Shards of the Forgotten
Hello, friends.
This is the second of what I’m intending to be a long-running series of short stories that accompany my monthly “Dragon Brief” posts. This one, following the post about Garnet Dragons, stars a garnet front and center that, if you’ve read any of my work, you should be familiar with!
Just a reminder before we get started that if you don’t have the Substack app already, this story is much too long to display in its entirety in most email programs so I highly recommend downloading the app. There will soon be an audio version of this story that you can listen to in the app as well.
So without further ado, I bring you…
SHARDS OF THE FORGOTTEN
967 BCE – Foothills of the Altai Range
The wind scoured the earth with an urgency Graayyya had not felt for many days. It was a raw, untamed force shrieking through the narrow stone gullies and over the frost-burned grasses of the hills.
She flew high enough to remain undisturbed by the wind’s ground-level fury, yet low enough to allow her keen eyes to spot any unusual activity below.
She reflected on the unusual nature of this task, a solemn charge delivered directly from the Council of Elders.
There had been no firbolg intermediary this time, no booming voice of Rhaasha to announce the Council’s decree. No elder dragon flying at her flank to offer silent guidance or stern correction.
She was alone and unaided in a task set by the Council for the first time.
When she’d approached Dauria about it, questioning the wisdom of placing such a matter in her claws in a land dominated by metallic dragons, the response had been customarily brief.
“You must continue to earn respect through deed, not the circumstance of breed. As you have always done. Which is why you’ve been chosen for this.”
Those words, spoken in Dauria’s calm, resonant tones, burned warmer in Graayyya’s memory than the fiercest caress of Ryujin’s Blaze. They were a touchstone, a guiding principle in a life that had begun in chaos and found sanctuary in the unwavering strength of her platinum guardian.
Find the crystal dragon, Thessralindaur, the Council’s directive had read, the words etched onto the scroll in precise, elegant script. Observe his activities. Gather evidence. And report back. Do not engage unless you must.
The final admonition had been underscored thrice. It was a silent testament to the Council’s desire to avoid conflict, while also acknowledging the inherent dangers involved.
She had not yet found the crystal. Her journey from Dauria’s volcanic lair had been long, spanning many days. She’d crossed vast expanses of forest, river, and plain after passing the narrow sea between the platinum island and the mainland.
She had flown with a focused determination, her senses keenly attuned to any sign, any subtle trace that might betray Thessralindaur’s passage or presence.
Something was deeply, undeniably wrong with the land itself. A disquiet that settled in her bones. A twist to her Apex that was like mud in her veins.
Banking westward, her shadow sweeping across the desolate terrain, she spotted a giant outcropping of rock that reached into the sky like the forgotten tooth of some ancient, gargantuan beast. The jutting stone felt wrong somehow.
Making up her mind, she began a slow, spiraling descent toward it.
A flock of wind-bleached ravens, their feathers the color of old bone, scattered from their perch with harsh, protesting cries as she landed with a soft thud on the broad shelf of weathered stone.
The ground here, beneath her claws, vibrated with a resonance that was both old and profoundly diseased. It was not a corruption she could detect in the scent of the sparse vegetation or the composition of the soil, but an insidious taint within the very essence of the place. A sickness in its arcane lifeblood. Her Apex prickled with a distinct, unpleasant warning, like the touch of unseen talons.
She closed her burnished-copper-within-shimmering-gold eyes and extended her arcane senses, reaching out into the invisible currents of ambient arcana that flowed through the earth. It pulsed with a frantic, sickly rhythm. It was faint. So subtle that a less-attuned dragon might have missed it. Something ancient and unnatural slept fitfully beneath these desolate highlands, its dreams poisoning the very land.
She silently thanked Dauria for the ceaseless tutoring in all things arcane.
There was also something else though. Something distinct from the deeper malady hummed above it, a more recent imposition upon the ancient sickness.
She followed this newer, more focused pulse. It was a beacon of manipulated energy, a discordant note in the already troubled symphony of the land.
It led her down into a narrow, jagged cleft that sliced through the hill like a wound in the earth’s ancient hide. The air within the gorge cooled, the rock faces rimmed with unnatural frost that glittered faintly in the late-autumn glare of Ryujin’s Blaze.
At the end of the gorge she spotted a cave.
Its entrance was not a simple opening in the rock, but a carefully constructed portal. It was ringed with unnaturally symmetrical crystalline spires that pulsed with a faint, internal luminescence.
Flanking the entrance were crude totems, fashioned from animal bones lashed together with what looked like fine copper wire and embedded with shards of uncut quartz.
The very air around the cave mouth bled power. It carried a thin, sharp, distinctly metallic tang. It spoke not of raw, untamed force, the kind one might expect from a young, exuberant dragon, nor the potent, controlled energy of a dragon engaged in righteous battle. Instead, it carried the precise, almost desperate flavor of arcane study carried too far. Of knowledge pursued beyond the boundaries of wisdom and safety.
She hesitated at the threshold of the gorge. She fought a flicker of unease, a primal instinct to avoid this place, that warred with the Council’s directive and her own ingrained sense of duty. Dauria had taught her caution, but also the necessity of courage in the face of the unknown.
With a slow exhale that misted in the frigid air, she descended into the narrow passage.
The interior of the cave narrowed almost immediately, forcing her to fold her wings tightly against her flanks. The passage then opened into a long, vaulted corridor, the walls of which were not natural rock but smoothed and shaped by deliberate effort.
Runes, intricate and unfamiliar, lined the walls from floor to ceiling. They were etched deep into the stone. These runes pulsed faintly with an unsettling light, predominantly pale green and a deep, brooding violet.
The energies they emanated were not entirely foreign to her. She recognized the base structures, the fundamental principles of arcane manipulation. These were twisted, however.
Reconfigured.
Engineered in a profoundly unnatural way. A perversion of the normal flow of arcana.
Her Apex bristled again, more intensely this time, a silent alarm ringing through her senses. This was not the work of a dragon in harmony with the world, but of one seeking to bend it to an unnatural will.
She pushed deeper into the unsettling silence of the corridor, her claws making almost no sound on the smooth stone floor. The only sounds the faint, rhythmic drip of water from some unseen fissure and the almost sub-audible hum of the runes that surrounded her. Each step forward increased the sense of foreboding, the feeling of walking into a carefully constructed trap. Or worse, a place of profound arcane imbalance.
At the heart of the cavern, the corridor walls gave way abruptly, opening into a vast, hemispherical dome. The chamber was immense, hollow, and alive with a soft, pervasive light that seemed to emanate from the very stones and crystals that composed it. Crystalline formations, far larger and more intricate than those at the cave entrance, jutted from the floor and hung like colossal icicles from the domed ceiling. They resembled the exposed bones of some long-dead, sleeping titan. Arcane sigils, more complex and potent than the runes in the corridor, burned faintly in the air, suspended like ghostly constellations.
And in the precise center of this awe-inspiring, yet deeply disturbing chamber, stood a large crystal dragon that could only be Thessralindaur.
