Large chapter also here are the consequences!
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The Pale Snowfields stretched beyond sight, an endless sea of frost and ice, shrouded in the breath of winter. Silence was a constant presence here, broken only by the whispering winds that carried with them the ghosts of ages past. The land itself seemed to be frozen in time, locked in an eternal embrace with the cold.
At the heart of this frozen realm stood the White Lady's Court, a palace carved from the bones of glaciers and the remnants of forgotten winters. It was here, in the shadows of the towering spires of ice, that the White Lady herself sat in silence.
Her form, a majestic and terrifying sight, lay reclined upon her throne of crystal and bone. Her four wings stretched out like a delicate lattice of frost, shimmering with an ethereal glow. Her eyes, twin glaciers of cold blue, were fixed on the falling snow outside the hall, her mind lost in a sea of thoughts. The room around her was dim, lit only by the faint light of the aurora that painted the heavens in shades of green and violet.
But the silence of her court was shattered by the heavy, labored footsteps of Ravagan, her Warlord, the Crimson Drakonar. He entered the chamber, his form dragging behind him the weight of defeat. His once-gleaming red scales were dull and cracked, scorched by fire and scars. His eyes, usually filled with the burning ferocity of a warrior, were now shadowed by exhaustion and loss. He had returned, but with the bitter scent of failure clinging to him like ash.
"My Lady," Ravagan spoke, his voice rough with the weight of his words. "I return... defeated. There is no victory to report. Only ruination and death."
The White Lady did not stir at first. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, the pale blue light of the aurora glinting in her eyes. She did not flinch at the words. She had known what was coming. She had sensed the stirrings of war far to the south, the crackling of fire against the cold. But even in her long reign, she had never anticipated such an onslaught.
"Speak," she finally commanded, her voice a whisper of ice, cold and unforgiving. "What has happened?"
Ravagan bowed his head, his chest heaving with the weight of his tale. "We were betrayed, High Lady. Your brother, Viserion... he turned his back on us. He sided with the new upstart." The words hung in the air, a chill deeper than the cold of the Snowfields.
The White Lady's gaze flickered, but she did not speak. Her mind raced with thoughts of her brother. Viserion, born of the same frost-blood as her, yet so different in spirit. She had always known there was something embittered in him, something twisted by his lot in life. He had resented her, resented their shared lineage, and had longed for more. "Viserion has joined our enemies?" the White Lady repeated softly, her tone unreadable. "I never thought him foolish enough to turn against me."
Ravagan nodded, his expression grim. "We were fighting the Oblivion Dragon. His forces were overwhelming us. His armies tore through our defences but then that's when this new scaleless dragon and his army arrived. They attacked from behind, striking the Oblivion Dragon's rear. For a moment, we thought victory might be within reach. But... then the madman brought out the weapon. Something beyond anything we had ever seen."
The White Lady's eyes narrowed, her wings shifting ever so slightly. "A weapon? Don't tell me he used the miniature black hole weapon he found long ago?"
"Yes," Ravagan's voice dropped lower, as if the very memory of it could still scorch his flesh. "It tore through the battlefield like a god's wrath. Everything in its path was annihilated whether it be dragons or even the very land itself. Nothing could survive its pull." Just thinking about it seemed to have traumatized the powerful dragon.
"Most of our forces were destroyed," Ravagan continued, his voice breaking through the memory of that terrible weapon. "I barely managed to escape with the last of our dragons. Vorthul, the Shadow Hydra, he... he fell. Artorius' forces attacked what remained of the Oblivion Dragon's army and us. That was when Viserion turned his coat. He joined Artorius. He betrayed us, Lady. He left us to die."
The White Lady's eyes closed for a long moment as she processed the flood of information. Betrayal. Death. Her brother's defection. The ruin of her forces. It was a bitter pill to swallow. "And the Oblivion Dragon?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ravagan's head hung low. "I don't know my lady. He was in the epicenter of the blast and was the one that made it go off."
The White Lady let the silence linger between them, her mind working through the possibilities. The Oblivion Dragon had always been a threat, a dragon of great power who had been her equal, but now... it seemed that he had been reduced to nothing but ash and ruin. That left this new force that needed to be contended with, Artorius.
"I should have listened to Shiun when I had the chance, now she is gone. Overrun by this young dragon."
"What do you mean, my lady?" Ravagan asked in surprise.
"I have been receiving calls of aid from her while he had been fighting the Oblivion dragon. I had no choice but to ignore them and make her into a sacrificial pawn to hold him off while you dealt with Xytherion."
Ravagan remained silent, unsure whether to speak further. The weight of what had happened hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, suffocating and inescapable. The White Lady's gaze turned once more toward the horizon, the pale blue light of the aurora casting shadows across her wings.
"Artorius is no mere upstart," the White Lady finally said, her tone softer now, yet no less cold. "He is no longer just a nuisance. He has proven himself to be a true player in the Great Game. His forces have grown too powerful to ignore. His flames burn bright, and for the first time in many years, I feel the heat of it creeping toward me."
Ravagan looked down, his expression grim. "And what will you do, High Lady?"
