Dragon si Chapter 3: 3, a 17776 fanfic

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The Ballad of a Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Thread starter SecretTwelve Start date Jan 24, 2024 Tags original fantasy dragon

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Threadmarks Chapter 19: The Fox And The Dream

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SecretTwelve

Feb 16, 2024

#232

Chapter 19: The Fox And The Dream

The lands of the kitsune straddled the borders of the physical world and the dreaming lands. Hikari's people had come here in the aftermath of the Fifth Catastrophe, desperate for safe haven after almost being wiped out by first the Exiled Star and then those who hated them for the part they'd played in summoning the vile creature from the Greater Darkness.

There, her people had met Dreamsong. The muse dragon could easily have destroyed them. She was, after all, a primordial dragon, a being who had witnessed the glories of the First Age and the terror of the Broken God. Instead, Dreamsong had taken them under her wing. She had sheltered them, trained them, and done her best to help them recover from the mistakes of the Fifth Age.

And then Hikari's mother had betrayed her and become the Sixth Catastrophe. Even then, Dreamsong had been unable to raise a hand against her, for she had loved Hikari's mother as though she were her own daughter. It had fallen to others to strike her mother down, and as right as they had been to do so, there was a part of Hikari that could not help but hate them.

She could still remember those far off days, back when she had been so very young and so very sure that the world was a place of hope and wonder and joy. Her father's shoulders had been so broad, and the grey in his hair had made him seem dashing instead of weary. Those had been good days, perhaps the very best days of her life.

That palace by the lake with her mother and father and all her friends… even now, there were still days when she wished she could go back there and live in those golden years forever. But those days were gone. Her mother had chosen her path, and others had chosen to stand against her.

The last time she'd seen her Uncle Doomwing, the mighty dragon had been clinging to life, wounded almost to his death by a spear of god-metal that her mother had somehow managed to obtain. He had destroyed the spear and laid low her mother, but the effort of it had all but killed him. Her Uncle Marcus had stood sentry over him, doing everything he could to heal him.

Hikari had wanted to go to them, to offer what aid she could, but all she could see was the wrath in the vampire's gaze, the savage fury within him as he drained himself and his sword of every scrap of power he could spare. Not far from them, surrounded by mountains of the dead, was her father.

She had seen him fall, had seen him blind and bereft of any weapons save his fists. The sight of it still haunted her dreams from time to time.

And what had she done during that final battle?

Nothing.

She had done nothing.

She had loved her mother, had loved her and idolised her and thought her the most wonderful and amazing person in the whole world. To see what she became, to see the choices that she made… Hikari had always wondered if there had been something she could have done. Had she missed some sign of her mother's growing obsession? Had there been a moment, however fleeting, when words would have been enough to stay her hand?

She had not been able to bring herself to fight her mother, no matter what sort of person she had become.

Yet Hikari had not agreed with her mother's course of action. Even as her kitsune kin had clamoured to support her mother and set aside their mischievous but peaceful ways in favour of war and treachery, she had not joined them. Instead, she had hidden herself and fled.

She had been too much of a coward to stop her mother, and she could not stomach the thought of joining her. Instead, she had watched as her mother tore the world apart, only to be faced by a coalition led by her father and her friends. In the end, both of her parents had died, many of her friends had been wounded, and all she had done was watch.

The shame of it… the absolute and unbearable shame of it…

Her thoughts had taken her to dark places then until, in the midst of yet another nightmare, Dreamsong had reached out to her. The dragon was wracked with grief. She had seen someone she viewed as a daughter die, and she had feared Hikari lost as well.

"Come home," Dreamsong had begged her. "The kitsune need you."

Unspoken was how much Dreamsong needed her – and how much Hikari needed the dragon.

So Hikari had gone home. She had arrived to find the lands of the kitsune in complete disarray. Kagami had been the leader of the kitsune, and her death had left Hikari's half-siblings squabbling for the right to succeed her.

It sickened her. Her mother had once had more than a dozen children, hardly surprising given how old she had been. Only four of them, including Hikari, had survived. The others had all perished, either at her mother's side or fighting against her. Her three half-siblings had already formed factions and were tearing at each other like jackals fighting over the scraps left by a lion.

Hikari had planned to stay out of the succession dispute, but then she had seen the madness that lurked in her half-siblings' eyes. She had seen it before – in her mother's eyes. They spoke of mustering what strength they could and striking while the rest of the world struggled to recover. They were few in number, yes, but their enemies had taken massive casualties. Already, the great kingdom her father had forged was disintegrating as her other half-siblings fought each other in defiance of his will and testament.

Hikari had made a decision then because she could not have lived with herself if she had failed a second time. She had challenged for leadership, and with Dreamsong's help and tutelage, she had won. She had forced her half-siblings to kneel, and they had been made to obey.

She was younger than all of them, yes, but the blood that flowed through her veins was mighty. She did not know who their fathers had been – her mother had never told her although she had always left offerings for them on the anniversaries of their deaths – but Hikari's father had been Elerion the Valiant, the greatest of human kings and a hero known throughout the world.

The power a kitsune wielded was shown by how many tails they had. Her mother had possessed nine, and her sheer power had rendered her immune to the passage of time. Her mother had not aged a day in thousands of years, and only death in battle had put an end to her life. Hikari had possessed two tails when her mother had turned against the world. By the time her mother was dead and the Sixth Age came to an end, she had possessed three.

During the succession dispute which had taken almost a century to complete, Hikari had allowed Dreamsong to train her even more harshly than she had trained her mother. She had become the youngest kitsune ever to reach five tails, and that had given her the power she needed to make her half-siblings surrender.

They had grown lazy and overconfident, certain that none could oppose them. The higher ranks of the kitsune – including her older and stronger siblings – had all perished in the final battle of the Sixth Age.

It had been roughly a thousand years since her mother's passing, and Hikari had not slacked in her training or pursuit of power. She needed to be strong enough that none could challenge her leadership. She would not allow the mistakes of the past to be repeated. She would ensure that when the kitsune finally left their seclusion and re-entered the world, it would be as a benevolent force that respected free will and the right of others to choose their own fate. They would not hold themselves above others but would see them as partners.

To change the attitude of the kitsune had not been easy, and it was still a work in progress. But Hikari was mighty, and she had all the time in the world. A century ago, she had finally obtained her ninth tail. Age no longer wearied her, and there was no kitsune alive who could even think of challenging her and winning.

Normally, Hikari would be spending afternoons like this in the academy for the young. It was always easier to teach the young than to change the minds of the old, and she had done her best to make them aware of the mistakes of the past and how they could do better in the future. Many of those who opposed Hikari's views had simply died over the years, succumbing to old age. Those few who remained had realised that her victory was as inevitable as the tides and had secluded themselves, unwilling to face her yet unable to challenge her rule.

It gave her no joy to see the dark clouds of bitterness that hung around them, for she was all too familiar with such feelings herself.

On this afternoon, however, Dreamsong had summoned her. It was rare for the dragon to call for her so formally, and even rarer that the dragon insist upon an immediate meeting. In the manner of most primordial dragons, Dreamsong did not view time the same way as others. To her, a decade and a century were not so different, and she would go from periods of great activity to slumbering for years at a time.

As Hikari approached the ornate archway that marked one of the places where the border between the physical world and the dreaming lands was especially thin, the guards saluted her. One was an older male whilst the other was a younger woman. Both had three tails.

"My lady." The male bowed. "Will you be seeing Dreamsong?"

The dragon insisted on no titles, for she had no need of them. Her name along was enough. For who did not know Dreamsong, weaver of dreams, binder of memories, and master of wills?

"Yes." Hikari nodded at the guards. "I should not be long. If I am gone longer than an hour, then send word to the palace. They will know what to do."

Time in the dreaming lands was a strange concept. It existed, certainly, but its flow could be strange and erratic. Spending more than an hour of time in the deep dreaming where Dreamsong dwelt was not safe, even for her. Should that happen, her followers had instructions to ring the great bell that was housed in the palace.

It was a gift from Doomwing, made for her mother who had often lingered too long in the dreaming lands. When rung, its call could be heard even in the deep dreaming, and its echoes would open a path for Hikari to take back to the borderlands where the realm of the kitsune lay.

Her lips curled. For someone so poor at dream walking, Doomwing had proven more than adept at devising countermeasures against it.

Hikari took a deep breath and stepped through the arch – and into the dreaming lands.

The world around her fell away, and she was immediately assailed by a wall of sensations, memories, and fantasies. The dreaming lands were influenced by all who dreamed, and they could be likened to a sea. Currents of desire could easily drag off the unwary, and the shadows lurking beneath the fleeting, ephemeral dreams of normal people could be fearsome creatures indeed, beasts wrought of the ancient nightmares and everlasting terrors that haunted all dreaming folk. But not all denizens of the dreaming lands were evil.

There were shining lights of hope, creatures of radiance and glory that were wrought from dreams of freedom and noble aspirations. Others were more mundane, wandering collections of humdrum thoughts and desires – a tumbleweed of dreams concerning new shoes or vines of workplace ambition growing across a wall of stolid boredom.

Hikari was the ruler of the kitsune, and she was no naïve dreamer. She cast her power out, and the ever-shifting, twisting miasma of the dreaming lands before her solidified into a road of paved stone that reminded her of the reliable thoroughfares her father had been so proud of. She walked forward, the road extending before her as walls of stone rose up on either side to block out the dreams or nightmares that fought for attention and sought to feed off her psychic might.

Deeper she went into the dreaming lands until even the paved road of her will gave way to a place of fog and shadow where only the oldest and greatest of dreams could live. This was the deep dreaming, the collective subconscious fed by the dreams of all living creatures. Here, titans of the past could be seen, the towering forms of the Seven Gods lingering long, long, long after their passing, their forms sustained by the unwavering memories and immutable wills of the primordial dragons and the few others to have lived in that ancient epoch.

Further off in the distance was the twisting, ever-flowing shadow of a tree so big its branches seem to encompass the whole of the deep dreaming. This was the memory of Mother Tree, a memory fed not only by the primordial dragons and their ilk but also by the First Daughters who had inherited her memories.

There, curled up against the trunk of that enormous tree was Dreamsong – and it spoke to the sheer size of Mother Tree that a dragon who was almost a mile long could look so small beside her.

Hikari had met several primordial dragons in her life. They had all been mighty beyond measure, but she could honestly say that none of them had been so beautiful as Dreamsong. The dragon was long and serpentine, far slenderer than Doomwing, to the point that she seemed almost ephemeral. Her scales were a ceaselessly shifting river of purples, from vivid violet to gleaming amethyst, shimmering lilac, and abyssal indigo. Her wings were ghostly things, less like sails and more like clouds, and her eyes were a piercing magenta.

As Hikari approached, Dreamsong got up onto her haunches. Her long neck curved toward her, and her magenta eyes blazed in the eerie twilight of the deep dreaming. In response, the dreams around them fled, and only the shadow of Mother Tree remained, still and silent, yet somehow radiating warmth and affection.

Dreamsong had told Hikari of how Mother Tree had fallen, but it was telling that in their dreams, she and her fellows dragons did not see their great foe. Instead, they saw Mother Tree as she had been before, a tree whose great boughs had sheltered them when they were small and whose touch had comforted them when the Broken God had slain so many of their kin.

"How are you?" Hikari asked.

"…" It took a moment for Dreamsong's eyes to truly focus on her in the here and now. The currents of the deep dreaming were all but impossible to read, even for her, but Dreamsong was as far beyond even Hikari as Doomwing was beyond the greatest of human mages. She could glimpse the futures held in the currents of the deep dreaming and tease small nuggets of prophesy from them from time to time. "I am well."

Hikari raised an eyebrow. "You sent for me."

Dreamsong nodded, and the emptiness around them shifted. Flashes of ruby and sapphire flitted past, and Hikari realised that the dragon was showing her a new current, one that had only recently grown prominent in the dreaming world. "He has awakened once more, but I do not think he means to slumber again as he has done in the past."

The 'he' she referred to needed no explanation. Only one creature in the world had scales of such vivid blue and red.

"What has Doomwing been doing?" Hikari asked.

Dreamsong looked at her but saw beyond her. "He seeks to build an empire of his own, as does Marcus in the far north."

"For what reason?" Hikari asked quietly. "Has he… fallen?" If Doomwing were to fall prey to the same… mistakes as her mother, it would be disastrous.

Dreamsong chuckled. "No. Boredom."

"Boredom?" Hikari asked incredulously. "He is building an empire because he is bored?"

"Yes… and because he wishes to outdo Marcus."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Hikari couldn't help but laugh. "Those two idiots," she said, her voice heavy with fondness. Elsewhere, she might have tried to conceal her emotions, but not here. Here, in the deep dreaming, all desire were laid bare. Even without looking, Hikari knew that behind her stood wispy outlines of her mother, father, and friends – relics of those brief years when the world had been pure and perfect. "That would be just like them."

"An umbral veil has appeared in the far north. I believe Marcus means to make a kingdom there, a new vampire homeland to replace what was lost."

"Didn't Doomwing blow up the old vampire homelands?" Hikari asked.

Dreamsong nodded. "In his defence, we all agreed to it. It was the best option at the time."

"Is that so?"

In terms of raw destructive power, Doomwing might be the most gifted of the primordial dragons once his magic was taken into account. Frostfang could have done it. The winter dragon rarely left the far north since he could freeze entire kingdoms if he wasn't careful. There was also Ashheart. The tectonic dragon was the largest of the primordial dragons, perhaps half again as large as Doomwing, but he was also the slowest and worst at flying. Yet his was the might of the burning heart of the earth, and Doomwing had once told her of how he could heave up mountains with his power or tear great rifts in the earth that could swallow whole kingdoms.

Yes, every single one of the primordial dragons could have destroyed the vampire homelands, but perhaps only Doomwing could have done it so quickly and so utterly. The umbral veil that had protected those lands had shattered like glass, and his magic had torn through the air, the ground, and even the water, sundering and breaking, tearing root and branch, leaving only silence and absolute desolation in its wake.

That had been at the end of the Fourth Age.

It had taken until the middle of the Sixth Age before anything had grown there again, and even then, it had only been weeds of the most stunted and twisted variety. From what Dreamsong had told her, several enterprising dryads had taken root there recently, and they were having some success in restoring the land to some semblance of normalcy although it would likely take another thousand years before anything of worth could grow there without their aid.

"The Fourth Catastrophe was stronger than you would think and far more vicious. He had learned to draw strength from the very land itself, binding himself to the vampire homelands to add to his already misbegotten powers. Destroying them so utterly was an important way of weakening him and dealing with many of his followers." Dreamsong's gaze turned distant. "Though it pained me to see part of the dreaming lands go silent. Vampires dream, you know, and not all of their dreams were cruel."

"So Doomwing is establishing an empire for himself, as is Marcus. Is that all you wished to tell me?" Hikari asked.

"The time is soon approaching when you will reveal the kitsune to the world again." Dreamsong had not asked her about it, but she knew of it all the same. After all, Hikari had dreamt of little else recently. "You will need allies in the world, people to vouch for you and yours."

"And you would have me seek out Doomwing and Marcus?" Hikari stiffened. "I…" She had lived more than a thousand years, yet the thought of seeing those two again had her feeling like a small child – a child who had done wrong and did not wish to face it. "I do not know if I can. I… did not stand with them."

"Nor did I," Dreamsong said, her voice a low, mournful sound like the crashing of the tides against some distant shore of tumbled cliffs and broken stones. "And yet if I spoke to Doomwing now, I know he would not turn me away."

"You have known him since the First Age. I knew him for less than two decades."

"Despite how he may act or what he may say, Doomwing has had many friends over the years." Dreamsong's coils gleamed purple in the twilight, and for a moment, they were somewhere else, and the great dragon's hoard lay about them. The greatest of her treasures were memories and dreams caught turned into crystals that could be viewed and experienced on a whim. The moment passed, and they were once more beside the shadow of Mother Tree, and Hikari had to fight to keep from asking for memories of the good days, for the crystals that contained moments forever lost to the passage of time. "But almost all of his friends are dead, Hikari. I think he would be pleased to know that even one more of them still lives and is well."

"I…" Hikari took a deep, deep breath. If she was going to bring the kitsune back into the world, then she would, at some point, have to meet with Doomwing and Marcus. "I shall consider it."

"He is training someone," Dreamsong said. "A young woman with eyes like your father and dreams like his. She even broke her leg kicking his construct out of frustration."

Hikari chuckled. That had happened to her father, and he had never stopped complaining about it. "Is she…?"

"A distant descendant, but his blood flows more truly in her than it has in many others."

"As I said, I will consider it." Hikari turned, but not before catching a glimpse of the current of desire trailing after Dreamsong. "And perhaps you should leave this place for a time as well. It has been a long time since you've seen your fellows."

Dreamsong stilled, and then her sinuous body moved, gliding across the ground in almost serpentine fashion. "Perhaps the north. There are new dreams there from hatchlings with hearts of winter ice. It would be remiss of me to not visit at least once before they are grown and leave the nest."

Hikari had just left the dreaming lands and walked back through the ornate arch when she realised what Dreamsong's words meant.

"Frostfang has hatchlings?" She snorted inelegantly, ignoring the shocked stares from the two kitsune standing guard. "Good luck, Marcus. Hopefully, they don't cause you any trouble."

Author's Notes

And so we have Hikari's point of view. She had a pretty rough go of things. She didn't want to fight her mother, but she couldn't go along with her plans either. In the end, she basically sat things out. Oh, she chipped in here and there, but she just couldn't bring herself to really take up arms and fight her mother.

Amongst the kitsune, tails are a sign of power. Having nine tails means that a kitsune will no longer die of old age. There isn't always a kitsune around with nine tails, but when there is, that kitsune will usually be in charge. Kagami had nine tails, and Hikari has gotten to nine at an unprecedented rate. Rather than kill off her enemies, she has instead been allowing old age to do a lot of the heavy lifting for her. Yes, kitsune naturally live longer than humans, but they can still die of old age unless they get to nine tails.

Dreamsong is smaller than Doomwing. Most of this is due to the type of dragon that she is. Muse dragons tend to be less physical imposing than nova dragons (Doomwing's type) while tectonic dragons are even bigger and more imposing than nova dragons of similar age while not being particularly quick or good fliers (for a dragon – they're still leagues ahead of almost anything else). In terms of aerial combat, the best of the dragons mentioned so far would be Dawnscale. Celestial dragons are considered exceptionally quick and agile in the air, and are considered supremely gifted aerial combatants.

The dreaming lands are rich in magical energy, and Dreamsong has made her lair there for much the same reason that Doomwing has his lair in a volcano. It allows her a place to gather power and rest, and her mastery over the deep dreaming is such that fighting her there is basically suicide. Doomwing learned some of his memory magic from her although he has had to extensively rework many of the spells and runes because he simply doesn't have the same aptitude for dreams and memories as she does. Oh well. He's good at that kind of thing.

Also, Marcus… watch out. The existence of an umbral veil is the kind of thing that might, eventually, get a primordial winter dragon to leave the very furthest reaches of the far north to investigate.

Last edited: Feb 17, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Feb 16, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 20: The Ship Takes Flight

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SecretTwelve

Feb 18, 2024

#269

Chapter 20: The Ship Takes Flight

Doomwing looked upon the sky ship. A week had passed since he had last seen it, and the dwarves had been hard at work. His magic had put the pieces together, but the process had been rough at best. The dwarves had painstakingly worked on the joins, hammering, welding, and using all manner of magic to ensure that that the sky ship was well and truly back in one piece.

The ancient dwarven script on the hull and throughout the sky ship had been restored. Gone were the faded etchings and time-worn symbols. Instead, they had been carved anew and filled in with fresh ink crafted from materials designed to conduct magic and contain spell craft. The sails had been replaced, and the complicated mechanisms of the interior had been restored or replaced with incredible attention to detail.

The parts he had given the dwarves had all been carefully matched and fitted into the correct positions, and the scaffolds bustled with activity as the dwarves continued to work on the vessel. But for all their efforts, the sky ship was still on the ground. Despite how far they had come, despite the exhaustion that filled their bodies and the immense effort they'd put into everything, the sky ship remained stubbornly unable to fly.

"I see that you have failed," Doomwing drawled as Prince Harald came forward to greet him.

"Great Doomwing…" The prince was shamefaced. "We have done everything we can, but you are right. We have failed. We gave it everything we had – I want you to know that – but it was not enough. We… we are not worthy of this ship."

Doomwing stared down at the dwarf. For a moment, he saw the dwarves of an Age long gone, bright-eyed and resolute, their hearts and minds turned to the sky and the endless horizon. What would they think of this distant descendant of their land-bound kin? Would they praise his efforts, or would they mock his failure?

His lips curled. He knew what they would do, and it was that knowledge that allowed him to soften his tone ever so slightly when he replied.

"I gave you an impossible task, Harald. You could never have succeeded."

The dwarf looked up at him. "You did?"

Doomwing gestured at the sky ship. "The work that you and your followers have done is worthy of praise. The makers of this vessel would be proud of what you have accomplished. However, this sky ship was never going to leave the ground."

"Why?" Harald asked. "Was it something we did?"

"No." Doomwing shook his head. "You must have grasped the general idea of how the sky ship operates. Explain it to me."

Harald nodded quickly. "Aye. The dwarven script on the vessel lightens how much it weighs. The spell-stones within the ship reduce or even cancel the effects of gravity while the spell-stones on the exterior of the ship produce the forces required to first lift the ship into the sky and then propel it. The sails can also be used to fly, but they require a strong magical current to be effective, and we do not have one here." Harald bit his lip. "We tried to activate the spell-stones, but we were never able to keep them active for more than a second or two."

"There is a reason for that." Doomwing gestured, and an image appeared beside him. "In essence, the spell-stones crystallise a particular spell, allowing it to be used when sufficient magic is run through them. The problem is that spell-stones of this size and power require a significant investment of magical energy before they are properly primed and ready for use. Without that energy, they will stutter and fail when activated. However, once active, the actual expenditure of magic is more manageable."

Harald's eyes widened. "No wonder the magical conduits leading from the core of the ship to the spell-stones are so thick! They would need to be that thick in order to withstand the massive surge of power required to activate the spell-stones."

"Precisely," Doomwing said. "The core of the ship is a crystal designed to store vast quantities of magical power. You may have noticed that the controls allow for both the steady release of lower quantities of magic and the sudden dumping of huge quantities of magic. The former is for when the sky ship is already aloft whereas the latter is for activating the spell-stones for flight. In truth, however, it was common practice to leave the spell-stones active whenever possible to minimise wear and tear on the crystal."

Harald ran a hand through his beard. "If we set up equipment to collect magical energy from our surroundings, we should be able to collect enough energy to activate the spell-stones in perhaps a month or so…"

"Why wait a month?" Doomwing chuckled. "You did not succeed – but you achieved far more than I expected. I had thought I would come back to a half-finished sky ship, and I would still have been content with that. To see you get this far… I can only praise your hard work and skill. I have no desire to wait a month. I will charge the crystal myself."

"Oh!" Harald bowed low. "Thank you, great Doomwing!"

"Think nothing of it." The dragon smiled faintly. "It has been too long, I think, since a sky ship sailed through the clouds."

Doomwing reached out to the crystal at the heart of the sky ship with his magic. He had to be careful here. His reserves of power were so vast that it would be trivially easy to overload the crystal and turn it into an explosive. Thankfully, his control was equally impressive, and he filled the crystal with his magic until it was full.

"Go," Doomwing said to Harald. "The crystal is ready. You and your followers were the ones to repair the sky ship. You should be the ones to take it into the air for the first time."

Harald ran through the sky ship until he reached the bridge. His most trusted followers were there with him, and the finest of his artificers and engineers stood ready and waiting in the most important parts of the ship. The dwarven script that allowed the bridge to communicate with the various areas of the ship flashed, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

"Draw power from the core," he said. "Activate the spell-stones that can free us from gravity's hold."