The crystal dragon was coiled beside a large, flat stone slab, upon which lay seven human forms. They were arranged in a precise, star-like formation, their heads aligned to what she instinctively recognized as the cardinal and ordinal points of the compass. Their chests rose and fell with a faint, unnervingly synchronized rhythm. Despite the impossibility of it, they breathed in perfect unison, as though drawing breath from a single, shared lung.
Threads of soft, opalescent energy flowed from each of them. Not into the dragon, but into the air above, where an intricate lattice of suspended crystals surrounded the central slab. It pulsed with a slow, shimmering spiral of light, drawing power from the humans and the ambient arcana of the chamber.
Thessralindaur turned his head slowly as she entered the dome, his movements fluid but carrying an undercurrent of weariness.
So much for observation without engaging, she thought wryly.
What she could see of his body glimmered with a strange, fractured translucence. Each of his crystal scales caught and refracted the ambient light differently, creating a dazzling, almost hypnotic effect. His eyes, a brilliant sapphire-within-diamond, regarded her with a calm, unnerving calculation. There was no surprise in his gaze, no fear, only a profound, ancient weariness and an unnerving degree of expectation.
“You are not what I expected,” he said, his voice a dry rustle, like fine sand shifting over glass. It was not the booming resonance of a healthy dragon, but something thinner, more fragile.
Graayyyavalllia kept her expression neutral, though her heart hammered against her ribs at the realization that he knew someone was coming. “And yet you clearly expected me, or someone like me.”
He rose slowly to his full height, a movement that seemed to cost him considerable effort. He was not as large as she had imagined, perhaps only two-thirds Dauria’s size, but his presence filled the chamber with a palpable aura of focused, if strained, arcane power.
“Graayyyavalllia,” he said, her name falling from his lips with unsettling smoothness. “Ward of Kwallindauria. True-born wyrmling of Gruullyyvvaas. You are far indeed from the flame-craters and volcanic plains of your kind.”
Graayyya tensed, every muscle in her body coiling. A cold dread, sharper than the wind outside, pierced through her. He should not have known that name. Her mad sire, Gruullyyvvaas— and more importantly, her relation to him —was known only to the highest echelons of the Council, to Dauria, and to perhaps two or three ancient archivists sequestered deep within the Scriptorium of Eldest Thoughts. That this isolated crystal dragon, this suspected renegade, spoke it so easily, so confidently, set her tail twitching with a sudden, violent agitation.
It was a violation, a trespass into the deepest, most guarded sanctum of her past. How did he know that name?
The implications were deeply disturbing.
The silence in the vast, crystalline dome stretched taut, broken only by the faint, synchronized breaths of the seven humans and the almost inaudible hum of the arcane lattice. Graayyya held herself rigid, the shock of Thessralindaur’s casual utterance of her sire’s name still reverberating through her. It was a name stained by the beast’s madness and atrocities. A name that was not supposed to be linked to her any longer.
To hear it spoken here, in this remote, tainted sanctuary, by a dragon she had come to weigh and possibly judge, felt like a violation. A cold talon scraping against a raw, unhealed wound.
By the Astral Dragon, she thought, the question screaming in the confines of her mind. How could he know?
Was his arcane knowledge so profound, his reach so extensive, that even the most guarded secrets of the Council were laid bare to him? Or was there a simpler, more insidious explanation?
A traitor within the Scriptorium?
A lapse in security among the Elders themselves?
The possibilities were as numerous as they were unsettling.
“I come on the authority of the Council, Thessralindaur,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. She used the formal address in a deliberate attempt to reassert the purpose of her presence, to push back against the personal intrusion.
She forced herself to meet his gaze directly. “Clearly, this far from their observing eyes, you are up to something. Tell me what you’re after.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the edges of Thessralindaur’s crystalline snout. “Ah, the Council’s caution. Ever-present, even at the fringes of the world.”
He gestured with the slow, deliberate movement of a wing toward the humans lying prone upon the stone slab. The gesture was graceful, yet underscored by a subtle tremor that hinted at a deeper frailty. “Observe, Graayyya of the garnet heart, ward of the noble Kwallindauria. See for yourself what I have painstakingly built here. Witness the purpose of this… undertaking.”
She did not move from her position near the entrance of the dome. Her garnet instincts, the fiery impulsiveness that Dauria had worked so patiently to temper, urged her to strike, to demand answers, to unleash the elemental fury that simmered just beneath her scales. But Dauria’s teachings, the cool logic of the platinum mind, held her in check.
Observe first. Understand before acting.
“These seven,” Thessralindaur continued, his voice gaining a fraction more strength, a hint of fervent conviction creeping into his tone. “They gave their consent freely. But more than mere consent, young one. They offered their gratitude. Their lifeforce, a gentle stream, feeds this ward lattice. It is a construct of my own design, refined over decades of solitary study. A shield, Graayyya, a bulwark that protects their kin, their fields, their very futures from a threat they cannot comprehend. No blood was spilled in its creation. No soul was torn or unwillingly bound.”
Graayyya’s gaze flickered from the serene, almost beatific expressions on the faces of the sleeping humans to the intricate, pulsating lattice of light and crystal above them, and then back to Thessralindaur.
“And yet, they are not awake, Thessralindaur. They do not walk their fields nor tend their herds. They lie here, suspended between worlds, their lives… deferred.”
“They dream,” he said softly, his multifaceted eyes seeming to soften, to lose some of their sharp, analytical edge. “They dream the way arcana itself dreams. Gently. Purposefully. Their dreams are woven into the very fabric of the ward, strengthening it, lending it a resilience that pure arcane energy alone could not achieve.”
She began to circle him then. She took slow, deliberate steps, her claws making no sound on the polished stone floor. She scanned every detail of the space around her, cataloguing every detail. From the precise alignment of the humans to the intricate patterns of the glowing sigils suspended in the air. The subtle, yet pervasive thrum of energy that seemed to emanate not from the lattice itself, but from deep beneath the chamber floor. It struck her as the same diseased pulse she’d sensed outside, though stronger here. Closer to its source, she supposed.
“There is something else here,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of accusation but heavy with implication. “Something beneath us. The source of the land’s sickness.”
“Yes,” he said, a frank acknowledgement. Clearly he didn’t see the point in feigning ignorance.
“One of The Consumed?” she asked.
The term was archaic, a whisper from the darkest legends of dragonkind, tales told to unruly wyrmlings to ensure their obedience.
The Consumed, according to legend, were beings of immense, corrupted power. Beings of pure negation that pre-dated dragons, at least as they existed today. They had succumbed to an insatiable hunger, devouring the arcane essence and lifeforce of others until they became something… less, and terrifyingly more. Though supposedly defeated and contained at the close of the Elder Wars, she had never believed they were truly gone.
Most dragons didn’t believe they had every really existed, but Graayyya wasn’t most dragons.
The crystal dragon blinked, a slow, deliberate movement of his translucent eyelids. “You know the term?” There was a flicker of surprise in his voice, quickly suppressed.
“I have heard whispers,” Graayyya said, choosing her words carefully. “Fragmented thoughts from certain elders. Unsettling sensations that sometimes bleed through the Apex where the so-called barriers feel thin. A sense of something ancient stirring in the deepest darkness. A hunger that has no name.”
