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The wind howled through the stronghold's gates as Artorius walked through the corridors, his footsteps echoing in the stone halls. The cold bite of the air did nothing to chill his heart; his mind was consumed with other matters. He was about to have a conversation that might shift the balance of power, one that could change everything.
Ouroboros joined him, landing on his shoulder as he seemed to sense his mood. "How are you doing?"
Artorius didn't even glance at him. "Fine," Artorius stated when he clearly wasn't. Saying nothing on the matter, Ouroboros remained silent.
At the end of the hall, he found Viserion, the Frost Dragon, and Shiun, the Golden Imugi, both standing side by side, their presence heavy with uncertainty. They were an unusual pair, one born of cold and one of warmth, but he noticed how close they were.
"Viserion," Artorius began, his voice carrying the weight of many questions, but cutting right to the chase. "I need to know. Why did you betray your sister? Why did you join me?"
It had been a surprise to him like everyone else when the dragon went on the offensive against his own alliance once the bomb went off and a semblance of order returned. It was with his own hands that he slew the shadow hydra in a surprise attack and then from there it had been easy picking for his army to overrun the rest of the White lady army along with the broken force of the Oblivion dragon.
Viserion met his gaze, his eyes cold as glaciers, yet there was something else there an undercurrent. He sighed, his breath curling in the chill air as he spoke. "I am the bastard child, the mistake, the unloved one. My mother saw me as something that was just a tist. I wish to make them regret that. To bring down her beloved daughter I will make them regret every moment of casting me aside."
Revenge, so that was what it was. Looking at him, Artorius couldn't help but draw parallels of someone he didn't think about for a while… his uncle. It seemed like they shall all carry the sins of their forefathers and pay its price. It made Artorius wonder would he too fall into that cycle?
Keeping his thoughts to himself he raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "And you think joining me will bring that vengeance for you?"
Viserion's lips curled into something that might have been a smile, though it lacked warmth. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But your flame, Artorius, is the fire that burns everything that stands in its path. With you, I see a future where I can carve out a place for myself, one that belongs to me alone."
Artorius turned his gaze to Shiun, "Shiun, is he telling me the truth?"
Shiun, the Golden Imugi, moved closer, her serpentine form glowing faintly in the dim light. "Yes, my lord. Viserion is not lying. His heart has longed for this a long time and there is nothing I can do to disway him for it."
Viserion's eyes flicked to her, and for the briefest of moments, a silent look passed between them. Their connection was palpable, Ouroboros, ever the provocateur, couldn't seem to hold himself as he chimed. "Why don't you two lovebirds get a room?!" he teased, his voice light and mischievous.
For the briefest of moments, both Viserion and Shiun froze like deer caught in headlights. Then in flustered tones, the two of them distanced themselves from each other with both of them shouting at the same time, "There is nothing between us!"
Artorius couldn't help but chuckle, looking at the small serpent from the corner of his eyes. He truly had a way of lifting the mood, his race of wisdom dragon was quite apt as he held such deep insights and understanding.
Unable to help himself he joined in on the ribbing, "if the two of you are done giving lovey dovey eyes to each other we have a very special someone to visit."
Artorius made his way to the stronghold's deepest dungeon along with Viserion, Shiun, and Ouroboros. There were many guards at each intersection but the main ones were the Black Dread and the Thunder Dragon who stood at the lowest chamber.
Artorius paused before the cell, his gaze hardening as he looked at the two dragons. "How is he doing?" he asked.
"He is still kicking," Raijin growled.
With a simple nod, Artorius continued inside. The cell they approached was unlike the others in the dungeon, it was reinforced with layers of magic, iron, and enchanted runes, a prison fit for a dragon of the Oblivion Dragon's stature.
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of blood and death. Xytherion lay coiled in the darkened corner, his form a twisted mockery of its former grandeur.
He was emaciated, his once-glorious wings now little more than tattered remnants of their former majesty. His body heaved with shallow breaths, his chest rising and falling with difficulty as he struggled to maintain any semblance of strength. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a nasty gash cutting across his face, while the other glinted with a sharp, malicious gleam that was unmistakably defiant. His once-vibrant black scales were now a patchwork of charred flesh and scar tissue, as if the very life had been burned out of him.
Until now Artorius had no idea how it survived that blast when no one did. Worse yet, he had no idea why he didn't kill it. It had caused so much devastation and death, he hungered for revenge for his men and its own men.
Artorius stood before the cell, his gaze locked with the Oblivion Dragon's. The dragon let out a harsh, racking laugh, one that echoed eerily through the stone walls once he entered. Artorius raised an eyebrow. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, his voice cold but curious.
