Summary
Merlin confronts Kilgharrah and Vyransa concerning an ancient prophecy that threatens to undermine their hard-won quest to restore dragons in the realm of men.
Chapter 81 Quest for Evanescen: Destiny's Hellmouth
Evanescen's enchantment dimmed around Merlin as he reluctantly released Morgana from his embrace. Her revelation about the prophecy had doused the wonder of the realm like water on flames, leaving only cold dread where the comfort of her touch had been. Turning away, he rubbed his forehead, a thumb gently pressing against a temple. Another foreboding portent now joined the tangle of destinies already ensnaring him.
He shook his head, dropping his arm as he released a slow breath. "Kilgharrah always insisted Aithusa's presence heralded prosperity for Camelot and Albion," he said, his voice hollow with doubt, his thoughts grasping at hope as his obsidian cloak billowed in a soft breeze. "I can't believe he would withhold something this vital from me."
Behind him, Morgana's fingers brushed his arm, the brief sensation alone sparking another emotion within him. Merlin turned to find the same concern deepening the contours of her features. "Maybe he didn't," she said quietly, her eyes searching his, "but Vyransa… Did you notice her reaction when she first beheld Aithusa?"
Merlin grimaced, his lips thinning as the memory sharpened in his mind, his shoulders tensing beneath his black tunic. "I mistook her surprise recognition of Aithusa as a sign of good fortune," he admitted, his tone hardened by realization, but his expression softening after a fleeting moment. "That still doesn't mean she's aware. She's ages older than Kilgharrah—even ancient beings can forget. Vyransa was just as shocked over Aithusa's transformation as the rest of us." He shook his head, pressed his lips in a thin line. "I don't believe she would deliberately endanger Aithusa."
Morgana studied his face before answering, her jaw setting with resolute skepticism that overrode her earlier caution. "Can we be certain? We've only just met these dragons, Merlin." She lowered her voice, leaning closer. "And Nazares..." A visible tremor ran through her despite the ambient warmth between them. "Something about him fills me with disquiet. I question whether seeking them out was wise."
Merlin stepped away, drawing himself up to his full height, his obsidian cloak rippling like a living extension of himself. Despite the crimson dragon's foreboding aura, he was but one among the many reds who dwelled here—any one of them could be Aithusa's future adversary.
"No," he declared, misgivings clawing at the edges of his thoughts, but his voice emerging firm with conviction. "I don't regret finding them. And deep down, neither do you. These dragons have as much claim to our skies as any creature of wing. But a truth lies deeper."
"Yet carries far graver consequences," Morgana added, her tone not accusatory but laden with genuine concern.
Her words struck like a mace to the chest, forcing air from his lungs and leaving a hollow ache beneath his ribs. Merlin's gaze drifted past her to where Aithusa sat beneath the strange foliage, her immaculate scales refracting light like countless jewels. The crystalline frost from her breath still clung to the surrounding vegetation, though rivulets of meltwater now trickled down stems and collected in tiny pools on the onyx sand—Evanescen preserving her influence while gradually reclaiming its own nature. Aithusa's newfound wisdom, power, and magnificence only intensified the horror of imagining her locked in mortal combat.
Merlin felt a shift within himself—where once he'd hidden his power behind kindness and hesitation, now he embraced an authority that he had earned. He squared his shoulders, the movement decisive and commanding. "Before they make any decisions, we need the complete truth from Vyransa."
His eyelids fell shut as he channeled his concentration, reaching through the mystic tether that had bound him to the great dragon since inheriting his father's power. Kilgharrah, Merlin projected, infusing his mental voice with both command and entreaty. I would not interrupt these crucial talks lightly, but I need you and Vyransa. In the clearing where Aithusa transformed. It's important.
A momentary silence stretched before Kilgharrah's rumbling response filled his mind. I shall come, young warlock. Though summoning Vyransa may prove... complicated.
What complications? Merlin pressed, impatience edging his mental voice, his arms crossing his chest.