The crystal heart of the sky ship flashed, and magic began to flow into the spell-stones throughout the ship. The spell-stones began to hum, their dull surfaces slowly gaining shine and lustre as magic filled them. The spells crystallised within their depths glittered like stars, and the hum grew louder, no longer discordant but harmonious.

"Keep feeding magic into them," Harald said. "If I'm right, there are safety mechanisms built into them that will cut the power before they're overloaded. Doomwing said it'll take a fair bit of magic to get them going, and he was kind enough to give us plenty. Let's not be stingy."

The hum from the spell-stones grew until it was a chorus that filled the entire ship. It echoed down the corridors, rang out over the deck, and filtered up onto the bridge. It was beautiful, and Harald could have listened to it forever. But it was changing now, turning from a hum to a roar that reminded him more and more of the mighty artifacts his people used to carve open the mountains and harvest the bounty of the earth.

The pulsing light of the spell-stones settled into a sustained glow, and Harald felt the ship shudder beneath him before the magic within the stones rippled to life in earnest. The ship jerked in its moorings, no longer pressing down on the scaffolding but free to move in the wind. He and the other dwarves looked at one another in awe, and he stared out of the vast pane of enchanted glass that allowed him to see the open sky.

They were swaying back and forth, bobbing up and down like a ship in water.

"Father…" His son, Leif, could barely speak, but he managed to force the words out. "We're… we're flying!"

"Not yet, son." Harald grinned. "We're floating. If we want to fly, we'll have to get the other spell-stones working." He cleared his throat and spoke to the dwarven script that would convey his orders to the dwarves tending to the core. "Run power to the spell-stones for flight." He then addressed the dwarves who were in charge of those stones. "Have us rise, lads, but make it slow."

"What about the moorings?" his son asked.

"Have them cut the moorings," Harald said. "I'll not have anything tie us down, not now."

Doomwing felt a sense of nostalgia sweep over him as the Stalwart Guard took to the skies for the first time since the end of the Third Age. It was not graceful, not in the hands of those who'd never flown before. It was clumsy and slow and ugly, but it was flying, and that alone was enough to make his own heart soar.

Had he really missed the sight of a flying sky ship this much?

No.

That wasn't it.

He had missed what the sky ships of the Third Age had represented.

He had flown alone many times, for that was the way of dragons. They lived with their parents when they were young, but they left as soon as they were able, keen to explore the world and increase their strength. It was a solitary lifestyle, but it made dragons strong. A dragon must be able to stand alone against the world, or so he had been taught.

Yet there was joy to be found in companionship. He had spent many years soaring alongside the sky ships, and he had come to care for the dwarves, elves, and dryad who loved the sky as much as he did. To race through the skies alone was a fine thing, for there was little that made a dragon happier than to know that all he looked up was his.

Yet the thrill of the hunt was often better when it was shared, and he had passed many a night with the elves and dwarves of that bygone Age, exchanging stories, discussing magic, or even playing cards. Those memories had never faded, not after all the years that had passed, and they returned to him now, drawn to the forefront of his mind once more as he watched this relic from the Third Age take flight.

He truly was a sentimental fool.

He could almost heard Ragnar laughing at him in that good-natured way of his. The dwarf would have loved to see this, and he would have praised the dwarves mightily for what they had achieved – before stomping into the bridge to explain how they were doing it all wrong. Yes, his friend had taken flying seriously, and he had learned how to draw every ounce of speed and manoeuvrability out of a sky ship although his first love had always been battle.

Many times had Ragnar stood on the bridge of a sky ship yelling orders as he raced Doomwing. He'd never won. No sky ship ever made could match a dragon in full flight, but it was the race that had mattered most, the challenge, the thrill of matching himself against the best. Doomwing had humoured him, and perhaps he had slowed down a few times, if only to give Ragnar a glimpse of victory before speeding away.

"The core has enough power to fly for a week without recharging," Doomwing said. "Use the next two days to grow acquainted with the sky ship's operation and to ready your belongings. We leave once I am confident you can fly that thing without crashing into the first mountain we come across."

"What if we run out of magic?" Harald asked, his voice projected out into the open air by speakers forged of crystals etched with dwarven script.

"I will provide you with more if required, but that should not be necessary. We will be flying along several powerful currents of magic that flow through the sky. You will have a chance to practice using the sails and to replenish the core's store of magic." Doomwing chuckled. "And if necessary, I could always just use my power to carry you back."

After all, he was already carrying a group of tree folk with him. To his surprise, the tree folk had not been troubled by flying. If anything, they seemed to find it fun, and he could see them watching the sky ship intently.

"Well," Doomwing murmured. "You were serving Rhizophora. She has always been a bit odd. It's no surprise you lot are a bit odd too."

The tree folk just stared back at him before giving him the equivalent of a shrug.

Lydia blinked. "They actually managed to fix a sky ship and get into the air without killing themselves?"

Doomwing smiled toothily. "I gave them some help, but they did most of the hard work." He nodded at the dryad. "You're looking better."

"I feel better." The dryad smirked. "Ever since you dealt with that sky whale, I've been able to draw as much magic from the area as I need." She gestured at some tree folk who had gathered. "These are the tree folk who meet your needs. They're also holding the plants you wanted. They should be fine until you get back to that dryad of yours."

"Excellent."

"By the way," Lydia said. "Did you wipe out the wolves?"

"They were in the way," Doomwing said. "One of them even tried to eat the phoenix egg." The egg itself was hidden from view and protected by multiple runes. He didn't want anyone else stealing his prize, not that he thought he would run into anyone with the strength to take it. However, he didn't want to run the risk of it being damaged during a scuffle. "Why do you ask? Don't tell me you wanted me to spare them."

"I don't really care what happened to them," Lydia said. "But, apparently, the goblins and centaurs found out. They've been celebrating for days, and with the sky whale meat and parts you left them, those celebrations have been pretty rowdy."

"Oh? Have any of them been able to ascend?" Doomwing asked. If they had, it only made them more interesting. "Or did they kill themselves in the attempt?"

Leaving those parts to the goblins and centaurs was both a gift and a test. A foolish person would greedily devour as much as they could and probably kill themselves in the process. A wiser person would carefully consume what was safe, gradually building their strength until they were able to ascend.

"A handful," Lydia said. "Derzu was one of them."

Doomwing thought back to the wise goblin. "That doesn't surprise me. What form did his ascension take?"

"I'm not sure of the exact name, but he seems to have developed abilities suited to leadership and command over groups ranging from foragers to warriors."

"Hmm…" Doomwing chuckled. "I see. That suits him, I think. You should keep a close eye on him. With his new abilities, the goblins and centaurs will be far more effective. It wouldn't surprise me if they try to establish a permanent settlement too. If his ascension has taken the form I think it has, then he will be most effective when he can stay in one place and command as many people as possible."

"I will keep watch," Lydia said. "Do you think they will try to establish a proper nation of their own?"

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"That might be a good opportunity for me," Lydia murmured. "They will need allies, and with their help, I could greatly extend my reach. Not to mention, a permanent settlement will mean crops…" She shook herself. "What will you do now?"

Doomwing flexed his wings. "I will continue my journey home. I do not wish to dawdle." He glanced back to the sky ship. The dwarves had done well to improve, but every now and then, they made mistakes that needed to be corrected. Now was one such occasion. The sky ship was listing to the side, and his keen senses could pick out the panic spreading through the vessel. "The magical conduits to some of the flight stones are in need of repair. They are transmitting magic poorly, which means there is more power being used to lift one side of the ship than the other."

"Ah." Lydia made a face. "I think I will stay on the ground. It's easier that way."

Author's Notes

Under normal circumstances, the dwarves would have spent at least a couple of weeks learning how to operate the sky ship properly. Doomwing has decided to let them learn on the job, so to speak, since he can always keep them from crashing the thing if necessary. As a result, they have had multiple brushes with terror and death, but they're also learning very quickly. Antaria would understand.

Now that Doomwing has begun his return trip, it won't be long before he's back in his territory. That means he can really get to improving things in his lands, albeit through Antaria, the dwarves, Daphne, and the others. After all, he's not going to produce competent subordinates if he does everything for them.

Also, if you're curious, the dwarves took everyone and everything with them. There were only a few hundred of them, and they were able to cram themselves into the ship. Whatever they couldn't fit, Doomwing can store away with his magic. Meanwhile, the tree folk are chilling, floating around next to Doomwing. They're taking it a lot better than Daphne did too.

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Threadmarks Interlude 3: The Parting

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SecretTwelve

Feb 20, 2024

#278

Interlude 3: The Parting

Doomwing stared at the empty space where Dawnscale had once been. He hadn't truly expected her to leave. Despite everything she'd said, despite the horrors the Fourth Catastrophe had unleashed, he hadn't really thought she would abandon their world.

But she had.

She was gone. She had left to wander the many worlds of Creation. He could understand the allure. New worlds, new challenges, and new conquests. Who wouldn't be tempted? She'd glimpsed other worlds since she was a hatchling. Her soul had ridden the astral tides, the currents of soul energy that spread across Creation like ripples across the surface of a lake.

She had spoken of these worlds to him. Some were devoid of life, little better than burnt-out husks. Others were full of creatures that defied easy description and called upon powers strange and mysterious. And still others were not so different from theirs. There were even dragons in a few of those worlds.

She had spoken too of the great shadow she had seen in the depths of the astral world, a titan beyond imagination, a dragon beyond all others who wore a crown of twilight flame and stars about his head. He was no child of the First Gods. He was older and mightier, born upon a world that had been ancient long before theirs had been created, and risen far beyond any mere god.

Could they rise to the same heights?

Dawnscale had wanted to find out. She had wanted to explore Creation and seek out those who could answer her questions and help her grow. She had wanted to leave behind the seemingly endless cycle of Catastrophes and forge her own destiny in a world that did not need her to save it so often.

She had asked him to come with her.

Surely, he would be interested. Was he not the dragon who loved magic more than all other things? Each new world was bound to have new magic for him to learn and explore. All he had to do was leave this world behind. All he had to do was let go.

He could sense the truth of her words.

She was no mere hatchling anymore. She could do more than cast her soul upon the astral tides. She could sail upon the astral tides with her soul and body, riding them from their world and into another. He could do something similar with his magic and his runes. He could craft a vessel to ride those tides alongside her, and they could both just leave.

It would be so easy.

But he had refused, and she had left without him.

"You sentimental fool," she had said to him. "You don't owe this world anything. You have helped save it four times already. This world… is cursed. The cycle of Catastrophes will never end. If this world ever had a peaceful destiny, the Broken God made sure to destroy it. His foulness has tainted this place forever. Are you worried about the others? We can grow stronger together, and then we can come back for them. We can all be free."

And he had looked at her, at the scales of gleaming white that shone with all the light and glory of the dawn, and he had seen her for the first time. How long had it been since the compassion he had both admired and despised had cooled into detachment? Was it when she had seen so many of their kind fall at the hands of the Broken God? Was it when they had been forced to strike down Mother Tree and slay those who defended her? Or had it been when the accursed offspring of a dragon and a leviathan had tried to drown the world?

There was so much suffering in the world, so much hate, and rage, and sorrow… and her compassion was not infinite. In the end, the well had run dry, and only cool detachment had remained. She helped people because it was the right thing to do. It was a duty, not a desire. And like all duties, it grew ever more tiresome.

Perhaps the Fourth Catastrophe had been the final straw. To realise that some up-jumped leech could grow so powerful as to threaten the entire world… they… she had all hoped that after the Lord of Tides, there would be no more Catastrophes, that with the ghosts of the past all laid to rest, perhaps there would finally be peace for them all.

The vampire was proof that they would never have peace. There would always be another Catastrophe, and Dawnscale had wanted no more of it. So she had left, and he had let her go, and now he stood alone on the mountain top, still and silent and alone. He wanted to say that his exhaustion and weariness were due to the great effort he'd put in to help strike down the Fourth Catastrophe.

That was a lie.

He had perhaps only a quarter of his magic left, and his body was covered in wounds, some more serious than others, but the exhaustion and weariness came from knowing he had lost yet another person he cared about.

That was all he could do. Lose people. And his memories of them were little comfort because they always led him to the same place, the same sense of loss. But Dawnscale was different. She hadn't died. She had left, and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

"This world is my home," he had said to her. "My parents died defending it. My friends have died defending it. Would you have me run away? Would you have me abandon it? Never. From my first day until my last, this world is my home. If I must die defending it, then so be it. I am a dragon, and I do not run. Let all the horrors of Creation come. I am Doomwing, and I am no coward. This whole world shall be my hoard, and they will die like all the other Catastrophes."

She had looked at him then, and her gaze had been filled with pity. And then she had left.

Perhaps if he had been less troubled by his thoughts, he would have noticed the other dragons sooner. Perhaps if there hadn't been an ember of rage, of fury, at being abandoned burning deep inside him, he would have chosen to leave rather than stand his ground. And perhaps, if the first words spoken by the leader of the other dragons hadn't been so unwise, he wouldn't feel the overwhelming urge to slaughter them all and bathe in their blood.

"Alone?" the ancient squall dragon laughed as he and his fellows formed a loose circle around Doomwing. "Perfect."

Doomwing rose up to his full height. There were four ancient dragons and eight elder dragons. "I suppose you're here to kill me."

The squall dragon chuckled. "Yes. You're strong, Doomwing, but you are alone, and we are many. How much power can you have left after fighting the Fourth Catastrophe? Your heart will allow me and my fellow ancients to Awaken further, and the rest of your body will do to help the elder dragons to Awaken as well."

Doomwing took a deep breath. The squall dragon had brought a storm with him. Black clouds filled the sky, and bolts of lightning crackled through the heavens. The rain poured down, and the wind howled. It was an impressive display for an ancient dragon, but Doomwing had only one thought in his mind.

Weak.

"You're all so weak," Doomwing rumbled. "If you weren't so weak, I and the other primordial dragons would not have to suffer so much to protect this world. If you weren't so weak, maybe she wouldn't have left."

It was a silly, deluded thought. Deep down inside, he understood that she was always going to leave. She'd already made her mind up, perhaps millennia ago. But these dragons were right in front of him, and the ember of rage inside him was growing by the moment, turning from an ember into an inferno.

"What are you rambling about?" the squall dragon snapped. "It doesn't matter." He glanced at his fellows. "He's wounded, and he can't have much power left after fighting the Catastrophe. If we attack together, he will fall."

Doomwing took a deep, deep breath. His wound ached. His reserves of magic were only a quarter full. But the world came into perfect focus. Here, now, nothing mattered except battle.

"Leave," he said to the elder dragons. "And I will let you go." He bared his teeth and smiled at the four ancients. "But not them. I will tear your hearts from your chest and feast upon them. I will break your bodies and bathe in your blood. I will rend your scales and rip you limb from limb. But you elders may leave because I want someone to tell all of the others what will happen if they challenge me."

"He's bluffing!" the squall dragon hissed. "Attack!"

In an instant, the four ancient dragons began to form runes. Doomwing snorted in contempt. Slow. They were all so slow. Mother Tree would have killed them before they finished, and the Lord of the Tides would have torn their wings off to watch them flounder in the water.

With a contemptuous sneer, Doomwing unleashed a twelfth order spell backed by several greater runes of enhancement. Soul-burning lightning arced from his claws and struck one of the elder dragons before leaping to the next and the next and the next until seven of the elder dragons were tumbling out of the sky. Astral light was pouring from their mouth and eyes as their souls burned.

So slow.

They had gotten used to fighting sky whales and krakens. When was the last time they had fought a foe who could level mountains or part the seas? When was the last time their survival had hinged on being just a split-second faster than their opponents? He left the last elder dragon untouched, and the green-scaled acid dragon did nothing, too terrified to fight or flee.

The ancient dragons were still preparing their runes. Foolish. They were preparing the most powerful destructive runes they knew. They were trying to kill him a single blow. Absurd! They should have used their numbers to their advantage. They should have used greater and lesser runes to wear him down until he no longer had the strength to defend himself from the handful of ancient runes they might know.

Instead, they had chosen to use their ancient runes right away, and he was not impressed. They were slow and clumsy, and so very, very obvious. One was weaving an ancient rune of true death, and the other three were weaving ancient runes of shattering, shield-breaking, and magic-negation. Not a bad set of choices, but by choosing the most powerful ancient runes at their disposal, they had abandoned speed.

They were clearly inexperienced.

Doomwing had learned at great cost that in a fight between people who could use ancient runes, speed was everything. A half-finished rune might as well not exist. If someone wanted to use slower runes, then they needed to either prepare them in advance or create an opportunity to use them safely.

Doomwing lashed out with a quartet of greater runes, casting them simultaneously and finishing them long before the ancient dragons had finished their ancient runes. He struck the squall dragon blind, deaf, and mute. The blaze dragon was suddenly falling out of the sky, gravity increasing hundreds of times over. The dawn dragon found herself unable to breathe as bands of force and radiance wrapped around her chest and squeezed tight. And the rift dragon was suddenly missing his legs as a line of pure cutting force flashed between them.

Their ancient runes came apart as they lost concentration and panicked. Doomwing laughed and heaved his aching body into the air.

The squall dragon died first. As he lashed out blindly, spewing lightning and flailing with his claws and tail, Doomwing drove one claw into his chest and ripped his heart out. An ancient dragon's scales were immensely durable, but he was a primordial dragon, and his claws were far sharper.

The fool. If he had kept calm, he could have used his ability to control the wind to sense Doomwing's position and movements. Instead, he had panicked, and it had cost him his life.

The dawn dragon was next, and Doomwing snarled in disgust. A dawn dragon was one of the lesser stages of a celestial dragon. Dawn dragons were much like celestial dragons – absolutely devastating in the air. A dawn dragon should have nearly peerless speed and agility in the air. This dragon should have kept her distance, strafing him with constant bombardments of her light breath and magic. It was what Dawnscale would have done. Instead, she had hovered in the air like an idiot while preparing an ancient rune she had barely mastered.

Doomwing tore her head off her shoulders as she struggled to break free of the rune that bound her. Simply biting her throat out might not have been enough. After all, dawn dragons were incredibly good at healing themselves.

To his credit, the rift dragon died well. Missing both his legs, he bellowed his defiance and unleashed a barrage of spells, using the time the other two ancients had bought him with their lives. At the same time, he bent space and time, accelerating the speed of his attacks and collapsing space around Doomwing in an effort to make the attacks unavoidable. If only he hadn't wasted his time with an ancient rune and had attacked like this from the start.

But ancient runes were so very powerful, and it was so easy to get lost in the allure of the overwhelming might they could unleash.

Doomwing had been like that once, but several near-death experiences had driven home that relying solely on ancient runes was an excellent way to end up dead. Ancient runes were an exceedingly powerful tool, but like any tool they were only effective in certain situations.

This combination attack, however, was worthy of praise – but not nearly enough to stop him. Doomwing unleashed a wave of disruptive magic, blowing apart the space and time manipulation the rift dragon had created and deflecting the hail of spells. In the next moment, he was beside the other dragon, and he clawed open his chest with punishing force.

The final ancient, the blaze dragon, had finally managed to right himself. He was trying to flee, wings beating desperately as he fled the massacre. Doomwing growled. At least the others had died fighting. This fool would die a coward.

"Let me show you how to use ancient runes."

Doomwing could have called upon one of his mightiest ancient runes, a rune that could shatter a mountain range and tear open the seas. But that would have taken too long, and his foe would have been out of range. Instead, he called for something simpler.

An ancient rune of piercing.

He pointed with one claw, and the ancient rune formed in the span of a heartbeat. In the distance, the blaze dragon froze and then began to tumble out of the sky, a hole blown right through his back and out through his chest. His heart was gone, along with several of his other organs.

Doomwing turned back to the remaining elder dragon. The acid dragon quivered in fright, and he loomed over her. She couldn't have been more than a third his size. Bringing her and the other elder dragons had been pointless. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the squall dragon had been planning to use them as a distraction, not realising how little effort it would take for Doomwing to destroy them.

"You." He gestured vaguely at the carnage around him. The broken bodies of the ancient dragons and the elder dragons littered the slopes of the mountains. "Leave and tell everyone else you know about what you saw."

"I…" She swallowed thickly. "Do… do you want to know who they were?"

It was commonplace for dragons to boast of the foes they had beaten. But there was nothing to boast about here.

"No." Doomwing dismissed her with a flick of his tale. "Why should a dragon learn the names of ants?"

As the acid dragon fled as fast as her wings could carry her, Doomwing landed beside the body of the squall dragon. They had planned to eat him, hadn't they? Well, he was feeling hungry, and they were right there.

On a nearby mountain top, Marcus decided to stay silent. He and Doomwing had formed an awkward friendship of sorts. He had wanted to offer what words of comfort he could when the celestial dragon had left. Doomwing was clearly quite upset by it. But then those other dragons had shown up and… well, suddenly, drawing attention to himself didn't seem like a good idea.

He'd wait until Doomwing had finished eating. He should be calmer then, and they did need to talk about what to do with some of the more… horrific artifacts they'd found in the ruins left after Marcus's father had been defeated. The crazy vampire had managed to gather some incredibly powerful but dangerous items. There were a few that Marcus wanted to keep, but it might be better to get rid of the rest.

Author's Notes

Do not attack Doomwing while he is experiencing angst. That's how you end up dead.

In all seriousness, the ancient dragons and elder dragons here could have put up a much better fight. However, their fear and confidence got the better of them. Doomwing was already renowned as a master of magic. Therefore, they decided that the best way to attack him was with ancient runes after the fight with the Catastrophe. After all, ancient runes pack the most punch out of any attack that a dragon can muster. But they are also incredibly difficult to use, never mind master.

These ancient dragons had ancient runes, but they had yet to fully master them. Instead, they were counting on Doomwing being too weak and injured to properly fight back, never realising that he has plenty of experiencing fighting people who can use ancient runes while they have almost none. Although the most powerful ancient runes are capable of almost god-like feats, they are also relatively slow. Doomwing can use greater runes incredibly quickly, allowing him to finish first even though the others started their ancient runes earlier.

Moreover, a twelfth-order spell would not normally be that big a threat to a group of elder dragons unless it was severely overloaded, but Doomwing used runes to enhance it instead, making it far deadlier than they expected and striking them down before they could really understand what was happening. You also need specific defences to ward off soul-lightning since it's technically an attack aimed at the soul rather than the body. Doomwing was close with Dawnscale, so he knows all about that. The elder dragons? Not so much.

From there, the fight was basically over. Even injured, Doomwing's physical abilities are far beyond those of an ancient dragon. Without all of his magic, disrupting their ancient runes, momentarily disabling them, and then closing in for melee kills was the quickest way to deal with them, and it was the opposite of what they were expecting.

Doomwing was stronger, faster, had way more combat experience, and understood exactly what they were trying to do and how to deal with it. That's what constantly fighting the best of the best does, and this sort of thing is why dragons in later Ages typically approach Doomwing openly while making it clear they aren't looking for trouble because if there is trouble, they are going to end up dead.

Note that in a fight, Dawnscale would use her superior speed and agility in the air to maintain distance and evade while constantly attacking Doomwing with her light magic and light breathe. Light breathe and light magic don't do a lot of splash damage, but they have tremendous penetrative strength and incredible speed. Since light magic (which a celestial dragon would specialise in) also offers healing and defence, her strategy would be to evade, heal or defend when necessary, and try to land consistent blows with her light attacks since they will go through almost any form of defence. Meanwhile, Doomwing would probably spin up multiple defences to tank her light attacks long enough to basically blow up the entire sky with an ancient rune, negating her agility and speed advantage or forcing her to retreat. Alternatively, he could use his own telekinetic breath to create 'homing' projectiles while doing his best to evade and defend in return. He could also opt to enhance himself and try to go toe-to-toe with her in the air since, especially with enhancement, he is physically stronger.

