An Elmerïan Novella

Ashes

Of

A

Risen

Empire

Corey Ratliff

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Corey Ratliff © 2023

Guild of Fantasy Publishing © 2023

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Betrayal

Chapter 2: Fallen Wings

Chapter 3: Fabled

Chapter 4: The Marsh

Chapter 5: Two Mages, One Mother

Chapter 6: Best Laid Plans

Elmerïan Chronicles

Book 1:

Whispers of a World Breaker

Complimentary Books:

Ashes of a Risen Empire

While the main series would be best if read in order, all complimentary books can be read in any order—before, after, or during your series read through.

Content Warning:

As I set out to write this series, I originally planned to pen a young adult story. After all, that is the age group in which I was first introduced to this genre and trope of dragon riders. However, once I set to writing this epic tale, I quickly realized I could not do this world, these characters, and this story justice if it was set in the age group of young adult, which generally encapsulates teenagers, though not always.

With that said, as a veteran, I understand some of the darker sides of war. I wanted to showcase the brutality of this world. Even then, there were many times I held back. Where I did not hold back is where you, as a reader, deserve a warning of the contents within this story.

Throughout this epic series, you will find quite a bit vulgar and crude language, as well as multiple adult themes—including murder, rape, theft, sex, discrimination, and manipulations of the mind, will, consent, and more.

The violence is grim and brashly descriptive.

This is not my apology for writing what I have written. This is a warning for you, my reader. If you are bothered, or triggered, by any of the things I mentioned above, please, close this book. Turn off the ebook reader. Close out the audiobook. For this is not a story for you.

Chapter 1:

The Betrayal

Isles of the Seven

2314, A.C.

“Commander!"

Tirian jerked awake with a start. In the flickering light of the torches, he saw Drator beside him. His heart jolted. He knew why his second in command interrupted his rest. Sitting up, he glanced at his weapon. “Already?"

“Yes, Commander,” Drator said, his voice trembling and taut.

Springing off the slab of stone at the back of the deep cavern, Tirian grabbed his sword, a golden blade with a bronze hilt. He slid it into the slot built into the bronze hued living steel armor.

The smooth, enchanted armor liquified, shifting and moving to cover the blade jutting out of the bottom of the torso piece. Once the gold blade was encased in the armor, the living steel solidified once more.

Tirian looked inside his mind at the arte, the source of his power and his connection to his soulkin. It was habitual. Too many times had it swelled with Carn’s growth spurts. Each time it threatened to shatter. But now, it was a bright sun floating in a vast abyss. Memories poured through his mind. Each time the great dragon grew, it was because of moments like these. They were under attack.

“Where are you?" he called to Carn.

“Two leagues." Carn's baritone voice filled Tirian's mind as if they were his own.

Fashioning twin daggers to his belt, Tirian turned to Drator. “How many?"

The man before him wore deep blue armor, the same living steel gifted by the elves before the prophecy lit a fire in the hearts of the Dragon Court, the watchers of the skies, the former protectors of Maerïnor. His shoulder length brown hair curled at the edges of his face where perspiration glistened in the torchlight. He swallowed. “At least a hundred, Commander."

Tirian's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He looked around the massive cave. While it wasn't on their home island, it had served to shelter them from eyes in the sky. Seventeen human dragonmages, Elmerïans, stared wide-eyed at him. They called him Commander, but he commanded nothing of them. True it was he was their leader, but only because he was the first Elmerïan.

Most of the dragonmages before him were young, even by mortal standards. Less than five had been trained or experienced in battle before their dragons hatched. Three had yet to see adulthood. And nine had infant dragons by their side, wide-eyed and curled around their riders’ feet.

Tirian furrowed his brows. “A hundred?"

Drator gave a single nod. “Aye, Commander."

Tirian clenched his jaws. He looked around at his companions, his family, his empire. A swell of dread blended with pride as they all stood on guard. They would die for their dragons, just as he would die for Carn.

Nearly half had less than a year's experience as Elmerïans—not enough time for Tirian to teach them all what they could do. Death is all that would await them out there. He shook his head incredulously. “All bonded?"

“Not…all." Drator sighed and downcast his eyes. “But enough."

Tirian slowly made his way toward the mouth of the cave. A deep tremble shook the walls and ground. Several small rocks dislodged from the ceiling, a hatchling leaping aside to dodge one. Without asking, he knew Carn had landed. For centuries, he could sense where the golden dragon was, even if they were a hundred leagues away. “They are not ready for this."

“No they are not," said Carn. “But we don't have the time to make them ready either."

A sense of cautious apprehension crossed the bond, flowing from Carn to Tirian, then back again. Their emotions were as one. Tirian's stomach twisted into a tight ball. “Did you spot them yet?"

“I did,” said Carn. “We have less than three minutes.”

“Get your dragons, and fly northwest to the farthest island," Tirian commanded, pushing tendrils of the hollow particles of air into his words, amplifying their volume and carrying them across the cave. He turned around. “Malik, Gresh, Sarantha, Baern, and Drator, get them out of here. Then rise to the peak. You're with me."

“Tirian, get up here," Carn said, his voice full of dread.

Tirian glanced up at the ceiling of the cave. An unease settled in. His chest grew tight. “What is it?"

“Your son leads the thunder."

In a flash, Tirian understood Carn's apprehension. “Fuck!" he roared, pushing past Drator. Without wasting a second, he sprinted out of the cave.

Pale moonlight illuminated the side of the small mountain. As he stepped outside, the chilled air sent a shiver up his spine. Grasping the tail corners of his cloak, he drew on the power of his core, focused on the particles in the air, and forced them to rise.

A gust of wind kicked up from beneath Tirian, catching his cloak like a ship's sails, and sending him skyward. The night air howled in his ears as he ascended higher, and higher. After a half minute, the pinnacle came into view. Rotating forward, he pushed on the particles from behind him and glided between two jagged peaks.

Carn nestled behind a large section of rocks undulating outward like fangs. In the moonlight, his golden scales shone with a soft glow.

Tirian landed and cut off the flow of his arte. Two steps forward, and he leaped fifteen feet up to Carn's bent knee. Turning, he pushed off and soared another twenty feet up to his saddle. “Let me see."

A warm energy washed over Tirian. He closed his eyes and welcomed the mind meld. When he opened them again, his vision heightened to an inhuman level, exponentially better than any man, elf, or orc. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on the horizon and turned his focus on threads of energy. His heart sank.

Flying rapidly toward them, a thunder of brightly shimmering pools mirrored a dim sunrise. Such a number had not been gathered in over a century, when they hunted Tirian and Drator across the golden lands of Anuktor. “Damn it."

Letting go of the arte sight, a swell of nausea sent a wave of poison up into his throat. At the forefront of the dragons and dragoks, the two legged dragons, was Ethecior. Gripped tight in his hand was a sword of crimson, his mother's dragonmage sword.

Carn let out a low growl. “If we ever manage to find the one who prophesied the elves' downfall…"

Tirian closed his eyes and let the connection fade. Opening them again, he peered to the horizon. With his ice blue eyes, even as engaged as they were with the bond, he couldn't see the Dragon Court yet. He rubbed Carn's neck. “I would like to find her, but this is not her fault. Remember that."

“How many more have to die because of her vision?" Carn asked, turning his massive head to look at Tirian with a single, golden eye.

The sting in his voice caught Tirian by surprise as anger seared through the bond. The air grew heavy with the sounds of wings batting the air. He turned to see the Elmerïans flying north. “We can not run forever."

“And what of your son?" Carn asked. A plume of smoke billowed from his nostrils. “Is he not the reason they have continued to hunt us?"

Tirian sighed, his chest tightening. “He has reasons to hate me for what I did."