She presides over the Council of Elders, Kilgharrah explained, deliberating our potential return to your realm. Dragons who have dwelled in Evanescen for centuries do not easily abandon their sanctuary, nor does their Bronze Elder abandon deliberations at the call of a human—even a dragonlord. Her authority here surpasses even our ancient bonds.
Merlin's jaw tightened. I understand, but this concerns matters that cannot wait.
Another pause, longer this time. She comes, Kilgharrah finally answered, a note of surprise coloring his mental tone. Though she brings concerns of her own.
"Stay with Aithusa," Merlin told Morgana, his eyes opening with renewed purpose. "I've called Kilgharrah and Vyransa to meet in the clearing. This conversation requires privacy—I'm sorry."
"Be cautious," Morgana warned, concern rather than offense shaping her words. "Speak only to those two. We mustn't alert Nazares if he remains unaware of his potential role."
With a firm nod, Merlin strode toward the frost-covered clearing, determination hardening his features. Behind him, Morgana moved to Aithusa, who lowered her magnificent head with a gentle trill, frost crystallizing momentarily in the air before dissolving into the warm atmosphere of Evanescen.
Questions crowded his mind as he walked the path back to the clearing. Why would Vyransa conceal such vital knowledge? What purpose could hiding a prophecy of this magnitude serve? Did she fear they might abandon their quest to bring dragons back to Camelot if they knew the full truth? Or was she testing him, gauging whether a mere human—even a dragonlord—possessed the wisdom to handle such ancient portents? Their time in Evanescen had been brief, but the stakes now stretched across both kingdoms and the ages.
The clearing appeared before him, Aithusa's frost still glistening across the landscape though noticeably thinner now, receding at the edges where Evanescen's ambient energy pressed inward. The transformation remained a testament to her power—ice persisting in a realm that seemed designed to foster vitality and life. He passed beneath the canopy of frozen leaves that tinkled softly in the gentle breeze, advancing toward the center of the clearing and awaited their arrival.
The air displaced with powerful wingbeats as Kilgharrah descended, the massive dragon's landing sending tremors through the frozen ground. Merlin adjusted his stance, spreading his feet apart, noting how the frost cracked beneath the dragon's weight, revealing the onyx sand beneath. Before he could speak, a second, larger shadow passed overhead as Vyransa arrived, her bronze scales burnished to a rich gold in the ethereal light.
She landed with surprising grace for her size, her wings creating a momentary windstorm that dislodged icicles from nearby trees. They shattered against the ground like glass chimes, adding a musical finality to her arrival.
"You summon us from matters of great import, dragonlord," Vyransa said, her voice neither warm nor cold, but carrying the neutrality of one accustomed to judgment. "What urgency demands such haste?"
Merlin felt the intensity of her gaze—ancient, penetrating, seeing through pretense to the core of truth. His new confidence did not waver, though caution tempered his approach. He'd called them here to confirm suspicions, not to accuse.
"The time of the blood-red ruin is nigh, when two dragons, pale and crimson, take wing and fly. Only joined as one can the realms be free, or all shall fall to eternal enmity."
As each ominous verse left his lips, Vyransa only stared with stoicism while Kilgharrah's posture changed, confusion furrowing his noble brow. "What cryptic meaning lies behind those words, Vyransa?" Incredulity laced Kilgharrah's deep timbre as scales shifted against each other. "Surely not our kin, Nazares?"
The bronze dragon bowed her head, vivid eyes dimming as centuries of knowledge seemed to press upon her all at once, momentarily bending her regal bearing beneath their invisible weight. "I cannot say with certainty, brother. Many crimson-scaled kin dwell amongst us." Her gaze lifted to meet Merlin's, ancient wisdom mingling with something akin to regret. "Yet this prophecy rings true—Aithusa's arrival awakens dormant fears."
"You knew," Merlin said softly. "When you first saw her transform, you recognized what it meant."
Vyransa unfurled her wings partially, then folded them again—a gesture Merlin had never seen Kilgharrah make, perhaps signifying discomfort or contemplation. "The white dragon has been foretold since time immemorial. A clarion of change, yes, but also of conflict." She exhaled, a warm gust that melted another patch of frost. "I had hoped the prophecy referred to some distant future, not the present moment."