What she left unsaid was that the elder who most often thought of The Consumed was Baalhalllu, the Platinum Lord, himself. He was frequently intensely concerned about the seals that held them in check. It seemed personal, given the tenor of his thoughts.
She’d always thought it a little odd that he spent so much time thinking about it. As though it was something from his own direct experiencedd or that he was personally invested in the power that maintained the seals.
Either answer could explain quite a bit.
“I call it Suul-Veyrr,” Thessralindaur said, the name a sibilant hiss, like the slithering of scales over cold stone. “The Soul-Devourer. It sleeps now, or perhaps it merely waits. Its very presence, even in dormancy, disrupts the natural weave of arcana, poisoning the land with a bitter, soul-stealing chill. I built this ward, this lattice, to help keep it dormant, to reinforce the ancient seals that bind it. The humans… they are willing vessels. Their lifeforce, their innate connection to the rhythms of the earth, harmonizes with the pulse of the soil in ways that our more potent, more volatile draconic essence cannot. There are hidden histories, young garnet, that suggest the combination of human spirit and draconic essence is the only weapon we ever had against them.”
Graayyya narrowed her eyes, her garnet fury flaring. “Or they offer convenience, Thessralindaur! A readily available source of power for your experiments.”
He tilted his head, his crystalline scales catching the light in a thousand shifting patterns. “And what would you have me do, representative of the esteemed Council? Abandon the ward? Allow the seals to fail and the land to irrevocably rot? Its people freeze to mere husks? Shall we stand by and permit Suul-Veyrr to rise and reclaim this world for its own insatiable appetite?” His voice, though still lacking its full resonance, carried a sharp, challenging edge.
She didn’t answer immediately. The weight of his words, the sheer audacity of his claim, warred with the Council’s clear condemnation of his methods. If he spoke truth, if such an entity truly lay imprisoned beneath them, then his actions, however unorthodox, might be viewed in a different, more desperate light. But the Council was not prone to admitting error.
As she continued her slow circumnavigation, coming ever-closer to the crystal, she noticed more clearly what she supposed should have been obvious from the start.
The subtle, yet undeniable signs of the crystal wyrm’s decline.
The light that should have shone brightly from within his crystalline scales had begun to fade in places, particularly along his flank and the powerful muscles of his shoulders. There were dim spots, patches where his scales took on a dull, lifeless quality. Almost like slate or unpolished quartz. His breathing was shallower than it should have been, each inhalation a subtle effort.
But more than anything, the erratic pulse of his Apex spoke volumes.
Of course she knew that even looking without invitation was a taboo. But she had never been able to help herself. The beats and rhythms of the Apexes of those around her just seemed to scream out clarion calls to her.
In this crystal dragon, the rhythmic thrum of his soul-fire fluttered unevenly, like a flame starved of air. It seemed to work for power like a beached fish working for oxygen, and it was availed just as little.
“You are weakening, Thessralindaur,” she observed, the words more a statement of fact than a question.
He did not deny it. A faint sigh, like the rustle of dry leaves, escaped him. “The process… is more demanding than I initially projected.”
“You tried to merge their human lifeforce with your own Apex, didn’t you?” The accusation was sharp, born of a sudden, dawning horror.
To directly absorb the life essence of another sentient being, especially one as different in arcane structure as a human, was a dangerous, forbidden path. And for good reason, as Tyrion, the sapphire of ages long past, had learned. To the utter sorrow of both himself and the human he destroyed.
“You sought to control the harmonics of the ward by becoming a conduit yourself,” she said, unable to keep the fear-tinged awe from her voice.
“I had to,” he whispered, his voice now raw with a pain that seemed to go beyond the physical. His gaze dropped from hers, focusing on the sleeping humans. “To truly control the harmonics, to fine-tune the resonance of the ward and sustain it long enough to effectively bind Suul-Veyrr, a direct interface was necessary. The human essence… it amplifies, yes… but it also… dissonates within a draconic Apex. Our essences, our souls, were never meant to join in such a crude, direct manner. I did not anticipate the… the corrosion.”
Fury, hot and swift, surged through Graayyya. The garnet blood of her sire, the impulsive rage she constantly fought to control, threatened to overwhelm her. Flame, unbidden, licked at the edges of her throat, a precursor to her elemental breath. “You fed on them!” she snarled, the carefully constructed neutrality of the Council’s envoy shattering. “You call it harmony, you call it a gentle stream, but it was consumption! You drained them to fuel your ambitions, and in doing so, you have poisoned yourself!”
“I never took their souls!” he rasped, his head snapping up, his sapphire-within-diamond eyes blazing with a desperate intensity. “Only their surplus vitality, the overflow of their life. But the resonance… the attempt to integrate it… it is unraveling me from within.”
Her Apex surged with potent heat. The urge to strike, to unleash her fire and end this abomination, was almost overwhelming.
He is a parasite, a defiler, no better than the Consumed Ones of legend! she thought. Then said aloud, “Then why continue this madness? Why not release them, dismantle this… this monument to your arrogance, and face the Council’s judgment?”
“Because, young one,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, heavy with a despair that chilled her despite her internal fire, “someone has to. If this ward fails, if Suul-Veyrr awakens fully…” He did not finish his thought, but the implication hung heavy in the crystalline air, a promise of unimaginable horrors.
He fell silent for a long moment, the only sounds the rhythmic hum of the lattice and the faint, collective sigh of the dreaming humans. The light within the chamber seemed to dim.
His gaze, sharp and penetrating once more, fixed on her. “Do you know what your sire did, Graayyyavalllia?”
The question, unexpected and brutal, landed like a physical blow, a poisoned barb lodging deep between her ribs. The air rushed from her lungs.
Her carefully constructed walls crumbled, releasing once more her fragmented, nightmarish imaginings based on what little she knew of her sire.
“Leave him out of this,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage, and something else she couldn’t identify. This exchange just became far more personal, far more profound.
She again wondered just what this crystal dragon knew and how he knew it.
“He sought what I seek,” Thessralindaur pressed on, his voice gaining a strange, almost mournful cadence. “A way to transcend limitations, to touch a power beyond the grasp of ordinary dragons. Only he did so without compassion, without understanding. Gruullyyvvaas devoured souls whole, indiscriminately, leaving behind only hollow shells. You, his youngling, carry the echo of that insatiable hunger within your very blood. Within your Apex.”
Graayyya snarled, a raw, guttural sound torn from her throat. Her wings flared instinctively, her claws digging into the stone as she fought the overwhelming urge to lunge. “I am not him!”
“No,” Thessralindaur conceded, his gaze unwavering. “You are not. Dauria’s influence runs strong in you. But you carry his burden nonetheless. His bloodline. And therefore, you understand more than you are willing to admit, even to yourself. That is why you have not yet struck me down, despite your outrage. That is why you still listen.”
She wanted to rage against it. To deny it. To unleash the inferno coiling in her gullet and incinerate his presumptuous skull.
But she couldn’t.
To her shame and dawning horror, she recognized a sliver of truth in his poisoned pronouncements.