Carn huffed and looked away from Tirian. “You know as much as I do what must be done."

“He's still my son," Tirian said, furrowing his brows.

From the front of the mountain, Malik, Gresh, Sarantha, Baern, and Drator rode their dragons high into the air and halted. Their dragons, two red, one blue, one green, and one violet, were mighty. But they were only half of Carn's size.

“What is the plan?" asked Drator.

“Are we going to fight them all?" asked Gresh. Her blonde hair flowed down into her shoulders. Her face darkened with crimped brows. “Please tell us you have a plan. There are far too many, Commander."

Tirian swallowed a lump in his throat. “They don't have our power." The words rang in his head. He had said them over and over for centuries, though they no longer kept the Elmerïans' fear at bay. “We will fight."

“We will rip their thunder to shreds," Carn said.

Tirian nodded, a sense of dread washing over the bond, this time his own. “We fight…with everything we have."

From beyond the Elmerïans, he spotted the shadow of incoming dragons and dragoks. Like a dark cloud, they moved at unbridled speed.

“Do not kill Ethecior." He looked at Carn. “I will deal with him."

Carn stood to his full forty foot height and let out a vicious roar, a warning to the Dragon Court that they were about to face one of the oldest dragons alive and his rider, the first Elmerïan. Without a command, he launched into the sky and opened his powerful jaws as he sent a jet of flames to the skies. The mountain bathed in the orange light of the pillar of fire.

Tirian drew his sword and pointed it at the incoming army. Drawing energy from the heart spark, the arte, he pushed waves of sound toward the human dragonmages below, amplifying his words to study their hearts. “Remember your light, for no darkness can swallow it. Remember your affinities, for they will guide you into victory! Ëtr saerth baroma grentr."

“May your swords strike true," the Elmerïans roared in unison.

Carn turned and tucked his wings back. Together, the six Elmerïans raced toward the ground, building speed before they leveled out thirty feet above the ground.

Politics and religion could be argued on for hours. None of the Gods, not even the High Father, Afarios, could stop what was to come. At least, if they could, they hadn't stepped into the realm of the mortals for millennia. War, blade rendering flesh and bone, that was what Tirian knew. Death was simple.

Baern thrust his hand into the sky and roared. “For the Ashen Empire!" A near blinding bolt of blue lightning shot down. He grasped it, as if it were a leather whip, and cracked the sky, returning his affinity to the atmosphere above. The bolt split and filled the thick clouds.

Tirian's heart thrummed in time with the beats of his dragon's wings.

The clouds rolled and darkened. From each charcoal gray plume, blue sparks of lightning danced back and forth. It was beautiful and haunting altogether.

Baern channeled the affinity of his sapphire dragon. “Say the word, Commander!"

Such an attack Tirian had practiced with Baern countless times over the past three years. Now, for the first time since he met the young man, he was going to command Baern to draw blood. To sear through their enemies, turning bone to ash.

A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of it. It was one thing to give your life for another. It was something entirely different to take a life for another. But they would do anything to keep their family of Elmerïans safe.

The small force of Elmerïans raced toward the Dragon Court, like grains of sand against a hurricane. Tirian held his sword high, pulling energy from his arte and fueling his muscles. He could tear through the mountains with his bare hands. His chest burned with anger as his son came into view.

Ethecior sat astride a black dragok, the two-legged dragons of the southern kingdoms of Marth and Wandwol. His dark scarlet cloak billowed behind him, a vestige of his mother when she was a dragonmage, when she was alive.

Tirian looked to his right at the smaller emerald dragon. Sitting on his back was Sarantha Velana, a young woman Tirian had met in the northern land of Upirela. Her raven hair was pulled back in a braided ponytail. Her emerald armor matched Grantor's scales. “Once we reach the pass, cave it in on anyone who follows."

“Commander?" Sarantha questioned, a flushed look of horror etched on her face.

Tirian understood her apprehension. The water flowing deep in the crevice of the island was the only fresh water. The central island of the Isles of the Seven was their home. It had been their home for years. But now, the Dragon Court had finally found them.

“We will not be staying here any longer," Tirian said. “We survive the night, then we will be seeking a new home."

Sarantha nodded, her face darkening with a visible mental battle. “Y-yes, Commander."

Baern's lightning sent pulsating flashes of pale light across the land. The black trench came into view.

Carn flapped his wings harder, bursting forward with unrivaled speed. “A fatal funnel. That's the plan, yes?"

Tirian nodded. For centuries, Carn's thoughts melted into his own. Their ideas, thoughts, and emotions were as one. Still, it often caught him by surprise. “That's all we have."

“Will we survive the night?"

A thick knot formed in the depths of Tirian's stomach as he thought of Carn dying. For as long as he could remember, they had been one soul together. He had seen the aftermath of a rider losing their dragon. Some went mad. Some ended their life so they could rejoin their soulkin.

Carn had saved his life so long ago. It was a debt Tirian had yet to truly feel he had paid. He leaned forward and rubbed the smooth scales on Carn's neck. For a moment, the sounds of wind and beating wings dulled. Time seemed to slow down. “We have to."

“Commander!" yelled Drator. “Who should I target first?"

Tirian sat up and wiped a tear that ran back into his silver speckled hair. The crossing wind howled once more in his ears. His cloak billowed behind him. His heart crashed against his chest. “See if you can take those dragoks down." He turned and looked at Drator. “But not Ethecior's."

Drator nodded and leaned back in his saddle. His violet dragon, Ekipor, arched her back and shot toward the sky.

Malik and Gresh finally caught up to Tirian as they came upon the pass. They each had a role to play, a power of affinity that made their squad devastating.

“What about us?" asked Malik. His dark skin contrasted the crimson armor he wore. Unlike Tirian, Sarantha, and Drator, their armor was mundane steel, forged from their southern homeland of Kengor.

“Connect yourselves," Tirian told the twin brother. “Let them feel Elmerïan fire on their backs." He initially found the idea of Malik and Gresh bonding to twin dragons fascinating. Twins with twins.

But as the years had passed, their unique ability to join their artes and amplify their power had proven to be a reckoning for their enemies.

Gresh nodded and looked at her brother. Her eyes glowed, flickering like flames. Malik closed his eyes for a second, then opened them to reveal the same orange luminescence. Their combined power radiated with powerful waves of energy.

Carn dove deep into the shaded pass. The crack in the ground descended for a thousand feet before the frigid water could be touched. Half way down, he turned and hovered, bobbing up and down with each thrust of his wings. If the crack was a hundred feet narrower, he wouldn't be able to fully extend his wings.

“Wait," Tirian said slowly, keeping his eyes toward the small window of crackling lightning. Hovering in front of him were the twins, as well as Sarantha, and Baern, who kept his hand held high, eyes glowing with a pulsating sapphire hue.

Like a swarm of hornets, dragons and dragoks flooded into the crack. At the front of the pack was Ethecior. “Father!" he roared.

“Now!" Tirian yelled, squeezing his legs tight around the saddle. Carn tucked his wings back and dove toward the water five hundred feet below. The rocky walls of the crevice glowed orange from the twins' flames above.

The sky exploded overhead as thick bolts of lightning rained down on the Dragon Court. Screams from riders and their mounts filled the trench. Bodies fell from the sky like rain, burning, smoldering and smoking.

Carn opened his mouth and sent a thick jet of fire into the river. Steamed rolled, hissing with the volume of a thousand serpents, concealing the depths below in a thick, misty haze. Leveling out, he soared above the water, channeling his fire into its depths as he passed over it.

“That's enough," Tirian said. He looked up as the steam and mist ascended, shrouding them in darkness. Muted bursts of green light filled the sky as the Dragon Court's elves and haförns cast spells into the concealment.