"You should have spoken of this immediately," Kilgharrah's accusation emerged as a low thunder, his scales rustling like armor as he moved protectively toward Merlin. "If Aithusa faces danger—"
"What would you have had me do?" Vyransa interrupted, her voice neither angry nor defensive, but with the certainty of one who has weighed all outcomes. "Announce to all gathered that the crimson ones among us might be destined to destroy the white hope? Create fear and division at the very moment unity is required?"
Merlin laced his fingers together, brought them to his lips as he gathered his thoughts. "This crimson dragon—does the prophecy name Nazares?"
"It names no one," Vyransa admitted. "That is both its mercy and its danger."
"Then no red dragon can be permitted to leave this realm," Merlin declared, his voice hardening with resolve. "Not while the prophecy's shadow looms over Aithusa. Her safety must be ensured, for the fate of Albion itself hinges upon her light."
Vyransa regarded him with enigmatic golden eyes. "You cannot alter what has been decreed, young warlock. Prophecies manifest, however we might wish otherwise."
"Perhaps," Merlin countered, his gaze unwavering, fate's prophecies a constant adversary to his conscience and heart. "But their interpretations could hold several meanings. They can be guides along paths we cannot foresee. This could be about an offspring of Aithusa for we know. We cannot be certain, Vyransa, and even if that eventuates—it's dire. But we can delay it right now for our white dragon."
The clearing fell silent, save for the faint whispers of the melting frost dripping from crystal-encased leaves. Then Kilgharrah spoke, the depth of difficult choices evident in his words.
"Grant us this request, Vyransa. The tides of the new age press ever stronger against our kind's ancient ways. To preserve what matters most, compromises must be made."
"It may be our only chance to forestall this dark prophecy," Merlin added, the silver clasps on his tunic gleaming as he stepped forward. "I appeal to you as the last dragonlord. Please don't allow any crimson dragons to accompany us—at least not in the first exodus."
The bronze dragon studied them both, the ridges of her scales reflecting prismatic light. Finally, she inclined her head a fraction. "As you wish," Vyransa conceded, her tone measured. "If some agree to depart with you, I will ensure our crimson kin remain in Evanescen—though I foresee resistance to this restriction."
"Are others aware of the prophecy?" Merlin asked, tension threading through his voice.
"It predates even my existence," Vyransa replied, her burning gaze seeming to pierce through him. "But Aithusa's arrival has stirred ancient memories that slumbered in forgotten corners of draconic consciousness. Some may have sensed its significance."
Merlin inhaled deeply, unbidden images of Nazares' ice-blue eyes flashing through his mind. Had the crimson dragon already guessed what Merlin now knew? Had he recognized Aithusa's significance even before her transformation?
"There are further considerations regarding the exodus we must address," Merlin continued, forcing himself to focus on practical matters.
Kilgharrah shifted, the thin layer of frost crackling beneath his massive form. "Speak your requirements, Merlin. For successful reintegration, no detail can be overlooked."
"The dragons must acclimate gradually to the realm of men," Merlin began, his voice steady despite the heaviness of his worry. "They should reach out—through dragon-speak—to awaken lingering dragonlord bloodlines that might still exist despite the horror of the Purge. Only by reforging those mystical bonds can they truly establish themselves beyond this realm."
"Some of the chosen may not be dragons who fled Camelot, Merlin," Kilgharrah cautioned. "Many born here have never known human contact. Others arrived so long ago they may have forgotten how to forge such connections."
Merlin nodded thoughtfully. "Vyransa, did the ancients not create these bonds in ages past? Wouldn't the same principles must apply now."
"In the earliest epochs, we existed apart from mankind," Vyransa explained, her voice deepening with ancient memory. "The dragon-human kinship was crafted by the Triple Goddess herself to unite our kindreds, yet this connection spans merely a few millennia—recent by my reckoning."
A smile touched Merlin's lips at the notion of "a few millennia" being considered recent. To creatures who had witnessed the dawn of time, such spans represented mere moments, yet to him these epochs stretched beyond comprehension.