The lattice above the humans, for all its unnatural construction, hummed not with overt, malevolent evil, but with a palpable, desperate energy. The fear in Thessralindaur’s voice, the tremor in his breath as he spoke of Suul-Veyrr, was not the raving of a mad dragon. It was the profound, soul-deep mourning of one who has stared into the abyss and seen horrific things. Unmentionable things. Things that would shatter the sanity of a lesser creature.
A sudden, sharp shift in the arcane currents of the chamber silenced them both, cutting through the tension like a razor-sharp talon. The very air seemed to crackle with a new, immense power.
A power that utterly dwarfed hers. That dwarfed even Thessralindaur’s.
From the corridor behind her, from the shadowed entrance to the dome, came the soft sound of something moving closer. The steps sounded both heavier and lighter than a typical dragon’s steps.
Deliberate.
Yet with an odd quality laced with the metallic ring of an arcane power that had trod the earth for millennia.
Then the soft, leathery sigh of immense wings folding against a solid form.
Graayyya whirled, her heart leaping into her throat, every instinct screaming.
Baalhalllu, Kwallindauria’s sire, her own grandsire by adoption and Dauria’s unwavering decree, stepped into the crystalline chamber. He moved like dawn breaking over a frozen landscape.
He was ancient, immense, his platinum scales shimmering with an inner light that seemed to radiate both sorrow and unshakeable certainty. His sea-green-within-gold eyes, fathomless and wise, swept across the chamber. He took in the arcane lattice, the sleeping humans, and the fading, defiant form of Thessralindaur. His gaze lingered for a moment on Graayyya, a look that conveyed neither approval nor condemnation, but a deep, knowing understanding.
“Grandsire,” Graayyya breathed. The word was a mere whisper, the shock of his sudden appearance rendering her almost speechless.
The Council had sent her. Why was he here? Had they not trusted her? Or was the situation far more dire than she had been led to believe?
The ancient platinum dragon inclined his massive head slightly. “You have done well, youngling, to hold your fire.”
A spark of bruised pride flared within her. Had this all been a test?
Privately though, she had to admit that she very nearly had not held it.
“You did not strike,” Baalhalllu said as though reading her thoughts, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very stones of the cavern. “And in this instance, that restraint is more telling, and of greater worth, than any precipitous action might have been.”
Thessralindaur looked up at the colossal platinum dragon, a faint light flaring anew within his dimming chest. It seemed a spark of something that might have been hope, or perhaps merely resignation.
I am sorry, youngling, Baalhalllu said directly into her mind. When I sensed that one of The Consumed might be involved here, I had to follow your progress. I did not mean to undermine your task, but this challenge is too big for any dragon thrice your age.
“My Lord Baalhalllu,” he said, his voice weak, threaded with exhaustion. “I thought… I would have more time before the Council’s gaze fell fully upon my work.”
“You were warned, Thessralindaur,” Baalhalllu’s voice was not unkind, but it carried the weight of undeniable authority. “The path you chose, the energies you sought to manipulate, are fraught with peril, not only for yourself but for all who dwell near here.”
“I had to try, my Lord,” the crystal dragon insisted, a last flicker of defiance in his weary eyes. “The alternative… was unthinkable.”
Baalhalllu nodded once, a slow, ponderous movement that seemed to encompass ages of wisdom.
“And that courage, that willingness to confront the unthinkable,” the ancient platinum said, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly, “may yet be your salvation.”
The immense presence of Baalhalllu seemed to absorb all other energies within the crystalline dome. Even the sickly, frantic pulse of arcana from beneath the floor; the disquieting hum of Thessralindaur’s lattice; and the faint, collective sigh of the dreaming humans seemed to recede. Each in turn was overshadowed by the ancient platinum’s aura of profound calm and immeasurable power.
Graayyya felt her own agitated thoughts begin to settle. Her racing pulse slowed to a more measured beat, though the shock of her grandsire’s appearance still left her feeling off-balance. It was as though she were a wyrmling again in the presence of an Elder whose wisdom spanned epochs.
Baalhalllu moved further into the chamber, his massive form navigating the crystalline protrusions with a surprising, almost delicate grace. His shimmering eyes, ancient and fathomless, first swept over the seven humans lying upon the stone slab. He paused there for a long moment, his gaze unreadable, yet Graayyya sensed a deep, almost sorrowful contemplation in his stillness. He did not touch them, nor did he speak, but she felt a subtle shift in the ambient arcana around the slab. A gentle probing, an assessment of their condition that was far more intricate than her own senses could achieve.
He must be seeing the threads of their lives, Graayyya thought. How finely they are stretched, how precariously they are balanced.
The ancient platinum turned his attention to the elaborate lattice of crystals and light suspended above the humans.
He circled it slowly, much as Graayyya had done, but his examination was of a different order entirely. His head tilted, his great nostrils flared, and Graayyya knew he was not merely observing its physical structure but dissecting its arcane architecture.
She could almost see him tracing the flow of energies, identifying the critical junctures and the inherent instabilities. The faint glow emanating from his platinum scales seemed to intensify slightly as he focused, casting a soft, silvery light upon the already luminous chamber.
Thessralindaur remained where he was, his weakened form slumped slightly. His multifaceted eyes followed Baalhalllu’s every movement.
The crystal dragon seemed to draw himself inward, a subtle tensing of his crystalline structure, as if bracing for a judgment he knew must be inevitable. There was no defiance left in him now, only a profound weariness and the fading embers of a desperate hope.
After what felt like an age, Baalhalllu completed his silent inspection. He came to a halt directly before Thessralindaur, his shadow falling over the smaller dragon.
The contrast between them was stark. The ancient, unyielding strength of the immense platinum, radiating a timeless vitality despite his immense age. And the fractured, fading brilliance of the much smaller crystal, whose arcane light seemed to dim even further in Baalhalllu’s presence.
“You have woven a complex tapestry here,” Baalhalllu rumbled, his voice echoing softly in the vast dome. It was not a voice of condemnation, but of profound, almost melancholic observation. “A work of considerable ingenuity, born of… intense desperation.”
Thessralindaur lowered his head in a gesture that might have been acknowledgment or simply the weight of his exhaustion. “The threat, My Lord Baalhalllu. Suul-Veyrr. it is not a myth, not a mere legend to frighten hatchlings. It is real. I have felt its stirrings, its corrupting influence seeping into the very stones of these mountains.” His voice was a dry rasp, each word scraped from a parched throat. “The seals, ancient beyond reckoning, are failing. I sought only to bolster them. To buy time until it could be addressed properly.”
“And in so doing,” Baalhalllu said, his gaze still fixed on the crystal dragon, “you have trespassed upon boundaries that were established for the protection of all. The lifeforce of mortals is not a resource to be harvested, however noble your intent.”
“They consented!” Thessralindaur hissed, a spark of his earlier fervor returning, though his voice remained weak. “Their village elders, their shamans, they understood the peril. They saw the blight upon their lands, the sickness in their herds, the withering of their crops. They offered their chosen ones willingly, as a sacrifice to preserve the many.”