Tirian's heart raced. “Come on. Where are you?" After too many seconds passed without the Elmerïans meeting him, as planned, he tapped Carn's side. “Go!"

Carn let out a deep roar and raced back toward the skies. As they passed through the fog, bodies cascaded, some dead, some flipping and screaming. A dragok darted passed, blinded by fire, and ran headfirst into the wall. Its neck snapped with a loud crunch.

Then, a blue dragon came into view, falling upside down. “No!" Tirian screamed. He recognized the black mark and scar running the length of Cheldra's underbelly.

Carn let out a visceral screech as Cheldra fell, as lifeless as the stone around them. “Cheldra!"

“Baern!" Tirian cried out, searching for the Elmerïan. His chest tightened with rage. He couldn't feel the pulsing affinity of lightning. He hadn't even noticed until then the bursts of lighting had stopped.

The air resounded with a loud crack that echoed through the crevice. It sounded as if the island itself was coming undone. Shadows darted above Carn and Tirian as massive fractures of stone fell.

Carn weaved back and forth, dodging the wreckage with an agility one his size should not have.

Tirian threw his hand up, pushing and pulling on momentum energy to move the rocks before they could crash onto Carn's back or wings. “She did it!"

Through the haze, the emerald dragon, Grantor, dove. His wings were tucked.

Sarantha spotted Tirian with widened eyes. “Help!" she whimpered quickly.

Closely behind her were four dragoks and two red dragons.

Dragonmages. Tirian opened his mind to the waves of energy around him. Strands of glowing power bound Grantor's wings tight to his sides. He and Sarantha were falling at an alarming rate.

Tirian glared at the four elves, their hands outstretched. Their gold and silver mirinthiel armor gleamed with bursts of green and orange from each explosion above. Focusing on their minds, he drove his thoughts into the elves like daggers, cutting, prying, and twisting through their mental wards.

Despite their concentration on their spells, their minds were locked tight. Each focused on a singular, bland object. Tirian pushed his power deeper, gritting his teeth against their mental barriers as Sarantha screamed below.

The first elf's mind broke. Astride a black, leathery dragok, he screamed and pulled his reins, drawing his mount toward the sky.

Then, the second elf, who focused solely on a piece of blank parchment, let out a cry as Tirian pushed tendrils of pain into his mind.

Grantor let out a vicious roar as Sarantha absorbed the elven spells. He threw his wings outward and he circled back.

Sweat beads formed on Tirian's brow as the remaining elves descended on him. However relieved he was that Grantor and Sarantha would live, he dared not steal a glance below.

Two more elves focused their mental attacks on Tirian. Cold, black threads pushed as the elves tried to find a weak point in his defenses, but nothing could penetrate his memory of Nik'ni. He remembered her best as a toddler when Carn had first brought the small orc to the Velrostian Outpost.

The elven dragonmages abandoned their attempts and drew their blades, both crimson steel. The other four elves lifted spears and cursed.

From beneath Tirian, a beam of green light exploded against the stone wall. In a second, the wall erupted, sendings shrapnel of dust and rocks at the elves. Vines as thick as tree trunks burst out, raking and snapping at the elves like whips.

Carn opened his mouth and bathed the elves in dragonfire.

An invisible sphere formed around the elven squadron, the flames parting around them like the sea drifting around the crags of the shore. They were on Tirian and Carn now.

“Fuck!" Tirian roared as he narrowly dodged a thrown spear by leaning back in the saddle. The elf whooshed by on a dark dragok. The creature nipped at Carn's wing, drawing eleven points of blood with its razor sharp teeth.

One of the other dragoks landed on the side of Carn's head and sank its wing talons in. Carn roared. “Get this little shit off of me!"

The rider thrust a spear toward Carn's eye.

Tirian lunged forward, using the horn of his saddle for leverage. His golden sword punched through the neck of the dragok before the spear could blind Carn. It cried a high pitched scream and let go, falling backward.

Falling, Tirian shoved his sword back into his armor. The living steel morphed on his back, changing from solid to a near liquid, and letting the sword become fully sheathed once more. Grasping the sides of his cloak, Tirian pushed the air beneath himself, ascending above the golden dragon. When Carn dipped beneath him, he released the hollow air particles and landed.

A thick jet of blue flames came from one of the elven bound dragons. Without warning, it halted its fiery breath, gagged, twitched, then flew backward into the side of the trench. Then it fell.

Tirian glanced up, allowing himself a quick smile. “Drator."

Carn swung to the right and clamped his massive jaws down on the second red dragon's wing. With a jerk to the left, he threw the young dragon into the wall, pinning its rider behind hundreds of pounds of flesh and scales. As the dragonmage died, so too did the dragon.

“We won't trick them into coming down here," Carn said. “I told you, Ethecior knows you."

Tirian clenched his jaws and repositioned himself in his saddle. Glancing at Sarantha, he said, “This isn't going to work. Secondary plan, now."

Carn growled and flew straight up. The mist rolled around him. Grantor followed closely.

As his sight cleared, Tirian looked up to see Malik and Gresh flying in a swirling pattern. Their dragons breathed fire twice as thick as the twins' jets, cascading in swirls that were near hypnotizing.

Far above them, Drator sat astride Wirlmor, the oldest Elmerïan dragon after Carn. Her violet scales and soft fuschia wings gave her an eerie appearance against the backdrop of the moonlight, like a wraith looking down upon her feast. Drator's eyes were closed, his arms outstretched.

“Where's Baern?" Sarantha asked, a knowing look in her somber eyes.

Tirian couldn't say it. His eyes burned with rage and his stomach threatened to expel the last meal he had. He simply clenched his jaws and shook his head.

“Shit!" Sarantha cried. Her sapphire eyes glistened as she looked down.

A swarm of riders ascended toward the Elmerïans. Tirian squeezed his legs tight, his thoughts relayed to Carn without a word. The golden dragon raced toward the moon.

“We're pulling them through the ruins!" Tirian said as they flew past Drator. “Tell the twins."

Drator nodded and opened his eyes. Glowing with a violet but, he looked down on the siblings below.

“Brace yourself," Tirian said as he pulled energy from the arte. Letting the power build, he focused on the hollow particles in the air.

“Let me help," said Carn. He flapped his wings up and down, creating a torrent of wind around them.

Opening his mind to the waves of energy around him, both air and momentum, Tirian thrust his palm downward, pushing the air along with the denser particles that would burn.

With his other hand, he sent a beam of white light toward the incoming Court. Heat, fuel, and a spark. The light collided with particles of air and created an explosion of bright orange fire.

Tirian shifted his focus to the heat of the flames and poured his power into the fire. The flames grew into a near blinding white cloud of devastation.

The first two dozen riders didn't stand a chance as the fire devoured them, melting their steel to flesh. As the rest started to veer left and right to dodge the fire, the twins flanked from below and pushed the fire in two different directions.

Carn threw his head down and added his own jet of flames. His rage fueled Tirian's.

Grantor opened her mouth and let out a vicious roar. Contrasting the orange flames, a long stream of blue fire erupted from her maw. He swung his head back and forth, painting the sky. Sarantha thrust her hands forward, sending beams of burning light into the Dragon Court. In a matter of seconds, four dozen elves and their dragons or dragoks were sent to the afterlife.

Tirian let go of the control over the fire. “Dive!" He pulled his sword free and leaned back as Carn tucked his wings and fell. The four Elmerïans followed as the sky fell back to darkness.

Passing through the squad of elves, Tirian slashed at any surviving rider he could reach as Carn rolled like a barrel, the spurs on his wings rendering steel as if it was paper. Tirian's blade passed through a dragok's wing, ripping it off in a flash. A moment later, it sliced through the neck of another dragonmage. She and her dragon perished together.