"So this mystical alliance represents just one chapter in your lineage," he observed. "Tell me then—did you yourself walk amongst humans before discovering Evanescen?"
Vyransa's head tilted back in surprise, her penetrating gaze turning inward as if searching distant memories. "It has been... countless seasons," she admitted after extended contemplation. "When my dragonlord Nott drew his final breath, he was the last of his line. I was freed, his bloodline extinguished without an heir. Perhaps a millennium passed before I found my way to this timeless sanctuary. But yes..." Her voice softened. "That bond remains precious beyond measure."
Merlin lifted his chin, encouraged by her admission. "If such a connection could endure across your unending years, then surely bloodlines carrying the dragonlords' essence may still exist within mankind's generations, however faintly." His expression set with determination, hope kindling within him. "We must seek out those lingering sparks, rekindle those ancient ties. Without the tether of those bonds, I fear the dragons' return may falter, forcing them back to Evanescen."
Vyransa dipped her head in affirmation. "An ethereal cord not easily severed, even by centuries of disuse. Your reasoning holds merit, dragonlord."
"There are additional boundaries I must insist upon before you return to the assembly," Merlin said, though he hesitated by the subtle arch of Vyransa's brow ridge. Instinctively, his eyes lowered briefly, acknowledging her subtle rebuke. "Not from arrogance, but necessity, Great Dragon. Though Camelot's lands embrace magic once more, nearly three decades have passed since dragons graced our skies. We must proceed cautiously, earn trust through measured actions, and locate potential dragonlords… I request a score of dragons, no more, to accompany us in this first wave."
The bronze elder's maw parted slightly, releasing a wave of heat and ancient musk that flowed over Merlin, causing him to involuntary shiver. "You mortals and your need to constrain what was once boundless..." Despite her harsh critique, Vyransa inclined her head fractionally, a sigh escaping. "But your wisdom in this matter will be heeded—for a time. More are sure to follow, including those who share crimson scales."
More. Merlin had wanted them all to return—as many as were feasibly allowed—until hearing and believing the dread prophecy about Aithusa. He moistened his lips, looked at her directly. "You must give us that time, Vyransa," he replied, holding firm against her reproach. "We'll establish a sanctuary immediately upon our return. A place where the dragons can remain safe until we locate and reforge bonds with their dragonlord bloodlines. The urgency of this task cannot be overstated—without these connections, the dragons may never truly belong in our realm."
"Finding suitable hunting grounds will present a challenge," Kilgharrah stated. "We cannot risk dragons raiding farms for livestock or mistaking human children for prey. Such actions would breed unfortunate... misunderstandings."
Merlin glanced sharply at his draconic mentor, disturbed by the words and imagery that flashed through his mind. "No. Preying upon human settlements or...mistaking our young for quarry is absolutely forbidden." Kilgharrah blinked with a feigned innocence, leaving Merlin to wonder if this had been common practice in bygone eras. "A score of dragons should strain no resources, and when more join later, Camelot's vastness and the kingdom of Albion will sustain them."
"Very well," Vyransa said, her tone noticeably cooled. "Have you additional provisions, dragonlord?"
Once more, Merlin inclined his head. "None at present. And you, of me? What are your concerns?"
"My concerns have shifted with our conversation, dragonlord," Vyransa replied, her golden eyes reflecting the aurora's light. "Initially, I worried about the wisdom of the exodus itself—numbers, sustenance, cooperation—whether your realm truly welcomed our kind after generations of slaughter. Now I fear something more immediate: what awaits the white one in your world."
"Prosperity is my hope, Vyransa," Merlin replied.
"For us all," Kilgharrah intoned.
"Then let us reconvene with the others, Kilgharrah," Vyransa said, unfurling her magnificent wings. The downdraft stirred the crystalline fragments around them, sending them spiraling upward in glittering clouds. "Emrys, I shall convey your... conditions, and select our emissaries to the realm of men accordingly."
With that, she launched skyward, her immense form silhouetted against the ethereal auroras. Merlin turned to Kilgharrah, both of them silently acknowledging the new burdens that lay before them.