“A sacrifice predicated on your assurances, on your arcane manipulations,” Baalhalllu countered, his tone still measured, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority. “Humans, for all their resilience and occasional flashes of insight, comprehend little of the true nature of the forces you sought to contain. Or the methods you employed. Their consent, under such circumstances, is a fragile shield for your actions.”
Graayyya listened intently, her earlier anger towards Thessralindaur now complicated by a grudging understanding of his plight, if not an acceptance of his methods. Baalhalllu’s words resonated with the Council’s judgment, yet they were delivered without the sharp condemnation she might have expected. It was a dissection of error, not a declaration of war.
“The corrosion you experience,” Baalhalllu continued, his gaze flicking towards the dull patches on Thessralindaur’s crystalline hide. “It is a testament to the folly of your approach. Draconic and human essences are not meant to be so casually, indiscriminately intertwined. A dragon’s Apex, the very seat of your soul, is a crucible of immense power. However, it is also uniquely attuned to our own kind. To introduce such foreign energy, absent a proper catalyst, is to invite dissonance, decay, and ultimately, dissolution.”
Thessralindaur shuddered, a tremor that ran through his entire crystalline frame. The subtle movements caused faint, discordant chimes as his scales clicked against each other.
“I know this now, My Lord,” the crystal dragon said. “The pain. The unraveling. It is a constant torment. But the ward, it was working. The stirrings of Suul-Veyrr lessened. The land showed signs of respite.”
“A temporary respite, bought at too high a price,” Baalhalllu said. He then turned his great head slightly, his eyes finding Graayyya where she stood, a silent observer. “Graayyya, what is your assessment?”
The question, though expected, still made her start. To be asked for her judgment in the presence of such an ancient and powerful Elder was both an honor and an immense responsibility. She gathered her thoughts, choosing her words with the same care Dauria had instilled in her.
“Grandsire,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “Thessralindaur speaks of a genuine threat, I believe. The sickness in this land is palpable, yet ancient. His methods, however, are a violation. The use of human lifeforce in this manner is unsustainable and, by Council law, forbidden. He has damaged himself grievously in the process. The ward, while perhaps effective in the short term, is built upon a flawed and dangerous foundation.”
She paused then, taking several moments to consider if she wanted to bring up the other matter. With hesitation, she added, “He also knew my sire’s name, a matter that deeply concerns me.”
Baalhalllu nodded slowly, his gaze returning to Thessralindaur. “The matter of your knowledge, Thessralindaur, will be addressed in due course. For now, the immediate concerns are threefold. One, your own failing essence. Two, the well-being of these seven humans, along with any others that might be involved in your web but not present. And three, the integrity of the seals containing Suul-Veyrr. Of which your, intervention, may have further destabilized.”
“I sought only to strengthen them!” Thessralindaur protested weakly.
“Intentions, however noble, do not necessarily dictate outcomes,” Baalhalllu said. “This lattice you have constructed, drawing upon the life essence of these mortals and your own corrupted Apex, must be dismantled. Carefully. To simply sever the connections would risk a catastrophic shock to both the humans and yourself, and could potentially provoke the very entity you sought to contain.”
A flicker of despair crossed Thessralindaur’s multifaceted eyes. “Dismantle it? But then Suul-Veyrr…”
“The threat of Suul-Veyrr is not one that can be addressed by the desperate actions of a single, isolated dragon, however skilled,” Baalhalllu said, his voice firm but not entirely devoid of compassion. “This is a matter for the concerted effort of those who understand the ancient compacts, those who possess the knowledge and the power to reinforce seals that have held for millennia. To reinforce the Great Barrier. Such power does not reside in the siphoning of fleeting mortal lives.”
He took a step closer to the crystal dragon, his immense form seeming to fill Graayyya’s vision. “To restore what balance can be restored to your own Apex, you must first sever all connection to this human lifeforce. The process will be arduous, and its success is not guaranteed. The damage you have inflicted upon yourself is significant.”
Baalhalllu then looked towards the intricate lattice again. “Graayyya, come.”
She moved to his side, her heart pounding. What role did he envision for her in this?
“This lattice,” Baalhalllu gestured with a wingtip, “is a delicate, dangerous construct. Its dissolution requires a precise understanding of its structure, its energy, and its anchor points. Thessralindaur, you will guide us. You will identify the sequences, the critical nodes. Your cooperation is paramount, not only for your own potential recovery but for the safe release of these humans from their unnatural slumber.”
Thessralindaur, though visibly weakened, seemed to rally slightly at the prospect of action, of having a role, however diminished, in undoing the harm. He gave a shallow nod. “I will do as you command, My Lord.”
“The humans,” Baalhalllu continued, his gaze softening as he looked again at the seven still forms, “once freed from the lattice’s influence, will require care. Their life essence has been thinned. They will be weak, disoriented. We must ensure their safe return to their people, though they may never fully comprehend the peril from which they were, in a sense, both victim and shield.”
He then turned his full attention back to Graayyya. “Your part in this, youngling, will be to assist in the controlled unraveling of the arcane energies. Your Apex, while young, is untainted by the dissonance that plagues Thessralindaur. You will act as a conduit, a grounding point, to safely dissipate the energies as the lattice is broken down. It will require focus, control, and no small measure of courage. Do you understand?”
Graayyya met her grandsire’s gaze, a surge of determination, and not a little trepidation, flowing through her. This was a responsibility far exceeding any she had borne before. “I understand. I will follow your lead.”
“Good.” Baalhalllu gave a single, affirming nod. “Thessralindaur, begin. Show us the primary pathways, the initial sequences for decoupling.”
With a visible effort, Thessralindaur focused his fading energy. Slowly, painstakingly, he began to direct their attention to specific crystals within the lattice, explaining in a weak, rasping voice the intricate flow of energies, the sequences he had used to bind them. He spoke of harmonics, of sympathetic energy, of arcane structures that Graayyya had only read about in the most ancient and esoteric texts within Dauria’s carefully curated library.
Under Baalhalllu’s watchful eye, and following Thessralindaur’s strained directions, Graayyya extended her own arcane senses. She reached out with her Apex, not to impose her will, but to feel, to understand the delicate, dangerous dance of energies within the lattice.
Baalhalllu stood beside her, a silent, towering presence, his own immense power a steadying influence, a subtle guide to her less experienced senses. He was not doing the work for her, but rather creating a safe space within which she could operate, correcting her tentative efforts with gentle, telepathic nudges, with almost imperceptible shifts in the ambient arcane field that guided her own manipulations.
The process was slow and intensely focused.
Each crystal, each sigil, was a component in a wildly complex machine. One wrong move, one surge of uncontrolled energy, could have devastating consequences. Graayyya’s tense muscles trembled slightly with the effort as she channeled the released energies from a small, peripheral segment of the lattice through her Apex. Exercising a degree of control she didn’t know she possessed, she funneled them harmlessly into the deep earth, far from the influence of Suul-Veyrr.
As the first few connections were severed, a faint moan escaped one of the humans on the slab. The woman’s breathing, though still shallow, seemed to lose some of its unnatural synchronicity. Baalhalllu indicated the change was a positive sign with a subtle inclination of his head.