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Feb 20, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 21: The Dragon Returns

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SecretTwelve

Feb 22, 2024

#286

Chapter 21: The Dragon Returns

Once upon a time, Antaria would have been quite put out if she'd been told to sleep outside on a regular basis. However, sleeping outside was the least of her worries when it came to Doomwing's training.

Any illusions she might have had about the dragon easing off in his absence had been dispelled very quickly indeed. His construct was perfectly capable of beating the absolute crap out of her with minimal effort, and he was more than happy to subject her to any number of torments under the guise of training.

Only two things had stopped her from rebelling. First and foremost, she had absolutely zero chance of defeating his construct, never mind the dragon himself. She had considered escape several times before concluding that it was impossible. His construct would hunt her down, drag her back, and then subject her to twice as much training or worse. Second – and perhaps most importantly of all – the torture he called training actually worked.

Antaria had gone far beyond what she considered the limits of human ability in the span of a few months. It was, quite frankly, completely insane. She now did things on a daily basis that she would have considered completely impossible before meeting Doomwing.

Shattering boulders with her bare hands? She was lucky if that was all he asked her to do.

Fighting blindfolded on top of stone pillars over a pool of acid? She did that before breakfast, and Doomwing had taken pains to point out that the acid wouldn't actually kill her – just leave her in hideous, screaming agony.

Slaughtering her way through dozens of monsters with nothing except her trusty rock and a broken sword? Hah! When she saw a monster now, she either saw a new minion or lunch.

All in all, despite her grumbling, Antaria couldn't really complain. When she had first realised just how bad a ruler her father was, she'd sought out her uncle. He and several others had counselled patience and the need for caution. They hadn't been wrong, but the delay had cost many good people their lives and had only made things in the kingdom worse.

High-minded ideals were all well and good, but they meant nothing without strength. For all of his idiocy, her father had understood that. He had used bribery, threats, and cunning to ensure the loyalty of the royal guard and the military. With them backing him, he had been impossible to remove. Her uncle's ideals and honour had meant nothing in the face of overwhelming strength.

And then Doomwing had come, and her father's strength had meant less than nothing before the dragon's power.

Doomwing had done in a few moments what she and her uncle had been unable to do for years. How? With power. It was that simple.

Now, Antaria wasn't some kind of crazy person who thought that power was the only thing that mattered. Honour, justice, wisdom – those were all qualities that a good ruler should have. But a good ruler needed to be strong. Otherwise, none of those qualities would matter.

There were different kinds of strength. Her father had not been the deadliest fighter, but he had been cunning. He had known how to use the strengths of others, and that had made him far more dangerous than he had any right to be. Antaria didn't want to live her life that way, which meant she needed personal power, enough that nobody would even think of challenging her.

And Doomwing was training her to get it.

His newest training exercise involved her harnessing the magic of the land around her while she slept. By learning how to absorb magic from her surroundings, circulate it through her body to purify it, and then add it to her reserves while sleeping, she could vastly hasten her progress. Moreover, learning how to do all of that while sleeping meant she could do it automatically, no matter how tired, distracted, or injured she was.

But learning how to do all of that while sleeping wasn't exactly easy. In fact, she had spent the first few nights achieving absolutely nothing except getting lectured on the finer points of logistics, administration, and economic policy by Doomwing in her dreams. Why the dragon knew so much about those topics, she had no idea. However, he certainly seemed to know what he was talking about, and she wasn't stupid enough to ignore what he was saying just because his training was a nightmare.

In a bid to improve her chances of success, Doomwing had ordered her to sleep outside with some of the monsters she'd turned into her minions. Apparently, monsters often used a technique that was similar, if not the same, and sleeping in close proximity to them might help her learn.

Since Antaria was still determined to get a good night's sleep, she hadn't just fallen asleep next to the nearest monster. Instead, she'd called the most loyal monsters over and then picked the ones most suitable for serving as pillows and beds. The giant wolves were her choice, and they had proven to be surprisingly soft and fluffy despite their fearsome appearance.

She now spent her nights using one of the mother wolves as a bed while using a few of the pups as pillows. Yes, the pups were almost as big as she was, but they were also cuddly and warm, and it was surprisingly easy to fall asleep with them all around her. The wolves must have realised that keeping her comfortable was in their best interests because they had done their best to accommodate her. In return, she had promoted a few of them. After all, she couldn't be everywhere at once. She needed monsters who could relay her orders to the others or who could supervise the others when they left her immediate vicinity.

The wolves had a good grasp of the hierarchy. In particular, they understood that she could kill just about any of them without too much effort. By obeying her and executing her orders, they stood to benefit. Not only would she happily murder their enemies but she would also share their corpses, and the easiest way for monsters to grow stronger was to eat other monsters.

Daphne found the whole thing hilarious, and Antaria would have been more annoyed if the dryad wasn't more than pulling her weight when it came to the other projects Doomwing had left them with. Honestly, the dragon was so demanding.

Plant more crops.

Plant better crops.

Find suitable leaders amongst the villagers.

Make better farming equipment.

Clear the area around the villages of monsters.

And he expected her to do all of that on top of her training. Daphne took a lot of the pressure off her. The dryad was able to reproduce the seeds of almost any plant she had encountered in the past, which meant that she could create seeds of the crops used centuries ago before the kingdom had fallen into its current state of disrepair. She also knew a lot about farming and farming equipment. Between the two of them, they were able to get the villagers to adopt new methods, equipment, and crops with surprising speed.

The fact that Antaria now had a small army of monsters at her disposal probably helped too.

Those monsters had also been quite helpful when it came to farming. Some of them could dig with incredible speed whilst others had a variety of different abilities, like making water, shaping metal, or just being really big and strong, that could help speed up the process. To their credit, the villagers had adjusted quickly once they'd realised that they weren't about to get eaten.

It was all working out rather nicely, which meant that Antaria now had to worry about infrastructure issues. More crops meant they needed more water, better roads, and more buildings to store produce. Already word had begun to spread to neighbouring lands about a tyrannical princess who ruled over monsters. Crops were said to grow faster in her domain, and people were kept safe from bandits and monsters by the princess and her own monsters.

Now, she preferred to believe that she wasn't tyrannical since that was more Doomwing's thing, but she wasn't about to turn down more people although she had been careful to examine the new arrivals for signs of treachery or general malevolence. She'd asked the villagers to keep a close eye on them, along with the animals that Daphne had, as well as some of her stealthier monsters.

There were some unsavoury types, but they'd gotten rid of them without too much trouble, and the rest had settled in nicely. The handful who'd tried to commit serious crimes were given to the hungrier monsters as a way of reminding anyone who was thinking of doing the same that she was not about to put up with any real evil in her domain.

Was it brutal? Yes. But having gotten to know the villagers, she had no intention of letting anyone prey upon them. They were good, kind, decent folk, and people had better treat them well… or else. The fact that the villagers were excellent cooks who always had a hearty meal waiting for her – they'd even learned how to cook monster parts! – was a complete coincidence.

"Get up."

Antaria opened one eye. Doomwing's construct loomed over her. She grumbled and was about to roll over before thinking better of it. Doomwing kept a fairly regular schedule, which meant that any deviation from it was probably important. Antaria pushed her way out from under a giant wolf pup and sighed as another clung onto her back like a barnacle.

"Leave the pup," the construct said. "Consider it weight training."

Antaria snorted. The wolf pup wasn't nearly heavy enough to trouble her, not anymore. Even so, she let the young canine cling onto her as she followed Doomwing away from the pile of sleeping wolves. "What's going on?"

"I will be returning shortly." The construct smiled. It was terrifying. "I have a gift for you."

Antaria was immediately suspicious. "Does your gift involve pain?"

The construct actually stopped to think. "Only to a manageable level."

"I don't believe you."

"It doesn't matter what you believe. Go to Daphne. I have many things to give her, so it will be more convenient if you go there." Doomwing paused. "Also, grab the other wolf pups. I will use my magic to lash them onto you. You can run to Daphne's tree with them on you."

"…" Antaria sighed.

"And no using runes or spells. Circulate as little magic through your body as possible. You will have noticed by now that your base physical abilities have already increased substantially."

Antaria nodded. "Yes."

"It is one of the consequences of long-term magic circulation. In essence, circulating large quantities of magic through your body will permanently increase your physical abilities. Admittedly, the increase is not very large at all, but it will add up over time. Currently, you are already noticeably stronger than you were before, even without using magic to enhance yourself. Since most forms of physical enhancement operate on your base strength, increasing your base strength through physical training remains a useful activity."

Antaria sighed as Doomwing used magic to attach the pups to her. She was now carrying several times her body weight in giant wolf pups. "Is that why dragons are so strong, even taking their size into account?"

"It is one of the reasons. However, dragons have myriad other abilities, and our muscles are simply stronger and more efficient than yours on a pound-for-pound basis." The construct shrugged. "Sadly for you, when the First Gods were handing out gifts, dragons got more than humans."

"…"

Antaria started jogging toward Daphne's tree. By some miracle, the wolf pups continued to snooze away, possibly because of Doomwing's magic. It wouldn't surprise her at all if he was nicer to them than he was to her. It seemed like his cruelty was directly in line with his expectations. He expected a lot from her, so he subjected her to absolute hell. He expected less from the wolves and was largely content to let her manage them, so he was, overall, nicer to them. A malicious part of her hoped that changed soon.

She was panting by the time she reached Daphne's tree, and she took a few moments to catch her breath as Doomwing's construct removed the wolf pups and put them down nearby. They remained asleep, snoring softly as Daphne tried very hard not to laugh. Several of her animals were there, munching on fruit and exchanging nuts. Antaria's eyes narrowed. They always used nuts to bet, so what had their bet been? She'd have to find out later. One of the raccoons was always happy to tell her if she slipped him a few extra pieces of fruit.

"So…" Antaria looked around. "Where are you?"

Doomwing's construct pointed. "There."

Antaria felt a ripple of magic and then Doomwing appeared. The dragon was as majestic as always, a mile-long living cloud of ruby and sapphire scales that glittered in the morning light. However, he was not alone. Dozens of tree folks floated in the air around him, and they seemed to be handling the flight with far more aplomb that Daphne had. But what really drew Antaria's attention was the ship sailing through the sky alongside Doomwing.

"You came back with a flying ship." Antaria blinked. "I didn't even know those existed."

"It is the first of its kind to fly since the end of the Third Age." Doomwing's voice came from his construct as he and the makeshift fleet around him circled overhead.

"I see." Antaria nodded sagely. "I want one."

"Of course, you do." The construct snickered. "But you're not getting one from me."

Antaria made a choking sound. "You said you brought me a gift, right? Why can't my gift be a flying ship?" She loved flying, and as much as she loved Swiftstride, the idea of having an actual flying ship made her heart race.

"I could make one," the construct said. "But I won't. If you get one, it will be after the dwarves have worked out how to make more."

"You brought dwarves?" Antaria's mind whirled into action. "Are they working for you?" If they were, she could already imagine dozens of things they could do to help her. Dwarves were master engineers, masons, metal workers, and builders. They could build better buildings more quickly than the villagers could, to say nothing of the roads they could make. They'd have to be paid of course, but if they were going to be serving Doomwing, they'd need food – and the villagers would soon have a huge abundance of that. Dwarves were also said to be quite fond of fruit since they had a hard time growing it in their lands.

"Their leader has agreed to serve under me as king of his people while I shall be emperor." The construct chortled. "As for my gift for you…"

Tree folk and plants began to descend from the skies before Doomwing himself landed with a thump. The sky ship headed north, and Antaria watched it leave with disappointment. Objects began to appear in the air around Doomwing, and a big lump of… stuff floated toward Antaria.

"What is that?" Antaria winced. "It looks like… meat or something." The wolf pups had awakened, perhaps drawn to the smell and the abundance of magic the meat contained.

"It is part of the heart of a powerful sky whale." Doomwing smiled. He was speaking this time, rather than his construct. "And you're going to eat it."

Antaria blinked. "I… I see. What's the best way to cook it."

"You will be eating it raw."

Antaria's mouth opened and closed. "Raw? You want me to eat that raw?" The portion of sky whale heart had to weigh several kilos, not to mention, it looked incredibly tough and chewy. "I can't eat that raw!"

"You can and you will," Doomwing replied.

"But… do I have to?" Antaria asked.

"Yes. I kept a portion of it specifically for you." Doomwing peered at her, his titanic form casting the whole area into shadow as the tree folk ambled over to Daphne. The dryad greeted them cheerfully, and it wasn't long before they were deep in discussion. "Eating it will greatly increase your power and hasten your progress. I was concerned that you would be too weak to consume it, but your progress has been… acceptable. You will not die if you eat it."

"Wait. What? Eating it can be fatal if you're too weak?" Antaria squawked. "Are you absolutely sure I'll be fine if I eat it now?" She hadn't come this far just to die from eating something weird.

"I am mostly sure you will be fine. It is not an exact science." Doomwing shrugged. "But I am confident I can either heal you or teach you a technique to survive if necessary."

"…" Antaria's eyes twitched. "And you're definitely going to make me eat that?"

"Yes. Your current progress is acceptable, but the acquisition of the dwarves will allow me to proceed more quickly than I had originally planned. However, I wish for you to greet their leader as an equal. He will be a king, but you are merely a princess. To make up for the difference in standing, you will need to awe them with your might. Eating the sky whale heart will help."

"Just what does it do exactly?" Antaria tried not to wince as she eyed the sky whale heart. Just the thought of eating it raw…

"Eating it will increase your agility, endurance, and strength. It will also increase the size of your magical reserves. You are fortunate. This much of a normal sky whale's heart would only boost your progress by several months. This sky whale was amongst the largest and strongest I have seen in some time. You can expect at least a year's worth of benefits if you consume it."

"A year's worth of benefits?" Antaria gaped. "Just how big was this sky whale?"

"He was bigger than I am – a mile and a half long. Our battle was enjoyable although there was never any doubt that I would be victorious."

Antaria tried to picture something that much bigger than Doomwing and failed. "If I eat this, what will it feel like?"

"Every mouthful you swallow will be absolute agony. You will feel as though your blood has turned to fire and every muscle you have is being torn asunder. In a sense, that is not far from the truth. You will also need to purify the power you absorb from the sky whale's heart by circulating it through your body as quickly as possible. Failure to keep up will mean serious injury or death."

"Wait… that's why you've been teaching me how to do that in my sleep, isn't it? Because if I can do that in my sleep, I should be able to manage it even when I'm in hideous agony."

"Precisely."

"And I can't… I don't know… try to eat more than one mouthful at a time, you know, really cram it in?" Antaria eyed the sky whale heart with increasing horror. There was so much of it there. Just how many mouthfuls would that be?

"I would strongly advise against that."

"Oh. Damn." She shuddered. If even Doomwing thought that was a bad idea… "I guess it'll be one mouthful at a time. Can I at least drink something with it?"

"Introducing other substances into your body during the process would be unwise."

"And by unwise?"

"Potentially fatal."

"Is there a time limit to how long I'd have?" Antaria asked.

"It would be best to complete it in a single sitting. Normally, it would be impossible for a human to eat that much in one sitting, but you are no longer a normal human. As you consume the sky whale heart, your body will be rapidly digest and absorb it, assuming you are able to circulate your magic properly. It should, at least in theory, be possible for you."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I will accept responsibility for the mistake." Doomwing paused. "And heal you of your injuries if that proves to be the case. Naturally, if the mistake is on your end, you will have to deal with the consequences yourself."

Antaria took a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm actually going to do this." She sighed. "But that much progress? I mean… I can't really give that up. And I am pretty used to agony by now." She frowned. "Did you ever give Elerion anything like this?"

"I gave him part of the heart of an ancient hydra. That greatly increased his healing, stamina, and durability." Doomwing paused. "It took him several days to stop screaming." He paused again, longer this time. "I may have forgotten to remove all of the blood from the heart."

"Isn't hydra blood extremely toxic and corrosive?"

"Hence the screaming."

Antaria grimaced. "Is there anything you need to remove from the sky whale heart before I eat it?"

"No." Doomwing paused. "Not that I know of."

"Wait… I'm sure you ate some of it, right? So shouldn't you know if there's poison or something in it?"

"I am a primordial dragon. It is entirely possible for me to consume poison that would kill you trillions of times over without ever noticing it." Doomwing nodded. "But I am confident there is nothing like that in the sky whale heart I will be giving you."

"Am I the only one who has to eat this thing?" Antaria asked. If she was going to suffer, it would be nice if she didn't have to suffer alone.

"Of course not. I have some for Daphne as well."

"Hah!" Antaria cackled. "Can I watch her eat her portion first?"

"Of course."

Ten minutes later, Antaria could only stare in disbelief as Daphne 'ate' her portion of the sky whale heart – by digging a pit, throwing the sky whale heart into it, and then letting her roots latch onto it.

"That is such utter bullshit," Antaria grumbled.

"What?" Daphne giggled and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Did you think I was going to eat it with my mouth? I'm a tree. I can have my roots eat it for me. Besides, what sort of person would even try eating that with their mouth?" She shuddered. "I can feel how tough it is with my roots. It'd be like eating the hide of a monster."

Antaria covered her face with her hands.

"Oh." Daphne patted her on the back. "Well, good luck."

Antaria just sighed and patted her stomach. It was a good thing she hadn't had breakfast yet. "Let's just get this over with."

"Excellent." Doomwing's magic flexed. "There. We are ready."

"What did you just do?"

"I put up a silencing field. There is no need to torment the villagers with your screaming."

"The nearest village is a mile and a half away."

"I know," Doomwing said patiently. "But it would be a shame to torment them with your screaming."

Antaria took another deep breath and reached for a piece of sky whale heart. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

A few minutes later, Doomwing had to increase the strength of the silencing field.

Author's Notes

Antaria thought she had it bad… but little did she realise that Doomwing was taking it easy on her. Since she started training with him a lot later than Elerion, he's giving her a crash course. What she needs, more than anything right now, is to increase her power to the point that it seems overwhelming to others. Doomwing has a plan to recruit even more people from the kingdom, but he wants them to come along willingly. What better way than to have them serve a princess who now possesses strength out of ancient legends?

One thing that Antaria doesn't realise is that all of her training has focused on the basics because Doomwing wants her to have an absolutely unbreakable foundation. Moreover, mastering the most basic and fundamental techniques will allow her to take full advantage of things like the sky whale heart. This is also why the monsters are obeying her so readily. They can tell how quickly her power is increasing, and they don't want to pick a fight with her. Instead, they're hoping to gain benefits by following her, which they already have since she lets them eat most of the other monsters they kill. Fancier techniques and more specific styles will come once Doomwing is happy that she won't just use those as a crutch. Keep in mind that the year's worth of progress is at her current rate.

Now Doomwing has to get the dwarves settled in, and then they can really get going.

Incidentally, you can imagine how other humans are going to react when they see Antaria bossing around monsters that would normally be wiping out villages and terrorising larger settlements. She even uses a giant wolf as a bed while using the pups as pillows. If that isn't inspiring, I don't know what is.

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SecretTwelve

Feb 22, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 22: The Heart of Ash

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SecretTwelve

Feb 23, 2024

#298

Chapter 22: The Heart of Ash

Harald still had to pinch himself now and then to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He had resigned himself to a life on the very fringes of dwarf society after leaving the Sky Claw Mountains to spare both himself and his brother from the machinations of dwarven nobility.

In a kinder world, he would have served honourably as his brother's strong right hand. Alas, his talents had led his brother's supporters to view him with ever-increasing distrust. Before they could force his brother's hand or take action themselves, Harald had left, all but exiling himself and his followers to the remote hills where the sky ship had been buried.

If he could not serve honourably, then perhaps he could find solace in uncovering the ancient past of his people. There were countless stories, many of which he had thought little more than fanciful tales, of what the ancient dwarves had been capable of. Now, however, he was a believer.

And how could he not be?

He stood upon the bridge of a sky ship, the ancient vessel no longer ruined and buried in dirt but restored and once more sailing the skies. Just the thought of it made his heart swell. After Goldwing, his loyal roc, had died, he had never been able to bring himself to ride another roc. But the sky ship was different. He was not betraying his old friend, not setting him aside for another mount.

Ah… if only Goldwing were still alive. He knew the bird would have loved the view. Rocs were swift and agile in the air, but they were ill-suited to long flights over open ground. They were at their best amidst the towering peaks of the mountains where they could ride the winds and perch amidst the jagged slopes.

The land that Doomwing had offered them would have suited Goldwing perfectly, if not for the heat. His old friend had always preferred the chill of winter over the balmier temperatures of summer, and the land below them was anything but cold.

The titanic peak that must be Doomwing's volcano loomed in the distance, rivers of molten flame running from the summit and pouring from cracks in its side. All around it, the land was split by winding canyons, their depths lit by the angry glow of lava. Fumaroles spewed toxic gases into the air, and vast plains of razor rock sprawled outward, broken only by rivers of lava and hills of obsidian and granite thrust up from deep within the earth.

Even for a dwarf, living in such rugged terrain would have been impossible. Thankfully, the territory that Doomwing had offered them was further out. Below them, the volcanic terrain had given way to rugged foothills and rolling mountains. An Age ago, perhaps more, this land would also have been riven by fire. Now, however, it had cooled, and the tremors that rocked the area closer to the volcano were absent.

It was good land, land where the molten blood of the earth had once raged only to cool and leave behind riches drawn up from the heart of the world. A dwarf with patience and a keen eye for geology could make a fine living here, and Harald had been blessed with both. It was now a matter of choosing the best location.

A good location would need to be close to the mineral wealth that he and his people craved. It would also need to be defensible. They would also need to pick a place that left them with room to expand. If things went well, then Harald was planning to reach out to those followers of his that had remained behind in the Sky Claw Mountains and to the various dwarf companies that wandered the world in search of new homes and riches.

He had already spoken to Doomwing about it, and the dragon had agreed with his plans. Life for independent dwarves was tough. The finest claims – those rich in wealth and in locations that allowed for easy settlement – were all taken. Instead, they had to eke out livings by wandering from place to place, mining what few strikes they could find, and then moving on when the small lodes of wealth they could harvest were exhausted.

Dwarves generally did not war with each other. Instead, those who lost political conflicts or disagreed with the ruling regime were given the option of exile. That was where most of the independent dwarf companies came from. He could offer them new homes under a new king who understood exactly what it was like to be driven from the safety of their mountain homes.

Many would take the offer, especially if this area proved as wealthy as Doomwing claimed. Others would be reluctant to kneel, unwilling to give up the independence they had maintained for so long. Doomwing would have to speak to them individually. Those he approved of might be given claims of their own to work although the dragon had promised that none would be named king as Harald would be. Perhaps in time, if they proved worthy of it, they might also be elevated to kingship, but Harald knew all of the independent dwarf companies.

Many were composed of good, reliable dwarves, but they had been scraping by, barely surviving from year to year. As cruel as it was to say, not a single one of them could match the talent and skill within Harald's group, and he knew that none of their leaders could match him. If they ever rose to kingship, it would be generations from now, and by then, Harald's line would be secure, his descendants so prosperous that none could threaten them, save Doomwing himself.

His lips curled. Doomwing was rubbing off on him. That last thought had been laced with draconic greed.

His eldest son approached, and Harald smiled as Leif stopped beside him to stare down at the lands that would be theirs.

"Father," Leif said. "Our scouts have returned with their reports." He handed several rolls of parchment to Harald. "These are their findings."

Harald skimmed through the reports. Their scouts had flown ahead on their rocs. All of them had learned to spot the signs of mineral wealth, and they had also been taught magic by Doomwing that would make prospecting easier. The dragon was a font of magical knowledge, and he had bestowed some of that wisdom upon those he considered worthy during their trip. The training had not been easy. Harald himself had undergone it, and he had puked blood several times, and only his iron will and discipline had kept him from begging for mercy as so many others had.