"I must inform the king and queen—" The words faltered in Merlin's throat as Arthur's disappearance pressed against his chest, his responsibility to the draconic return demanding equal attention. He swallowed with difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. "Queen Guinevere expressed reservations when I first mentioned finding the lost dragons. She should be prepared for their arrival."
"I leave it to you to demonstrate the wisdom of our resurgence to her," Kilgharrah replied, spreading his wings. "For it proceeds now, unstoppable as the tides."
He leapt into the air, his rhythmic wingbeats fading as Merlin strode back to where Morgana and Aithusa waited, his mind loaded like a crossbow concerning his agreement with Vyransa. Would the other dragons agree to his terms? Could he and Kilgharrah find a sanctuary with expediency? What would the dragons eat? And could he truly control them until help arrived? …If help arrived…
Aithusa turned her luminous gaze upon him as he approached, a knowing gleam in her eyes that made him wonder how much she had intuited about his conversation with Kilgharrah and Vyransa.
"I shall stretch my wings while their deliberations continue," she said, the magnificent white dragon tilting her head slightly, her cat-like pupils narrowing. "And for you to continue your private conversation with Morgana."
With a graceful extension of her wings that sent prismatic light dancing across the clearing, Aithusa launched into the air, her form soon disappearing beyond the twisted trees. Merlin watched her go, somehow relieved she had not heard the disturbing prophecy that concerned her so directly. Yet, he wondered if she was already made aware from the ancient knowledge now granted her.
Morgana approached him, concern crinkling her brow. "What did they say?"
"Vyransa confirmed our fears," Merlin replied, lowering his voice despite their isolation. "The prophecy is ancient, predating even her existence. She has agreed to prohibit crimson dragons from joining the exodus."
Relief briefly flickered across Morgana's features before uncertainty returned. "And Kilgharrah? Did he know of this foretelling?"
"No." Merlin shook his head firmly. "His surprise was genuine. But he supports my decision." He glanced toward the direction where Aithusa had vanished. "They need time to convey my conditions to the assembly and select which dragons will depart, if any are willing to come at all."
Morgana nodded, absently brushing crystalline frost from her gown. "How long, do you think?"
"I can't say." He scanned the fantastical landscape of Evanescen, its otherworldly beauty shadowed by the prophecy's implications. "Decisions that span realms require deliberation, even for those who measure time in centuries rather than heartbeats."
"Then we wait," Morgana said simply.
Silence fell between them, not uncomfortable but contemplative. Merlin found himself studying Morgana's profile as she gazed after Aithusa, noting how the ethereal light of Evanescen magnified her beauty, the curves of her face, the fullness of her lips. Much about her beckoned to him like a forgotten sanctuary, unexpectedly rediscovered.
"Do you think we've done enough?" she asked suddenly, turning to face him and catching him mid-admiration, warmth rising beneath his skin. "Or have we merely postponed the inevitable?"
Merlin moved closer despite the heat in his cheeks, close enough that he could see deep flecks of azure radiance in her eyes. "Prophecies have shaped my path since before I knew my own destiny," he admitted. "Some I've fulfilled unknowingly, others I've defied with terrible results. But I've learned one truth—" He reached for her hand, his fingers sliding between hers. "The future is never as fixed as seers would have us believe."
Her lips parted slightly, acquiescence settling across her features. Her fingers tightened around his. "I spent years accepting prophecies as immutable," she whispered. "Even when they led me down dark paths."
"And now?"
"Now I find myself hoping you're right." Her voice softened to a vulnerability that stirred his heart, her acknowledgment a sweet melody to his ears. "That some destinies don't turn out the way we might think."
"I think ours is proof of that." He lifted their joined hands and pressed them against his chest, his heartbeat quickening beneath their touch, a silent invitation to a future neither had imagined possible. "We should rest," he murmured, though he made no move to step away.
"Yes," she agreed, equally motionless.
Evanescen provided them with a secluded grove not far from the clearing, where luminous flowers provided soft illumination and the strange, twisted trees formed a natural shelter. The lavender sky darkened to a rich indigo, the auroras intensifying rather than fading, painting the landscape in ever-shifting hues. Instead of kissing her as his thoughts had commanded him to, Merlin separated himself and began sharing stories of using magic in his early days in Camelot, tales he'd never expected to relate to Morgana of all people.