Thessralindaur, despite his weakness, guided them with surprising lucidity. His deep, albeit flawed understanding of his own creation proved invaluable.
There was a tragic irony in his now having to meticulously dismantle the very thing he had sacrificed so much to build. Yet she also sensed in him a faint, flickering ember of relief. As though the immense burden of maintaining the ward, of carrying the weight of his transgression, was beginning to lift, even as his own life force continued to dwindle.
Hours passed in the dim, ethereal light of the crystalline dome. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and the almost metallic tang of raw arcana. Graayyya’s muscles ached with the strain of maintaining such intense focus, her Apex thrumming with the effort of channeling and neutralizing the potent energies. But with each successfully decoupled segment of the lattice, with each human breath that seemed to grow a fraction stronger, a sense of grim accomplishment began to build within her.
She was no longer merely an observer, a messenger of the Council. She was an active participant in a delicate and dangerous operation, working alongside one of the most ancient and powerful dragons in the world. She strove to correct a grave error and, perhaps, to avert an even greater catastrophe.
The fear and uncertainty had not vanished, but were now overlaid with a burgeoning sense of purpose. A feeling that Dauria’s faith and Baalhalllu’s trust were not entirely misplaced.
The line between selfishness and salvation, as she had considered earlier, was indeed thin. But perhaps, with wisdom and courage, it could be navigated.
The painstaking process of dismantling Thessralindaur’s arcane lattice continued, each passing hour marked by the faint, almost imperceptible dimming of the crystalline structure and the subtle strengthening of the human heartbeats.
Ryujin’s Blaze had long since arced across the sky beyond the confines of the mountain. Tiamat’s Eye now cast its cold, silvery light through unseen fissures high in the dome, painting shifting patterns on the cavern walls. Yet within the glowing heart of Thessralindaur’s sanctum, time seemed to stretch and compress, measured only by the rhythmic pulse of manipulated arcana.
Graayyya’s strain began to tell.
Her initial adrenaline, fueled by the gravity of the situation and the honor of working alongside her grandsire, gave way to deep, gnawing fatigue. The constant focus required to channel the volatile energies, to act as a precise conduit for their safe dissipation, taxed her Apex in ways she had never experienced.
A dull ache settled deep in the muscles of her shoulders and along her spine.
Baalhalllu, despite his immense age, or rather, perhaps because of it, was tireless. He stood as a pillar of unwavering platinum strength. His glittering eyes remained keenly focused, missing no nuance of the unfolding process. He offered quiet, telepathic guidance to Graayyya, subtle corrections to her technique, bolstering her efforts when her concentration wavered.
Steady, youngling. Feel the flow before you redirect it. Do not fight the current, but guide it. Gently but firmly. His mental voice was a calm anchor in the swirling sea of arcane forces.
Thessralindaur, however, was visibly fading. With each severed connection in the lattice, a corresponding tremor ran through his crystalline form. The dull patches on his hide had spread, his inner luminescence dimming to a faint, ghostly glimmer. His voice, when he spoke to direct them to the next sequence, was barely a whisper, his breathing shallow and ragged.
Yet he persisted, his multifaceted eyes, though clouded with pain and exhaustion, held a spark of fierce determination. There was a strange dignity in his decline, a tragic nobility in his meticulous deconstruction of his life’s flawed masterpiece. He was paying the price for his hubris, for his transgression, and he was doing so with a quiet, almost stoic acceptance.
As they worked deeper into the core of the lattice, the energies they encountered became more potent, more volatile. Several times, a sudden surge of power threatened to overwhelm Graayyya’s control, causing her to gasp as her Apex flared with unexpected heat.
Each time, Baalhalllu lashed out a bare instant before her control would have shattered. His power formed a desperate, shimmering shield that caught the volatile surge, the effort bringing a low groan to rumble in his chest as he absorbed the feedback from the near-catastrophic overload.
Patience, Graayyya, he would murmur in her mind. The heart of such a construct is always the most resistant to change. It clings to its existence.
With more than half of the lattice now inert, the seven humans on the stone slab began to stir more noticeably. Their synchronized breathing had given way to individual, more natural rhythms. Eyelids fluttered. Fingers twitched. Soft moans and incoherent whispers escaped their lips. One of them, a young woman with hair the color of ripe wheat, arched her back slightly, a frown creasing her brow as if she were caught in the throes of an unsettling dream.
“They are returning,” Baalhalllu observed, his voice a low rumble. “Their life essence, though still thinned, is beginning to reassert itself. The bonds are weakening.”
As he spoke, a more violent tremor shook the chamber, not from the lattice, but from the very foundations of the mountain beneath them. The crystalline formations ringing the dome vibrated, emitting a chorus of high-pitched, discordant chimes. The sickly, predatory pulse that Graayyya had sensed from Suul-Veyrr intensified dramatically, pressing against her senses like a physical weight, cold and cloying. It was no longer a subtle undercurrent but a palpable wave of malevolent intent.
It feels us, Graayyya thought, a chill running down her spine despite the heat of her exertion. It knows the ward is failing.
Thessralindaur cried out, a thin, reedy sound of pure agony, as the tremor passed. He sagged against a nearby crystal spire, his light dimming so drastically that Graayyya feared his Apex might extinguish entirely. “It… it pushes back” he gasped, his voice barely audible. “The seals, they are, fragile…”
Baalhalllu’s form seemed to swell, his platinum scales radiating a brilliant, almost blinding light that pushed back against the encroaching darkness from below. “Hold fast! Both of you!” his voice boomed, no longer a gentle murmur but a command that resonated with the authority of ages. “The entity below senses its opportunity. We must not falter now.”
He extended a massive foreclaw, not towards the lattice, but towards the stone floor, pressing it firmly against the vibrating rock. A wave of pure, cleansing platinum energy flowed from him, down into the depths, a direct counter to the rising tide of Suul-Veyrr’s corruption. The tremor lessened. The oppressive weight in the air receded slightly, though the underlying menace remained, a coiled serpent waiting for its moment to strike.
“The central matrix, Thessralindaur,” Baalhalllu commanded, his gaze unwavering. “We must sever it now, before it attempts a more direct assault.”
Thessralindaur, trembling violently, pointed a wavering talon towards the very heart of the remaining lattice. It was a complex nexus of interwoven crystals and sigils that pulsed with a concentrated, almost furious energy. “That is the anchor. The primary conduit.”
Graayyya felt a fresh wave of trepidation. The energies concentrated there were immense, far exceeding anything they had dealt with thus far. To unravel that nexus would be like trying to defuse a thunderstorm.
“This will require our combined effort, Graayyya,” Baalhalllu said, his attention shifting back to her. “I will try to shield us from the entity’s influence as much as possible, and I will manage the primary power surge. Your task will be to capture and neutralize the secondary surges, the chaotic echoes that will erupt when the anchor is broken. They will be wild, unpredictable. You must be swift, precise, and fearless. Trust your instincts. And do not hesitate.”
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
Fearless.
It was a tall order.
But looking at her grandsire’s resolute profile, at the unwavering strength in his ancient eyes, she found a reservoir of courage she hadn’t known she possessed. “I am ready, Grandsire.”
