Ivren remembered his recent visits, always looking for new and old information, trying to get a hold on the world. A hatred ignited inside them, a flame blacker than their scales. Their kin, gone. Gone! The traitor would burn for that.
"He dares to touch my kin! One word, hatchling, and we come for him! Let him taste the fury of our flames and boil his blood!" roared Eous.
"Please, father, let us try our hand first. The Betrayer of kin is alone, his fellow traitors dead. Lone prey."
Eous grumbled. "For now. Steorra-heart- and soul-sister asked me to tell you: return from Alagaësia-world if it becomes too dangerous. Do it."
"Of course, father."
The boy - young man had looked at him in what could only be described as friendly suspicion. The first impulse had been to reassure him in the Ancient language, but he had stopped before a word left his lips. It would have been a bit too strange, too attention grabbing. The older man, though, had a dangerous feel. So, he had not said anything. For now.
Still, that only weeks later he'd find out that this particular young man was the last free rider, as people so liked to call him, a strange coincide. Wyrda? Hopefully not.
With the knowledge came the urge to share the truth with him and Saphira – a fitting name for such a beauty – of lands far off, where dragons still ruled the sky and earth, of lost riders and dragons, yearning to see all the world had to offer, and that they were not alone, for it was cruel to be alone in the world, last of your kind and your only kinsmen seeking to harm you. Despite his need he had stayed quiet. Nainar would reveal himself if he wished to do so.
War had come over Alagaësia like a bloody wave of fire and doom. Towns burned left and right, corpses arranged in a feast for crows and people stared at every stranger with fear. Fyrn laust gaezka. This place, this cursed place, was worse. Perhaps even the worst. Alone the view screamed of death and agony. A veil of pitch like shadow covered the area beneath ragged mountaintops, four of them, great and ominous. Helgrind was it called, this cursed place. What an ominous name.
And he'd go right in there.
It was insanity born of need, a hunger, a fury only extinguished by blood. When Ivren first heard and listened to the worshippers he had been horrified, but disinterested. Then had come the understanding. Ra'zac. Fucking man-eaters. As if he was going to let them get away while he could drench his sword in their blood. They used these people, used them all.
The ceremony was macabre sight. Blood sprayed, an arm was lost, an offering left. Gruesome. His scars ached. Rain? Ivren waited, anticipation bright in his veins, while hiding inside a particular nasty rock cliff.
Soon, a soft rainfall started. Ivren pulled his waterproof cloak tighter. Magic, a lovely thing and so useful. His mind poked the wall. Before him the black stone betrayed no entrance. He would force it to. The ragged rock stayed quiet, white veins shimmering in the moonlight. It made him smile. Beauty could truly be found anywhere, could it not?
Death filled the Helgrind, a thick tar-like cloak of murder and doom; despite it a stubborn patch of flowers clung to life. It made his fingers itch for coal and paper. Hm. Why not? Ivren climbed up higher. Don't look down, don't look. The magic around him reassured only the worst of his nerves. It was worth it. The sharp ragged cliff fell into endless shadows, only the lack of stars told their existence, the moon a pale beauty in the sky, full and beaconing his gaze towards him. The plants slept, buds closed. Ivren brushed his fingers against them.
His sketch could not get wet. Ivren pulled the cloak further over him, leaned forward, so that it covered him and a patch of ground. His strokes were fast, a spell cast to stop the sketch from blurring and then -
Wait. He narrowed his eyes. Something was off. A figment of starlight danced on the silver-sharp edge of a rock. How? His own body should stop – oh. Oh! He suppressed laughter. Yes. What a catch, what guliä.
The ledge was even higher, but he prevailed. His fingers sunk through the granite like water. An illusion. Behind him the view into the night was free. Nuanen. Mold and decay filled the air, deep scratches marked the floor, a clear sign of Lethrblaka. His cloak was adjusted with a few straps here and there, his sword eager in his hands and a spell on his lips. Just in case. Who knew, they might hide around the corner. The steady dripping of water became soon a background sound in his search. Every tunnel looked the same. A good place for an ambush, that was what he needed.
Ah, this looked good. "Moi stenr" he whispered . The stone wobbled and grew, the entrance became smaller. The shadows deepened. Good. He unsheathed his sword. Waiting time.
Clack. Ivren halted. Was that – yes. It was. He licked his lips and turned his back to a wall. Black insectiod eyes met his eyes. Ivren stared at them for one seemingly long moment, then he grinned. A screech. The lethrblaka snapped their beaks at him, useless, for their bodies were too big for the entrance. Ivren smirked. The ra'zac shared a look, clicking and hissing. Their movements were lightning quick, two slashes at him, but Ivren was just as quick to move away. An inhale and exhale. The breath did nothing.
"It will be a joy to kill your kind again. You do make the best prey."
Ivren focused on warmth and heat and life, the sunset over the ocean, the shattered light against a crystal. Like all sentient beings, Ra'zac were susceptible of manipulation. They never ever considered the possibility though.
"Prey?! We are not prey, you -"
Ivren closed his eyes. "Garjzla solus". Bright light came into being, a dip into his reserves but not too much. The Ra'zac hissed, stumbled back, stunned. The light faded. The lethrblaka screeched at him. Oh, that was fear! Delightful. He bared his teeth at the Ra'zac in a rather draconic manner. His tongue tasted the air. It nearly made him vomit, burnt flesh and decay.
He drove his blade into the chest of the first one, a loud crack and then, death. Meanwhile the second one re-awoke, cursing him with every word.
"Naina!" A second wave of light rushed towards the Ra'zac. Focus. "Daufr edtha um tíma! Sund hávaer!"
The ra'zac twitched once, then became still. It was as strange as always, to be suddenly cut off from sound. Ivren beheaded it before it could wake up again. Just to make sure, he cut the others head off as well. Should he set it on fire? Nah. He let the corpses rest.
The tunnels continued, opened up to empty cells and finally then, to the eggs, or rather egg. Ivren whispered a death-spell over them. Perhaps it was cruel, to judge on before being born, but he'd faced to many of them to care. Ivren scratched the scar on his neck. It always itched around Ra'zac.
Ivren sensed spell work, tightly wound around a stone door and set into the granite walls. Strange. Ra'zac had no hoards. Strong spell work at that, very strong and old, already weakened by time. What a mystery. He had to solve it. Ivren kneeled before the door, his gloved hands on the floor. At first he tried to usual phrases, "ládrin, moi, ach ládrin hurdh, deloi galdr vaetna?"
Fuck. It wasn't reacting. What was in there? Now he really wanted to see. Ivren breathed in, focused and sung. Hours had to pass, his knees ached and buckled when he tried to get up, his mouth dry and his stomached rumbled.
Finally, the door opened with a groan. His reserves were gone, barely enough to cling to life. Ivren shoved his fingers into his pouch and searched. Yes, food, good. Stale bread never tasted better.
In the middle of the room was a green stone. No, not a stone. An dragon egg? An dragon egg! Ivren swallowed. What had he done? What had he – well. Did it matter? He might as well finish it and steal the egg. Poor hatchling, having to stay here with Ra'zac and kin-killers.
"Eous? I need your help."
The dragon hissed. "What is it?"
Ivren shared the memory. A dull roar echoed through the connection and then joy and laughter.
"Well done."
Ivren drank from the endless well of power, replenshing his own energy and shattered the last spells around the egg. Without doubt an alarm would be sound. He grabbed the egg, felt the spells on his gloves burn, but hold. Out of here, now!