last, an instrument of great power and malevolence rolled free from her grasp..."