Together, they focused their combined arcane might on the central matrix.
Thessralindaur, despite his near-total collapse, managed to contribute a faint, guiding thread that made all the difference. His intimate knowledge of this construct was the crucial element.
Baalhalllu initiated the decoupling, his power a focused beam of platinum light that struck the heart of the nexus.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent. The central matrix exploded in a silent detonation of pure arcane force.
Light, blinding and fractured, filled the dome, and a shockwave of raw energy slammed into Graayyya, throwing her back several paces despite Baalhalllu’s shielding presence.
The remaining sections of the lattice shattered, crystals raining down like deadly hail, though none touched the humans on the slab, protected by an invisible ward that Baalhalllu— having clearly anticipated the need for —had erected.
Then came the chaotic echoes Baalhalllu had warned of.
Wild, shrieking torrents of untethered arcana lashed out like wounded beasts. Graayyya reacted on pure instinct, her Apex flaring as she threw out tendrils of arcane power that ensnared the rogue currents.
In a desperate, frantic dance, her mind raced to anticipate the unpredictable trajectories of the energy fragments. The searing heat of her garnet fire rose within her, not as a weapon, but as a purifying force, incinerating the most corrupted remnants of the lattice’s power.
One vicious strand of dark, oily energy, tinged with the unmistakable malevolence of Suul-Veyrr, broke through her initial containment and shot towards the now-stirring humans. Without a thought for her own safety, Graayyya threw herself in its path, her wing taking the brunt of the impact. A searing pain, cold and sharp, lanced through her. She cried out, her control slipping just slightly, but she managed to hold the energy, her claws digging into the stone as she fought to absorb and neutralize its poison.
Well done, youngling. Now cleanse it.
Baalhalllu’s mental voice cut through the pain, grounding her in the here and now. With a deep breath, she summoned a surge of power from her Apex to wash over the remains of the dark strand where it had begun assimilating into her wing.
When the last of the chaotic echoes were subdued, an unnerving silence fell upon the dome. The intricate lattice was gone, leaving only a faint, lingering scent of ozone and the shimmering dust of shattered crystals.
The seven humans on the slab stirred, their eyes opening. Their expressions were dazed and confused.
Graayyya sagged, her wing throbbing, her entire body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering shock of the arcane backlash.
She had done it.
No, they had done it.
But the victory felt fragile. Incomplete.
The oppressive presence of Suul-Veyrr, though momentarily pushed back by their combined power, still pulsed from beneath the floor. It was a deep, nauseating throb of ancient, slumbering hunger. Contained, yes. At least for now. But not defeated.
Not by a long measure.
And Thessralindaur…
She turned to look for the crystal dragon. He lay crumpled at the base of a large crystalline spire, his form almost entirely devoid of light. His eyes were closed, his breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible. The corrosion now spread across nearly his entire body, the once-brilliant crystal scales now dull and lifeless.
They resembled nothing so much as common stone.
Baalhalllu moved to the crystal dragon’s side, his massive head bowed low. Graayyya limped towards them, her injured wing held stiffly.
“Is he…?” she began, her voice hoarse.
“His Apex still flickers,” Baalhalllu rumbled, his voice heavy with a sorrow that surprised her. “But the damage. The dissonance he invited into himself. It is profound. He has paid a terrible price for his fear, and for his pride.”
One of the humans, a man with a weathered face and bewildered eyes, pushed himself up onto an elbow, looking around the transformed chamber with a dawning, fearful comprehension. “Wh–what has happened? Where are we?”
The others were beginning to sit up as well, their voices a confused murmur of questions and exclamations. Their ordeal was over, but their journey to understanding and back to their lives was just beginning.
And the shadow of Suul-Veyrr still loomed, a silent, patient threat beneath the ancient mountains.
The silence that descended on the crystalline dome after the lattice’s violent dissolution was heavy, almost suffocating. Each moment pregnant with unspoken questions and the chilling throb of Suul-Veyrr’s continued presence deep beneath their claws.
The shimmering dust of shattered crystals settled slowly, coating the stone floor in a fine, sparkling powder that glittered eerily in the dim light filtering from Tiamat’s Eye.
Graayyya’s injured wing sent a fresh jolt of agony through her as she readjusted her wings. She ignored it, however, her attention fixed on the scene before her.
The seven humans began speaking, their voices a low murmur of fear and disorientation. Their eyes, wide and unfocused, darted around the vast, alien chamber as they struggled to reconcile their last memories with this bewildering reality.
Baalhalllu, his massive form a bastion of calm amidst the chaos, turned from the near-lifeless body of Thessralindaur. His warm gaze swept over the humans, and a subtle shift occurred in his demeanor. The immense, almost intimidating power he had projected during the dismantling of the lattice softened, replaced by an aura of profound, ancient compassion.
“Peace, mortals,” his voice rumbled, no longer a booming command but a deep, soothing vibration that seemed to settle the very air around them. Though he spoke in the Old Draconic tongue, Graayyya knew his meaning would somehow translate, a gentle wave of reassurance washing over their frayed nerves. “You are safe. The dream that held you is broken.”
He approached them slowly, his movements deliberate and unthreatening. The humans flinched, drawing closer together, their fear palpable. For them to awaken in such a place, in the presence of not just one, but three dragons of such different temperaments…
She imagined it must be a terrifying reality to wake up to.
Graayyya, Baalhalllu’s mental voice touched her mind, calm and precise. Attend to your wing. The dark energy you intercepted carried a potent trace of Suul-Veyrr’s essence that is not so easily eliminated. It will require further cleansing. I will see to these humans and then to Thessralindaur.
She nodded, though a part of her wanted to protest. To remain involved.
The throbbing in her wing, however, continued to intensify. The cold, creeping numbness of the dark touch spreading out from the point of impact. She limped to a relatively clear space near the cavern wall, grit her teeth against the pain, and focused her will inward, drawing upon the innate heat of her garnet core.
Slowly, carefully, she channeled elemental fire from her Apex. Not as a destructive force, but as a purifying heat, coaxing it along the damaged tissues of her wing. She sought out the tendrils of dark energy and incinerated them.
The process was agonizing, each pulse of her fire a fresh wave of pain as it warred with the alien coldness.
But she knew the importance of such internal cleansing. To allow such a taint to fester was to invite a deeper, more insidious corruption.
As she tended to her injury, she watched Baalhalllu interact with the humans. He did not try to explain the complexities of Suul-Veyrr or the arcane lattice. Instead he spoke to them in simple, reassuring terms, his presence alone seeming to calm their immediate terror.
He learned their village name, which informed him of the direction from which they had come. He weaved a subtle enchantment around them, a soft, soporific mist of forgetfulness that would blur the sharpest edges of their trauma.
It left them with only hazy, dream-like recollections of their time in the cavern. They would remember a strange sickness, a long sleep, and then an awakening. But the terrifying specifics, the true nature of their captivity and the entities involved, would be mercifully veiled.
It was a kindness, she understood, a necessary measure to protect their fragile mortal minds and to prevent the spread of dangerous knowledge.