Even so, the suffering had been worth it. The prospecting spells that Doomwing had taught them made it much easier to identify promising sites, reducing the work of weeks or even months to a matter of minutes or hours. Harald had instructed his dwarves to keep those spells secret from outsiders, for he was all too aware of the envy they would arouse in other dwarves. Their history was littered with dwarves who had committed crimes, even against their own blood and kin, for magic and artifacts less effective than the spells Doomwing had taught them.

"A pittance," the dragon had rumbled. "But suitable for your needs and appropriate for your skills." It made him wonder if the dragon had magic that could simply locate whatever sort of mineral he wanted, but he decided it was better not to ask. If such magic existed but he was unable to learn it, Harald would go mad.

The reports were promising. Every single scout had managed to find an area that might be worth investigating. However, the grin on his son's face meant there must be more. After all, his son had also gone out to search for a suitable location, and his report had not been amongst the reports Harald had read.

"Give me your report, son," Harald said.

Leif's grin broadened, and he handed the parchment over.

Harald's eyes widened as he read through the report. This… if his son's report was to be believed, then he had found the perfect site for their people. Harald cleared his throat and addressed the rest of the bridge.

"Set a course for the twin peaks ahead of us."

King Bjorn of the Sky Claw Mountains was glad to be out of his council chambers and inside a proper mine again. Ever since his brother, Harald, had all but exiled himself from the kingdom, he had grown increasingly wroth with his supporters.

Their grandfather had been a fool who had squandered much of the kingdom's wealth – and the lives of many of its soldiers – in pointless wars against the mountain people and hill tribes, to say nothing of his poor relations with the other dwarf kingdoms. Their father had been marginally better, but he had made several costly mistakes in his dealings with the dryads who ruled over the forests from which the dwarves bought much of their food.

The end result was that their family's power was the weakest it had been since one of their ancestors had supposedly fallen prey to the mad whispers of a fox god. Bjorn had wanted, more than anything in the world, to restore his family's honour and power. He had dreamed of doing so with Harald at his side.

Bjorn was a poor warrior and had been sickly in his youth, but he was a gifted administrator and skilled negotiator. Harald, so much better in battle and blessed with charisma and raw power, would be his strong right hand. Despite their differences, Bjorn had absolute trust in his brother. More than once, when he had been too sick to leave the mountain on his own, Harald had carried him upon his back, so that he might taste the cool wind and feel the breeze and sun upon his face.

Would a usurper do that?

But as Harald had grown ever more successful, Bjorn's supporters had grown to like him less and less. It had gotten so bad that he genuinely feared that one of them would go too far. Bjorn had wanted to lash out, but Harald had counselled him against it. Their family was still too weak to hold onto the kingship without aid. Bjorn needed his supporters, and the kingdom needed Bjorn. Under Bjorn's kingship, the kingdom had gone from strength to strength as he enacted various reforms and rebuilt the diplomatic relationships his grandfather and father had broken.

And so Harald had gone into exile… and Bjorn had let him because for all his intelligence, he could not see a better path. It had gnawed away at his heart, and he had burned with shame. Harald had always been a loyal brother and had done so much to aid him, yet Bjorn had been unable to support him when he had needed it most.

Since his brother's exile, Bjorn had helped where he could, ensuring that traders were sent into the foothills now and then and that their prices were always reasonable despite how easily they could have gouged Harald and his followers. If the traders had occasionally mentioned that the exiles were lacking in something only for Bjorn to have such items sent along with the next trading caravan, well, that was merely a coincidence, or so he claimed whenever he was questioned about it.

But then news had arrived via a trader that Bjorn held in the utmost confidence. Harald and his followers were leaving. His brother had been offered a kingship of his own with the backing of a dragon – and not just any dragon. Doomwing, one of the great primordial dragons, had made the offer.

Had it been a lesser dragon, Bjorn might have feared deception, but Doomwing was no lesser dragon. He was a force of nature, a being so powerful that he could have laid siege to the Sky Claws Mountains alone and emerged victorious. If he had wanted to do Harald harm, he could have done so with ease. The offer must be genuine.

Bjorn had kept the news to himself and had sworn the trader to secrecy. He doubted that even his most crazed supporters would be able to strike at Harald now that he was so far away and under the aegis of a primordial dragon. However, it was better not to tempt them. In a few decades, perhaps, when Bjorn's son was ready to succeed him, he could purge the more radical amongst his supporters. It would be his last act as a king and a suitable gift for his son.

In the meantime, he could only hope for the best and wish his brother well. Truly, from the very depths of his heart, he believed that Harald would be a good king. If the fates were kind, then maybe they would meet again as fellow kings when the next great council of the dwarves was called.

Right now, however, he had been summoned to one of their new mines – or rather, he had invited himself – after hearing of some most peculiar occurrences.

The new mine had been following a seam of gold down into the depths only to run afoul of a strange material. It was a rocky substance of some kind, but it appeared to be utterly impervious to whatever mining equipment or magic they knew. They had even gone so far as to use one of the handful of enchanted adamant drills they still possessed – a priceless relic from a bygone age – only for the thing to break as though it were made of copper.

Naturally, the leader of the miners had been absolutely horrified, not doubt imagining the astronomical cost of repairing an ancient relic, but Bjorn was more interested in what sort of material could make a mockery of such a remarkable device.

"This way, Your Majesty." A stout dwarf led him down a passageway.

"Have you tried going around the obstruction?" he asked. If they could not pierce through this strange rock, then going around it seemed like a fine alternative.

"We have tried. We've dug hundreds of feet in all directions, and we keep running into it. Our magic tells us that the obstruction is perhaps a mile and a half long."

Bjorn winced. "We'd have to completely change the mine to accommodate that." He paused as they reached the end of the passageway. "Is that… it?"

"Aye." The dwarf nodded and held up his lamp to give Bjorn a better look at the wall of strange rock at the end of the passageway. "Never seen anything like it."

Bjorn nodded slowly. The rock was… strange. It reminded him of the rough, jagged rock that was often seen near volcanoes before weather and time wore them smooth. But those rocks had been dull brown or black. The rock before him was a mix of colours, from brown and black to orange, yellow, and red. There were seams in the rock too, and baleful orange light gleamed from within them, almost as if they were peering into the heart of a volcano.

"Has there been any volcanic activity in this area?" Bjorn asked. "Any lava tubes?"

The dwarf shook his head. "No, Your Majesty, not for thousands of years, from the looks of it."

"That's strange… that glow… it looks so volcanic, but…" The ground shook, and Bjorn froze. "Did you feel that?"

"Aye," the dwarf said, eyes widening as another rumble shook the earth around them. The volcanic glow coming from the rock intensified. "Your Majesty, we need to leave. Now!"

Bjorn didn't bother to argue. He simply turned and fled as fast as his feet could carry him.

The entire mine evacuated, and Bjorn retreated to what felt like a safe distance on the slope of a neighbouring mountain as the rumbling grew stronger and stronger.

"What's happening?" Bjorn asked one the miners, an old dwarf who specialised in magic that let him peer into the earth. "Is it a volcano?"

The old dwarf shook his head. "No. Not a volcano. A dragon."

"A dragon?" Bjorn blinked. "Did you just say a dragon? The rumbling is coming from underground. Are you telling me that there is a dragon –"

The mine exploded. That was the only way to put it.

The mountain came apart. Fissures ripped the mountainside open, and huge slabs of rock and stone hurtled into the air. Bjorn bellowed for his mages to throw up defensive magic as he called on the power of the ancient artifacts he wore to shield himself and those nearby. It was just barely enough.

From within the depths of the ruined mountain came a wave of volcanic heat and light. Gargantuan claws ripped their way free of the earth as a head larger than anything Bjorn could imagine emerged from all the rock and stone. Eyes that gleamed like volcanoes rolled in their sockets to peer at Bjorn and the other dwarves, and there wasn't a dwarf there who didn't freeze in sudden, instinctive terror.

Even Bjorn, armoured in the legacies of his ancestors, could not move.

Those eyes narrowed for a moment, and then the dragon was heaving itself up and out of the mountain. The mountain came apart completely as the dragon wrenched its claws to the side and flexed its wings with enough force to cast aside the ruins of the mountain as though all that rock and stone, those countless tonnes of material, were nought but drops of water upon its back.

Dimly, he realised that the material that had blocked the passageway had not been rock at all. No. It had been the scales of the dragon.

Bjorn had seen dragons before, but they had all been sleek creatures, suited for flight and seemingly built for speed in the air. This dragon was different. This dragon was wrought of fire and rock, a titan of volcanic stone, all jagged scales and rippling muscles, built not for speed or agility but for pure, overwhelming power, the kind that could rip mountains apart with ease, the king that could tear great rents in the earth that swallowed kingdoms, the kind that could heave up mountain ranges and birth canyons.

For a long moment, the dragon savoured its freedom, wings unfurled, face turned up to the sun. It was colossal, a beast so huge that Bjorn could scarcely believe it was real despite being so close to it. It had to be a mile and a half long. How could anything alive be so big? Would it be able to fly? If it could, it would be like watching a mountain take wing.

"You." The dragon's voice rolled over them with all the force of a mountainside giving way and smashing a path down to the valleys below. The dwarves had legends about a figure they called the Father of Mountains. The dragon's voice was exactly how Bjorn imagined the Father of Mountains must have sounded. "Where is Doomwing?"

Ash filled the air, and the snow upon the mountainside melted and ran past them in bubbling currents that soon gave way to steam. The sheer heat radiating from the dragon would have killed all of them if not for their defensive magic, and even that magic, aided by his panoply of artifacts was on the verge of failure. The dragon wasn't even attacking. His mere presence was enough to drive them to the brink of annihilation.

Seemingly realising what he was doing, the dragon rolled his great shoulders, and the ash on the wind grew cold. The mind-boggling heat he radiated banked, and the volcanic glow that shone from between his scales lessened. The dragon peered down at them and then spoke again.

"I seek Doomwing. Since I am not dead, I assume that we were victorious. What became of the Exiled Star? I remember pinning him in place, so that Doomwing could strike him down…" The dragon shook his head. "Just hold him in place, Ashheart. It won't be that bad, Ashheart. Easy for him to say. Not even he would have withstood a single direct blow from that monster, yet he asked me to endure several."

The dragon spread his wings and roared. The sound shook the entire mountain range, and Bjorn just barely kept from pissing himself in terror. Many were not so stout-hearted. "But I accepted the challenge, for I am Ashheart. I am the one who grappled the Exiled Star, who dared to wrestle the Lord of the Tides. It was I who broke the back of the mightiest of Mother Tree's tree folk!"

Ashheart looked around. "Or is he still mourning Dawnscale? It will be troublesome if he has chosen to conceal himself." He turned his gaze to Bjorn. "You… you are wearing the fanciest armour, so you're probably in charge here. Where is Doomwing?"

"Uh…" Bjorn made a face. "I don't know where he is exactly, but he's to the north of us. He lives in a volcano, or so I've heard."

"A volcano?" Ashheart chuckled. "Perhaps I could spruce it up for him." He paused. "Do you know of the Exiled Star?"

Bjorn shook his head. There was a legend that spoke of some kind of star descending from the skies to wreak havoc, but it was little more than a few lines of text on an ancient scroll. "No."

"I see." The dragon gave a low rumble and then had to catch his balance as the remains of the mountain threatened to give way beneath him. "Well… what is the last truly awful thing that your people remember happening? I'm talking about a completely calamity, the kind that myths and legends are made of."

"Well… there was supposedly a fox god that twisted the mind of one of my ancestors a thousand years ago…"

"A… fox god?" Ashheart's expression sobered. "Damn. I must have taken longer to recover than I thought if there has been another Catastrophe."

Far away, Doomwing sighed and turned his attention away from Anataria who had finally stopped screaming.

A wave of magic had just surged through the area. It had come from the south, and it was heavy with the scent of ash. It was akin to a living volcano, a miasma of heat and stone so intense it could only mean one thing.

His lips curved up into a smile.

"Ashheart," he said. "You're finally awake again. You should come and visit. I'm sick of all your stuff cluttering up my hoard."

Author's Notes

Ashheart has awakened. If Doomwing can be thought of the magic specialist amongst the primordial dragons, then Ashheart is the tank/warrior equivalent. In terms of pure physical power and durability, he is easily the strongest of the primordial dragons. If the primordial dragons form a party, then Ashheart is the one at the front, engaging the enemy and allowing Doomwing and the others to blast away.

Ashheart is a tectonic dragon, which means that he is not as quick or agile in the air was someone like Dawnscale (or Doomwing). However, he is basically a flying brick. He has decent straight line speed, and his aerial tackle is like being hit by an asteroid. If you're not dead on impact, you're definitely going to wish you were.

He is also enormous. He is roughly fifty percent larger than Doomwing, which makes him the largest of the primordial dragons. Apart from his length, he also has a much stockier, broader build than the others. As a tectonic dragon, he also spends a lot more of his time on the ground or underground than most other dragons.

Doomwing's comment is a reference to the fact that he has been holding onto Ashheart's stuff and keeping it safe while Ashheart recovered. Knowing how important that stuff is to the other dragon, Doomwing put it in the safest place he knew of, which was with his hoard. He didn't want to just leave it since Ashheart was in no condition to defend it.

In terms of a secondary breath attack, a tectonic dragon has breath akin to a super-heated pyroclastic flow. Yeah. It's pretty terrifying, even compared to regular dragon fire.

Last edited: Feb 28, 2024

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Feb 23, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 23: The Dragon Trusts

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SecretTwelve

Feb 25, 2024

#313

Chapter 23: The Dragon Trusts

Ashheart had never been the smartest dragon. His siblings had all been smarter than him, and they had also learned magic faster than him too. When he attended lessons with Mother Tree, the other hatchlings had also been smarter and better at magic than him. The only thing he had going for him was his body.

He was bigger than any other hatchling his age – bigger, and stronger, and more durable.

Blows that would have disabled or even killed other hatchlings were little more than annoyances. Attacks that should have cleaved off limbs or torn open his body could hardly scratch his scales. And when he was wounded, when his scales were pierced, or torn, or shredded, the pain did not bother him. It only made him want to fight harder, to push himself further, to draw upon more and more of that raging fire that burned within him.

But even if Ashheart was not smart, he was wise.

He knew who he was and what his strengths and weaknesses were, and he accepted them completely and utterly. He did not lie to himself as so many hatchlings did. Perhaps that was why he achieved his First Awakening before so many of his peers. While they struggled to find their place in the world, he knew where he belonged.

He belonged at the forefront of battle, his claws and teeth bared, his flame blazing like the sun. Let others more gifted in tactics and strategy take command of the battle. He would follow their orders and stand as both sword and shield, so those behind him could wield their magic without fear.

That was his place in the world.

The hardest part was finding others he could trust. More than once he had stood boldly between others and danger, only for them to abandon him. Some had been treacherous, their betrayal planned well in advance, but so many of them had merely been cowards. They saw a difficult fight and instead of searching for a way to win with the time he bought them, they fled.

He wasn't sure which group he despised more.

And then he had met Doomwing.

They had both been so young in the long ago days of the First Age. They had both seen the mightiest of their kind fall, struck down by the Broken God. But neither of them had fled in the face of that overwhelming power.

Ashheart had seen the bodies of his fallen kin – his parents and siblings – and felt rage such as he had never known before or since. He had cursed his own weakness. What good was his strong body if it could not even protect his kin or avenge them? What good were teeth, his claws, or his flame when they could not leave so much as a scratch upon his great enemy?

Doomwing had been the same. He had lived only because his parents had chosen to give their lives for him – to force another Awakening to heal the wounds he had taken. And through the tears of rage, hate, and sorrow, he had seen Doomwing stare at the corrupted mass of god-metal that was that was the Broken God and look for a way to win.

As weak as he had been then, Doomwing had refused to give up. He had looked at their seemingly invincible foe and had searched for a way to win. He had not found it. The First Gods had cast down the Broken God although the effort cost all of them their lives. Doomwing had been too young, too weak, too ignorant to find the path to victory.

But he had still searched for it while so many others had given in to despair.

That was when Ashheart knew he had found someone he could trust in battle. If he could befriend Doomheart, then the other dragon would never betray or abandon him. No matter how impossible the battle, if Ashheart put himself between Doomwing and their enemy, Doomwing would find a way for them to win.

Befriending Doomwing had not been easy.

Ashheart had never been much given to intellectual pursuits whereas Doomwing seemed to enjoy them above all else. But Doomwing was no mere scholar, for all that he liked to view himself as one. There was a ruthless pragmatism to his learning. Whenever he learned something, he sought to find uses for it, however pointless or mundane they might seem.

"There is no useless knowledge," Doomwing had once told him. "Merely knowledge waiting for the right moment to be used."

His words had proven wise when he had taken countless pieces of seemingly useless and disconnected knowledge to craft the ancient rune that had laid waste to Mother Tree's defences.

That had been a glorious day for Ashheart. He had broken the back of Mother Tree's mightiest tree folk and carved a path of fire, blood, and lava through the ranks of her defenders. He had roared his triumph to the skies while crushing the bodies of his foes beneath him and burning their petty defences beneath rivers of lava and clouds of molten ash. He had been too weak to help much in the fight against the Broken God, but against Mother Tree, he had proven himself.

He had gone to find Doomwing afterward, ready to praise the other dragon for his cunning tactics and strategies, only to find him lingering amidst the burnt-out ruins of Mother Tree. The other dragon had taken the ash of Mother Tree up in his claws, only to let it scatter on the breeze. There had been no gleam of triumph in his eyes, no thrill of victory burning through his veins. Doomwing had grieved for their great enemy.

It was something that Ashheart could not understand. Mother Tree had turned against them all. She had forced their hand. She had become their enemy. She had been kind to him in his youth, but such kindness would not stop him from striking her down. But Doomwing had never made friends easily, and the few he had made were precious.

Mother Tree had been his friend.

It reminded Ashheart of something that Dion, one of the First Gods, had once said to him. Dion had been an easy-going god, not the sort that Ashheart usually associated with, but he knew all the best food and drink, and he had a way of telling stories that appealed to even a stout-hearted dragon like Ashheart.

"What is a single gold coin worth to the mightiest of dragons? Nothing. The mightiest of your kind have an odd tendency to hoard treasure. Sovereign Flame sleeps on a literal mountain of treasure. But to a hatchling? That single gold coin might be all they have."

Doomwing was like a hatchling, and his friends were like gold coins in the very smallest of hoards. The loss of even one would be devastating.

Ashheart was not like Doomwing. He did not have many friends, but that did not bother him. He didn't really feel as though he needed them. If one of his friends died, Ashheart would not be pleased, but so long as they died well, he would not be too upset. After all, he was a dragon. Death was a part of his life, whether it was because he dealt it out or because others sought to slay him.

But Doomwing had spent so much time around Mother Tree. Perhaps he had come to view death differently from other dragons, or perhaps he had never viewed it in the same way to begin with. Or perhaps Ashheart was the strange one. After the Broken God had been cast down, the rage and grief he had felt for his family had faded swiftly. They were dead, but they had been avenged. What more could he do for them? They would not want him to grieve endlessly. They would want him to live and live well.

In a way, however, it was reassuring.

Doomwing's sentimentality meant that he would never send Ashheart into a battle they could not win, not unless they had no other options. Nor would he abandon Ashheart simply because things grew difficult or dangerous. And if the worst should befall Ashheart, then he could rely on Doomwing to care for any hatchlings or mates he might have.

So even if Ashheart had not understood why Doomwing grieved so much for their enemy, he had nevertheless tempered his joy at Mother Tree's defeat and had offered to go hunting with Doomwing. They could go kill a kraken or something. That always made Ashheart feel better. Doomwing had stared at him like he was a complete idiot before shaking his head. But he hadn't said no, and the two of them had flown out over the open sea and hunted until their bellies were full.

Doomwing had made other friends since then, as had Ashheart. Fewer and fewer of the dragons from the First Age remained as they either fell in battle against the Catastrophes, turned against each other, left the world, or blew themselves up in magical mishaps. Those that remained got to know each other better, at first because fighting the Catastrophes demanded a unified response, and then because they actually got along.

Ashheart could still remember the battle against the Exiled Star. The titan of light and glory had tried to judge the world as though he had any right at all to pass judgement over them. Their allies had fallen in droves as the Exiled Star scoured the land, beams of coruscating brightness piercing mountains and parting seas. Even their fellow primordial dragons had not been immune to the Exiled Star's might.

Only Ashheart had the strength to get close, only he had the physical might and power to grapple the traitorous star. He had known that doing so would likely cost him his life, and if he survived, it would be with injuries of the most horrific sort. Without Dawnscale to heal him, he might very well be crippled.

But when Doomwing had told him to do it, he had not hesitated.

Why?

Because if there had been any other way to win, Doomwing would not have asked it of him.

And so Ashheart had charged, roaring his rage and defiance as the Exiled Star's light tore through his scales, disintegrated his flesh, and severed his limbs. Ashheart's magic was crude at best, but there were a handful of areas he excelled in. More than anything, he excelled at boosting his innate abilities.

Scales could be regrown. Flesh could be restored. Limbs could be regenerated.

All he had to do was to survive long enough to lay his claws upon the Exiled Star. If he could do that, then he could buy Doomwing and the others the time they needed to win. And he must have lasted long enough because the world was still around, and Doomwing was still alive. It was a pity that the Exiled Star had not possessed proper flesh. Ashheart could remember trying to tear his throat out only to have his mouth burned by light that surpassed the sun.

Hmm… and speaking of light, had Doomwing's pet vampire survived that battle?

Ashheart could vaguely remember him – the son of the Fourth Catastrophe who had turned against the crazed vampire. He and Doomwing had become friends of a sort, so Doomwing would have gotten upset if the vampire had been eradicated by one of the Exiled Star's many attacks. Just the fact that he come out to help had impressed Ashheart. After all, vampires and light did not mix. Doomwing had called the vampire a complete idiot, but Ashheart had approved of the vampire's bravery.

Ashheart was broken from his reminiscing when he sensed the approach of a familiar dragon. It was not Doomwing. No, the dragon flying toward him was too small to be his friend. Instead, it was a dragon he had taken as a mate shortly before the arrival of the Fifth Catastrophe.

Diamondfang was her name, and her body was covered in scales that resembled gleaming gemstones of every kind. She had been resplendent the first time he'd seen her, the afternoon sun glittering off her scales in rays of sapphire, ruby, emerald, and more. She was larger now, and he could sense that she'd undergone another Awakening, but his attention was soon drawn to the dragon just behind her.

He had seen dragons with metallic scales before, but never with scales quite like this. Instead of the smooth, seamless metallic scales he'd seen in the past, this dragon's dark scales were jagged and sharp, more like rock in their shape and appearance than the regular and orderly scales that had inspired the dwarves of old to craft the first sets of scale armour.

Unlike Diamondfang who had always possessed a lithe, sinuous frame, this other dragon's body was broad and stocky, built for strength and toughness over speed and agility. That was rare to see in dragons with metallic scales. They tended to be on the leaner side although he had seen a few that were bulkier in build. But it was the eyes that convinced him.

Normally, a dragon with scales like that would have eyes that resembled metal as well. But not this dragon. This dragon's eyes blazed with volcanic heat, twin pools of molten orange that spoke of the fiery, savage heart of the world.

Ashheart searched his memories of the time before the Fifth Catastrophe's arrival. Diamondfang had not laid an egg yet, but she had been hopeful…

"It has been a long time," Ashheart rumbled as Diamondfang and the other dragon landed on nearby mountaintops. He tried not to laugh as the dwarves looked back and forth with ever-growing horror. Their leader did his best to calm them, pointing out – quite rightly – that if Ashheart wanted them dead, he could very easily have done it by now. "Diamondfang."

Her gaze settled on him, and her eyes were, as they had been long ago, like opals of ever-shifting colour. "Yes, it has. Are you… well?"

