Summary
Merlin, Morgana, Kilgharrah, and Aithusa discover the realm of the lost dragons, but an unexpected revelation changes their lives forever.
Chapter 76 Quest for Evanescen: The Awakening
Rarely did Merlin remain in the aether for any length of time, nearly a blink from one destination to the other. Golden tendrils flashed around them now, pulsing with a primeval rhythm throughout the boundless void. The space throbbed like a living, breathing entity, pressing against the very essence of Merlin's being. Navigating it required great focus and control, lest one become lost in its fathomless expanse.
Holding Morgana close as they sat behind one of Kilgharrah's great horns, Merlin was acutely aware of her presence in this ethereal realm. He could feel her heart beating in sync with his own, a sensation that was both comforting and unnerving. The intimacy of their position, with her body pressed against his and her warmth seeping into his skin, stirred a tangle of emotions within him—a blend of old, familiar affection, lingering uncertainty, and a growing sense of connection that he couldn't quite define—or perhaps dared not examine too closely.
Aithusa soared alongside them, her white scales gleaming in the golden glow cast by the shimmering tendrils of energy. Merlin noticed a distinct change in her demeanor. The young dragon's eyes sparkled with unbridled joy, her movements more playful and exuberant than usual. Despite the perilous nature of the void surrounding them. She dipped and twirled in the aether, her tail whipping behind her in a display of pure delight. Merlin marveled at how the magical currents of the aether seemed to awaken something primal in the young dragon, as if she recognized this realm from some ancestral memory.
Aithusa's joyful response to the aether as a favorable omen to Merlin, deciding the moment had come to attempt the connection. He leaned closer to Morgana, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he spoke. "Morgana," he said softly, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. "Reach out to Aithusa." She nodded, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed upon the magical currents swirling around them and the young dragon flying gracefully beside Kilgharrah. "But don't go too deep. I'm here now and will help strengthen your connection."
"All right," she breathed, her fingers tightening slightly on Kilgharrah's scales A tremor passed through her body, mirroring the flutter in Merlin's chest—that mingled surge of exhilaration and trepidation coursing through them both.
Inhaling deeply, he opened his mind to Aithusa, extending an invitation for the young dragon to join their connection. At first—surprisingly—he felt only the gentle brush of Morgana's consciousness against his own, her presence like cool water flowing into hidden caverns, illuminating corners of his mind he rarely exposed to others.
Morgana? his voice whispered in his mind, a gentle summons on the edges of his perception, though sensing how great her magic amplified the connection, even with it subdued by Hades' Grip. This shouldn't be possible and yet... Kilgharrah was right. Can you feel how your presence strengthens the bond?
Yes, she replied, her thoughts intertwining with his, reaching outward together to the young dragon. Aithusa, we're here.
Only silence – a vast expanse of nothingness that stretched out before them.
Aithusa, Merlin called gently. Show us what you see.
Gradually, a third presence began to emerge, a bright spark of curiosity and wonder that could only be Aithusa. Like a sunrise breaking through the clouds, an image began to take shape in their shared consciousness. Merlin's mind floated, untethered from worldly concerns, his thoughts spreading like a blanket of lavender as tension melted away. A peaceful surrender consumed him before his consciousness coalesced into brilliant auroras.
Morgana gasped, laughing with joy, the sound like a sparkle piercing through the ethereal dreamscape of their shared vision. Good, Aithusa, she said, her inner voice trembling with excitement. Now reach out to Kilgharrah.
Tremors rippled through Morgana's frame against him, her body betraying the intensity of emotions surging between them all. Merlin's arms instinctively tightened around her waist, drawing her closer until her back pressed firmly against his chest. The protective gesture offered his warmth and steadiness as an anchor amid the swirling cosmic connection they navigated together, even as her presence against him returned that same comfort—their mutual strength flowing between them like water through connected vessels, each sustaining the other.
Extending his dragonlord gift outward, Merlin cast his call like a beacon in the vast expanse of the aether. Kilgharrah, he called, his mental voice carrying the timeless command of his bloodline. We're ready. Focus your thoughts on the lost ones. Reach out to them, let them feel our presence and our purpose.