She listened with genuine interest, occasionally offering her own perspective from that time. She also spoke of her childhood at Tintagel, memories of her mother that had grown faint with time, how she'd arrived alone and displaced in Camelot, and her complicated feelings toward Uther and Gorlois.
"I never imagined we would sit together like this," Morgana admitted as the conversation lulled. They sat side by side, backs against a tree trunk that seemed to pulse gently with inner light. "Not as... friends again."
The word seemed insufficient for what had grown between them, but neither ventured to define it further. Instead, Merlin reached for her hand once more, and they sat in companionable silence as Evanescen's beauty and sounds surrounded them.
Twilight—or what possibly passed for it in this realm—came with Aithusa's return. He stirred Morgana, her head resting on his shoulder, his hand still cupping hers. Their white dragon approached with purposeful strides, her scales gleaming in the renewed radiance of the auroras, her face alight with excitement.
"The Council has decided," she announced as Merlin rose, helping Morgana to her feet.. "Twenty dragons will depart with us. Vyransa has selected them carefully—those most likely to adapt to the world of men and form new bonds with latent dragonlord bloodlines."
"When do we depart?" he asked, reluctantly releasing her hand, her touch still tingling at his fingertips.
"Now," Aithusa replied. "They're gathering now."
They followed Aithusa back to the central clearing where Kilgharrah and Vyransa stood surrounded by a score of dragons in varied hues—emerald, sapphire, amber, obsidian, silver. None wore crimson scales. Relief coursed through Merlin as he scanned the assembly, though—as Morgana and Vyransa had suggested—he knew this measure merely postponed rather than prevented a foretold confrontation.
Kilgharrah lowered himself for Merlin to climb, his golden scales warm beneath his palms. Morgana hesitated, glancing toward Aithusa.
"Will you carry me?" she asked the young dragon, who dipped her head in acquiescence.
"It would be my honor," Aithusa replied, her voice carrying such affection that Merlin felt the pang of loss, the strange, yet unbreakable bond between Aithusa and Morgana still a mystery to him.
As she mounted Aithusa, Morgana's fingers found purchase among the luminous scales with ease, her body seeming to belong atop the dragon as naturally as if she'd ridden her all her life. With a reassuring nod to them, Merlin settled behind one of Kilgharrah's great horns, his thoughts already turning to the challenges that awaited beyond Evanescen and explaining to Gwen why he'd returned with a score of dragons along with the kingdom's greatest enemy.
Vyransa's deep voice carried across the assembly. "Remember our covenant. You return as ambassadors of our kind. Your actions will determine whether others may follow."
With that final admonition, she launched into the air, leading the assembly toward churning rivers of light that connected Evanescen to the realm of men. As they approached, the fabric of reality seemed to thin, colors bleeding into one another. Vyransa hovered at the threshold, her massive form silhouetted against the swirling energies where the portal's edges rippled like water disturbed by currents as the others passed through. Her place was in Evanescen to govern those who stayed behind, to prepare them for a future return when the time was set.
In a heartbeat of blinding brilliance, the boundaries between worlds dissolved, and they emerged into familiar blue skies where towering mountain peaks stood shrouded in clouds. Kilgharrah led their formation in a tight spiral around his roost, the score of dragons twisting in his wake like a living tapestry of scales and wings.
As the thunderous chorus of their collective roars echoed across the air, Merlin felt his soul stir deep in his core—ancient connections between dragonlord and dragon now pulsing with renewed vigor through him.
Across the realm of men, that transcendent moment pierced the veil of ordinary existence. Those carrying even the faintest ember of dragonlord lineage seized in mid-step, their souls jolted by ancient recognition. Farmers dropped their plows, merchants paused in counting coins, nobles froze during courtly conversation—each arrested by the primal summons that bypassed conscious thought and reached directly into the blood. Their heads turned toward the mountains as forgotten heritage stirred within them, demanding acknowledgment.
Their dragons had returned at last.