Ashheart considered the question and then nodded. "I feel strong – stronger than I was when I fought the Exiled Star." And it was true. During his healing slumber, he had only grown more and more powerful, in keeping with the nature of a dragon. He had dreamed, now and then, of the battles he had fought in his life, and those dreams had felt incredibly real to the point where he was confident that he had not lost his edge. "Why was I inside a mountain?"

Diamondfang's lips curled. "Doomwing sealed you inside a mountain when it became clear that your wounds were so severe that moving you might kill you. He used all the healing magic he knew to treat your wounds and then bent the currents of magic in the area to nourish you and aid you in your healing. He was uncertain how long it would take, but he was sure it would work."

"That sounds like something he would do." Ashheart nodded. After Dawnscale had left, Doomwing had renewed his studies of healing magic. He would likely never approach Dawnscale's skill and power – the advantage her lineage gave her was just too great – but he could do a decent impersonation of her abilities if need be.

"Dreamsong also wove magic into the dreaming lands around you to ease your slumber and keep your mind active, lest it fall into the abyss that awaits those who dream too long."

"She did good work," Ashheart said. "Now, I have many more questions, but there is one I must ask first." His gaze bore down on the male dragon who had accompanied Diamondfang. "Who are you?"

"I am Adamantheart." The dragon's voice was excited. "Your son."

"Is that so?" Ashheart leaned forward, and then crossed the gap between them in a blur of motion before bringing one claw down.

It was far from his full strength. Adamantheart was perhaps a quarter his size. A full-strength attack would have slain him easily. But it was still a blow from a primordial dragon, and many a dragon had been felled by even a whimsical strike from Ashheart. Rather than dodge, Adamantheart chose to take the blow head on, bracing himself against the mountain and raising both his claws to block.

The mountains shook with the force of the impact, and the thin wisps of clouds nearby parted as the thunder of the blow rolled across the sky.

"Hmm…" Ashheart pulled his claw back. The mountain beneath Adamantheart had fractured, and the younger dragon's body was trembling. Some of the scales on his arms had cracked, and a trickle of blood came from the corners of his mouth. But Adamantheart was grinning from ear to ear, and the dark metal of his body seemed almost to writhe in anticipation at the prospect of battle. "You are most definitely my son." He bared his teeth. "From the feel of it, you have only recently experienced your Second Awakening."

Adamantheart nodded. "Less than a century ago."

"Not bad… not bad at all." Ashheart gave a low rumble of approval. That was good progress. Diamondfang had done well in raising him. "Your mother has raised you well, and you must have worked hard. Did Doomwing aid you?"

Diamondfang answered. "Not long after you were wounded and encased in the mountain, I laid Adamantheart's egg. It was then that I approached Doomwing."

"Oh?"

"None of your enemies were foolish enough to attack your slumbering form, not after Doomwing made it clear that he would tear out their hearts and feast on them if they tried. However, when they learned that Adamantheart was your son…"

"I see." Ashheart's jaw clenched. Diamondfang had been born during the Third Age. She was an ancient dragon of considerable power, but his enemies were also ancient dragons. He was confident that she could face any one of them in single combat, but if they attacked her together… "Are they still alive? If so, I can change that."

"Doomwing extended his protection to us," Diamondfang said. "And made it clear that any attack on us would be answered as brutally as possible."

"They did not test him?" Ashheart asked. More than once, a dragon had mistaken Doomwing's sentimentality for weakness. Few ever got the chance to make the mistake again.

"Only one. Doomwing made an example of him."

"Good." Ashheart had no problems with his enemies challenging him, even if they did so as a group. But to target his mate and child was not something he or any respectable dragon would tolerate. "Now, what is this about a fox god?"

"Ah." Diamondfang scowled. "That is… complicated."

"Was he powerful?" Ashheart asked. "Because the only people I can think of who might be called fox gods are the kitsune, and I do not remember them being especially strong."

"She was incredibly powerful," Diamondfang said. "She almost slew Doomwing in combat."

"What?" Ashheart growled. "Impossible. No kitsune should be that strong." But then again, the Fourth Catastrophe had managed to exceed the limits of what they had thought vampires were capable of. Had a kitsune somehow done the same?

"She struck him down with a spear of god-metal, at least, that was what Doomwing called it."

"God-metal?" Ashheart stared. "I… there is much I must ask him about when I next see him."

"Do you intend to do that now?" Diamondfang asked.

Ashheart looked at her and Adamantheart. "It can wait. He must have sensed my presence by now, and he can always contact me through that mirror of his if it is urgent. Right now, I find myself hungry."

"The sea is to the north," Adamantheart said. "This time of year, whales are quite plentiful."

"Is that so?" Ashheart stretched his wings. "Then let us go, and you and your mother can tell me of what I have missed." He grinned. "And then I can show you my lair."

"About that," Diamondfang said. "Doomwing may have blown up your lair."

"…" Ashheart blinked. "He what?"

"It was part of a trap," Diamondfang said hastily. "The Sixth Catastrophe had found a way to harness the power beneath it, so Doomwing laid a trap for her. Unfortunately, she was able to escape, and your lair was destroyed in the process."

"…" Ashheart scowled. "And my hoard?"

"Doomwing has it," Diamondfang said. "He took it after you were injured, so he could watch over it since I did not have the strength to defend it."

Ashheart relaxed. His hoard had taken him Ages to accumulate whereas his lair was something he could remake if necessary. "There were treasures in there that could have helped you and our son…"

"Doomwing made them available to us," she replied. "And he has even used his alchemy to help Adamantheart gain access to the materials he needs for his growth and Awakenings."

"Hmm… alchemy always was a hobby of his." Ashheart could forgive his friend for blowing up his lair. Doomwing would only have done that if he thought it was necessary, and the fact that the Sixth Catastrophe had not only escaped the trap but had also almost killed him later spoke volumes of how dangerous she had been. But where had she gotten god-metal? He would definitely have to ask Doomwing about that. "Now, let us leave."

As the three dragons flew northward, one of the dwarves turned to King Bjorn.

"Do… do you think they'll be coming back?"

The king sighed. "We'll just have to assume they are… although…" He peered at the mountain that Ashheart had ripped open. "Get some prospectors over there. We shouldn't have any problems accessing that gold vein now, and who knows what else we might find?"

Author's Notes

Ashheart is interesting because he's one of the few people alive who can remember what Doomwing was like when he was young and who can give a sense of perspective about how he was grown and changed over the Ages. That said, Ashheart also has a very different mindset from Doomwing, not that it stopped them from becoming friends.

Ashheart has taken mates over the years, so Adamantheart is not the only child he has ever had. However, he was present for the younger years of those children whereas his injuries meant he could not participate in Adamantheart's hatchling years, so there's a lot of catching up to do. Dragon genetics are also funny. When two different types of dragons have a child, sometimes the child is the same type of dragon as one of the parents, and sometimes, they're another type that is a mix of both. That's actually how Ashheart himself was born – one parents was from the fire dragon lineage and the other from the earth dragon lineage.

Meanwhile, the dwarves are likely taking notes since their histories don't really tell them a lot about the Sixth Catastrophe, so anything they can learn is precious. Moreover, they now have to worry about how to deal with potentially three dragons being around more often.

Also… the conversation about Ashheart's lair is going to be awkward. Kagami had several methods to increase her power. When Doomwing realised she had found a way to harness the power beneath Ashheart's lair, he set a trap. It could have killed her – and thereby ended the Catastrophe early – but she was able to escape the trap.

Last edited: Feb 25, 2024

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Feb 25, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 24: The Princess Surprises

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SecretTwelve

Feb 27, 2024

#336

Chapter 24: The Princess Surprises

The world slowly came back into focus, and Antaria realised that she was flat on her back and staring up at the night sky. The familiar face of one of the wolf pups appeared above her, and the canine gave her an affectionate lick before another familiar – but less welcome – face appeared.

"Congratulations," Doomwing's construct said. "You survived."

"…" Antaria stared. "Were you expecting me to die?"

"No. However, there was a non-zero possibility of your body failing to make the necessary adjustments. Depending on exactly how far you fell short, there was a chance that even I would be unable to heal you."

"I don't remember you mentioning that before."

"I would have thought it would be obvious when I said it was potentially fatal. That is, after all, what potentially fatal means."

She hated to admit that he had a point there. "Where is your actual body?"

"Once I was certain you would survive and had not suffered any… permanent damage, I departed. I have something I need to bring to my volcano, and I also need to check on the dwarves. It would be aggravating if they somehow managed to get themselves killed after coming all the way here. Their leader is sensible, but dwarves have been known to make foolish decisions when faced with the prospect of great wealth."

"You mean they become gold-crazed bastards who do stupid stuff?" Antaria had heard many stories about just how far dwarves would go for treasure. It was why her kingdom had always kept a wary eye on the independent dwarf companies that occasionally passed through. Their skills were always welcome, but the last thing they needed was for them to raid the treasury, especially since her father had been so determined to spend it on preparing the kingdom for wars it had no reason to fight.

"Yes." The construct chuckled. "I had a friend who was a dwarf… I once made the mistake of showing him my hoard. I think he went a little crazy. I had to wipe the memory of it from his mind lest it drive him mad."

"Your hoard is that impressive?" Antaria asked. She had always assumed it would be impressive, but to push a dwarf that far it must be impressive indeed.

"Let me put it this way. If I were to release just the coinage I have accumulated over the years, it would crash what passes for an economy in this Age. The combined treasuries of the kingdoms that Elerion united paled in comparison to the mundane treasures of my hoard, to say nothing of the more… esoteric objects whose worth is all but impossible to quantify."

"You know," Antaria said. "I wouldn't mind having a bit of that wealth."

"You rule this area in my name. As such, you will be entitled to a portion of the profits it generates. Consider it incentive to ensure that this area is as productive as possible." The construct motioned for her to stand. "How do you feel?"

"Hmm…" Antaria got up and stretched. "I thought my throat would be sore from all the screaming, but it feels fine. In fact… I feel better than fine. I feel… great."

"I used magic to heal any residual damage you suffered. Otherwise, it would have been days before you could speak again."

"Thanks." Antaria took up a fighting stance and threw a few punches and kicks. She was startled by how much faster and stronger she was, and the wolf pups made sounds of amazement. Curious, she called on her magic, and she received yet another shock. Her reserves of magic had grown several times over, and the channels that carried magic through her body had seemingly disappeared. "Uh… I just noticed something weird."

"You no longer have large channels that carry magic through your body."

"Yeah." Antaria made a face. "I'm pretty sure I need those to, you know, not die horribly. What happened to them, and how much longer do I have to live?"

"Do you feel like you are going to die?" the construct asked.

"No. But that doesn't mean I won't, right?"

The construct chuckled. "You're starting to learn. But, no, you are not in any immediate danger. In fact, the disappearance of the large channels that carry magic through your body is a good thing."

"How?"

"Try to circulate magic through your body and pay close attention to what happens."

Antaria closed her eyes and did as he asked. The result was equal parts bizarre and awe-inspiring. Her magic no longer circulated through her body via large channels. Instead, it was like she had a huge number of smaller channels running through her entire body. Startled, she tried to channel magic into her fist. For a split-second, the countless smaller channels that now ran through her arm combined to form a large channel that poured power into her fist where it was instantly distributed through a host of smaller channels that formed to spread it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"What happened?" Antaria asked. "Because I'm pretty sure my body didn't do that before."

"What happened is that you exceeded my expectations." The construct smiled. It was terrifying. "I had expected that eating the sky whale's heart would lead to an increase in power, strength, and a number of other attributes. However, I expected those increases to be largely quantitative in nature. Instead, you managed to achieve a qualitative change."

"A qualitative change?"

"Yes. Humans do not undergo the same sort of ascension as monsters. However, they are still capable of radically altering the way their body processes magic. Normally, humans possess a magical circulatory system that is composed of a number of large channels that carry magic through the body. Humans typically increase their power by strengthening and broadening these channels while increasing the size of their reserves, which allows their body to handle more magic, which they can use for spells or to reinforce their bodies. You, however, managed to reach the next stage."

"Why haven't I heard of this?" Antaria asked. "If it's such a big deal, surely someone would have written about it."

"I suspect that you may well be the first human in this Age to reach this level and live."

"Oh." Antaria blinked. "Wait… that means I'm pretty awesome, right?"

"It means you're not completely hopeless." She pouted, and the construct rolled its eyes. "Yes, I suppose your performance has been… impressive. What you have done is to alter your magical circulatory system. Instead of being composed of several major channels that lead to increasing minor channels, you now have a vast number of incredibly malleable smaller channels that can combine or separate as required."

"Right." Antaria nodded. "But… what exactly does that mean? I'm not exactly an expert at this, and I'd rather not try anything until I have at least some understanding of what's going on."

"You saw it when you pushed magic into your fist. Your body created a much larger and stronger channel to carry magic to your fist where it was distributed via a series of much smaller channels that formed to distribute it far more efficiently and quickly than you would have been able to before. This means that you can now channel much more magic to your fist in a much shorter time than before while spreading it far more quickly and efficiently. In other words, when you punch something…"

"I'll be able to hit it way harder than before!" Antaria's grin would have been terrifying to anyone except Doomwing. Even the wolf pups looked a little alarmed at the maniacal way she stared at her fist before shaking it at the sky. "I am going to punch so much stuff with this…"

"As amusing as it would be to see you punch thing into powder, you need to broaden your thinking. Think about how you use magic to run faster."

Antaria's brows furrowed. "I just run magic through my whole body while running." Her eyes widened. "Wait… if I can alter the channels that carry magic through my body, I'd be able to selectively increase the size of the channels that carry magic to the parts of my body that are most involved with running. Altering the channels would also let me do that more efficiently and quickly, so I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally injuring myself, provided I could keep up. Assuming I could control it properly, I'd be able to go much faster while still using less magic because I'd be targeting the parts that are most useful for running instead of just enhancing my whole body."

She cackled. "And that goes for any movement. If I could get it right, I'd be able to… to… to use my body almost like a slingshot, loading up the muscles I need with magic to push them past their limits in just the right sequence while still putting enough magic into them to keep me from injuring myself. If I'm punching, I'd be able to throw a punch with far greater speed and force behind it. I might even be able to move in ways that should normally be impossible by making weaker muscles much stronger than they would normally be."

The construct's eyes gleamed. "I see you're beginning to understand. Of course, training to properly control the myriad channels that now run through your body will not be easy."

Antaria snorted. "It can't hurt any worse than eating that sky whale's heart…" She trailed off. "Wait…it can't actually hurt worse than that, can it?"

"Hmm… that depends on how quickly you learn. Failure to properly control the channels of magic that run through your body can lead to all sorts of complications. For example, it is now possible for you to dislocate your own arm when you punch or even to blow off your own arm if you can't properly control your magic and the channels that have to carry it."

"Okay. That sounds awful."

"Since your body is not used to having channels that can be controlled to the extent you're now capable of, it will take a substantial amount of exercise and practice before the control you need to develop becomes automatic. You can expect multiple injuries during the learning process. Rest assured, however, that I will make sure that you don't die unless you're stupid enough to overload your entire body to the point that you explode."

"That can happen?"

"I have seen it happen multiple times. It is… messy. I would suggest avoiding it."

"I'll do that." Antaria grimaced. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Yes, actually." The construct's brows furrowed. "It is not unheard of for a human to develop an affinity for an additional form of magic after reaching this stage of their development. It would seem that fortune favours you because you have developed an additional affinity beyond enhancement magic."

"Yes!" Antaria punched the ground – and cratered it. "All of that suffering wasn't in vain! Hah! I thought I was going to die while eating that stupid sky whale's heart, but it was worth it! It was all worth it!" She turned to the construct eagerly. "So… can I throw lightning now? What about fire? I bet I can throw fireballs at people or maybe I can shoot acid, or what about making ice or water?"

"You can do exactly zero of those things."

Antaria fell to her knees. "Are you serious?" The construct nodded. "Then what kind of affinity do I have?"

"Hmm… I suspect that it was influenced by three factors: the sky whale's heart, the sky ship, and your own desire for freedom. Your new affinity is with magic associated with the wind and sky."

"Wait…" Antaria gasped. "Does that mean I can fly?"

"In theory, it should eventually be possible for you to learn flight magic."

Antaria couldn't help it. She lunged toward the construct and threw her arms around it. Ignoring the fact that the construct was incredibly tough and kind of jagged, she hugged it as best she could. "That is so fucking awesome!"

"…" Doomwing's construct shrugged her off. "I wouldn't put it that way, but having an additional affinity is usually a good thing."

"But what do you mean by eventually?" Antaria asked. "Why can't I learn how to fly right now?"

"Because you would probably kill yourself. As durable as you are, a fall from several thousand feet off the ground would probably still kill you. If not, it would lead to horrific injuries that I would have to fix. You have developed some experience with enhancement magic, but flight-related magic is very different. It demands dedication to master it, and it requires you to understand a number of related principles too. After all, you are not a bird or a dragon. Flight does not come naturally to you, so you lack the instincts required to perform it properly. At the very least, you will have to work on gliding and floating first, and you will have to learn spells and runes that can protect you from killing yourself when you inevitably make a mistake and end up falling out of the sky or hitting the ground."

"But I'll be able to fly?"

"Provided you pay attention, study diligently, and don't kill yourself doing something stupid, then the odds are good that you will one day be able to fly." The construct made a face. "Hmm… there is a book I will give you to read during your dreams."

"Oh?"

"It was written by Alenna Skyseeker, an elf from the Third Age. She learned how to fly using only her own magic, and she became good enough to earn my respect. She was not as good as a dragon in the air, but she came the closest of any non-dragon I have ever seen. She wrote a book about it although no one else ever reached the same level as her."

"What happened to her?" Antaria asked. "Did she… uh… die because of the Third Catastrophe?"

The construct shook its head. "No. Elves live much longer than humans, but they do not live forever. She was born near the start of the Third Age and died long before the Third Catastrophe. She passed away aboard her sky ship surrounded by her friends and family. It was… a good death."

"I'd have thought you'd rate a death in battle more highly than a death like that," Antaria said.

The construct stared into the distance, at a time and place she couldn't see. "My dwarf friend died as gloriously as any dragon could hope to die, yet I would have preferred it if he had shared Alenna's fate. It would have grieved me to see his children bury him, yet that would have been far better than watching him cast trinkets into the sea because he could not find the bodies of his family."

"Oh." Antaria bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologise for things that are not your fault that you could not have known about. You asked a question. I am the one who chose to answer it." Doomwing's construct straightened. "To live a long life is to see those you love pass. Such is the way of the world. And that is especially true for dragons like myself who need not fear old age."

"You know," Antaria said. "We put out candles for our dead on the last day of the year to remind them that they haven't been forgotten. We could put some candles out for your friends if you want."

"An interesting custom… and one that originates from the First Age," the construct said. "The First Gods believed that all souls belong to an endless cycle of death and rebirth. But how long a soul stays in the darkness before being reborn is never certain. They lit candles to light the way and guide those souls back into the world. Somehow, the custom was never forgotten although people did forget the reasons for it."

"Is that what you believe?" Antaria asked quietly.

"Not exactly." The construct paused. "But you may light candles if you wish." He chuckled mirthlessly. "But you should only light one for my old friends. If you had to light a candle for each friend I've lost, you would never have enough. A single candle will do."

"That's…" Antaria wasn't sure what to say to that. "I… I will light a candle."

"Enough of that," the construct said. "Your increase in power bodes well for your meeting with the dwarves. Moreover, it will also help with recruitment from your kingdom."

"What do you mean by recruitment?"

"As you have undoubtedly noticed, there is too much work here for you to do alone. You need administrators and other experts. I will begin educating those villagers who show promise, but we will also need to recruit more from your kingdom. I have spoken to your uncle with my magic. There is apparently a major tournament coming up."

"Yes," Antaria said. "They have a tournament during the winter solstice. It's one of the most important occasions since it gives the kingdom's strongest warriors and mages a chance to demonstrate their power. My father would often hire the winners or those who placed well to serve him."

"You will be entering that tournament, and you will crush everyone so thoroughly that none will ever question your power again. You will become a shining star that others wish to follow, be they warriors, bureaucrats, or mere civilians."

"My uncle won't be happy if just steal a bunch of talented people," Antaria pointed out.

"Your kingdom has an abundance of people who might be useful to us who are unable to rise any higher due to the constraints of the kingdom's politics. Your uncle has done well, but even he cannot change so much so quickly. You do not have those constraints. You rule in my name, and my power here is absolute. Win the tournament, recruit whoever you can, and bring them back here."

"Right." Antaria cracked her knuckles. "So I just have to bludgeon my way through the tournament then."

"Remember, winning is not enough. It must be effortless. It must be overwhelming. It must be absolute. As such, you can expect your training to be rigorous."

"Rigorous? I'm not sure I like the sound of that. What about the villagers? You said you'd be training some of them. Will you be training them the way you've been training me? I don't think they'd survive that."

"Of course not. I am not stupid. Your training has been harsh because I expect more of you. That you have not only survived but also exceeded my expectations speaks well of you." Doomwing's construct chuckled. "Your training will only grow more difficult from here. But if you continue to impress me, we will also begin your flight training."

Antaria bared her teeth in almost draconic fashion. A bit of pain in exchange for learning how to fly? "Bring it on."

"Brave words," the construct drawled. "Brave but foolish."

Author's Notes

Antaria continues to level up. Of course, this is only going to make her life harder. After all, Doomwing is a firm believer that if something is working, he should keep doing it. And apparently, keeping Antaria on the brink of death is working wonders. On the upside, learning how to fly is extremely cool, but it will not be an easy process, and she'll have to work her way up from gliding and floating while learning all she can from the book he plans to give her.

At this point, Antaria now has control of enough monsters and people that she needs staff to help manage them all. The villagers, for all that they're very good at what they do, are mostly farmers, carpenters, and so on. Most of them have no desire or talent for leadership roles. Doomwing will, of course, identify the ones who he thinks can do well, and he'll push them into those roles. However, they also just need more people and people with an array of different skills that the villagers don't have. And what better way to recruit them than by having Antaria beat the absolute crap out of the kingdom's most imposing warriors and mages.

If nothing else, the kingdom's people respect strength, and by being the scariest person there, she can expect plenty of interest, especially since it's clear that working for Doomwing hasn't ended in disaster for her. Instead, it has turned her into a juggernaut. Moreover, by the time the tournament gets going, it'll be winter, and while everybody else is struggling to put food on the table, she'll be able to turn up with huge amounts of food that the villagers have been able to grow with Daphne's help. She can point at herself and all the food and say, quite honestly, that anyone who goes with her will have a chance to ride the wave and rise higher than they thought possible with Doomwing's backing.

As for Doomwing's actual body, he's going to his volcano because he needs to check on the dwarves (along the way), put the phoenix egg in the volcano, and check his mirror. Yes, he can contact Ashheart without his mirror, but the mirror makes communication much easier, and he can even send a few things via his mirror if need be. If Ashheart was in any real trouble, he would contact Doomwing himself. The fact that he hasn't – and there haven't been any other huge explosions – suggests that he's fine and will reach out to Doomwing when he's ready.

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SecretTwelve

Feb 27, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 25: The Dragon Speaks of the Past

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SecretTwelve

Feb 28, 2024

#354

Chapter 25: The Dragon Speaks of the Past

Harald breathed a sigh of relief when the titanic shadow on the horizon turned out to be Doomwing. He doubted that any dragon would dare to enter Doomwing's territory uninvited, but it was still a relief to know that they weren't in any danger. The Stalwart Guard had many weapons, but none that could contend with a dragon a mile long.

"So… this is the place you have chosen?" Doomwing asked. The dragon had chosen to remain airborne rather than rest his weight upon the twin peaks that Harald had chosen for his people. His eyes gleamed. "An excellent location."