Kilgharrah's acknowledgment vibrated beneath them as he surged forward. The great dragon's might pulsed through their mental link like a tidal wave, parting the very fabric of the aether as if in deference to Kilgharrah's presence. His majestic form carved through the expanse, leaving rippling waves of golden energy in his wake.
Merlin then turned his awareness inward, tapping the wellspring that resided within him, a gift from his dragonlord heritage. Energy thrummed through his veins, pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. With a deep breath, he gathered this power and propelled it outward, projecting his consciousness like tendrils of silver lightning across the vastness of the aether, seeking the distant sparks of dragon magic scattered across realms.
The golden tendrils of the aether suddenly coiled around Merlin's consciousness, tightening like living vines, both foreign and familiar to his dragonlord senses. His temples throbbed with building pressure as silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft whisper of Morgana's breathing and the gentle rustling of the dragons' wings. Then, like stars blinking into existence in a night sky, Merlin felt them – the lost dragons – their minds touching his own, cautious yet curious, their presence a glimmering tapestry of primeval wisdom and untold secrets.
Who calls to us? a female voice spoke, ancient and powerful.
Anouilh, Merlin hailed in the timeless dragon-tongue. I am Emrys, last of the dragonlords. I come with Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon of Camelot; Aithusa, our youngling, and Lady Morgana, a high priestess of the Old Religion. We seek to bring our kin back to the world they once called home.
Then came a ripple of emotions surging through his mind and body, causing him to flinch – surprise, fear… and a spark of hope. The world of men is not kind to our kind, the voice said. We have found safety in Evanescen, a sanctuary where we have healed and thrived.
We understand, Merlin said, his heart aching for the pain the dragons had endured. But times are changing. Magic has returned to the realm, and there are many who would welcome you back to our skies.
A pause, a considering silence. Then, a thread of iridescent silver manifested before them, pulsing with its own inner heartbeat unlike the swirling gold of the aether. It cut through the surrounding magic like a river of moonlight through darkness. Follow this path, the voice said. It will bring you to the portal of Evanescen. There, we will speak more, but do not hold to hope, Emrys.
Beneath them, Kilgharrah released a triumphant roar, his powerful voice reverberating through the aether. Aithusa trilled in response, her young eyes wide with wonder and anticipation. The two dragons flew forward, following the shimmering trail through the aether, their wings stirring the golden tendrils that danced around them.
Merlin's heart thundered in his chest as the magnitude of what they'd accomplished crashed over him. A path to the lost dragons—something no dragonlord had achieved in centuries. "By the gods," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, "we've done what my father could only have dreamed of." His arms instinctively tightened around Morgana, overwhelmed by the need to anchor himself to something real in this moment of impossible wonder. "They've shown us the way to their sanctuary... after all this time."
Morgana let out a delighted laugh, her head falling back to lean against his shoulder. She twisted sideways, her eyes alight with wonder, meeting his gaze with a wordless understanding that transcended their complicated history. In this moment of discovery, they were simply two souls united in awe at the impossible.
The sight of her transformed by pure joy stole the air from his lungs, but the aether surrounding them began to fracture and reform. The golden threads dissolved into ribbons of color—cobalt bleeding into crimson, emerald spiraling through violet—reality itself surrendering to ancient magic. The boundaries between worlds thinned, grew transparent, then vanished entirely.
In a heartbeat of blinding brilliance, they emerged into Evanescen. The otherworldly sanctuary stretched before them—a realm crafted from dreams and magic. The air vibrated with sounds that Merlin felt before he fully comprehended – deep, resonant bellows that shook his very bones, and high, piercing trills that seemed to shatter the air like crystal. A symphony of draconic voices surrounded them, a chorus speaking of power and wonder.
Dragons!
Everywhere. Their magnificent forms filled the skies of Evanescen, creatures of every size and hue soaring above a landscape of unearthly beauty. Their scales caught the ethereal light, transforming each beast into a living mosaic of jewel-like colors. Some rode the thermals with wings fully extended, embodiments of perfect freedom. Others perched regally upon obsidian cliffs, tails curled around their massive bodies as they basked in the glow of the dancing auroras.