Once the humans were calmed, their memories gently shrouded, Baalhalllu made arrangements for their return. He indicated that he would personally ensure they were guided back to the vicinity of their village, left in a place where they would be found by their own kin. He would not reveal himself to the other villagers. His intervention would remain a secret, another unseen act in the long, silent vigil the most ancient dragons kept over the world.
With the humans settled and awaiting their escort from the mountain’s shadow, Baalhalllu turned his attention back to the fallen crystal dragon. Thessralindaur’s breathing was now so faint it was almost non-existent, his crystalline form like a statue carved from dull, lifeless rock. Only the faintest, most resilient flicker within his core, the last ember of his Apex, revealed that he still clung to life.
Baalhalllu knelt beside him, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he simply observed the broken dragon, a silence stretching between them that felt older than the mountains themselves. Then, with infinite care, the ancient platinum extended a single, massive talon and gently touched the center of Thessralindaur’s chest, where his Apex lay fading.
A soft, pure platinum light flowed from Baalhalllu’s talon, enveloping Thessralindaur in a gentle, healing glow. It was not the raw power he had used to counter Suul-Veyrr, nor the focused energy used to dismantle the lattice, but something else. A compassionate, life-sustaining energy, an offering of strength from one ancient soul to another.
He will not recover fully, Baalhalllu’s voice echoed in Graayyya’s mind, tinged with a profound sadness. The damage to his Apex, the dissonance he embraced, is too deeply woven. But this. This may grant him a measure of peace, a chance for his spirit to find a quiet place to mend, or to fade without the torment of his self-inflicted corruption.
Graayyya watched, her own pain momentarily forgotten. She saw Thessralindaur’s shallow breathing deepen noticeably. A faint, almost translucent shimmer returned to a few of his scales, like the first hint of dawn on a frost-covered morning. It was not a recovery, not a return to what he had been, but perhaps it was a reprieve from utter dissolution.
He will be taken to a place of quiet, Baalhalllu continued mentally. A hidden sanctuary where the echoes of the world do not reach, where he can… reflect. His knowledge, though dangerously acquired, may yet hold some value if it can be carefully sifted from the obsession that drove him.”
And what of the knowledge he possessed about her?
As if sensing her unspoken concern, Baalhalllu slowly withdrew his talon and turned his great head towards her. His shimmering metallic eyes met hers, and she felt the familiar, gentle probe of his mind. Far less invasive than Thessralindaur’s shocking pronouncement had been.
The matter of your sire, he began, his mental voice now holding a sterner, though not unkind, undertone. Thessralindaur’s knowledge is… troubling. Such information is not easily obtained. He is a dragon of considerable intellect, driven by a desperate fear. In his pursuit of power, in his delving into forbidden lore to combat Suul-Veyrr, he may have stumbled upon records or entities that traffic in such secrets. Or perhaps, in his weakened, corrupted state, his Apex became sensitive to the echoes of the lineage that still reside within you, however faint.
Graayyya felt a flush of heat rise to her scales. The shame of her sire’s legacy, a burden she thought she had learned to carry with stoic resignation, felt suddenly raw again.
Do not dwell on the how of his knowledge for now, youngling, Baalhalllu continued, his tone softening. What matters is that you are Graayyya, ward of Kwallindauria, a dragon of growing strength and proven courage. The name of your sire is but a shadow, a relic of a past that does not define you or your future. Your deeds today have spoken far more eloquently of who you are than any name ever could.
A wave of relief, so profound it almost buckled her knees, washed over her. To hear those words from him, from Baalhalllu, the patriarch of Dauria’s line, was a balm to a wound she hadn’t realized still bled so freely.
Thessralindaur will speak that name no more, Baalhalllu added, a finality in his mental voice that left no room for doubt. Whether through healing, forgetfulness, or a more direct intervention, the secret would be contained.
He then rose to his full, majestic height. The immediate crisis here is abated, Graayyya. But the true threat, Suul-Veyrr, remains. Its slumber is disturbed. Its seals, though ancient and powerful, have been tested by Thessralindaur’s misguided efforts and by our own necessary intervention. The Council will need a full accounting of what has transpired here. Your report will be vital.
He looked at her then, a long, appraising gaze. Then said aloud, “You have conducted yourself with honor and fortitude, youngling. You faced peril, made difficult choices, and did not shy from your duty, even when it brought you pain. Kwallindauria’s faith in you is well placed. You have learned much from her.”
Praise from Baalhalllu was rare, and Graayyya felt her heart swell with a mixture of pride and humility. “Thank you, Grandsire. I only… I tried to do what was right.”
“And often,” he rumbled, a faint smile touching his ancient lips, “that is the most any of us can strive for. The line between what is right and what is necessary, what is wise and what is merely expedient, is often blurred, especially when dealing with forces that predate our own understanding.”
He gestured towards the entrance of the cavern. “Return to Kwallindauria. Rest. Heal. Your report to the Council can wait until you have recovered your strength. I will see to Thessralindaur and ensure these humans are safely on their way.”
Graayyya nodded, a lump forming in her throat.
This mission, her first true solo undertaking, had been more harrowing, more complex, and ultimately more transformative than she could ever have imagined.
She had faced a dragon whose actions blurred the line between obsession bordering on madness and desperate heroism.
She had confronted the echoes of her dark lineage.
She had worked alongside an Elder of immense power, playing a crucial role in averting a catastrophe.
And she had felt, with chilling certainty, the stirrings of an ancient evil that threatened to devour the world.
She looked one last time at the now-dim form of Thessralindaur, a fallen scholar, a tragic figure whose fear had led him down a ruinous path. There was no triumph in his defeat, only a profound sense of sorrow for the waste, for the potential lost to obsession and despair.
Then, with a final, respectful inclination of her head to Baalhalllu, Graayyya turned and limped towards the cavern entrance. The pain in her wing was a dull, persistent throb, a physical reminder of the battle fought and the lessons learned.
As she emerged from the oppressive gloom of the gorge into the cold, clear light of Tiamat’s Eye, the vast expanse of the Altai highlands stretched before her, silent and indifferent. The wind still scoured the peaks, but now it seemed to carry a different song, a whisper of ancient secrets and slumbering terrors.
She spread her wings, wincing as the injured one protested, but the movement was sure, determined. With a powerful thrust, she launched herself into the night sky, her garnet scales absorbing the pale light of Tiamat’s Eye.
She flew eastward, toward the distant promise of Dauria’s volcanic sanctuary. Toward home.
Beneath her, the land slept, unaware of the delicate balance that had been momentarily preserved. Unaware of the patient, malevolent entity that still dreamed in the deep, dark places of the earth. Suul-Veyrr was not yet free. But it remembered.
And now, so did she.
A new silence had settled in Graayyya’s chest as she flew. It was not the silence of fear, nor the silence of simple peace. It was the silence of understanding, of purpose, of a burden shared and a vigil that must be kept. The shards of the forgotten, the fragmented truths of a dangerous world, were slowly beginning to coalesce, forming a clearer, more sobering picture.
And Graayyyavalllia was no longer just an observer. She was a part of it.