In the midst of the cold, howling winds of the place that would one day be known as Wyrmrest Valley, a man cloaked in searing flames floated defiantly in the air. His presence burned like a second sun, casting long shadows across the snowy cliffs below. Before him loomed a monstrous figure—Durin, the black skeletal dragon with eyes that glowed a sinister red, each flicker a scream of agony.
Flakes of corrupted snow swirled around them as Durin shrieked—a sound that shattered the silence like breaking glass.
"I can sense it," said Ignarion, his voice calm but laced with sorrow. "You were never meant to destroy. You were born to soar, to be loved. A friend to mortals, not their doom. Seeing you like this… it's heartbreaking."
A divine blade coalesced in his hand, forged not of metal but of incandescent will—its crimson edge curved like a dragon's horn, its glow akin to freshly spilled blood in the snow. In Ignarion's grip, it looked less like a weapon and more like a legacy.
Durin screamed again, a guttural, tortured cry—"KHHHHHRRAAAAAAAAAAAA"—his broken body wracked with pain from wounds already inflicted by Dvalin and Barbatos. Smoke bled from gashes in his wings, and the bones in his back were split like broken pillars.
"Such a pitiful sight," Ignarion murmured, lifting his blade skyward.
Cryo energy began to swirl unnaturally around the divine weapon, groaning as it compressed. Ice and flame clashed along the blade's edge—molten frost, unstable and sacred, born of two warring elements bound in harmony. With a thunderous roar, Ignarion descended and struck.
The blade carved through air and bone with divine finality. Durin's neck twisted unnaturally before snapping. Then—clean through—it severed. His head fell like a mountain collapsing, blood bursting into the sky like geysers and splattering the frozen cliffs. It seeped into the very leylines of Dragonspine, turning the snow crimson.
"KHRRRRRRAAAAAA… KHRRAAAAAAAAASHSHSHH…"
Durin's cries weakened, dissolving into brittle, fading croaks. He sounded no longer like a monster, but like a great, wounded bird—clinging to life, flailing before the butcher's blade.
Ignarion exhaled deeply, lowering his blade. Regret weighed down his broad shoulders, and for a moment, the fire around him dimmed.
But then—he felt it.
He turned sharply.
"...What is this?" he muttered. A strange pulse… from below. "A mortal? In the Womb of Arian?"
With a flick of his hand, a rift tore open in the fabric of space, and Ignarion stepped through.
---
Meanwhile, within the Womb of Arian…
Kaelyra and Seraphyx stood in tense debate, the crystalline walls of the sacred chamber glimmering faintly in the pale light. An ethereal pool pulsed at its center, whispering with ancient energy.
Suddenly, Orion stepped in, his presence still uncertain but unwavering.
Kaelyra's eyes turned to him—not with malice, but with that chilling, ageless gravity only immortals possess. She studied him like a relic from another age, her gaze piercing deeper than flesh.
"You would sacrifice yourself for strangers?" she asked, voice soft like falling snow. "For soldiers you've never spoken to? For lives already crumbling?"
"They're not strangers," Orion answered. "They are my people. They grew from the same soil, breathed the same wind. Their families love them… just as mine love me. I can't leave them to die like this. Not while I still breathe."
Kaelyra's expression shifted—just slightly. Something vast and buried stirred behind her eyes. The surface of the pool rippled, as if reacting to his words.
She stepped closer, silent as a shadow.
"Then… perhaps there is a way," she whispered. "An exchange."
Seraphyx's wings twitched. His eyes narrowed. "Kaelyra, no—"
She ignored him.
"If you truly desire this," she said, "I will grant your request. I will breathe life back into the dying. I will mend the scar you carry."
Orion's breath caught. "...You will?"
"But only under one condition."
The world froze. No wind. No sound. The pool went still as glass.
Kaelyra stepped forward again, her finger resting just above Orion's heart. Warmth spread through him—gentle and radiant, but beneath it coiled something ancient. Terrifying. Inevitable.
"Swear yourself," she said, "to VlastMoroz. Become its Envoy. Let the Eternal Bloom be replaced by the Seal of Frost. Then… I shall act."
A long silence followed.
Seraphyx turned sharply to her, wings flaring wide. "Are you mad?! He's not ready! You would bind him to that fate?"
Kaelyra didn't blink. "This isn't about readiness. It's about choice."
As Kaelyra spoke, a rift tore open beside her with a quiet hum of frost and flame. Ignarion stepped through, his expression unreadable but decidedly unamused.
"It seems you're well aware of this mortal's presence," he said flatly, his fiery aura crackling faintly. "But what is this I hear?"
Kaelyra turned to him with a faint, enigmatic smile. "I'm offering him the position of the Envoy."
"Him?" Ignarion arched a brow, his eyes trailing up and down Orion like a disappointed teacher sizing up a failing student.
He walked a slow circle around the prince, boots echoing with ominous weight. "He's nowhere near the threshold Lord Rosen established. Not in strength. Not in mind. Not in soul. Perhaps that may change—but right now?"
He stopped in front of Kaelyra again. "Are you certain you're not acting in haste?"
Kaelyra's smile vanished.
"The authority to choose the Envoy lies with me," she said, her voice cold, crystalline, and final. "I didn't interfere in your battle. I ask that you extend the same courtesy and stay out of my duty."
Ignarion's eye twitched slightly—whether in irritation or reluctant understanding, it was hard to tell. But then, something seemed to click in his mind. A flash of realization passed across his face, bitter and sharp.
"...So that's how it is," he muttered. "You're even more cruel than I am."
With a snap of his fingers, the rift reappeared, and he vanished without another word.
Orion stood frozen, his throat dry. His heart pounded as if trying to escape his ribs.
'I don't know what being an Envoy truly means… but if it can save Arian—if it can save even one life—then it's worth it. If Father ever learns I had the chance and turned away... I'll never forgive myself.'
He stepped forward, voice trembling. "I—I may not understand the full weight of your offer. But I'll accept it. If becoming the Envoy is what it takes to save them… then I'll do it. Even if it costs me everything."
Kaelyra's expression darkened. The disappointment that bloomed on her face was not anger, but something worse—something maternal and ancient. A disapproval born of centuries.
"...I expected more of you," she said quietly. "I thought you might grasp the consequences before you leapt into them. But you haven't even begun to understand what you're pledging yourself to."
Her voice turned sharp.
"I cannot entrust this role to someone who treats sacrifice like a coin to be tossed. Nor can I allow a man like you to wear the crown of Arian."
Orion's breath caught in his throat. "What…?"
He turned toward Seraphyx, eyes wide, pleading.
But the Plume of Drakon only looked away, his expression heavy with guilt.
"Sorry, Orion," he said. "I can't help you this time."
Kaelyra raised her hand. Frost bloomed beneath Orion's feet like a blooming flower made of glass. A rift opened—a swirling portal of snow and silence.
"I banish you from Arian," Kaelyra declared. "You may not return until you are worthy—both as the Envoy, and as its King."
Before Orion could protest, the ground gave way. He fell.
The last thing he saw was Kaelyra's impassive face, rimmed with regret.
He crashed into the snowfields of Dragonspine below, the cold biting through his bones like punishment.
Back in the Womb of Arian, Seraphyx turned slowly toward Kaelyra, his voice quiet.
"That was cruel. You never intended to make him the Envoy, did you?"
Kaelyra didn't blink.
"He's not ready for anything—not power, not sacrifice, not legacy. I won't let him break beneath it. Banishing him may hurt, but letting him continue like this… would destroy him."
She closed the rift with a whisper, the chamber returning to silence.