Merlin's breath abandoned him, his vision taking in the magnificence around them. Crystalline pools reflected impossibly perfect skies where lavender heavens pulsed with ghostly auroras. Jagged obsidian spires rose like sentinels, their glossy surfaces capturing and transforming light. The landscape breathed with life unknown to mortal realms—flora that seemed to whisper as they passed, their unique forms adorned with droplets of liquid silver, ethereal willows bending in winds that carried the scent of magic itself.
He'd known only Kilgharrah and then Aithusa. Never had he imagined such numbers, such variety, such overwhelming majesty. This wasn't merely a refuge – it was a kingdom of dragons, preserved beyond human reach.
In his embrace, Morgana trembled, her fingertips pressed against her lips as if to contain emotions too vast for words. "All this time," she finally managed, her voice a reverent hush, "they were here, thriving while we thought them lost forever." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she reached toward the sky in an unconscious gesture of longing.
Merlin wet his lips, released a long, slow breath. "Yeah. I'd better find more dragonlords… and soon."
Several dragons veered toward them, curiosity evident in their graceful approach. As they soared alongside, Merlin noticed Aithusa's entire demeanor transform—her neck extended, wings beating with newfound vigor, her small form practically vibrating with excitement as she exchanged rapid bursts of dragon-speech with their escorts. She seemed to understand their calls intuitively, despite never having known her own kind. Short, melodic exchanges guided their small party toward a valley that defied description in its strange and wondrous splendor.
In the heart of the valley, an expansive onyx sand stretched out before them, its dark, glittering surface broken by the occasional crystal pool, each emitting a soft, ethereal glow. Jagged obsidian formations rose from the sand like ancient monoliths, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to dance and shift in the shimmering light of the auroras above.
Around the perimeter of the valley, strange, twisted trees loomed, their bark glistening with an eerie, silver sheen. Delicate, luminous flowers bloomed along their branches, pulsing softly in mesmerizing shades of violet and indigo. The air filled with the gentle tinkling of crystalline leaves, their music intertwining with the symphony of dragon voices across the landscape.
Kilgharrah circled once, his massive wings causing ripples in the pools below before he descended in a graceful spiral. Aithusa followed, her smaller form darting with the exuberance of youth. As they touched down upon the onyx sand, it yielded beneath their weight like velvet before settling once more. Merlin and Morgana dismounted on shaky legs, their feet sinking into the warm, responsive surface. From this vantage point, the true scale of the dragon sanctuary revealed itself—dozens of magnificent creatures gathered throughout the valley. Some lazed contentedly in the shade of towering obsidian formations, while others splashed playfully in the crystal pools, their scales transforming the liquid into dancing prisms of light. An ineffable sense of harmony pervaded everything, as though this realm existed in perfect balance, crafted by ancient magic as a haven where dragons could exist in their purest form, untouched by the scars of human conflict.
Welcome to Evanescen, the ancient voice spoke once more. Merlin's gaze swept upward to behold a magnificent dragon circling above, her scales the color of burnished gold. The last sanctuary of our kind.
A hush fell over the gathered dragons as she descended. Her wings, spanning wider than Kilgharrah's, cast rippling shadows across the landscape as she glided down with breathtaking precision. Each movement embodied grace that belied her immense size. Her golden scales captured and amplified the aurora light, transforming her into a living sun against the lavender sky, her radiance commanding reverence from all who beheld her.
Merlin and Morgana stood transfixed as she settled her massive form onto the onyx sand beside Kilgharrah. The ground trembled beneath their feet, small waves rippling outward through the black grains. The air around them changed—grew charged with her presence—carrying the crisp, clean scent of untouched wilderness, a reminder of the primordial nature of this sacred place.
The female dragon inclined her head in a regal gesture of greeting, her eyes pools of unfathomable wisdom. As her gaze fell upon Aithusa, however, a flicker of surprise and something else – fear perhaps, or awe – crossed her features. Her large blue eyes then found him and Morgana, tiny humans in the midst of might and splendor.
Then, she spoke, her voice infused with both authority and warmth. "I am Vyransa, elder of the dragons. Welcome, Emrys, last of the dragonlords."