The Oblivion Dragon's laugh faded into a wheezing cough as he struggled to lift his head, his eyes glinting with something that could only be described as dark amusement. "Because," he rasped, "I've won. You may have defeated me for now, but you've put the White Lady in a corner. Her forces are shattered. Her only option now is to turn to a Dragon King or Queen for help. She has no choice."
Artorius narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Before the Oblivion Dragon could answer, Ouroboros spoke. "He means that she will have to seek outside help. The White Lady's army had been basically annihilated, without her army, she cannot hold back the likes of you or anyone else for that matter as powerful as she might be."
Artorius frowned as the Oblivion Dragon laughed again, the sound chilling in its finality. "The game has just begun. The White Lady was close to the Fragrance Dragon Queen, and I... I had ties to the Shadow Dragon King. They let us fight our differences out as if they got involved it will soon escalate with others joining or taking advantage to attack them."
Breaking out into coughing fits, he took a ragged breath as he continued, "But now with the White Lady's power broken, she will need to choose her next step carefully. There's only one way she can survive this by swearing fealty to another. And when she does, the balance of power will shift once again as you have no backer."
Artorius clenched his fist, feeling the weight of the revelation settling upon him.
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The Pale Snowfields were quiet. Too quiet. The White Lady stood at the apex of her court's tallest spire, the peak of the crystalline tower known as the Auroral Fane, the palace's highest point and the only place stable enough to house the Draconic Resonance Array.
A towering monolith of white stone, runic channels, and thin spires of enchanted cryo-metal, the Array resembled a tree of frozen lightning. Dozens of crystalline coils spiraled around the central column, humming softly with suppressed power. Pale blue light pulsed along the conduits like a heartbeat. At its center floated a disc of translucent ice, shimmering with faint motes of draconic essence, the receiver.
The White Lady placed a clawed hand upon its rim. The runes flared instantly at her touch. Her wings spread, the frost shimmering along their thin membranes like starlight. The tower responded. Light surged upward along the lines. The coils vibrated. The central disc spun and expanded, becoming a pool of luminous frost, a window, a conduit, a voice across distances no mortal instrument could cross. The Draconic Resonance Array connected.
And the moment it did, she felt the other presence on the far side. Warmth. Sweetness. A cloying perfume on the soul. The signature of the Fragrance Dragon Queen. The window brightened, resolving into the faint outline of a grand throne room composed of rose-quartz plates, floating petals of crystallized scent, and soft pastel auroras drifting through perfumed mist. And on the massive lotus-throne of living crystal lounged the Queen herself, a creature of radiant whites, shimmering pinks, and soft opal tones, her every breath exuding intoxicating fragrances.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/21814379441989463/
When the Queen smiled, the whole projection trembled with her delight. "Ahhh… Isylith." Her melodic voice dripped with honey and poison in equal measure. "How wonderful to see your face again. Though…" Her smile widened, almost pouty, yet unmistakably mocking. "I've heard some very unfortunate rumors. Something about your army being… decimated?"
The White Lady felt the jab pierce beneath her scales. Of course the Queen had heard. She had probably been waiting, hoping for this moment. The Pale's independence had always irritated her. To the Fragrance Queen, every dragon ought to bow to her radiant splendor, every stronghold should pay homage to her beauty and power.
The White Lady's wings tightened slightly just a tremor but she forced her expression into a mask of serene dignity. Even shattered, even weakened, she refused to look anything but composed. "Your Majesty," she said, inclining her head. "It has indeed been a… difficult campaign. My forces suffered great loss. That is why I call upon you tonight. I require your aid."
The Queen lifted a delicate claw, painted in shifting hues of scented mist, and tapped it against her chin in feigned contemplation. "Mmm. Now you call. After all this time." Her tone was sugary soft. And sharp as a knife.
"For years, Isylith, I extended my hand. My friendship. My… generous invitations." Her tail curled lazily around her throne. "And yet you insisted on staying aloof. Independent." She fluttered her eyes. "Above it all."
The White Lady kept her face still, but inside, unwillingness churned. She had declined the Queen's offers because she valued her freedom, because she did not want to be a pawn in the Nest's internal schemes, because she preferred to rule the Pale without owing allegiance to anyone. But that was before the devastation. Before Artorius. Before everything broke.
The Queen's smile widened, knowing, victorious. "And now," the Fragrance Dragon Queen sighed, dramatically placing her hand against her cheek, "my dear Isylith reaches for me only when she is desperate." She gave a theatrical pout. "I feel so… used."
The White Lady swallowed what little pride she had left. This was the price of survival. She lowered herself to one knee, something she had not done for any being since she first took rule over the Pale Snowfields. "My Queen," she said carefully, letting the words flow as smoothly as ice melt. "I… was blind before. I did not see your greatness. Your wisdom."
The Queen's brows lifted in delight. "I see it now only because reality has struck me. It has shown me how inadequate I am when compared to you. Only now do I understand that your guidance is… indispensable."