The ground approached in seconds. Carn opened his wings and glided. The force of his direction change kicked up a dark plume of dust. Drator, Sarantha, Gresh and Malik were spaced less than twenty feet apart now.

Tirian glanced over his shoulder and focused on the waves of energy. Less than twenty riders flew after them. He furrowed his brows. “Where are the others? Half of them are gone. We…we didn't kill that many. Ethecior…"

A blanket of fear washed over the bond. Carn let out a deep growl. “They're going for the younglings."

Chapter 2:

Fallen Wings

“Stay together!" Tirian yelled back after ten minutes of dodging and blocking arrows. The cool night wind blazed in his ears. Fatigue began to creep into his bones, a result of countering a long series of elven spells and a lack of sleep.

Carn dove between two of the ancient ruined structures. Standing over seven hundred feet tall, identically built pyramids nestled in the depth of a thick jungle. While they were made of stone, moss and vines had become their garb over millennia, giving them a camouflage from riders of the sky.

Tirian had spent the last two centuries calling the Isles of the Seven his home. In the beginning, he explored the remains of a lost civilization. Though, one of the islands, Onaktör, was shrouded in a deep jungle. Twice he tried to push through only to be met by the primal forces of creatures who hunted in packs. But Minosua, this island, held rich history. For decades, he was enthralled at uncovering the secrets of the ruins. Some were mundane, others eerie and birthed questions. And now, he knew how to use the secrets.

As Carn touched down, Tirian leaped from his back, rolled across the soft dirt, and darted into a dark corridor. One by one, the Elmerïans followed. The dragons barely stepped four paws on the ground before they took flight again.

Tirian entered a long corridor first. Holding his hand before him, he summoned an eronus, an orb of channeled light. Feeding the light was simple and required little from the arte.

Gresh and Sarantha did the same as they followed the commander. Then Drator and Malik. For a thousand feet, cool, damp air filled the narrow hall before it opened into a vast chamber.

Tirian halted at the entrance of the main hall and peered back toward the exit. His heart jolted, with both anxiety and fear. He did not fear death. It was and always would be inevitable. But what he couldn't feel for himself, his bones ached with fear for those he had called family.

Dozens of floating orbs of yellow light preceded the Dragon Court.

“Go," Tirian said as he pulled more energy from the arte. While the other four ran up a high, curved staircase attached to the ascending wall, he focused on the power of momentum.

Pushing his hand down the corridor, he clenched his jaws and added an invisible weight to the elves, siphoning the momentum that carried their armored bodies forward. Their murmurs and hisses flooded the hall as they came to a slow walk. They leaned forward as if dragging their mounts with ropes.

Tirian's hand trembled as he felt their resistance. Stealing a look up the stairs, he was satisfied the Elmerïans were high enough. He let go of the power and ran, feeding his muscles from the energy he stole. Several elves fell forward, though catching themselves before they hit the ground.

He skipped steps five at a time, looking out across the dark hall. Despite barely any ambient light, he knew where the trigger was. He studied it for years, practicing the trap over and over. He knew how to reload it. He knew how it worked, though he figured he could have come up with the intricacies on his own.

He halted half way up the steps and turned, feeling Carn's fear. “How many still chase you?"

“Nineteen," Carn said.

Tirian could feel Carn flying around the ruined city. He never needed to see the dragon to know where he was. He turned, facing the top of the staircase. “Sarantha, can you block the bottom?"

She nodded and placed her hand on the wall beside them. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head. “Tell me when."

Ten seconds later, orbs of light appeared. Then the elves funneled in, their conjured lanterns glinting off of their gold and silver armor.

“Now," Tirian said.

Sarantha grunted. A thin crack split the wall, snaking downward along the staircase, spreading out like a spider's web. Just before it reached the bottom, thick vines burst through the wall and  anchored into the floor. They began weaving together and within seconds, a dense barrier was formed.

Tirian waited until bursts of green light flashed, forever a tell-tale sign of valimir, elven magic. He glanced at the others behind him and nodded. “Go."

The elves were distracted.

He aimed for the far wall and sent a pulse of momentum energy into the stone slot. With a loud, hollowed click, the grand hall erupted with the whistles of ten foot long iron bolts, followed by the elves' cries as the barbs punched through them with ease, nailing several of them to the stone wall.

“May the Gods take you by their will," Gresh murmured.

Tirian repeated the honor in Valerian. “Etr vruna Graenr un där det aron."

“Fuck that," hissed Drator. “They hunt us."

Tirian half turned and glared at Drator, grabbing his forearm to steer him back around. “There is no honor in a pointless death. They fought and died for what they believed in. Just as we live to fight for our beliefs, and our lives. Without honor, we would be as wretched as the wolves who slaughter sheep."

Drator swallowed. “Apologies, Commander. I…"

“We mustn't become them." Tirian pushed past his second in command and ascended the stairs. “Apologize as much as you wish. It is not the same as being sorry."

As Tirian and the others reached the top of the stairs, he turned and stepped out onto one of the dozens of balconies jutting out of the sides of the pyramid. He could sense Carn flying, leading the four Elmerïans' dragons through the winding passes of the ancient city.

A deep rooted sense of fear washed over the bond. Tirian leaned over the stone spindles railing and looked to where Carn flew. “How many trail you now?"

“Four," Carn said quickly. “Ethecior is here!"

The hairs on Tirian's neck rose to the sky. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of his son. Memories flooded through his mind of the boy's mother, of his former wife, Ornetha. The blade Ethecior carried nearly took Tirian's head from his body once. Though, then it was in her hands, forged from her dragon.

His heart gripped in his chest. “Come to me…now!"

A blood curdling roar echoed across the ruins. Gresh gasped, then screamed. She fell to her knees, clutching her chest as her face went bone white.

“No," Tirian whispered. His stomach lurched. He knew what was happening. His heart ached for the young girl. His worst nightmare had become her reality.

“Tirian!" Carn's voice screamed in Tirian's mind. “Help!"

An explosion of fire and rubble illuminated the city several thousand feet away. Tirian knelt by Gresh and looked at Malik, whose face was strewn with tears. “Stay with her."

“J'nearth!" Gresh cried, holding her hand outward.

“I got you, sister," Malik cried, holding his twin back from leaping off of the balcony.

Tirian channeled the hollow particles and gripped his cloak as he ran forward. Leaping over the railing, his stomach convulsed. A gale blew beneath him, propelling him into the sky. His heart crashed against his ribs. His eyes burned with tears for Carn, for Gresh.

The wind howled in his ears from all directions.. Even through the deafening sound, he heard Malik scream, a cry equal to his twin's.

“No, no…fuck!" Tirian roared, pushing harder against the air to fly faster. Stealing a glance backward, he noticed Drator was mere feet from him.

“I'm with you, Commander!" Drator yelled, gliding with his cloak. His face was pale with terror.

Carn shot into the air, spinning in an erratic spiral. Trailing closely behind him was a sea of dragoks, Ethecior at the lead. There were more than four.

Tirian's breath caught in his chest. In a flash, he let go of one corner of his cloak and thrust his hand forward, sending a blinding beam of white energy into the Dragon Court. Like a solid blade, the energy ripped through six riders.

“Tirian!" Drator cried out.

The world was fading to black as Tirian turned to see Drator plummeting toward the city, scrunched tight into a ball and holding onto his chest. Just as he moved to change course and catch Drator, Carn let out a visceral scream.

Tirian turned again, grabbed his cloak and raced toward his soulkin. “I'm sorry, brother," he whispered. Tears filled his eyes as the nightmare unfolded into his reality.