Merlin bowed low in return, suddenly aware of his humanity in this realm of dragons. "I am honored beyond words to stand in your presence, Vyransa," he said, his voice remaining steady despite the tremor in his hands. "This is Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, who endured the darkest days of the purge when so many others fell, held captive and alone for over 20 years."
Merlin watched as Kilgharrah lowered his massive head before Vyransa, a gesture he had witnessed only in the most profound moments—when Merlin had first claimed his dragonlord birthright, and later when meeting King Arthur. Something profound passed between the two great creatures—recognition, perhaps, or memories shared through dragon-magic that transcended words. Merlin sensed the weight of history in their locked gaze, feeling like an intruder witnessing something deeply personal.
"To survive the reign of Uther Dragonbane is an achievement few can claim," she said, her tone softening. "Many who escaped the Pendragon's wrath sought refuge in our realm—some still speak your name with reverence, Kilgharrah. But others..." Her voice faltered. "Many arrived with wounds too grievous for even our healing pools to mend, their spirits as broken as their bodies."
"Uther Dragonbane is dead," Kilgharrah roared across the valley.
The proclamation sent ripples through the gathered dragons. Some reared their heads, unleashing jets of flame that pierced the lavender sky. Others stamped their massive feet, causing the onyx sand to shift and dance beneath them. The younger ones trilled and clicked, the sound spreading through the sanctuary like wildfire. Merlin felt their collective response in his bones—relief, vindication, and an undercurrent of lingering grief for all they had lost.
As the commotion settled, Kilgharrah's posture relaxed. He drew a deep breath, his voice now controlled but no less intense, his gaze sweeping across the assembled dragons. "For twenty years I hung chained beneath Camelot, the last of my kind—or so I believed. Each day I called out with my mind, searching for any echo of our brethren. Only silence answered. Hope forsook me." Kilgharrah's voice was unlike anything Merlin had ever heard from him—stripped of its usual cryptic detachment, raw with long-buried grief. "To stand here now, to know they did not all perish... Vyransa, you have given me back a piece of my soul I thought forever lost."
The naked emotion in Kilgharrah's words caused Merlin to look toward Morgana. In her unexpected tears, Merlin saw his own conflicting thoughts reflected—the pain of isolation and the sting of betrayal, loss endured and happiness gained.
Vyransa lowered her massive head until her eyes were level with Kilgharrah's. "Your suffering honors us all, Great One," she said, her voice gentle yet carrying to every corner of the gathering. "Your endurance ensured our kind's wisdom survived in the mortal realm when we feared it lost." A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled dragons, their bodies swaying in a gesture of respect.
After a reverent pause, Merlin gathered himself and swept an arm towards Morgana, his expression solemn with reverence for what was unfolding before them. "This is the Lady Morgana Pendragon, High Priestess of the Old Religion. Servant of the Triple Goddess."
At the name "Pendragon," a ripple of agitation swept through the gathered dragons. Wings rustled and tails lashed against the onyx sand. Several of the younger dragons hissed, their eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. Even Vyransa's posture stiffened, her massive form rising slightly as if preparing to defend.
Morgana curtsied gracefully, unflinching before their collective wariness. "It is an honor, Vyransa. I'm humbled to be in the presence of such wisdom."
"Pendragon?" The dragon's voice carried centuries of distrust. "And a High Priestess of the Old Religion? These paths rarely converge."
"Uther Dragonbane was my father " Morgana acknowledged, her chin lifting with quiet defiance. "I opposed him from the moment I could understand his hatred of my kin. I am not he." Her hand moved unconsciously to Aithusa, a gesture that spoke more eloquently than words of her allegiance.
The tense atmosphere lingered for a moment before Vyransa's posture relaxed, her keen eyes assessing Morgana with new understanding.
"A Pendragon who embraces the Old Religion," Vyransa mused. "Then we welcome you, Lady Morgana. It has been many years since our two kinds walked amongst each other. Your presence here, alongside the dragonlord and the Great Dragon, speaks of a great purpose that draws you to Evanescen."
"Indeed, Vyransa," Merlin said. "We come seeking to forge new bonds between the world of men and the realm of dragons, to heal the wounds of the past and build a brighter future for all magical beings. We hope to invite your kin back to the skies they once ruled."