"Is it?" Harald asked, fishing for information. His eldest son had used every method at his disposal to examine this area, and Harald had done the same. However, if he could glean any additional information from Doomwing, then so much the better.

Doomwing chuckled, and Harald knew that the dragon understood what he was trying to do. Rather than being offended, he seemed amused by the attempt. "There are multiple rich veins of minerals in these mountains and the surrounding area." Harald saw a glimmer of something in the air beside Doomwing. "Hmm… gold, iron, copper, silver, along with a host of more… exotic minerals. You and your kin could mine for millennia and never exhaust the wealth here. Moreover, this place sits atop a wellspring of power. You should have no problems recharging the crystals that power the Stalwart Guard."

Harald tried and failed to keep himself from grinning like a fool. So much wealth, and Doomwing was just letting them have it? Well, not have it. They would have to pay tribute, but the dragon's terms were reasonable. If anything, he seemed more interested in developing their expertise than in simply filling his hoard with even more precious metals.

"What did you do just now?" Harald asked. "I saw something flash in the air beside you."

"Oh?" Doomwing leaned forward, and Harald fought the instinctive urge to scream when the massive reptile closed the distance in a single swift, sinuous movement. Nothing that big should move so quickly or gracefully. "What did you see?"

"It's hard to say." Harald pursed his lips. "It looked almost like writing."

The dragon grinned, baring those big, big teeth of his. "Impressive. That was a greater rune of scrying designed to reveal and catalogue the contents of the earth. That you were able to catch even a glimpse of it speaks well of you."

"A greater rune?" Harald's eyes widened in shock. "Do you speak of the words that bind the world?"

"Is that what you call them?" Doomwing eased away. "That name is a bit misleading, but runes are indeed capable of incredible things. Only the greatest heroes of your people have ever been able to wield greater runes. Still, you were able to glimpse a fraction of it, which means you might be able to learn something less powerful."

Another symbol appeared in the air beside Doomwing.

"Can you see that?" Doomwing asked.

Harald barely heard him. Instead, his gaze was locked onto the symbol floating in the air beside Doomwing. It was almost impossible to describe, at once infinitely simple yet immeasurably complex, its shape seeming to bleed out of the world and into higher and lower planes of existence.

"Yes, you can definitely see it." Doomwing chuckled. "You might not have Antaria's raw power, but you do have a lot more experience in using the power you do have. Take your magic and try to twist it into the shape of what you see."

Harald nodded quickly and did as Doomwing asked. He failed a few times, and each time, he spat blood, but on his fourth attempt, his magic finally took on the shape he wanted. The symbol snapped into place in front of him, and his reserves of magic rushed to fill it. At once, knowledge poured into his mind.

He knew what was in the ground beneath his feet. He knew how the veins of gold twisted and turned within the slope and how veins of silver and other minerals traced whimsical paths around it. Lodes of crystals and gemstones revealed themselves and –

The vision stopped, and he just barely stayed on his feet.

"What did you see?" Doomwing asked.

"I saw into the mountain," Harald wiped sweat off his brow and reached for the gourd of water at his waist. "What… what was that?"

"A basic rune of prospecting. It is amongst the weakest that I know."

"That was one of the weakest?" Harald gaped. "I thought the magic you taught us earlier was potent, but that… that was far stronger!"

"Runes are far beyond the ordered spells that you are accustomed to. They can change the story of the world… or allow you to read it." Doomwing chuckled. "You will find that rune very useful in the days ahead. Keep it to yourself… although, if any of your children can learn it, let me know. You are too old now for the training I have in mind, but your children might still be young enough to go through it."

"You would offer them personal training?" Harald asked.

"If they have the potential, yes." Doomwing's smile was somehow cold and warm at the same time. "But that is a matter for another day. Suffice it to say that my training will be difficult but rewarding." He grinned again, almost feline despite his shadow covering the mountain. "You should ask the princess about it the next time you see her."

"I shall," Harald vowed. The rune still shone in his mind. He would let no one other than his children know about it. It was simply too valuable to be shared lightly, and yet Doomwing had said it was amongst the least of his runes. "Your more powerful runes… what could they do?"

"If I wished, I could turn this mountain to powder and rip free all of value within it," Doomwing said. "But I have little reason to do that. I wish for your people to grow and develop, and you will never progress if I do everything for you." The dragon looked into the distance. "If you and your people work hard, then one day, the Stalwart Guard will not sail the skies alone."

"That is a fine thought," Harald said quietly. "A very fine thought indeed."

"But you are certain of your choice?" Doomwing asked. "There are other places of great wealth in this area."

"Aye," Harald said. "I've thought about it, and this place has everything we need. It has wealth, but it also isn't too far into the mountains and foothills. You did mention earlier that you wanted us to work with the humans you have. These peaks also have a commanding view of the surrounding area, so we'll never be caught off guard, and they seem quite defensible too. We could build twin fortresses here, and I doubt anyone short of a dragon would ever be able to threaten us."

"I could help with that," Doomwing said.

Harald chuckled and shook his head. "No. We'll manage. If this is to be our new home, then we want to carve it out of the mountain with our own hands."

The dragon nodded. There was respect in his gaze. "Then it seems you've made your decision." He turned. "You already know how to reach me if you need aid. I have matters to attend to in my volcano."

"Thank you," Harald said. "When I went into exile, I never thought I would find a place for myself like this."

"You are welcome," Doomwing replied before he stopped and turned back. "I should probably mention that one of my fellow dragons has awakened in the Sky Claw Mountains."

Harald froze. "What?"

"Yes. A fellow primordial dragon, Ashheart. I encased him in a mountain at the end of the Fifth Age to help him heal. He just recently awakened. I imagine your brother must be aware of him by now since he likely destroyed the mountain he was in while awakening."

Harald stumbled back, heart pounding in his chest. "Is… are…?"

"Are your kin in any danger?" Doomwing laughed, and the sound of it shook the sky and the mountain. "Not unless they're stupid enough to attack him." His gaze sharpened. "Are they that stupid?"

"No," Harald said quickly. "If he's anything like you, they'll take one look at him and run for it. My brother will definitely adopt a more cautious approach, maybe even try to talk to him." He paused. "This… Ashheart, he wouldn't eat my brother, would he?"

"You don't know who he is?" Doomwing asked. "How odd. You knew who I was."

"We have legends of other primordial dragons," Harald said. "Maybe we know him by a different name."

"That might be it." Doomwing gestured, and an image appeared beside him of a massive dragon with scales that resembled volcanic rock. A baleful orange glow emanated from deep within him, and his broad, muscular frame exuded strength and power in a way that even Doomwing's didn't. "In days gone by, your ancient kin called him by many names. Some called him Mountain-Breaker. Others called him World-Shaker. And still others called him Earth-Binder."

Harald's eyes widened in recognition. "Earth-Binder… we have legends, ancient legends, of a dragon by that name who made the Sky Claw Mountains."

"Yes. He made them. Well, most of them. There were already a few mountains there, but when we fought the enemy that wounded him, he heaved up more mountains to strike at our foe. The holes you see in some of the mountains, along with the craters, were created by the attacks of our enemy when he was fending off Ashheart."

"…" Harald decided to simply sit back on his haunches and process what Doomwing had just told him. He had always wondered why some mountains had holes in them, and why there were great craters in the middle of the mountain range. "What do you think he will do?" Harald asked quietly. If this Ashheart were to lash out at his people, they would stand no chance. His brother would perish, as would all the dwarves of the Sky Claw Mountains.

"Assuming your fellow dwarves don't do anything stupid, I think he'll get along well with them." Doomwing seemed unconcerned. "After all, the same god who made dwarves also made the dragons from which Ashheart is descended."

Harald shot to his feet. "What?"

Doomwing grew wistful. "Long ago, dwarf, in the First Age, the Seven Gods, the mightiest of the First Gods, created dragons. With fire and wind, the Seven Gods made dragons. And with earth and rock and stone did the World Shaper, one of the Seven Gods, make dwarves. And it was the World Shaper who had the greatest hand in making the dragons of earth, rock, stone, metal, and gemstone."

Harald listened intently. He wished more than anything that he had something to write upon, but he dared not ask for permission to fetch anything, lest Doomwing's mood change and he cease speaking of that distant past that only he and his fellows could remember.

"When the gods made elves, they took the light of the sun, the moon and the stars and used that to forge their souls. But the World Shaper had no interest in the light of the sun, the moon, or the stars. For your souls, for the souls of the dwarves he had made, he looked elsewhere, to the molten heart of the earth. It was that fire that he used to enkindle your souls, and it is why you dwarves have ever been stalwart and steadfast, for within your souls beats the steady, unyielding heart of the world. But you can also have fiery tempers, and few can hold grudges like you can. You are like volcanoes in that respect, seldom erupting, but impressive when your tempers fray and give way to rage. Ashheart is a tectonic dragon, so his soul is much the same. Besides, he remembers how the World Shaper fell, and he honours that sacrifice still. He will not strike at your kin unless they give him reason."

"What happened?" Harald asked. "How did the World Shaper fall?"

"The Broken God, a foe powerful beyond all rhyme or reason. He slew all of the First Gods, including the Seven Gods. The World Shaper fell before his might, his titanic body broken, divine flame spewing from mangled god-metal, but in his death throes, he shielded the ancestors of your people from the Broken God's wrath, giving his life to them once more with his sacrifice, his great body bearing blow after blow after blow until he perished, never retreating because he knew that if he did, your ancestors would be slaughtered without mercy by the Broken God."

"And this Broken God?" Harald hissed. He could almost picture it, a titan of gleaming metal, broken and defeated but refusing to fall, holding on grimly to shield his cowering ancestors. Was it merely imagination, or was it a memory burned into his very blood?

"The World Shaper was avenged," Doomwing replied. "You can be certain of that." He stared east. "There is a place, far from here, where mountains once reached beyond the clouds. That was where your people were born, and they dwelt there in great happiness until the end of the First Age. I was young then, but I saw their halls several times. Even now, so many years later, I remember the splendour of those halls. Golden roofed and silver floored, with runes upon every door."

"What happened? Why would my ancestors leave such a place?"

"It was there that the World Shaper fell, cast down by the Broken God. He had told your ancestors to flee, for the Broken God was coming. His fall shattered the mountains, and your people would have perished before the Broken God's wrath had he not sheltered them with his own body. Even after the Broken God was defeated, the dwarves could not bring themselves to return there, for it was where their creator had fallen. They could not help but wonder what would have happened if they had been stronger. Would the World Shaper have lived if he had not been forced to protect them?" Doomwing shook his head. "Foolishness. The Broken God was too strong. Even my people, the dragons, suffered terribly against him. There was nothing the dwarves could have done."

"One day…" Harald said softly. "One day I want to go there. I want to see it with my own eyes…"

"Perhaps I will take you," Doomwing said. "But I have lingered long enough. I must go to my volcano. I will speak to Ashheart. I doubt he has harmed your people, but I will ask him what his intentions are." He chuckled, and the sound was thunder rolling over the mountains. "Knowing him, he'll do something ridiculous but helpful. He likes the stalwart and steadfast, and your people are often that." He snickered. "Yes, his methods might be over the top, but they are often effective, albeit simple."

Before Harald could ask anything further, Doomwing had already left, wings beating the air mightily. He could only hope that his brother would do the sensible thing when it came to Ashheart.

Doomwing smiled as he returned to his volcano. It was always pleasing to see his hoard. As he landed on the shores of the lake of molten lava, he quickly checked to make sure that everything from Ashheart's hoard was where it should be and ready to be moved. The other dragon would no doubt have questions about his lair, but he should be content knowing that his hoard was safe. Once Ashheart had rebuilt his lair, Doomwing could simply hand over his hoard. It would be a shame to see it go. Some of it was truly impressive.

However, Doomwing had no intentions of trying to keep anything that belonged to his friend. He was not some petty drake or lesser dragon who would steal from a friend. He had taken pains to make sure that everything was in the finest condition possible. Ashheart would receive his hoard in the very same condition he had left it in, barring the objects that Doomwing had given to Diamondfang and Adamantheart. The young dragon was developing with impressive speed, and he was confident that Ashheart would be proud of his progress. Of course, he'd probably test him in some ridiculous manner, like striking at him to see if he could block a blow with even a fraction of his strength behind it. Luckily, Adamantheart took after the older dragon because what Ashheart called a 'light blow' would pulverise most other dragons.

But now that Doomwing was here, he had business to attend to, namely the phoenix egg. Had it been the egg of a fire phoenix, he would simply have put it into the lava. The immense heat and magic would have helped it to hatch quickly with a minimum of fuss. However, he had a stellar phoenix egg, and such eggs needed to be exposed to starlight for optimum growth and development.

Doomwing's magic flared, and the clouds of ash and dust over the lake of lava cleared until there was a pillar of open sky above the volcano. The night sky appeared above him, and he took a moment to savour the sight of countless twinkling stars. Was Dawnscale out there, still searching for answers? Perhaps. He liked to think she was.

He used more magic to ensure the area above the volcano would stay clear of debris before using his power to set the egg in place over the lava in a position where it would be able to absorb immense quantities of heat and magic while still drinking in the light of the stars. Then he wove protective magic around it, even going so far as to use an ancient rune.

Before his eyes, the egg began to glow, its opalescent surface now studded with pinpoints of shimmering starlight. He used several runes in a bid to ascertain more and made a contented sound as the egg began to resonate with the magic, heat, and starlight it had access to. Better still, he could feel it resonating with the Guiding Star, one of the brightest stars in the sky, the star that had been used since the First Age to help people navigate.

His lips curled. Yes. He had certainly gotten quite lucky with this egg. The phoenix inside it would surely grow to be quite powerful, especially since the egg was now incubating in the best conditions possible. Despite the sub-optimal conditions it had endured until now, it shouldn't be long until it hatched. Still… he would have to leave his volcano again to attend to other matters, but he had no intention of leaving the egg undefended.

He reached out with his magic, using a series of greater runes to call forth elementals of fire, earth, wind, and lightning. The four elementals appeared in front of him. They were not the greatest of their kind, but they should be more than sufficient to deal with any threats that might appear. At the very least, they would be able to hold on long enough for him to return.

"Protect the egg," he ordered them. "And see that no harm comes to the phoenix should it hatch."

They stared back at him, whirling masses of sentient elemental energy, and he almost rolled his eyes. Elementals could be created using magic, but it was often better to call existing elementals since they tended to be smarter and less prone to bouts of stupidity – like accidentally crushing an egg they were supposed to watch. These particular elementals were centuries old, so they had more than enough intelligence to understand what he wanted them to do. However, that intelligence came with the need to negotiate, unless he wanted to simply impose his will upon them. Still, if they proved useful, he might have other work for them, so it was better to negotiate.

"Fulfil this task, and you will be rewarded. Serve me well, and I will allow you to bask in the energies that run through my territory. That includes this volcano and its surroundings." That got their attention, and they immediately vowed to obey. Like monsters, elementals could ascend and increase their power, but it typically involved absorbing vast quantities of magic and elemental energy. His volcano happened to have massive quantities of both for them to use. Just a few months here would be like centuries in a normal location, and they were not so foolish or prideful as to ignore the opportunity.

"Good. Do not touch my hoard, and notify me immediately if the egg hatches or there are intruders." Doomwing left the elementals to go about their work and made his way to his mirror. "I have people I need to contact."

Author's Notes

The dwarves date back to the First Age, and they share a common ancestry of a sort with dragons like Ashheart. He really has no reason to lash out at them unless they attack although he might end up doing something crazy that nevertheless ends up being helpful. After all, he has a soft spot for determined and hardworking people, and the dwarves certainly qualify.

The phoenix egg has also finally found a good spot. Doomwing definitely won the gacha game when he found it. Now, he just has to wait for it to hatch. And what sort of phoenix will he get? Will it be majestic and regal, or it will it be the kind to perch on Antaria's head and try to make a nest out of her hair while bullying the other monsters?

As for the people he has to contact, he definitely has to check up on Ashheart, and who knows what Marcus is up to right now?

Last edited: Feb 28, 2024

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SecretTwelve

Feb 28, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 26: The Vampire Works Hard

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SecretTwelve

Mar 2, 2024

#379

Chapter 26: The Vampire Works Hard

Marcus took a moment to drag in a long, deep breath of the cool night air. Vampires didn't technically need to breathe, but breathing still eased the load on his other abilities. More importantly, there was something distinctly pleasant about cooling down after a night of bloodshed and ruin.

The ambush had gone about as well as could be expected. The enemy ancient had been moving his forces northward to take a defensive position up on a bluff that held a commanding view of the surrounding area. Marcus had hidden his forces along the narrow trail that led up to the bluff and had sprung his trap the moment the other ancient had committed himself to the trail.

It might sound callous, but the other ancient was the only part of the opposing force that mattered. Even if the rest of his troops escaped, if the ancient fell, then Marcus would have considered the attack a success. The purpose of bringing his own forces was to keep his opponent's forces occupied, so he could confront the other ancient personally without being swarmed by enemy soldiers. Yes, he could easily slaughter them, but even a moment's distraction could prove fatal against another ancient.

The plan had gone well. The enemy had been caught off guard, and his forces had successfully engaged the enemy soldiers, as well as the enemy vampire fledglings and elders. He'd tasked Ivar with sniping the vampires who served as the backbone of the enemy's command structure. The half-blood might not have the raw power to confront the stronger elders on his own, but his bow and the arrows Marcus had given him evened the odds.

A bow made from the branch of a Daughter Tree and arrows of dragon-silver would be enough to penetrate the defences of just about any fledgling or elder. Ivar might only know basic and lesser runes, but the ones he had learned were all suited for hunting vampires. Put a few of those on an arrow, and a hit to the head or the heart could easily prove fatal for even an elder vampire.

Marcus himself had gone straight for the other ancient. He didn't know the other ancient's name, but he hadn't taken him lightly. Vampires had essentially perfect night vision, so being blinded was something that could take even most ancients by surprise. Marcus had used a greater rune of blinding to rob his opponent of his vision before using several lesser runes of restraint to hold him in place.

To his credit, the other ancient had broken through the runes of restraint almost immediately, but Marcus had never intended for those runes to hold him. Instead, they were supposed to distract him, allowing Marcus to conceal himself and create a blood doppelganger. Blood doppelgangers were costly constructs, not only in terms of the amount of his own blood that Marcus had to shed but also the amount of magic and mental control required to create and maintain them.

However, blood doppelgangers were excellent facsimiles of whoever made them. They could fool even close examination, and they could actually contribute to a fight. The doppelganger that Marcus made was about a quarter as strong as he was and had taken perhaps half of his overall power to create.

But even a blood doppelganger could not fool a skilled ancient, and his opponent had proven skilled indeed. He had used a greater rune of dismissal to break free of Marcus's rune of blinding before turning his attention to the doppelganger. It had taken him roughly three quarters of a second to realise that the doppelganger was a fake.

But in a battle between ancient vampires, three quarters of a second could mean everything. Vampires could sense heat and blood and had outstanding hearing and smell, yet they nevertheless relied primarily on their vision to identify threats. Blinding his opponent had allowed Marcus to conceal himself, and presenting the doppelganger had delayed his opponent's scrying and detection magic by three quarters of a second.

Marcus used that time to appear behind his opponent and cut off his head before stabbing him in the heart. A rune of true death should have ended the battle then and there, but his opponent had not gone into battle unprepared. He wore a charm, one of incredible quality, that stored an ancient rune of full restoration.

For a split-second, the two ancient runes had clashed, as he and his opponent each tried to bend the story of the world to their own ends. In the end, Marcus had lost. His opponent must have spent years pouring energy into the charm to ramp up the power of the ancient rune to an absurd degree,

What should have been an immediate victory had devolved into a long, drawn-out battle as he and his opponent left the trail behind and devastated the surrounding landscape. The blood of the fallen was torn out of their bodies and turned into opposing storms of crimson death as they ripped at each other with sanguine claws, blades, and teeth.

Marcus found himself wondering how he'd never heard of this other ancient before. The other vampire was clearly exceptionally skilled, but it wasn't unusual for ancients to seclude themselves for centuries at a time, emerging only when they needed to secure resources or feed. Marcus had also spent much of the Sixth Age away from other vampires, and he hadn't exactly spent the past thousand years scouting for threats either.

In the end Marcus had won because he was just that little bit more experienced and efficient with his power. It was a small thing, and it wouldn't have mattered in a shorter fight, but as the battle dragged on, going from a clash of mere seconds to one that took almost an hour, those small differences in experience and efficiency allowed Marcus to land one blow and then another and another, his small advantages piling up like snow upon a northern hillside until finally they turned into an avalanche.

His opponent fell, and both Marcus and his sword drank greedily. Marcus had not drunk Gaius's blood. The man had been a fool, and the less Marcus had to do with him, the better. If history forgot him, the world would be a better place. But his opponent had been worthy of respect. He would continue to live on through Marcus, and that was the greatest respect that Marcus could give him.

With his opponent dead, Marcus tugged off his helmet and began the long walk back to the trail. The night air was cool upon his face, and there was a crisp cleanness to it that could only be tasted here in the desolate north, far from the bustling thoroughfares and crowded marketplaces that could be found in more hospitable climes. It reminded him of the nights he had spent wandering through what was left of the vampiric homelands.

Doomwing had destroyed them so utterly that they were completely unrecognisable.

But there had been beauty amidst the desolation. He hadn't been able to stay long – Doomwing's magic had left a scar upon that place that was only now beginning to heal – but the night sky had been beautiful to behold. His father, the fool, had transformed the land itself to fuel his ascent to power, building countless towers and other constructs to harness the region's ambient magic.

The entire region had been covered in a miasma of unnatural light, the stars replaced by a pulsing haze of black, purple, blue, and green radiance. It had hurt to look upon, and the sight of it had driven many people mad. His father had found that amusing, but Marcus had been glad to see it gone, reduced to nothingness by his friend's magic.

Still, he was a bit puzzled. He was still beneath the umbral veil, yet the stars could be seen clearly. How did that work? Did the veil merely block sunlight while allowing starlight to pass through? Or perhaps it was simply a case of his vampiric vision being unimpeded by the veil. Whatever the case, he'd already tested the veil many times. Even a fledgling could walk around at noon without feeling so much as a tingle on their skin.

He had almost reached his forces when he felt someone approaching at high speed. Their magic felt vaguely familiar, but he nevertheless prepared himself for battle. Now, after he had used up much of his power, would be the perfect time for an ambush. He donned his helmet once more and began to draw power out of his sword. The sanguine steel hummed, and he felt power flow into him. It was almost like drinking blood.

His eyes narrowed as a cloud of bats – moving far faster than normal bats could – approached and the landed nearby. The bats clumped together and then faded, leaving behind a person he hadn't seen in quite some time.

"It's been a while, Marcus." Faustina was as beautiful as ever, all long, dark hair, pale skin, and eyes that seemed equal parts sorrowful and contemplative. He fought the urge to scowl. He'd always found the scholarly type intriguing, and Faustina was a scholarly as any vampire he'd ever met. Of course, she was also a bit of a mad scientist, but there was something oddly alluring about watching her cackle over her newest experiment.

He'd once tried to explain the appeal to Doomwing, and the dragon had simply scoffed.

"Mother Tree once told me to avoid crazy. Clearly, nobody ever told you the same."

He had wanted to disagree, but then Faustina had blown up his manor. He'd quite liked that manor, but he still might have forgiven her for it if her 'apology' hadn't basically amounted to 'I'm sorry that you feel bad that your manor exploded because it was too crappy to survive my experiment'.

They'd argued and then parted ways, and they'd only run into each other a handful of times since then. He wouldn't say there was bad blood between them, but he wasn't about to share a bed with her again either until he'd confirmed that she wouldn't be rigging it with enough alchemical explosives to level a mountain. She had a well-concealed vicious streak, which was another thing he'd found appealing.