Ahead, he saw Ethecior's dragok land on Carn's back. The great golden dragon spun, tucking his wings in an effort to throw Ethecior. The haförn was too strong. Too fast. Too stubborn.

He was Tirian Roclorn's son to the core.

Tirian pushed the wind beneath himself, rising hundreds of feet in seconds. Turning himself upright, he let go of the arte.

The world froze for a moment.

The air fell still.

Ethecior crawled up Carn's neck and drew the crimson blade from his back—a dragonmage's sword he hadn't earned.

Just before he descended into a free fall, Tirian took a breath. “I'm sorry, my son." He threw both hands forward, sending twin beams of raw energy at his son with a battle cry. The power flowed, a high pitched ringing resounded across the city.

Ethecior pulled on one of Carn's spikes and lunged forward. Just before the hard light crashed into his side, throwing him from the dragon's back, he plunged the blade into the base of Carn's skull.

Tirian's chest exploded with pain. As if he swallowed a white hot iron rod, he could feel his soul being ripped in half. Every fiber of his muscles tensed. He let out a throat burning scream as he felt Carn die, the arte withering and fracturing inside.

Sharp agony pierced through Tirian's mind as a cold aura washed over his body. Death was inevitable. He would follow Carn to the pits of the underworld.

Then he fell. His world went black.

The ruined city baked beneath the blazing sun the next morning. Birds fluttered about as primates crawled over the pyramids in search of food, or anything else that caught their attention.

Tirian stirred awake. His eyes burned, full of tears when he opened them. His body throbbed with a bone chilling ache as he slowly pressed himself up into a sitting position. As he looked around, his breath caught in his dry throat.

Wirlmor, Drator's violet dragon lay in a crumpled heap, her wings broken in unnatural angles.

“He's awake."

Tirian sucked in a staggered breath, a result of sobbing through his nightmares he had no doubt. He winced as he turned to see Sarantha, Gresh, and Malik. The emerald dragon, Grantor, lay close to Sarantha.

Gresh and Malik clung to each other like water droplets in a tight embrace. Their shoulders heaved together with their cries.

Tears streamed down Tirian's cheeks. Despite the pain, a deep numbing sensation burned a hole in his mind where Carn used to reside. He closed his eyes, letting four hundred years of memories flood his thoughts.

Carn had brought the orc child, Nik'ni, to him on the coldest winter day. That choice set forth a chain of events that led to Tirian nearly dying at the hands of Velrostian soldiers. He was supposed to kill her.

But he couldn't. Not when he looked into her eyes and was reminded of his first daughter, Aeliana. He lost her and his first wife in the Battle of Sargronor. Orcs had taken them. The men under his command wanted to see her black blood spilled across the snow.

She was a child.

Carn had saved Tirian's life by choosing to bond with him, giving him the heart spark that fueled his entire being. Together, they had brought Nik'ni to the Isles of the Seven. They raised her together. The dragon was as much a father to her as Tirian was.

His jaws ached as he sat still, letting the tears flow from his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried so much. Perhaps the day Ornetha betrayed him.

A hand lay on his shoulder.

“Commander, I-”

Tirian shrugged Sarantha's hand away. “I'm not your commander." He looked up at her, fighting through trembles to speak. “How—how could I be?" He let his words linger. “They—they're…"

Sarantha knelt and wrapped her arms around Tirian's shoulders, laying her head on his back. “I know. I'm so sorry, Tirian."

Tirian rested his hand on her forearm and leaned into her. They stayed like that for what seemed like minutes, though it was probably only seconds. When he finally let go, he forced himself to stand.

He remembered falling. The pain. The sorrow. The darkness. “How did I survive? Why—why did I survive?"

“I was barely able to catch you," said Sarantha.

“You should have let me die," Tirian muttered, closing his eyes and focusing on the shriveled arte. Never again would it shine bright with Carn's life force.

“Do you want me to take you to him?" Sarantha asked with a defeated tone.

Tirian sobbed again, realizing he couldn't feel where Carn's body lay. He dropped his head and heaved for a breath. He wiped the tears away. “Please."

Gresh and Malik stayed back as Sarantha and Grantor led the way through the ruined roads.

Tirian halted as they turned a corner. Lying as beautiful as he had ever been, Carn's golden scales shimmered in the sunlight.

Tirian closed his eyes and turned around, sobbing uncontrollably. Seeing him like that broke something even more in Tirian's already shattered heart. He couldn't stand to see his soul bound broken and lifeless.

“Oh…Carn," he whimpered.

Sarantha turned and eyed him with dark empathy, her brows furrowed, eyes glistening. “I'm sorry, Tirian. I…can't imagine."

Swallowing any moisture he could find to satiate his dry throat, Tirian turned back. The sight of Carn sent a wave of nausea into the pit of his stomach. He covered his quivering lip, wrapping his hand around his face and squeezing. The pain from his grip was nothing compared to the loss.

Drawing his trembling hand away, he nodded, took a deep breath, and walked toward the golden dragon. Kneeling beside Carn, no words would form on his tongue. What could he say?

"I will leave you with him for a while," said Sarantha. Grantor stepped forward and touched his brow to Carn's forehead, letting out a long whine.

Tirian sat still, long past the moment the tears stopped flowing. For what seemed like hours, he leaned against Carn, reminiscing the time they had shared. It was because of the dragon Tirian had lived so long. And now, he would need to find another reason to live.

Carn's words pierced through every thought. “If we ever manage to find the one who prophesied the elves' downfall…"

Tirian's chest swelled with rage. “The elf…" He looked around at the dragon and dragok corpses. “The elves…" Breathing heavily, he slowly rose to his feet, a fire of anger boiling in his veins. He reached back and drew his dragonmage sword.

The steel was cold. The handle, forged from the third spike on Carn's back, was as lifeless as Carn. The blade was forged from the arte and his blood. It was the perfect merge of them both, nearly perfect in every way. His heart thumped louder.

They've taken…everything.

It was the Dragon Court who turned Ornetha, and their son, Ethecior. It was they who forced Tirian's hand in killing her and creating a monster of an enemy in his only son. It was the elves who hunted the Elmerïans.

“Teriaina," Tirian whispered. He clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath. “I'll burn every fucking one of them." He looked back at Carn. “I will rip a new empire from the ashes of their demise. I will avenge you, my brother, my soulkin."

Chapter 3:

Fabled

“Dead."

Sarantha's response was a blade of ice through Tirian's heart. “All of them?"

Her tears fell as she nodded. “They didn't even make it to safety."

Tirian clenched his fists into tight balls, his fingernails digging into his palms. His brotherhood, his community of Elmerïans…all dead.

“No!" he bellowed, whirling around and sending a thick beam of raw power into a pyramid, pouring every ounce of power into it that lingered from his shattered arte.

The ancient structure exploded, sending quakes across the city. A quarter of the building collapsed in a thick plume. Birds and critters scattered. The sky rumbled like thunder.

As if he ran into a stone wall, the drain on his power stole the strength from his legs. He fell to his knees, slamming both fists into the soil. Pain radiated up his arms. “Fuck!"

A long moment of silence passed between them as Tirian lay hunched over, breathing heavily. He could feel eyes boring into his back. It wasn't until he turned around that he noticed the twins breathing heavily.

Their faces were strewn with tear lines through soil and specks of blood. Their glares mirrored the seathing rage in Tirian's heart. “We will avenge them," he said. He stood and turned to fully face them.

Gresh shrugged and furrowed her brows. “How?"

Tirian swallowed. He had let them down. He had failed them. If not for him, most of the Elmerïans would never have become Elmerïans. After finding the first five, he had stolen eggs, pushed them into the hands of hundreds.