Vyransa's eyes narrowed slightly, studying Merlin with the penetrating gaze of one who has witnessed centuries unfold. She seemed to be looking beyond his words, weighing the truth that lay in his heart. "It is a noble vision," she said at last, "but not one easily realized. Our history with humans is written in fire and sorrow. The memory of betrayal runs deep in our kind, and trust, once broken, requires more than promises to restore."
Merlin nodded, his resolve unwavering. "The wounds run deep—this we acknowledge," he said, glancing at Morgana, Kilgharrah, and Aithusa in turn, drawing strength from their unified presence. "We don't come with empty words or hasty assurances. We come to listen first, to learn, and to build understanding before trust. Whatever path leads to reconciliation—however difficult—we are prepared to walk it. Together."
Vyransa's eyes gleamed with approval before gaze then drifted to Aithusa, who had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. "And this young one," she said with unexpected tenderness. "What do you call her?"
"Her name is Aithusa."
Vyransa inhaled sharply, her massive form going completely still. "'Light of the sun,'" she whispered, the words carrying reverence. "A white dragon, born in the midst of darkness and strife. She carries a great destiny upon her wings, though what that destiny may be, even I cannot say with certainty."
Merlin exchanged a meaningful glance with Morgana before looking at Aithusa, who seemed transformed by the attention—her posture straightened, her eyes bright with a pride he'd never witnessed in her before. He recalled Kilgharrah's cryptic words at her hatching, that she portended well for Albion. The Great Dragon had never elaborated, and Merlin had accepted his vague prophecy without question. Now, seeing Vyransa's reaction, a chill rippled down his spine. What ancient knowledge did these dragons possess about Aithusa that even Kilgharrah had not fully disclosed?
"Come, Kilgharrah," Vyransa said, her voice ringing out across the valley and cutting into Merlin's thoughts. "The Council of Elders should hear your proposal directly. The implications of returning to the realm of men must be carefully weighed, for the risks of either choice will shape the fate of dragonkind for centuries to come."
With a powerful thrust of her wings, Vyransa took flight. Kilgharrah followed, leaving Merlin, Morgana, and Aithusa momentarily alone on the onyx sand as the gathered dragons dispersed to make way for the Council meeting. The eyes of countless dragons remained fixed on them from a distance, their gazes curious and cautious. Merlin exhaled slowly, turning to Morgana with raised eyebrows.
"Well, that went better than expected," Morgana said. "At least no one tried to incinerate us for having the Pendragon name."
Laughter erupted from Merlin as Morgana chuckled, tension ebbing from his shoulders. "I think they were close." He relaxed as a chorus of distant dragon calls rose across the valley – some deep and resonant, others high and keening – the varied voices of the vast draconic population that called this realm home
He almost reached for her, the urge to pull her into his arms overwhelming his usual caution when suddenly, a group of young dragons, their scales shimmering in hues of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst, swooped down from the sky, circling around Aithusa with playful chirps and trills. The white dragon's eyes widened with delight, and she glanced back at Merlin and Morgana, a silent plea in her gaze.
Merlin's eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched Aithusa's wings quiver with barely contained excitement. "Go on," he said, nodding toward the waiting young dragons. "Explore this new realm. But stay close, and be careful."
Aithusa let out a joyful cry and launched herself into the air, her wings shimmering as she joined the other young dragons in their aerial dance. They soared and twirled, their laughter echoing across the valley like the chiming of silver bells.
Morgana's gaze followed them skyward, a wistful smile softening her features. "She looks so happy," she murmured. "She belongs with her own kind."
Merlin studied Morgana's profile as she gazed skyward. Her wistful smile didn't quite reach her eyes, which shimmered with conflicting emotions. For months, Aithusa had curled beside Morgana in her captivity, their bond forged in shared isolation. Now as the young dragon soared among her own kind, her joyful freedom crystallized between them like a bittersweet gem—unspoken possibility and unacknowledged loss.