And again, Doomwing had just rolled his eyes when Marcus had mentioned it.

"Unnecessary viciousness is not a desirable trait in a mate."

That might have sounded odd coming from a dragon, but Doomwing had calmly explained that unnecessary viciousness was a great way to end up dead. Many dragons died because they refused to retreat when faced with battles they couldn't win. Doomwing was no coward, but he was a firm believer in employing a 'tactical retreat' or two when confronted by a truly dangerous opponent, so he could better understand their strengths and weaknesses.

An overly vicious mate would probably get themselves killed early, he had pointed out. They might even get their hatchlings killed too. When hatchlings were involved, it was important to prioritise their safety. If that meant forsaking pride and glory, then so be it. Dragons lived long lives. They could find glory later. However, they did not reproduce as quickly as other species, so they needed to ensure that their hatchlings were well protected until they had grown enough to protect themselves.

"I don't suppose you're here to kill me, are you?" Marcus asked.

At this range, he was confident that he could reach her and strike her down if necessary. He'd prefer to avoid that, but he'd do it if he had to. As an exceptionally gifted alchemist, Faustina was most effective away from the frontlines where she offer support in the form of better weapons, potions, and other assistance.

"Are you serious?" Faustina stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "If I was trying to kill you, I'd have strapped explosives onto all of my bats before having them dive bomb this entire area into a giant crater. I'm here because I want in."

"In?"

"Yes, in." Faustina looked around and then lowered her voice. "I ran into Doomwing. The scaly bastard is as surly as ever, but he did tell me a few interesting things. If you're going to try to take over the area beneath the umbral veil, then I can help you."

"Is that so?" Marcus's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"Can't I just help you out of the goodness of my heart?" Faustina asked.

"You're a terrible liar," Marcus replied. "Is this about my manor? Because if you want to pay me back for that, I'll accept payment in weapons and armour –"

"This isn't about your manor!" she snapped before folding her arms across her chest. It was, Marcus thought, a nice chest. No. Focus. Do not ogle the crazy alchemist. "If there's going to be a king of the vampires, I'll admit that you're probably the least awful choice. At the very least, you won't just turn everything into one big orgy." She shuddered. "I remember that time Gaius tried to hire me to make stuff for him, but it was all just an attempt to drag me into an orgy."

Marcus grinned wolfishly. "Gaius is dead."

"Well, that's nice," Faustina said. "He always was an asshole. Anyway, if you're going to become king of the vampires – and I think you've probably got the best odds of winning – then I want to help."

"And I assuming you want to be rewarded for your help?" Marcus asked.

"Of course. Equal exchange. That's how alchemy and relationships work." Faustina nodded sagely. "You know what I can do. I can make you weapons, armour, potions, artifacts, and a bunch of other stuff. In exchange, I want to study the umbral veil, and I want funding to establish a research academy. Naturally, a certain portion of our research will be devoted to topics that you're interested in."

"Hmm…" Marcus had to admit that the general idea wasn't bad. He had smiths to make armour and weapons, and he had several artificers under his command who weren't half bad. However, Faustina was better than any of them. Even setting aside her personal skills in those area, her ability to provide them with better materials would also lead to a massive increase in their effectiveness.

He had won every battle he had fought so far, but winning the war would be tricker. Battles could be won with tactics, but wars often came down to logistics. It was something he had taught Elerion back when his long-dead friend had been a boy. Tactics and strategy were all very important, but you could win most wars by simply having more and better than your opponent.

More troops. Better troops.

More weapons and armour. Better weapons and armour.

More supplies. Better supplies.

Right now, Marcus was still developing his logistics. The warriors of the far north were used to fighting small-scale conflicts, with battles rarely featuring more than a few hundred warriors at a time. However, things were changing rapidly. Whenever an ancient fell, it was standard practice for the majority of their troops to join the victor. Most of them held no great loyalty to one vampire or another. Instead, they were interested in joining the winning team.

It was a bit cut throat, but Marcus could understand the logic. The north was rugged and inhospitable. Simply killing the defeated would swiftly reduce numbers to the point of collapse. Instead, the people of the far north had developed traditions that made honourable surrender possible. To be fair, Marcus didn't let just anyone join his forces. If he thought people were likely to turn traitor or would do more harm than good, then he would either send them away or deal with them. And sometimes, the enemy simply refused to surrender, fighting until the last man. He could respect that, even if he thought it foolish.

Having Faustina join his forces would be a huge boon. Her skills as an alchemist aside, she was still an ancient vampire. She might not specialise in battle to the same extent as him, but she wasn't weak, and she could handle herself in a fight if need be. He had a suspicion that as the war went on, and factions began to form, the smaller groups led by less powerful ancients would have no choice but to abandon their ambitions of conquest and join the leading candidates.

Marcus was currently one of those leading candidates, but the stronger he could make his forces, the fewer battles he would have to fight. The majority of ancients were both rational and fearful of death. If he offered reasonable terms, they would join him. It would be better, from their view, to live as a noble in the new order than to die as a ruler of their own faction.

"Fine," he said at last. "You can join me, but we'll need to discuss the details when we get back to my camp."

"Oh, about that." Faustina pulled out a parchment. "I have a contract ready. All you have to do is to sign here, add a bit of your blood and magic here, and we're good to go!"

He ignored her sunny smile. "Not happening. I am not signing anything you wrote without going through it with a fine-toothed comb. In fact, I'll have Quintus go through it too. He's good at stuff like this."

She pouted. "You don't trust me?"

"The ruins of my manor trusted you."

"Hey!"

Marcus turned on his heel. "Come on. My troops will be wondering where I am." He stopped mid-stride.

"What?"

"Did you ever meet an ancient named Atticus?" Marcus asked. He was finally getting access to some of the memories of the vampire he'd beaten, thanks to the blood he'd consumed. It would likely take several weeks before he knew exactly how many memories he'd get. Hopefully, some of them would contain useful information, like magic or combat techniques.

"Atticus?" Faustina made a face. "I might have heard of him a few times. He had a lair near the sea, far to the south from here. He pretty reclusive, but he was supposed to be pretty good at fighting. Why do you ask?"

"He was the ancient I killed shortly before you arrived." Marcus shook himself. "I'm getting a few of his memories now. I'll have to send someone to check out his lair when all of this is over. He wasn't able to bring everything with him."

Faustina perked up. "Another ancient's lair, you say? I don't suppose…?"

"I won't even consider it until this war is over. Stay focused."

"You!" Quintus jabbed one finger at Faustina. "You fiend!"

Faustina hissed like a cat and grabbed the nearest chair, holding it above her head and ready to bring it down on the other ancient at a moment's notice. "You!"

"Enough." Marcus plucked the chair out Faustina's grasp and sat down in it before gesturing for the two other vampires to grab chairs of their own.

Faustina had accompanied him back to his forces and returned with him to his camp. Despite her true identity as an overenthusiastic – Doomwing would say crazy – alchemist, she was perfectly capable of playing the part of a mysterious, alluring, and majestic ancient vampire when she felt like it. His men had waggled their eyebrows, and he didn't have to use his powers to know what they were thinking.

But calling his camp a mere camp was starting to get disrespectful. Quintus was not a combat specialist, but there were few better at organising and getting things done. Under Quintus's supervision, the camp had undergone a transformation. Better buildings had been constructed, the fortifications that Marcus had been pushing to build had finally been completed, and all manner of amenities had been added.

The fierce warriors of the north were inclined to favour strength over everything else, but they had all grown fond of Quintus. Who wouldn't be fond of someone who made sure they got better housing, better beds, and better food? It also made them more determined to follow Marcus, and he knew their loyalty would only increase once they got access to the weapons, armour, and artifacts that Faustina could produce.

"Why is this guy here?" Faustina whined. "He worked for Gaius. I bet he's a creep too."

"We both know that he didn't have much of a choice. Gaius was his sire," Marcus replied. "Besides, you know how good he is at managing things. Think of what you'll be able to do with his help."

Faustina grumbled but sat down.

"I should point out that she has a rather indiscriminate approach," Quintus said. "I can understand her trying to kill Gaius after his attempts to… ensnare her, but she also blew up most of the surrounding countryside during her escape. I was lucky to survive!"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Most of the surrounding countryside?"

Faustina shrugged. "I wanted to be certain Gaius died. I still can't believe he lived through that. I made extra sure to make the explosion as deadly as possible with what I had on hand."

"He had several artifacts to protect himself," Quintus said. "He was quite… angry when they were destroyed, but they allowed him to survive."

"What about you?" Marcus asked.

"It took me a year in a pool full of blood to heal."

"You're tougher than you look," Faustina said. "That explosion would have killed most ancients."

"I do enjoy living, yes." Quintus looked around. "Will Ivar not be joining us?"

"No," Marcus said. "He had to use a lot of his power during the battle. He did very well, but he needs his rest. Besides, this isn't a formal meeting. I just wanted you two to meet in private, rather than having your first meeting be in public."

"A wise move," Quintus said. "But fear not. I shall be polite and respectful in public."

"And in private?" Faustina asked toothily.

"I will afford you the respect you deserve."

"…" Faustina's eye twitched. "I'll do the same for you."

"Anyway," Marcus said. "Have any of our scouts returned from the forest?"

Quintus shook his head. "None. I was going to ask you about it since several of them were reasonably skilled. I was willing to chalk the loss of the first few to bears or other animals, but even regular monsters should not have been able to kill all of the scouts we sent this time."

"What's this about a forest?" Faustina asked.

"The far north is a land too cold for any human to survive in. Even we ancient vampires would struggle to survive there for long without the use of magic. However, access to the far north isn't easy. There is a vast forest that separates it from the extremely cold but still survivable areas of the north."

"Is the forest one big circle?" Faustina asked. "Because if it isn't, can't you just walk around until you find a gap in it?"

"There are gaps in the forest," Quintus said. "But they are… dangerous, home to all manner of powerful monsters, such as frost worms."

"Frost worms?" Faustina's brows furrowed. "Aren't those giant worms that burrow deep into the permafrost and glaciers? They're supposed to get pretty big too. I remember seeing the head of a specimen that was supposed to be thousands of feet long." She grinned toothily. "You can get some pretty interesting alchemical ingredients out of them…"

"We are not going to go hunting for frost worms," Marcus said. "The largest of them are extremely dangerous to the point that all three of us might be required to fight. Perhaps after the war, we can try, but not now." Marcus nodded at Quintus. "I thought we just needed lumber from the forest. Surely, we can harvest a few trees from the edges."

"The scouts were instructed to venture no more than a hundred yards into the forest. I was quite clear about that. Nevertheless, none have returned."

"That is odd," Marcus said. "I wonder –"

He paused as a familiar sensation washed over him. Quintus and Faustina sensed it too, with the other male vampire getting to his feet and readying his own magic while Faustina glared balefully at the middle of the room.

"Relax," Marcus said. "We're not under attack."

A moment later, an image of Doomwing appeared in the middle of the room. The dragon looked much the same as always although the view of the volcano behind him was different. Instead of smoke and ash, the air over the volcano was clear, and there seemed to be an egg of some kind floating over the lake of lava.

"It seems you're still alive," Doomwing drawled. "Have you won yet?"

Marcus chuckled. "I'm not that easy to kill, and, no, I haven't won yet." He pointed. "What's that behind you?"

The dragon smiled. "A stellar phoenix egg. I was able to acquire it during my trip south, along with several other interesting things… and people." His gaze drifted to Faustina and Quintus.

"I guess I have you to thank for sending Faustina my way," Marcus said. "If you don't hear from me in a month, assume she blew up my camp and avenge me."

"Hey!"

Marcus gestured at Quintus. "This is Quintus. He joined me fairly recently, but he's been doing an excellent job managing matters around camp."

"Is that so?" Doomwing's gaze was piercing despite the distance between them. "Can he be trusted?"

"I think so."

"If he does betray you, I will deal with him," Doomwing said.

Quintus cleared his throat. "I have no intention of betraying, Marcus, mighty Doomwing."

"Mighty Doomwing?" Marcus grinned. "It still sounds weird when I hear people call you that."

"Most people call me that. You're simply obnoxious."

"I guess that's true. So… what have you been up to?" Marcus asked. "And you can speak freely. These two will be two of my closest advisors going forward. Besides, it's not like they'll be headed your way any time soon."

What followed was a brief but concise recount of what Doomwing had been doing since they'd last spoken. By the time he was done, Marcus wasn't sure whether to laugh, scream, or cry. Instead, he settled for holding his head in his hands.

"Only you," Marcus said. "Only you could do all of that and somehow make it work."

"I am Doomwing," the dragon replied. "I can make anything work."

"But a sky ship of the Third Age," Faustina said. "I don't suppose you have another one you could lend us for study?"

"I have several," Doomwing said. "In my hoard… where they shall remain. I find the thought of you with the core of a sky ship disturbing. Marcus might actually die when your inevitable experiment with it fails."

"Even so," Quintus said. "This is good news, mighty Doomwing. It won't be long before your territory's power and influence increase, and once Marcus claims the north for himself, we should be able to work something out with regards to trade."

"A descendant of Elerion," Marcus said, smiling. "From what you've said she's a lot like him."

"She is even stupider than he was." The words might have been cutting, but there was no mistaking the fondness in Doomwing's voice.

"Is that so? I'll have to arrange a meeting somehow after I've won up here."

"Perhaps," Doomwing said. "What about you, Marcus, what have you achieved since we last spoke?"

Marcus bit back a laugh. The smugness in the dragon's voice was unmistakable although, to be fair, he had a lot to be smug about. "Well…"

Once he'd filled Doomwing in on recent events, he decided to ask him about the forest. "Do you know anything about the forest up here and why people might be disappearing in it?"

The dragon took a moment to think before nodded, more to himself than them. "I think I know why, but I am not surprised that you three do not. It occurred near the beginning of the Fourth Age, and as far as I am aware, no vampires ventured this far north until at least midway through the Fourth Age."

"What happened?" Quintus asked. The bespectacled man had something of an interest in history, and he had been quite intrigued by the ruins they had found scattered throughout the north.

"After the seas receded, many dryads sought to claim lands for themselves. These younger dryads would take groups of elves and tree folk and venture from their homelands in search of territory. I did not know her personally, but I heard tell of a dryad who ventured north to the roof to the world. When the cold prove too much for her followers, she abandoned her quest and chose to settle as far north as her followers could tolerate. I suspect that she was responsible for the creation of the forest you speak of."

"If there's a dryad, then we should be able to negotiate with her." Marcus rubbed his chin. "I have a few things a dryad might want, and I'm sure she won't mind too much if we only take a few trees from the forest edge."

"There is no dryad," Doomwing said. "She died only a few centuries after settling in the north."

"She died?" Faustina stared. "How? I mean… there are frost worms, but I've never heard of a frost worm attacking a dryad unprovoked before, and I'd like to think she wasn't that stupid."

Marcus tried not to snicker. That was an interesting comment coming from someone who had suggested they go out and hunt a frost worm for alchemical ingredients.

"In the far north, where no human or elf can live, there are frost giants," Doomwing explained. "They venture south now and then, and they took exception to the forest's continuing expansion. According to the elves who survived the conflict and fled south, war broke out between the frost giants and the dryad. Although the two sides were fairly evenly matched, the frost giants had something the dryad could not beat – a frost titan."

Marcus's eyes widened. "A frost titan?" Frost giants were massive creatures, with the largest reaching perhaps a hundred feet in height. Frost titans were frost giants who had managed to ascend far beyond their origins. The smallest of them were three hundred feet tall, and he had heard stories of frost titans large enough to wrestle Doomwing.

"As you can imagine, the battle went poorly for the dryad and her forces. The elves and tree folk were driven back, and the frost titan was able to slay the dryad, albeit at the cost of his own life. Without a dryad, the elves decided to leave and return south. However, the tree folk remained, filled with bitterness at their failure and hatred for the frost giants. The elves leaving drove them all but mad, and they became increasingly aggressive, attacking anyone who dared to enter their forest. They began to hunt down frost giants, consuming them and growing in size until they could match even frost titans in size."

Marcus fought the urge to scream. Forget the other ancient vampires. If there were frost titans and similarly large and powerful tree folk roaming around, then he had – literally – bigger problems to worry about. "Okay. If that's true, how come we're not all dead?"

"The tree folk are more concerned with exterminating the frost giants in revenge than on what happens further south. They likely killed your scouts for intruding into their forest, but it's unlikely they'll leave their forest unless you truly provoke them. From what you've said, the umbral veil ends just shy of the forest itself, so they have no reason to try to destroy it." Doomwing paused. "Although if they do try to destroy it…"

"I might have to ask for your help," Marcus admitted.

"I was going to say that I can contact Frostfang."

"What does Frostfang have to do with this?" Marcus asked.

"Ask yourself a question. If so many were beholden to the Sixth Catastrophe's will, why were we not beset by forces from the north? Think of what an army of enslaved tree folk and frost giants could have done in the final battle."

Marcus shuddered. "It would not have gone well for us."

"As you know, my fellow primordial dragons participated in the battle – not all of them, but some of them. Frostfang dealt with the situation in the north. I suspect that his influence has forced a ceasefire of sorts between the frost giants and the tree folk. If nothing else, their constant squabbling would disturb his naps. As powerful as the frost giants and tree folk are, they would have to be foolish indeed to challenge Frostfang in a land of ice and snow."

Marcus almost laughed at the thought of someone picking a fight with a primordial winter dragon under those conditions. That was just suicide with extra steps. "How come I didn't know about that?"

"I told as few people as possible," Doomwing said. "Because the less people who knew, the less chances there were for the Sixth Catastrophe to learn of it. She had counted on those northern forces to swing the battle in her favour. Losing them without notice was one of the reasons she abandoned her defensive position and attacked. She wasn't sure she could win if Frostfang and the other primordial dragons who were dealing with her operations around the world joined the battle alongside us."

Marcus made a face. Kagami had been a brilliant planner. She had dozens of operations scattered across the world, all of them feeding her power and spreading her will. Defeating her had necessitated taking out all of those operations one after the other without giving her a chance to replace them. Unfortunately, some of those operations had involved forces that required Doomwing's fellow primordial dragons to deal with. As a result, only Doomwing had been present during the siege. The plan had been for the other primordial dragons to deal with Kagami's operations and then rush to the siege to help Doomwing overwhelm her.

Kagami must have realised what had happened, choosing to abandon her defensive position in the hopes that she could kill Doomwing before the other primordial dragons arrived. If she could do that, there was a chance she could go after the primordial dragons one at a time, picking them off before they could join forces. It was her only real shot at victory, and she had very nearly managed to kill Doomwing.

"Why didn't the other primordial dragons join us afterward?" Marcus growled. He had always wondered about that, but it wasn't as though he could force a primordial dragon to respond. "You were badly wounded."

"The backlash of the Sixth Catastrophe's death resulted in many of her more esoteric rituals and preparations going awry." Doomwing scowled. "I do not understand the exact mechanics – only Dreamsong would be able to fully explain it – but her death throes resulted in massive damage to the dreaming lands that also bled into the physical world. My fellow primordial dragons expended much of their power preventing it from getting completely out of control. It is likely why even those who were not wounded to the extent I was have not been particularly active until now."

"Until now?" Marcus asked.

"Ashheart has awakened," Doomwing said. "And I sense Frostfang's power growing in the north. He has never truly slept the way I have, merely napped, but he feels far more active than he was the last time I was awake. I will have to contact him to see what has changed. As for the others, some are already awake, and others may soon be stirring."

Marcus sat up. Primordial dragons were akin to forces of nature. It was rare for all of them to be awake at the same time outside of Catastrophes. Was there more trouble on the horizon, or was it simply a case of them awakening in response to each other? "Is Ashheart well? He was badly wounded the last time I saw him."

"I believe so. I will be contacting him shortly to check up on him. If he was unwell, I do believe that Diamondfang or Adamantheart would already have reached out to me." Doomwing flexed his wings the same way a man might stretch their legs after sitting too long. "I have others I need to speak to. I look forward to hearing of your victory, Marcus. Naturally, I will be happy to report my own success when we next speak."

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus said, grinning. "It was nice talking to you too. Let me know if anything important happens – and definitely let me know if Frostfang decides to head south. Hopefully, I can convince my enemies to pick a fight with him."

Author's Notes

A longer chapter this time. I could probably have split it in half, but I thought it would be better to leave it as it is.

As you can see, Marcus has been hard at work. Things are going well for him, and his conquest should only accelerate now that he has more help. Meanwhile, Doomwing is going to be checking in on people while his construct continues to train Antaria. Lucky her.

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SecretTwelve

Mar 2, 2024

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Threadmarks Chapter 27: The Dragon Gives Gifts

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SecretTwelve

Mar 3, 2024

#393

Chapter 27: The Dragon Gives Gifts

Doomwing resisted the urge to immediately contact Frostfang using his mirror. Unlike Ashheart, who simply spoke whatever was on his mind, Frostfang had always been fairly deliberate in his speech. He was most at ease when others did the same, which had led many to mistake his measured nature for hostility.

That was foolishness. There was no mistaking when Frostfang was hostile.

There were massive icebergs from the end of the Third Age that had yet to melt. They were a glimpse of what the other primordial dragon could do when wrath filled his heart.

First and foremost, Doomwing should inform him of the struggle for the land beneath the umbral veil. He doubted that Frostfang would take much interest in it since he typically preferred to remain in the absolute cold of the true north, a place where only creatures of ice and frost could survive. It was unlikely that he would leave that area unless it was necessary or he got particularly bored. However, it was best to tell him now, rather than to leave it to chance.

Frostfang was aware of Marcus, as were most of the other primordial dragons. He had once referred to Marcus as Doomwing's 'pet vampire'. He would probably refrain from attacking Marcus unless provoked out of respect for Doomwing. From Frostfang's point of view, Marcus was a part of Doomwing's hoard, so attacking him unnecessarily would be rude. And for all of Marcus's faults, Doomwing was confident that his friend was not stupid enough to attack Frostfang.

Doomwing would also have to ascertain what Frostfang was doing in the far north. He doubted it was anything too dangerous. Some of his fellow primordial dragons were extremely lacking in common sense, but Frostfang was not one of them. If anything, he was one of the more reliable ones. He could be counted on to help when there was a Catastrophe, and he at least tried to minimise the amount of needless collateral damage he inflicted when he travelled.

It was not that Doomwing particularly cared for those who were harmed when his fellow primordial dragons awakened and went about their business. Rather, he detested what he perceived as a lack of control. They were the oldest and mightiest of their kind. It was disgraceful that some of them still could not properly control their powers.

Look at Ashheart. He knew how some of the others looked at his friend. They viewed the tectonic dragon as a stupid brute who relied on Doomwing to guide him. Ashheart was certainly a brute, but he was not stupid, and his control was outstanding. His mere presence could shatter the earth and set his surroundings ablaze, yet Ashheart had spent plenty of time around dwarves and other creatures without harming them. It was something to be proud of, a sign of his hard work and mastery.

Stormbringer was the opposite. The female dragon was essentially a living storm, and the last time Doomwing had seen her, she had left a trail of utter devastation in her wake as she flew into battle against the Exiled Star. Tearing winds, torrential rain, and endless lightning strikes had scarred the earth as she passed, and he couldn't help but wonder if she would have done better in the fight if she'd kept a tighter leash on her powers prior to her arrival. It would have meant having just a little bit more energy to face the Exiled Star. Yes, it wouldn't have been much, but in a battle against a foe like the Exiled Star, every last drop of power was precious.

Frostfang was a fairly private dragon too. He preferred to be left to go about his business although he was happy to be contacted if something truly important came up. Doomwing would have to take that into account. It was always interesting talking to his fellow primordial dragons. He could not simply order them around. They were his equals, and to address them in any other fashion would be to invite disaster.