Why would they follow me now? he thought. Taking a deep breath, he cupped his hands on his hips. He looked in the direction Carn's body lay, replaying the horror in his head. “Where is Ethecior?"

“He fled with the Dragon Court," said Sarantha.

“How the fuck did he survive?" Tirian growled. A battle waged in his chest and his mind. His son had survived.

But his son killed Carn.

He waved a hand. “It doesn't matter. Now I can look the bastard in the eye when I plunge my sword into his chest—the blade forged from the dragon he murdered."

Sarantha stepped forward. “That is not what you want, Commander." She sighed. “Tirian," she corrected herself then shrugged. “When does this cycle end? You killed his mother—his mother. Your wife."

Anger boiled in Tirian's veins. “I Gods damned know what I did!" he roared.

Sarantha gasped, stepping back. Her face darkened as she downcast her eyes, as if he had struck her.

Tirian's stomach churned. He had never spoken to her like before. He had never spoken to any of them like that. “I—I'm sorry." He stepped forward, holding out his hand.

Sarantha stepped back, pulling her hand behind her back. “I won't do it."

Her words were a dagger. “What?" Tirian questioned through clenched teeth.

“I will not hunt Ethecior down with you," Sarantha said, her voice turning cold. Her gaze met his, eyes glistening with tears. “I will not sever another dragon's bond for you." Her voice turned stern and cold.

“For me?" Tirian's yelled, narrowing his eyes. He scoffed and looked around at the ruins, at the twins, then back at Sarantha. “They hunt you as well. Or did you forget that?"

Sarantha's mouth fell agape. She looked at the twins and held her arms out wide, gesturing to the city. “How could I?"

Tirian opened his mouth to speak, then paused as he looked at Gresh and Malik. They glared at him. “And you two?"

“Vengeance won't bring them back," said Malik. He brushed dust off of his armor. “I'm sorry, Tirian. But—” he looked down at Gresh, “I won't risk the only thing I have left."

Tirian's heart thumped harder. His chest tightened. “I…have nothing left!" He pointed toward Carn's body several blocks away. “Revenge is all I have."

Sarantha inclined her head. “It is a path you must walk alone, Tirian."

Tirian dropped his eyes to the dirt. Slowly, he shook his head, unable to believe they would turn their back on him. “No, no, no." He looked up at Sarantha. “I will build a new empire and wipe the elves from this world."

Gresh stood and crossed the distance between them in a flash. With a grunt, she slammed both palms into Tirian's chest, sending him crashing to the ground. “Did you forget our grandfather is an elf? That we are part elf?"

As Tirian rose to his feet, Malik stepped up beside his sister. “This is not the fault of every elf. There are factions across Maerïnor who don't give three shits about the prophecy—or you."

Tirian drew his sword. “Every elf is to blame for this ravaged world. Lest you forget history."

Sarantha stepped in front of the twins. “You brought us together. Now you aim to cut us down!" Her eyes glowed bright green, the power of an affinity Tirian could no longer touch flooring through her veins. She held her hands out to the side. Something rippled beneath the surface of the soil.

Grantor moved behind Sarantha, looming over like an ancient sentinel. A deep growl resonated from deep in his throat.

Tirian looked down at the ground, opening his mind to the arte's sight. Long tendrils of power radiated outward from the last remaining Elmerïan, for the others were no longer dragonmages. He nodded, biting his lip as he took a few steps back. He had seen her dominion of nature. He couldn't fight it now.

Sheathing his sword, he narrowed his eyes. A single glance at Grantor told him all he needed to know of his odds. What am I doing? he pondered.

These were his friends, his kin, not by blood but by the bond they shared. “Go then." He looked at the twins. “We have suffered enough loss. Go. Hide as best as you can. Kill anyone who tries to hunt you down for they will try again."

Sarantha's eyes dimmed back to normal as she let go of the tendrils of power. “And what about you? Where will you go?"

Tirian wanted to tell her everything he planned whilst resting with Carn's body. But she was no longer with him. None of them were. He shook his head. “Can you lay Carn to rest with the others?"

Sarantha stepped forward, her brows darkening her eyes as they crimped. “Tirian…what are you going to do?"

Tirian began walking backwards, his heart aching for the loss of the only friends he had left. “When you catch word of the Ashen Empire rising, do not be afraid. We will meet again one day. I promise."

“Tirian," Malik called, stepping forward. “Ëtr durnst ethil anorae balastum."

May the winds guide your way.

Tirian turned his back to them, pulled on the little energy he had left in the heart spark and flew into the air, stealing a final glance back at the golden dragon's body.

The energy drained as easily as water from a tipped bucket as he soared over the Isles of the Seven. The island farthest to the north was his destination.

He just had to reach it.

On Carn's back, Tirian made the journey more times than he could count. It was less than a day's flight. But as his magic was withered, he found himself walking with a weakened body.

Before he reached Onaktör, the second to the last island, his muscles burned. His back ached. A steady, pulsating thrum stabbed into his head, agony accompanying each beat of his heart. Still, he pushed on, drawing tendrils of energy from plants and critters that had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Knowing the island, and what lay in its depths, he needed to reach Bör Drangr before sundown, or find a place buried behind barriers to slumber for the night.

Sweat poured from every inch of his skin as the sun rose high, drawing moisture into the air to a near palpable level. Every hour or so, he stopped and manipulated the particles of air into pools of water. It wasn't much, barely enough to wet his throat, but it helped. Each time, it brought him to the brink of unconsciousness.

Hunger began to creep in by midday. As he walked, he opened his mind to the sight provided by the arte. The world around him shifted into strands and waves of energy. Each step created a short burst of momentum energy, of which he began pulling into his core.

At first, instinct told him to draw the power into his muscles, or siphon enough to fly with his cloak. But each time he touched the power, even small tasks burned vastly more energy than it had when Carn was with him. And night was approaching rapidly.

Tirian paused at the edge of a jungle. He had seen its length and breadth from the sky. Before, it never bothered him. But now, in this new weakened form, the mere thought of dragging himself through it sent a shiver down his spine.

No longer was he a powerful dragonmage. What am I now? he thought.

Stepping inside the darkness of the jungle, sounds erupted all around him. Branches creaked in the passing wind. Creatures out of sight whooped, roared, or screamed. “Fuck."

Holding his hand out to the side as he moved, he began to slowly yet steadily funnel energy into his arte, his heart spark. He drew his sword from his back with his right hand.

Something whipped past to his right. He turned, his stomach lurching. Another whoosh to his left. Cackles of primates called to each other in the hundred foot tall trees.

Tirian had seen it before. They were hunting.

Small they were, the primates that inhabited Onaktör were brilliant, and they had fangs like daggers. They had the intelligence to draw prey into a kill zone and swarm. Against a few, Tirian could cut them down with ease. But he had seen dozens flood into a trap and beat other creatures lifeless with their bare hands.

It was not the large, black cats that prowed in the trees that made his decision to avoid Onaktör. It was the primates, the true kings of the jungle.

As one leaped from a branch onto a vine, Tirian thrust his hand toward it, sending a beam of burning light through its chest. Branches crashed and fell for several seconds as the jungle came alive. Dozens of calls from other primates echoed all around him.

“Come on, you ugly bastards!" Tirian yelled into the jungle. Even as he roared his bravado, his energy drained from the spell. His breaths quickened and his legs trembled. Scattering branches and leaves grew louder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

One of the primates ran toward him from seemingly nowhere. Tirian shouted and swung his sword, cutting the creature from shoulder to the opposite hip. Blood splattered his armor and face as the creature smashed into the soil.

Another ran behind him.

Just as he turned, two more came out of the overgrowth. A swell of pain filled his leg as a tight balled fist hit him in the calf, knocking him to the ground. Within seconds, five more ran out.