He didn't know what any of this meant for Morgana. Neither what it would mean if Aithusa choose her dragon kin over her human companion. If the dragons chose to return, would Kilgharrah lead them with no time to watch over Morgana? If given the choice, would both dragons leave Morgana behind to soar the auroras of Evanescen with their kin?
The questions weighed on Merlin as he observed the subtle shift in Morgana's posture—shoulders slightly hunched, fingers unconsciously reaching toward where Aithusa had been. His own familiar loneliness pressed against his chest. Morgana needed to belong somewhere too, he realized. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers closing around the Wayfinder's dial. Its cool metal against his skin reminded him of choices and paths, of finding what truly mattered.
"I won't leave you behind, Morgana. No matter what happens," he said gently, the words escaping before he could reconsider them. Morgana pulled her gaze from the younglings and looked at him, her cheeks blossoming with color. She held his gaze for a heartbeat before dropping her eyes and glancing away, the vulnerability in her expression startling in its rawness. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
A small smile came to her lips as she raised her eyes to his again, something unguarded and genuine in her expression that he'd seen the past weeks. "I know. You can't imagine how much it means – after all that I've done…" Her fingers twisted together as she spoke. "The Triple Goddess put me where I needed to be. But… thank you, Merlin."
Merlin's heart thundered against his ribs as he studied her face – the softness that had replaced her once guardedness, the warmth in her eyes that drew him in with irresistible force. The air between them seemed to pulse with unspoken possibilities, charged like the moments before lightning strikes. His hand slipped from his pocket, the Wayfinder's dial forgotten as he took a half-step closer, diminishing the space between them.
The boundary they'd erected—years of enmity, betrayal, and cautious alliance—seemed gossamer-thin in this moment. With the strange beauty of Evanescen surrounding them and Aithusa's joyful flight overhead, something inside him shifted irrevocably. He reached for her hand, his fingers tentatively entwining with hers, each movement deliberate, as if giving her time to pull away.
Morgana didn't. Instead, she lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a question and invitation mingled together. The slight tremble in her fingers betrayed her nervousness, but she moved closer, not away. Merlin lifted his other hand to gently brush a strand of dark hair from her temple, the simple gesture more intimate than any words. He leaned in, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it, his breath mingling with hers as he closed the distance between them.
Their lips brushed together, a fleeting moment of connection before a piercing cry rent the air, shattering the moment like a hammer through glass. Merlin's head snapped towards the sound, his body stiffening as ice flooded his veins. His eyes locked onto Aithusa—her slender form contorting mid-flight, wings flailing erratically as she struggled against some invisible adversary, her cries of distress echoing across the valley.
The tender moment evaporated instantly. Merlin's hand fell away from Morgana, fingers curling into helpless fists as he watched Aithusa thrashing against nothing, her shrieks escalating to a pitch that made his skin crawl. His mind raced through possibilities—an attack from another dragon? Some property of this realm rejecting her?
"Aithusa!" Morgana screamed, her voice raw with fear and desperation.
Before either could react, the young dragon's struggles ceased abruptly. She hung suspended for one terrible moment before plummeting toward the ground, her white scales flickering like a dying star. Dragons of all sizes, including several of the young dragons who had been playing with her, dove toward Aithusa, their wings beating frantically as they tried to intercept her fall. Yet as they approached, the same invisible barrier that had seized her pushed them back, sending them tumbling through the air with confused cries.
"Aithusa!" Morgana cried again, her voice breaking as she reached skyward in a futile gesture. "Hold on! Merlin, do something!"
Merlin thrust his hand forward, summoning his magic to catch her, to create some cushion against the impact, but the strange energy of Evanescen seemed to recognize his power as foreign—repelling his spell at the boundary of whatever force now claimed Aithusa. His magic, powerful in the mortal realm, proved useless here against this ancient might.
With a sickening thud, Aithusa crashed into the lush greenery not too far from them, the impact shuddering through the ground beneath their feet. The foliage closed around her pale form like a hungry maw, leaving no trace of the young dragon. For a moment, nothing existed but stunned silence, punctuated only by Morgana's ragged breathing.
"No!" Morgana bolted forward without hesitation, her feet kicking up sprays of onyx sand as she raced toward the spot where Aithusa had disappeared.