The Queen's tail flicked in pleasure. A tittering laugh escaped her throat—light, airy, and absolutely mocking. "I must admit, Isylith," she said, leaning in closer to the projected window, "you wear subservience far better than I expected. It suits you."
The White Lady bowed her head lower. Her claws dug lightly into the floor but she kept her voice steady. "I am yours, my Queen. If you will have me."
"Oh, I will." The Queen giggled. "Of course I will." She straightened, her expression shifting subtly still amused, still superior, but now carrying the weight of command. "I accept your allegiance, Isylith of the Pale. And since you come to me humbled and broken, I shall grant you the mercy you seek."
She lifted her hand. A flare of scented light blossomed from her palm, showing visions of dragons assembling sleek silhouettes cloaked in radiant colors, troops mobilizing, banners unfurling with prismatic insignias. "I will send my right hand," the Queen declared proudly. "High Lord Auxithkox, the Radiance Dragon. You will find him… illuminating."
The White Lady nodded, suppressing the bitter taste rising in her mouth. "And he will not come alone," the Queen continued, her tone sweet as nectar. "I shall dispatch my two noble-blooded flowers to accompany him. They shall come with a sizable force," the Queen finished. "A good army to squash this little threat."
The White Lady's wings twitched. The scaleless one. He was no "little threat." But now was not the time to argue. "I am… most grateful, my Queen."
The Queen waved her hand dismissively, though her smile only grew. "Oh, do not thank me yet. You will serve me in return. Consider this aid… an investment." A faint shadow drifted through her otherwise bright and airy tone. "And speaking of investments… this is a most convenient time, truly. I will need you soon, Isylith."
The White Lady tilted her head slightly. A flicker of unease ran down her spine. "What do you mean, my Queen?"
The Queen's eyes softened, almost dreamily though an unmistakable hunger simmered beneath. "There are troubling times ahead, Isylith. Times of upheaval. Times of opportunity." The White Lady kept her composure, though her heart tightened when she heard the next few words. "A Dragonfall is coming."
The White Lady's mind reeled. Three years prior, when the corpse of an elder dragon fell from the upper heavens into the Nest, the entire east had erupted into war. Dozens of broods had fought with countless Nobled blooded dragons brutally fighting each other. Armies clashed, rivers of blood were spilled, and even the most disciplined factions lost warriors in the frenzy.
Because dragon corpses, especially fresh ones, were precious beyond compare. It was fresh meat unlike the old decrepit corpses here in the nest for hundreds of years where most young hatchlings picked at most of the bones. The bones contained ancient marrow. The flesh pulsed with remnants of powerful magic. The heart could fuel great weapons that shook the heavens. It was a rare event, rarer than eclipses, rarer than comets. And now another was coming?
The White Lady's breath hitched. "And whose…?" She hesitated. "Whose remains will fall this time?"
The Queen's smile turned razor sharp. "Not an elder," she whispered. "Not a monarch." She leaned in, her eyes glittering like perfumed jewels. "A Dragon Emperor." The White Lady's blood froze.
Dragon Emperors were creatures of myth, they stood at the top, they were dragons whose power rivaled calamities, whose might reshaped countless star systems, whose slumbering dreams breathed magic. Their bodies could nourish entire broods for centuries. Their blood crystalized into relics that nations would slaughter each other over.
A Dragonfall of an Emperor meant chaos. War. Mass hysteria. The breakdown of alliances. The rise of new tyrants. The extinction of others.
"The skies tremble already," the Queen murmured softly, her tone thick with something like anticipation. "This will draw many powers in the Nest into the fray," the Queen continued. "The Sovereign Blooded have gracefully decided to let us fight it out, many of Monarchs blooded and noble blooded will mobilize."
She paused. "And now so will you. Under my banner."
For the first time, the White Lady allowed herself a small nod of solemn acceptance. "Then I am fortunate," she whispered, "to have sought your aid when I did."
The Queen's laughter chimed faintly, sweetly, cruelly. "Oh, Isylith," she crooned, "your fortune has only just begun. Serve me well, and when the Dragon Emperor falls, I may even permit you… a taste."
A shiver of hunger and dread coiled within the White Lady. "Yes, my Queen," she breathed.
"Good girl." The Queen winked. "Now prepare your lands. Auxithkox will arrive soon and together, we shall remind the world that…my fragrance endures." With a flick of her claws, the connection severed.
The image shattered into drifting motes of ice. The runes dimmed. The coils of the Array slowed and stilled. Silence returned to the Auroral Fane.
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Author Note: Well things are quickly ramping up!
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Chapter 29 Recap!
Leveled up Archetype: Leader to Lvl. 19!
+1 INT, +1 WIL, +1 CHA