The living steel armor liquified. His cloak wrapped around his head and hardened once more into a helm. A slit opened before his eyes as the primates hammered their fists and feet into him.

Though the armor protected him from the outside, he could most definitely feel their force from inside as the living steel pounded against his limbs, chest, and back.

Drawing on the arte, Tirian's vision flooded with entangled strands of energy from the creatures. He pulled as hard as he could, sapping the energy out of the little fuckers who thought to call Tirian food.

The attacks abruptly stopped as the primates fell to the jungle floor. Tirian's heart hammered against his ribs as a surge of energy rejuvenated his body. Scrambling to his feet, he picked up his sword and let the pull on his arte go. Nine of the apes lay dead around him.

The jungle fell silent.

The hairs on Tirian neck stood on end as his armor shifted, letting the helm become a cloak once more. “That's what I thought, you fucks!"

A tree cracked in the distance before him, followed by another, and another. The primates scattered, which only served to amplify an unease in the jungle. Something was moving toward him. Something massive.

Ducking behind a thick tree, Tirian gripped his sword tighter and slowed his breathing. A hundred feet ahead, small trees swayed, the canopy bending to the will of whatever creature stirred.

In an explosion, a massive, black scaled monster leaped into the small opening where the apes lay dead. Tirian had never seen the creature before, but he recognized something about it. With a long neck, rippling muscles, and a whipping tail, the creature pounced on the corpses.

Its triangular shaped head struck like a serpent. Opening its powerful jaws, the monster bit one of the primates in half. Spikes ran the length of its spine, ending in a spearhead-like tail.

Tirian stepped out from behind the tree. He tried to imagine the creature with wings. Then it struck him.

A drake, he thought. He had heard stories over the centuries of wingless dragons. Tales of riders scaling the walls of Tethusnor, one of the largest cities to never be conquered. But he dismissed their existence in fables.

At over twenty feet long and standing the height of a war horse, the drake was magnificent. Tirian grinned, realizing just how wrong he was. If the jungle was where drakes resided, or at least this one, then they were the kings.

How have I never sensed you before? Tirian mused as he stepped away from the tree.

The drake stopped midchew and lifted its emerald eyes to meet his gaze. A low growl emanated from its chest and throat.

Tirian swallowed hard, his throat going dry. He carefully lifted his hand and with the other, returned his sword to his back. If the drake had half of the intelligence of dragons, like dragoks, it could sense his arte, his former connection to the greater dragon.

He pulled tendrils of power from the heart spark, letting a soft glow of light flow from his raised palms. It was both a show of force and an explanation. “Easy," he whispered.

The drake lifted its head, standing to its full height. It swallowed the torso of an ape, and licked its snout. The drake's eyes darted back and forth, examining his hands.

Tirian nodded. His heart threatened to explode with equal measures fear and excitement. “I'm not…going to hurt you."

Pushing his mind outward, he let his consciousness touch the drake's thoughts. “Dra evon det fromdin."

He wasn't sure why he chose to speak in Valerian to the creature. It was no elf. But there was power in languages. There was power he couldn't explain in the elven tongue. He also didn't know why he chose those words. I am a friend.

The drake let out a groan, cocked its head, then returned to its meal.

Tirian lowered his hands and smiled softly, letting go of the pull on the arte. Hesitation gripped him for a brief moment before he took a step. He paused. The drake continued eating, but those emerald eyes stared at him.

“I'm going to go," Tirian said cautiously, pushing his thoughts into the drake. He took another step. Then another. Convinced the creature was distracted enough by its food, he eased his way around it.

For several hundred feet, Tirian walked at an angle away from the drake, repeatedly turning his eyes to it. Once the jungle concealed the creature, he turned and shifted his focus. If there were more drakes, or other creatures he had not foreseen, incompetency would mean death.

A loud roar echoed through the jungle, sending a shiver down Tirian's spine. It came from behind him. From the drake. He knew it, even if he didn't know how he knew. Perhaps it was done, similar to a dragon's roar, but higher pitched.

For hours, Tirian moved through Onaktör. An eerie sensation washed over him. Not a single creature came into view after the drake.

Nightfall came too swiftly. Tirian's chest tightened as darkness devoured the jungle. For a long while, he contemplated where he would rest. He pondered what the night would awaken. Eventually, he settled on sleeping in the trees.

Finding a thick branch twenty feet up, he rested his back against the trunk and wrapped a vine around his legs, should he fall through the night.

An hour after evenfall, Tirian's heart jerked. Small trees cracked, the sounds of something shifting slowly getting closer. He leaned to the side as he saw the drake step up to his tree. “Shit."

Just as he started to unwrap the vines from his legs, he paused and furrowed his brows. The drake turned and lay beside the tree. A warm energy washed over Tirian. What are you doing?

The moonlight glinted off the drake's dark scales. For two hours, Tirian stayed awake, keeping his attention on the creature. It didn't move a muscle. He's protecting me. Or he's waiting until I fall asleep before he eats my ass.

Before he realized it, he drifted to sleep, halfway leaning to the side. He didn't remember his eyes closing. But when they did, Carn filled his mind.

Chapter 4:

The Marsh

Balanor, Farona

2316, AC

Tirian thought of that night in Onaktör as he stared at a small drake in a wooden cage.

When he had woken that following morning, his guardian was gone. It had taken two days to reach Bör Drangr. Once he did, he took one of the many boats the Elmerïans had made. For the next two years, he searched for answers, and he crafted his plan.

It wasn't until he reached the southern continent of Farona six months after leaving Sarantha, Gresh, and Malik that he truly had an idea of what he wanted. And now, he was nearly at the source.

Tirian glanced up at the bulbous tradesman sitting on the outskirts of Balanor. The bronze-skinned man wore a tan tunic opened to reveal a hairy chest, black cloth leggings, and a curved sword on his hip. Sorted by size, a row of cages sat before a narrow tent. Behind him was a long, cloth canvased wagon.

“How much?" Tirian asked.

The man snorted as he looked up and down at Tirian's ragged clothing, a faded brown set of sleeveless robes and wrought leather bracers.  “More than you can cough up, I dare wager."

“Oh?" Tirian questioned. He knelt to get a better look of the captive. The hatchling was no longer than three feet. It was curled tight in a cage fit for a couple rabbits.

The man carried the thick accent that accompanied most of the people of Farona. “This little fucker cost me three men—three good men."

Tirian narrowed his eyes. “How did you come by it?"

“Come by it?" the man asked with a scoff. “Had to fend off its momma for an hour just to get the egg. Would've taken her too but, alas, the bitch had to be put down." He stepped back and lifted the lid on a large chest.

Tirian's heart sank to his stomach as the man pulled out what was without a doubt the mother drake's carapace. He stood, clenching his fist.

“Now this you might-"

“I'm not interested in that," Tirian interrupted.

The man halted, brows furrowing. “Well then—" he dropped the slough back into the chest, “what are you looking for—that you can afford."

“I'm looking for a man," Tirian said.

“Ah." A sheepish grin overtook the man's face. “You're looking for the Scarlet Elm. It's just down-"

“Not like that," Tirian said with a growl, growing impatient. “A specific man. A trapper. A man who has traveled through the Taenlands."

“That shit swamp?" the man asked with a snarl. “What for?"

“Do you know someone who has knowledge of the lands?" Tirian asked. “A guide, if you will."

“Well, yeah," the man said. He pointed at his chest. “Me."

Tirian grinned. “I know. That's why I'm here."

The man leaned on the drake's cage. “Was wondering why a pale skin like you were down here in Balanor. We don't get you much." He gestured with a bob of his head toward Tirian. “Where you coming from with that accent?"

“I need a guide," Tirian said, ignoring the man's question.