She closed her eyes for a long moment, feeling the weight of the decision that lay before her. Her armies were shattered, her forces reduced to a mere fraction of what they once were. Her brother had betrayed her, and Artorius' strength had risen to the point where he could no longer be dismissed. There was only one choice left.
"We can no longer stand alone," she said, her voice steady, but heavy with finality. "We must seek allies. I must swear allegiance to the Fragrance Dragon Queen."
Ravagan's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you certain, my lady? We have remained independent for so long. We have avoided the conflict between the Dragon Monarch descendants and worse yet the descendants of the Sovereigns. To swear allegiance to the Fragrance Dragon Queen... it would change everything."
The White Lady's eyes gleamed with a quiet resolve. "We have no choice. The Fragrance Queen will give us the aid we need to stand against this new young dragon who will soon run us over. If we are to survive this, we must ally ourselves with her. The Pale will no longer be independent. It will be part of the intrigues of the Nest, for better or worse."
Ravagan was silent, the weight of her words settling over him like the stillness of the snowfields. He had known his mistress to be many things, proud, wise, and ruthless but now she will need to be servile. He knew the broods of the most powerful Dragons brooked nothing but total submission. Ravagan bowed his head. "Then I will follow you, High Lady. Whatever comes, I will stand with you."
-
The battle had been brutal, especially when that weapon was unleashed. Now when the dust finally settled, and the terrible silence followed in the wake of destruction, the true cost of the war was laid bare before the remaining survivors.
Artorius stood at the edge of the battlefield, weary from the countless activities that took up his time after the great battle. It had been many days now and they were still counting the dead and the missing who were swallowed by the Black hole. The remnants of his army were scattered across the field tending to the wounded, counting the dead, but no matter how much time passed, the figures remained grim.
Everywhere he looked, the ground around him was stained with the blood of dragons. At times it seemed like to him a sea of red stretching far into the distance. His eyes lingered on the bodies of his fallen comrades, each one a life snuffed out, a future erased by the chaos of war. He couldn't shake the feeling of the weight on his shoulders, the responsibility for those who had perished.
Looking across the broken battlements he stood on, he could still see the black hole which had been receding each day, but it was a terrible rend on the world and a reminder of the great losses they suffered.
As he surveyed the carnage, Artorius couldn't help but feel the sting of loss. Kelthar, the great water lindwurm noble, was the most prominent casualty. His massive, long tailed form had once been a symbol of the power and prestige among their force. Now, he was gone, a victim of the Oblivion Dragon's wrath and the bomb that had torn through the battlefield.
Velkra, the wyvern who had stood beside him since the beginning, his first follower was dead. Besides him was one elder blooded dragon, kin to the Thunder dragon who he made in charge of his cavalry along with three of his champion dragons.
Apart from them, the bulk of their loss was the regular soldiers, the numbers were staggering, 400 dragons lost, either killed, absorbed into the black hole or gravely wounded. Only 1,200 remained in his army.
Artorius clenched his fist, the anger and grief building within him like a storm. The cost had been high for victory, over 25% of his forces were gone in just this battle alone. How many more would he lose before the end of this conflict? How many more dragons would fall in his name before victory was finally achieved?
As brutal as the toll had been on Artorius' forces, the enemy forces had not fared much better. The Oblivion Dragon's forces had been devastated. The battle had been an uneven contest from the start with Artorius' forces and the White Lady army ganging up on them.
Still the black hole bomb had tilted the scales, though they were the ones that suffered the most losses. Of the Oblivion Dragon's army, half had been destroyed either in the blast or in the fighting. Now leaving only one thousand dragons behind that have been captured, scattered, or severely wounded. Some had surrendered outright, no longer willing to fight after seeing the destruction that had been wrought by the weapon.
The Oblivion Dragon forces were completely off the board for now, but that left the forces of the White Lady who had seen a lot of losses yet remained a threat. Of the army of 1,500 they had left defending the fort, they lost nearly 600 in the fight and Artorius' army captured another 500 with only 400 or so escaping with the Crimson Drakonar.
Looking back out over the landscape of ruin, he could see the preparations for the Grand Funeral underway. The ceremonial rites of the dragons were being prepared as even in the face of victory, there was no denying the weight of what had been lost. To bring some modicum of comfort, he had got to work on this funeral.
A pillar of stone was being brought into the center of the battlefield, a massive column of jagged, black granite, where the names of the dead were being inscribed whether they be friend or foe.
The bodies of the fallen were being carefully prepared. Some had been torn apart in the blast, their bodies broken beyond recognition, while others had been scorched by fire or frozen by the devastating forces unleashed during the battle. But regardless of their condition, each body was treated with reverence. The dragons who remained were working with grim efficiency, carefully washing and arranging the bodies, preparing them for their final rites.
Soon everything would be ready and he would have one final rite for them all. Turning from the grim sight, if there was any silver lining in all this besides their victory was the Level up he received in the battle.
Congratulations! You have leveled up. Archetype: [Leader] → Lv. 19
Stat gains: +1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA
There had been a whole lot of fighting and killing, and the system seemed to finally push him over the edge. Now all that remained was one more level for each of his class, archetype, and race before he gained new abilities. Before all that though, he needed to see some folks and get some answers from them.