Merlin surged after Morgana, calling her name as branches and strange flora whipped against his face. The vegetation grew denser with each step, unworldly plants with translucent stems and crystalline leaves clawing at their clothes and skin. Above them, Kilgharrah's thunderous roar split the air—a sound Merlin hadn't heard since the dragon's captivity. Through their mental bond, Merlin felt the great dragon's fear pulsing like a wounded heartbeat.
What's happened? Kilgharrah demanded, his voice booming through Merlin's mind. What has taken Aithusa?
I don't know, Merlin replied, his thoughts jumbled and frantic as he pushed through the twisted vines and alien blooms. But we have to find her. We have to save her.
Forgive us, Vyransa said as he and Morgana plunged deeper into the heart of Evanesce. The magic of Evanescen is powerful and unpredictable and we did not know it would cause harm to your youngling. But she is the first white dragon we have ever seen and we have long awaited her.
Why? Merlin challenged, pushing through the dense foliage. What do you mean, Vyransa? What's happening to Aithusa?
I do not know nor did I expect this kind of reaction, she replied, her tone sorrowful. She… was a promised gift.
A promise? For Evanescen?
Before Vyransa could respond, a column of blinding light erupted from the spot where Aithusa had fallen, piercing the lavender sky and bathing the entire valley in a dazzling radiance. The light pulsed with ancient power, sending waves of energy rippling through the air. Merlin and Morgana stumbled to a halt, throwing their arms up to shield their eyes from the overwhelming brilliance. Above them, Kilgharrah, Vyransa and many other dragons circling frantically, were forced back by an invisible barrier, their massive forms seeming small against the pillar of light that now connected earth and sky.
The very air vibrated with magic—not the familiar warmth of Merlin's power or even the wild energy of the Old Religion, but something older, something that seemed woven into the fabric of Evanescen itself. For a breathless moment, everything in the realm seemed to pause, suspended in that impossible light.
When the radiance finally receded, ebbing away like a tide returning to the sea, Merlin and Morgana found themselves standing at the edge of a perfect clearing, as if the undergrowth had been gently pushed back to form a sacred circle. In the center, where Aithusa had fallen just before, stood a magnificent dragon unlike any they had ever seen—a majestic creature nearly half Kilgharrah's size. Her scales gleamed like polished alabaster in the ethereal light, each one shimmering with an iridescent sheen that captured and reflected every hue of the aurora above. Her wings, now fully grown and stretching to an impressive span, were translucent and delicate, the thin membranes between the bones pulsing with their own inner luminescence.
"Aithusa?" Morgana whispered, wonder colliding with disbelief in her voice. Her hand reached out, searching for his without looking away from the transformed dragon. Merlin felt her fingers tremble against his palm as he grasped them, drawing her closer instinctively. The warmth of their connection steadied him as his mind struggled to comprehend the impossible transformation they were witnessing.
In response, the white dragon drew herself to her full height, her elegant neck arching as her jaws parted to reveal rows of crystalline teeth that caught the light like diamonds. A deep, resonant rumble built within her chest, vibrating outward until the very air seemed to tremble with anticipation. Then, with a thunderous roar that shook the ground beneath their feet, she unleashed a torrential blast of icy breath—a swirling tempest of frost and snow that engulfed the clearing in a dazzling display of her newfound power.
The ice crystals danced and swirled in the air, catching the light of the auroras above and refracting it into a rainbow of colors that painted the landscape in an otherworldly glow. The luminous flowers and crystalline leaves froze in an instant, their delicate petals and branches transformed into intricate sculptures of pure, gleaming ice.
As the icy gale subsided, she lowered her head and stared at them, her eyes shimmering with pride and excitement, wisdom and power. Her pupils were now elongated and slitted like those of a cat, mysterious and alluring. She spread her wings once more, the movement sending a gentle gust of wind rippling through the clearing, stirring the frozen flowers and setting the icy leaves tinkling like wind chimes.
"Yes, Morgana," she spoke, her voice no longer the chirp of a youngling but a melodious cascade that carried both wisdom and power. Each word resonated through the clearing with an ancient cadence that seemed woven into the very fabric of Evanescen. "It is I – Aithusa."