After taking another few moments to collect his thoughts, Doomwing activated his mirror again. Ideally, he would have contacted Frostfang in a more subtle manner, but the other dragon maintained a number of spells and runes that made it impossible to track or interfere with him across long distances. All of the primordial dragons did that, as did people like Marcus. It was simply common sense.

Yes, it made it harder for Doomwing to reach out to those he knew, but it was simply too risky to let others divine their location or use long-range magic on them. That was why his mirror was so valuable. It could locate people even through such defensive magic and establish communications with them.

More than one of his fellows had tried to buy it from him, but Doomwing was never going to sell it. It was far too valuable, and although he could theoretically make another one, the resources involved would be quite troublesome to acquire. If he was going to remain awake for longer this time, he would have to finish his research into long-range communication artifacts. He had stopped work because of the Sixth Catastrophe, and he had not stayed awake long enough in the past to continue it. Now would be the ideal time to finish it. It would allow him to stay in contact with his minions and to establish communications with the other primordial dragons without relying on his mirror.

If he could make the artifacts in question suitably impressive looking and valuable, then his fellow primordial dragons would likely accept, especially if they could use it to speak to each other. He smiled thinly. At the same time, it should be possible to weave the subtlest of magics to let him listen in on those conversations. He could trust most of his fellows to not use such items to conspire against him, but there were a few who would gladly seem him dead if they thought they could get away with it.

However, simply dealing with them was out of the question. The results of any such battle were far from certain, and he knew that even his own allies would not want to strike first. They had all managed to survive this long by not attacking each other unnecessarily, and that policy was unlikely to change any time soon.

His mirror shone brightly for a moment before an image appeared above it. It took Doomwing a moment to understand what he was seeing. A trio of small dragons were happily playing on top of what appeared to be a glacier. They stopped when they saw him, and the glacier beneath them seemed to crack and then uncoil, revealing Frostfang himself, with the hatchlings perched upon his snout.

The other primordial dragon was similar in size to Doomwing with scales that varied from the white of pure snow to the eerie blue of a glacier. Like Ashheart, he was on the broader side, albeit not as physically imposing as the tectonic dragon. His eyes almost seemed blind, for they were completely white and seemingly devoid of pupils. Doomwing knew better. Frostfang's vision was as keen as any dragon's. The apparent blindness was purely cosmetic, a quirk often found in dragons from his particular lineage. His scales were smooth and gleamed like ice, but in battle, jagged spikes would erupt along his back, tail, and body. Doomwing had seen him kill more than one opponent by coiling around them and simply shredding them with those spikes. It was a gruesome but effective approach.

Still… the hatchlings…

Doomwing's eyes narrowed, and he examined them more closely. All three were ice dragons, the lowest stage of the lineage Frostfang belonged to. For him to allow them to clamber all over him and even perch on his snout meant they were either his hatchlings or the hatchlings of someone he cared for deeply. Doomwing had no idea that Frostfang had taken a mate, but it seemed more likely than the often aloof dragon suddenly befriending another dragon of the same lineage who just happened to have hatchlings.

"It would seem that congratulations are in order," Doomwing said. Dragons did not produce many children, so to have three hatchlings was certainly worthy of congratulations. "I did not know you had taken a mate."

Frostfang bared his teeth in a smile full of satisfaction. It reminded Doomwing of the expression the other dragon wore after hunting down a particularly large and tasty polar kraken. "I have been fortunate. I took their mother for my mate not long after you slumbered last time, and our hatchlings hatched not long before your present awakening."

"Is that so?" Doomwing studied the hatchlings again. They were all of similar size, roughly twelve feet in length. Like many hatchlings, their proportions weren't quite right, and they could be viewed as more… adorable than imposing. Even so, a twelve-feet-long hatchling could still make short work of most foes, and Frostfang had always been a thoughtful dragon. He would never allow anything truly dangerous to get too close to his hatchlings. "Is their mother someone I know?"

Frostfang's tail moved to poke someone, and another dragon moved into view. She was smaller than Frostfang, but she was still roughly half a mile long. However, her scales lacked the same almost hypnotic gleam that Frostfang's had. Likewise, the set of her wings and the shape of her tail all hinted that she had yet to undergo her Fourth Awakening. If Doomwing had to guess, she was likely a glacial dragon, a stage below Frostfang who was a winter dragon.

"This is Snowscale," Frostfang said, and Doomwing fought to keep his expression neutral as Frostfang shifted to wrap himself around her protectively. Snowscale's tail entwined with his. On Frostfang's snout, the three hatchlings made choking sounds, clearly unamused by the display of affection. "You might have met her once or twice before, perhaps in the Fifth Age."

Doomwing used magic to refresh his memories. Frostfang was correct. He had met her twice, but he had not really spoken to her, only noted her presence and willingness to help against the Exiled Star. He had tasked her with dealing with some of his followers rather than battling the Catastrophe himself. She had only been a blizzard dragon then, so she would simply have been flying to her death. Seeing the obvious affection between her and Frostfang, he was glad that he had made that decision. It had been a purely pragmatic decision – she would have accomplished nothing against the Exiled Star, and watching her get slaughtered would only dampen morale – but it was still pleasing to know that his decision making had once again proven wise.

"I am glad for you." He truly was. Frostfang had helped against several of the Catastrophes. He deserved whatever happiness he could get. "How are your hatchlings?" Given the presence of the hatchlings, it was only right to inquire about them first. Besides, Frostfang seemed quite eager to speak of them. Letting him boast of their development might put him in a more receptive mood for Doomwing's questions.

"They are growing well!" Frostfang boomed. "His magic swirled around each of the trio in turn. The oldest is Snowwing. She takes after her mother." And she did. Snowscale's entire body was the pale white of freshly fallen snow, and the same could be said of Snowwing. "And then my two sons: Rimetail and Frosteye."

The reason for their names was also obvious. Rimetail's tail reminded Doomwing of the ice that clung to trees upon the desolate mountainsides of the far north and south. Frosteye, meanwhile, had eyes that seemed almost to glow, their shimmering blue depths akin to the blue ice sometimes found in icebergs.

"Good names," Doomwing replied. "Are they developing as you expected?"

Frostfang puffed out his chest proudly. "They have exceeded my expectations, and I have done my best to ensure they do not want for anything. Our lair sits upon a place of power, and there is ample prey for them here. It will not be long before they are ready to begin training in earnest."

"I see." Doomwing's magic flared and he created several copies of books he had in his hoard. Each contained many exercises that could prove useful for young dragons. Some he had devised himself while he had collected others from various sources over the years. "I can send you some useful books through my mirror if you permit it."

"Your mirror can do that?" Frostfang asked curiously.

"Its ability to do so is limited," Doomwing admitted. "You would have to permit it, and it can really only send things of a certain nature. Too much magic makes the process unstable, and the items in question can easily be lost or destroyed. However, the books I wish to send are merely that – books, albeit with subtle protections woven into them to ensure they are not harmed by the cold."

"I would welcome that," Frostfang said. His eyes narrowed at the hatchlings on his snout. "Thank your Uncle Doomwing," he said. "There are none living who can match his magical expertise."

"Thank you, Uncle Doomwing," the hatchlings chorused.

Doomwing could not stop himself from smiling. It had been a long, long time since a hatchling had addressed him in such a manner. The fact that this was a ploy did not bother him either. True, he and Frostfang were on friendly terms, but they were not nearly close enough to warrant such familiarity. However, Frostfang was no fool. If something happened to him, then he would need someone to protect his hatchlings. Given that anything strong enough to kill Frostfang would make short work of Snowscale, establishing a relationship between his hatchlings and Doomwing would ensure that the hatchlings had someone to rely on if the worst should occur.

Hpmh. Doomwing did not think it likely that Frostfang would meet such a fate. In the event that he faced a foe he was unable to defeat, the other dragon was the sort to cut his losses and run. True, it would be harder with his mate and hatchlings, but Doomwing was certain he had several contingencies in place to make escape easier. Still, if the worst should occur, Doomwing would look out for his hatchlings, if only to repay the aid Frostfang had given him in the past.

Doomwing sent the books through the mirror, and Frostfang accepted them before passing them to Snowscale. The female dragon used magic to examine them intently and nodded in satisfaction. Doomwing bit back a chuckle. He was Doomwing. He did not hand out his teachings to just anybody, but the teachings he did hand out were of great quality. His pride would not accept anything less.

"And another gift," Doomwing said. His magic flexed again, weaving materials into existence via a combination of runes, spells, and alchemy. The end result was a multitude of crystals, each the size of a human head. "These crystals are designed to absorb ambient magic and transform it into magic suitable for dragons of your lineage. Given time, they will also refine the magic they have absorbed to greater and greater purities, turning from transparent to blue."

"Oh?" Frostfang smiled again. "A fine gift. What level of purity can they reach?"

Doomwing cast his senses through the mirror, taking in the ambient magic of Frostfang's lair. As expected, the levels of ambient magic were impressive and mostly aligned with ice, frost, and cold. "At least three times the purity in your lair. If your hatchlings sleep near them, they will be able to absorb that magic into themselves. The increased purity will aid their growth and reduce the strain on their bodies."

Frostfang gave a low rumble of satisfaction. One of the most important steps for a First Awakening was absorbing a sufficient quantity of the right kind of magic. Critically, the quantity required decreased with the purity of the magic absorbed. Doomwing's gift would help the hatchlings to reach their First Awakening more quickly while reducing the damage that often occurred when hatchlings tried to purify magic that was already relatively pure.

"You have our thanks," Snowscale said. "Your gifts will not be forgotten."

Doomwing sent the crystals through the mirror, and he chuckled as the hatchlings examined them greedily. Like all dragons, they had the ability to perceive magic quite clearly, so they were doubtless fascinated by the processes involved. If any of them showed long-lasting interest, he might pass on further lessons. "It is of little consequence to me," he replied. "And hatchlings should be given every advantage." His parents had certainly done their to provide him with all the aid they could – right up until their deaths.

"Indeed." Frostfang eased the hatchlings off his snout, and they wandered off to play with the crystals they'd been given. Doomwing had made them to be durable. They would have to be several times their current size before they could even think of damaging them. He did notice that several frost giants had come to watch over the hatchlings. Frostfang followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes, the frost giants now serve me. Their leaders were… corrupted by the Sixth Catastrophe. I had no choice but to destroy them and many of their elders." Frostfang scowled. "Such nasty business. They were noble warriors, and I would not have minded slaying them in honourable combat, but there was no honour in slaying those whose minds had been twisted by another. The tree folk would have overrun the frost giants, but I stepped in, forcing peace between them. The tree folk heed my words, but only out of respect for my power. However, the frost giants eventually chose to make me their leader."

"A reasonable choice." Doomwing was not too surprised. Frostfang had overwhelming power, and he was wise and thoughtful. Add in his mate and hatchlings, and serving him made obvious sense. "How active a role have you taken?"

"Not too active. Their numbers had fallen greatly during their war with the tree folk, and the Sixth Catastrophe saw their numbers fall further still. It has taken the past thousand or so years, for their numbers to grow to a more comfortable level. They have traditionally lived in family groups or small villages, but it might be time for them to consider building towns and larger settlements."

"In that case," Doomwing said. "Would it be possible for them to avoid the area beneath the umbral veil?"

Frostfang's gaze narrowed. "I had noticed that. A few of the frost giants who specialise in stealth have ventured south. They noticed warfare amongst the warriors of the north who are now led by vampires."

"That is correct. With the destruction of their ancient homelands, the umbral veil represents their first real chance to establish a proper nation since the end of the Fourth Age." Doomwing decided to speak plainly. "Marcus is amongst them, and I believe he will be victorious."

"Your pet vampire?" Frostfang chuckled. Doomwing wondered how much of his seemingly newfound cheer and wordiness was down to finding a mate and how much was due to having hatchlings. It was probably a combination of both. "Hmm… the area covered by the umbral veil is significant, but that area has traditionally been held by humans anyway. My frost giants do need room to expand, but there are other directions they could take, and there are still vast tracts of wilderness in the true north."

"Your… discretion in this matter would be appreciated," Doomwing said.

"And I would be happy to give it," Frostfang said. "In fact, I would guarantee a non-aggression pact in perpetuity between my frost giants and the tree folk with your pet vampire and his forces if you were to aid me in an important matter."

Doomwing's gaze sharpened. It was no easy thing for a primordial dragon to ask for aid, and for Frostfang to guarantee a non-aggression pact in perpetuity with Marcus and his forces was a significant concession – far more than Doomwing had expected, in truth. "What do you need."

"Snowscale is a glacial dragon," Frostfang said. "And she has yet to truly feel the touch of time, but…"

"I am not as powerful this year as I was last year," the female dragon said.

"Ah." Doomwing nodded sombrely. Dragons who reached the final stage of their lineage after achieving a Fourth Awakening were immune to the ravages of time. They would only grow stronger with age until the day they were killed in battle or through some grave misfortune. However, although those who had achieved a Third Awakening were incredibly long lived, they would still eventually succumb to old age. The fact that Snowscale was less powerful this year than last meant that she had begun that decline. It would take a while – millennia, actually – but she would eventually die unless she was able to achieve her Fourth Awakening. "How close are you?"

"I…" Snowscale glanced at Frostfang.

"Tell him everything," Frostfang said. "There are few amongst us who have studied the process of Awakening as intently as Doomwing. Although no two dragons experience Awakenings in quite the same manner, there is much he can do to aid us."

"Very well…"

Snowscale spoke, and Doomwing listened. Frostfang was right in that no two dragons experienced Awakenings in quite the same way. This was especially true for the Fourth Awakening, which was extremely idiosyncratic. Nevertheless, Doomwing had studied almost every case of a Fourth Awakening since the Second Age, trading magic, secrets, and treasures to acquire the knowledge he sought.

When Snowscale had finished speaking, Doomwing composed his thoughts and then replied.

"It would seem that you are relatively close," Doomwing said. "But you are stuck on a few of the conditions. Since they are more… instinctive than anything else, it can be difficult to determine exactly what they are. However, you mentioned being drawn to the heart of the frost titan who perished slaying the dryad who once ruled the forest."

"Yes." Snowscale nodded. "Frostfang retrieved it from the forest, and he keeps it in his hoard. It has caught my eye several times. I have considered eating it, but the moment I put it in my mouth, I can tell that is not what I am supposed to do."

It spoke volumes that Frostfang would simply hand over such a rare and valuable treasure for her to use. He must truly care for her.

"One of the most common requirements for a Fourth Awakening is the absorption of a truly colossal amount of pure magic of the right type. We dragons are inherently magical creatures, and are bodies can be thought of as gigantic magical vessels. During the Awakening, it is necessary to absorb enough pure magic to simply shatter the vessel, destroying it utterly and replacing any and all impurities with the very purest magic available. Additional magic is then used to reform the vessel into an idealised form, which is why dragons like myself and Frostfang tend to have such… impressive appearances. Our bodies are reflections of the power within us, and since that power is of the purest and mightiest sort, our appearances are likewise incredibly impressive, even to other dragons. Whatever physical frailties we have are burnt away in the fires of our Awakening, and whatever weaknesses or flaws in our magical circulatory systems exist are destroyed as they are reforged into something that verges on true perfection."

Snowscale shuddered. "That sounds… dangerous."

"The risk during each subsequent Awakening is higher," Doomwing explained. "Almost any dragon who isn't a complete fool will eventually achieve a safe First Awakening if they live long enough. However, there are many who fail to complete their Fourth Awakening. Those who fail are never heard of again because the failed Awakening utterly destroys them. There is nothing left to heal or bury."

"…" Snowscale shuddered again. It had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with the realisation that she was facing perhaps the most dangerous battle of her existence. "Can my chances be improved?"

"Yes," Doomwing said. "You are fortunate that you and Frostfang are mates. Normally, you two would be able to share magic by having him ease magic into your magic circulatory system. You would then have to use this magic as quickly as possible to avoid it harming you due to the immense power and unrivalled purity of Frostfang's magic. To prepare for your Fourth Awakening, you should have him push his magic directly into your reserves – the core of your magic – rather than the fringes. It will be absolutely agonising, and it will likely hurt worse than anything you have experienced, but it will help you get used to the sensations you will face during your Awakening and give your body a taste of what it must process to succeed."

"How much of my magic should I use?" Frostfang asked. His early good cheer had vanished. In its place was the stone-faced calm he displayed in battle.

"As little as you can. I mean that. Start at the absolute lowest amount of magic you can transfer and gradually build it up from there once the pain is at a more tolerate level. Be prepared to withdraw your magic at any time. You know several runes of healing, do you not?"

"Yes," Frostfang said. "I know several greater runes of healing and an ancient rune of full restoration."

"Keep that ancient rune handy. It will be able to repair any damage you do, provided you are careful and don't go overboard," Doomwing said.

"And you swear what you are saying is the truth?" Frostfang said. "Snowscale is my mate. I will not endanger her needlessly."

"I am Doomwing," Doomwing replied. "And my words are truth." There was magic and power and the weight of Seven Ages behind his words. "I said that I would aid you, and I shall."

Frostfang inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You have our thanks."

"As for the frost titan's heart… I believe I know what must be done." Doomwing used magic to search for and then enhance the memory he needed. It was not one that he liked to dwell upon. "Using certain processes, the frost titan heart can be transformed into a catalyst that will almost instantly absorb all ambient magic over a large area, transforming it and purifying it."

"How large an area?" Frostfang asked. "For the power needed for a Fourth Awakening is tremendous."

"The entire true north," Doomwing said. "That is the area over which it will likely absorb magic." He gave a rumble and cut off his memory magic. The factual parts of the memory were enough. He did not need or want the emotions associated with it. "The majority of failed Fourth Awakenings are due to a lack of magic of sufficient purity. Without that, the vessel – your body, soul, and magic – are all destroyed but cannot be remade. That is why it is essential to only attempt a Fourth Awakening when you are ready. Normally, the sheer amount of magic that the catalyst would give you would be fatal, especially taking into account the purity of the magic it provides. However, if you use it during your Awakening, that will not be an issue. Instead, it will provide you with enough power to complete your Awakening. Your desire for the frost titan's heart is likely due to your body knowing instinctively that it cannot, on its own, gather enough power to complete the Awakening successfully."

Snowscale was shellshocked, but Frostfang processed the information with the stoicism that Doomwing had come to expect of the other dragon. He had identified the threat to his mate, and now he was considering the options that he had to deal with it.

"How do you know of this catalyst?" Frostfang asked. "And are you certain you can make it."

"I learned of it from Mother Tree," Doomwing said. "In the Second Age. She made a similar catalyst out of a fire titan to help a conflagration dragon achieve his Fourth Awakening. While she was making it, she explained the theory behind it to me. In the years since then, I have worked out how to generalise the creation process to other types of magic. As for making it, I am certain I can successfully make it, but there are a number of other ingredients involved that I do not have and cannot easily make on my own." Even with his alchemical skills, there were substances that could not easily be replicated.

"What do you require?" Frostfang said.

Doomwing told him. The list was not especially long since the overwhelming majority of ingredients were things he either had, could easily obtain, or could make without much difficulty.

"We will acquire all of those," Frostfang said. Doomwing had a suspicion that at least two would be extremely difficult to get since they could only be obtained in the domains of other primordial dragons, but Frostfang was cunning. He could be patient a while longer and acquire them without letting the other dragons know how desperately he needed them. "When should the catalyst be prepared?"

"It will not last long," Doomwing said. "So it should only be prepared once she is ready to attempt her Fourth Awakening."

Snowscale took a deep breath. Fear and anticipation warred with each other upon her face. "I will prepare as best I can. You have… done much to enlighten me. I think I can guess what the conditions for my Fourth Awakening are now. We will inform you before I attempt it."

"During the attempt, I would suggest evacuating your hatchlings out of the true north," Doomwing said. "A Fourth Awakening is tremendously destructive to the surrounding area. Both Frostfang and I will be fine, but your hatchlings could very easily be harmed or killed."

"We will take every possible precaution," Frostfang said.

"Then contact me when you are ready," Doomwing said. They spoke of other, less weighty matters, and it wasn't much longer before Doomwing was ready to cut off the connection. However, Frostfang decided to reveal one important piece of information before he did.

"Dreamsong has reached out to me," Frostfang said. "I believe she is ready to exit her seclusion."

"I see." Doomwing wasn't sure what to think of that. "And you think she may contact me?"

"I do not think she can. You shield your dreams from the dreaming lands, and your territory is warded against intrusion from the dreaming lands as well."

That was a relic from the Sixth Age. Those like Dreamsong – or Kagami – who were experts in negotiating the winding and nonsensical currents of the dreaming lands could use them to travel from place to place. It was, in his opinion, an incredibly efficient means of travel, rivalling true teleportation in its speed but at far smaller cost… if one ignored the possibility of insanity or being swept away in the chaotic currents of dream, desire, and fantasy, never to be seen again. When Kagami had… changed, Doomwing had warded his territory against her, placing powerful magics upon it that persisted to this day. Anyone who wanted to kill him would have to approach him in a conventional manner, and there were precious few who could confront him in his lair and survive, especially when he had time to see them coming and prepare.

"I suppose I shall have to contact her then," Doomwing said. "I thank you for the information."

"You do not look very thankful," Frostfang pointed out. Snowscale swiped him with her tail, and Doomwing allowed himself a small smile at the interaction. "I could have phrased that better."

"You speak truly," Doomwing replied. "And it is… complicated."

With that, Doomwing cut the connection. Any thoughts he had of speaking with Ashheart were set aside in favour of considering the puzzle that was Dreamsong. Why had she chosen now to leave seclusion? And did that mean that Hikari would be showing herself too? He wanted to believe that Dreamsong would have the good sense to keep Hikari from repeating her mother's mistakes, but if not…

Doomwing would do what he had to, much as he had always done.

Author's Notes

Yeah, Awakenings for dragons are risky affairs. Since Doomwing is obsessed with magic and knowledge, he has done everything he can to learn more about them although it can be hard getting other dragons to share their experiences, which is why he had to resort to bribery. He also has very personal reasons for wanting to learn more because the circumstances of his own Second Awakening were… traumatic, to say the least.

On the upside, successfully helping Snowscale with her Fourth Awakening will basically make him and Frostfang allies forever. After all, Frostfang is being faced with the horrible situation of having a mate who is beginning to decline due to age while he himself only grows stronger and stronger with time.

Successfully helping Snowscale will also give Doomwing another bargaining chip when dealing with potentially hostile or uncooperative primordial dragons. If they have mates/children who need help, he can extract concessions from them, and he's smart enough to not get too greedy with those either. Of course, some people will likely get help as a freebie. For instance, if Ashheart asks him to help Diamondfang, Doomwing will really only ask for help getting the ingredients. He'll do the rest himself since Ashheart is one of his oldest and most reliable friends and allies.

Also, Doomwing is totally going to gloat about this to Marcus later, acting all smug while deep down inside, he's actually happy that he was able to forestall any conflict between Marcus and Frostfang because there is precisely zero chance of Marcus winning that fight and a near one hundred percent chance he ends up dead.

As for the hatchlings, Doomwing has fond memories of his own youth and the help he received from so many others. As long as the hatchlings work hard, appreciate the help they've been given, and strive to do their best, they can count on Uncle Doomwing to look out for them.

And when Snowscale makes her attempt… who do you think will be watching over the hatchlings? After all, Doomwing and Frostfang will be needed there, and there is a friendly vampire not too far way… Marcus is going to have a heart attack when he finds out. Faustina is going to be over the moon, and even if she can't collect any samples, just the chance to interact with the hatchlings of a primordial dragon will have her grinning from ear to ear.

Note, for frost dragons it goes: Ice Dragon = Frost Dragon = Blizzard Dragon = Glacial Dragon = Winter Dragon.

This is yet another chapter that was longer than expected, but splitting it up wouldn't have made any sense. I wonder how long the next chapter will be since it will have quite the interesting encounter in it.

304

SecretTwelve

Mar 3, 2024

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