The man huffed and stood to his full height, a head taller than Tirian. He folded his thick arms. “What are you hunting?" A large, white bird squalled in one of the cages next to the drakes. He kicked it hard, sliding it across the grass. “Shut up, you fucking cunt."

Tirian clenched his fist tighter. He was one wrong instance away from knocking the man's teeth down his throat. But he needed this man. He had tracked down this man specifically.

The man looked at Tirian and lifted his brows. “Well, whatcha hunting?"

“An elf."

The man's face flushed as his eyes widened. He looked down the long stretch of the only road through Balanor. “No elves here, friend." He stepped back and began closing large wooden chests.

“Not here," said Tirian. The man's response was all the confirmation he needed. “Take me to her."

The man shrugged and shook his face, panic etching on his face. “Don't know of any elves in the Taenlands either."

Tirian pulled back the opening of his robes and withdrew a dagger and a pouch of coins. He dropped them both on the drake's wooden cage with a thud and a jingle. “You have two options here."

The man turned and looked at the two items. Then he looked up at Tirian. “Look lad, you can't hunt her. She hunts everything close to her that she sees a threat. Please, just go."

Tirian took a deep breath and returned the coin pouch back into the tunic pocket beneath his robes. “Blood it is then."

The man's face darkened. He dipped down and pulled an axe from somewhere behind a crate. “Afraid of the elf I may be. But not you."

Tirian nodded, showing no emotion. “That's what they all say."

In a flash, Tirian threw the dagger. It pierced through the man's leggings and pinned him to the large crate.

The man looked down and gasped.

Vaulting over the drake's cage, Tirian planted both feet into the man's chest, sending him through the cloth wall of the wagon.

The man yelled as he thrashed around in the wagon, trying to find his footing.

Tirian lunged forward, ripping the dagger free of the crate. As the man stuck his head out of the home in his wagon, Tirian held the blade against his neck. “Take me…to her."

They man breathed heavily. “Fuck you!"

“Rather not," Tirian said and thrust the man through the wagon. The large man tore through the canvas on the other side and grunted as he slammed into the dirt.

“What are you?" the man groaned as Tirian walked around the merchant's mobile shop.

“Determined," Tirian said. Grasping the lapels of the man's tunic, he lifted him off the ground and smashed his fist into the merchant's nose. An audible crack resounded as blood sprayed into Tirian's face.

Tirian snarled and threw him on the ground. Planting a boot on the man's chest, he sighed. “That was for the animals. Now—" he wiped the blood from his face with a sleeve, “—I have traveled across two continents, for two years, tracking her down. I will find her. And with your help, I will kill her."

“You are insane!" the man spat, his breath spewing blood onto his chest and chin.

Tirian shrugged and took his foot off the man and brushed his robes down. “You could have taken the coin."

“I will not step foot in that fucking swamp again," the man said after he sat up. He spat on the ground, holding his bleeding nose. “My choice is death by your hand or hers? She's a God's damned elf! She has magic."

Tirian held his hand out, pulling on minimal strands of energy from the arte and channeled momentum energy, pushing and pulling on the man's crooked and broken nose.

Another crack rang out before the merchant gasped, coughed, and clutched his face with both hands.

Tirian smirked at the merchant's pain. “She is not the only one with magic."

*** *** ***

Three days passed slowly as the merchant, whom Tirian officially learned was named Gyl, had set his affairs with his wife, stowed away the remaining creatures Tirian let him keep, and gathered two horses.

A day and a half passed without a word between the two.

On the eve of the third night, Gyl called a halt at the edge of the Taenlands. The vast lands north of the swamp were flat, allowing them to gaze across the sea of tall grass and sparse trees. But as they came nearer to the humid marsh, trees overtook the grasslands.

“This is where we camp," said Gyl.

Tirian sighed and looked up at the setting sun. “Are the Taenlands dangerous at night?"

“They're dangerous during the day," Gyl said as he tied his horse to a tree. “Everything is more dangerous at night." He paused and looked back as Tirian slid out of his saddle. “Don't think I need to tell you that."

“No," Tirian said, walking his horse to the tree. Gyl backed away quickly. “You need not fear me, lest you plan to run. If you do not plan to run, I will be what's keeping you alive, boy."

“Boy?" Gyl asked with a grimace. “You're barely old enough to be my father. I am a father. I'm no boy."

Tirian chortled. “Right."

Unpacking sleep sacks, some bread,   dried cheese chunks, and waterskins, Tirian and Gyl made camp, f that's what it could be called.

“Can't make a fire here," said Gyl. “Everything is wet."

Tirian wanted to protest, to show the big bastard that he could make fire, but he decided against it. It had taken a while to get used to, but he had learned the hard way how to maintain a balance of energy with the use of his magic. If he could do a task by hand, or go without, nine times out of ten, he did.

“It's warm enough," said Tirian as he lay back on the sleep sack, his stomach full of food and drink. “So long as nothing tries to have us for a late night snack whilst we rest, that is."

“Nothing ventures out here at night," said Gyl. His eyes widened and darted back and forth as he stared into the black abyss of the Taenlands. “Not when there's plenty to hunt in there."

“Sleep, Gyl," Tirian said as he folded his arms and closed his eyes. “Oh—and if you try to run, I'll stab you in both your ass cheeks, and throw you over my horse. Is that clear?"

Gyl huffed and rolled over, turning his back to Tirian. “Asshole."

Tirian smirked. “If that's where you'd prefer, fine."

The next morning, Tirian woke before the sky. In the distance, in the confines of the swamplands, birds sang their rejoice of another day alive. He sat still for a long while, eyes closed as he listened to nature’s wake. Soon, the humidity rose to an uncomfortable level.

Opening his eyes, he sighed and looked up at the sky. If it was this hot and the sun had yet to crest the canopy of the marsh, he dared not to imagine how much sweat he was going to lose as they traveled inside the swamp. He thought of the elf. Today you die, bitch.

Gyl was sprawled out on top of his sleep sack, sweat glistening on his face, mouth wide open as a deep throated snore rang out repeatedly. Flies circled around his face.

With a resounding clap just inches from Gyls face, Tirian roared, “Up!"

Gyl jerked awake with a start, gasping and scrambling backward in a crawl much like the crabs on the shores of Bör Drangr. “What the fuck, guy?"

“Best we move while the predators slumber," Tirian said. He had already tied his sleep sack to his horse, his robes he draped over the saddle. Fashioned into a fairly newer sheath on his back was his golden blade.

Gyl cursed and muttered to himself as he haphazardly rolled up his sleeping bag. As he tied it to his saddle satchel, he glanced back at Tirian, who now stood at the edge of the swamp, waterskin slung over his shoulder. “What are you doing?"

Tirian craned his head to the side, cracking his neck. Relief flooded the ache in the backside of his head. “Waiting for you."

“You planning on walking?" Gyl asked with a chuckle.

“We can't take the horses in there," said Tirian.

“I thought you didn't know the Taenlands," Gyl said.

“I don't," Tirian said, turning and cupping his hands on his hips. “But I know swamps. I know horses. And I know elves. She'll warp their minds long before we can even reach her, steering them away."

“What?" Gyl questioned with widened eyes.

Tirian lifted a brow. “We can lose them in the Taenlands after they've been mind seared, or we can leave them right here, waiting for our return."

The hesitation on Gyl's face was evident as he looked back and forth between Tirian and his horse. “Oh, fuck you, witch!" He pulled his axe from his saddle bag, then began untying his bow and quiver.

“I'm not a witch," Tirian said as Gyl approached, waterskin draped over his shoulder.

“Then what are you?"

Tirian clenched his jaws. He had yet to discover a name that fit what he was now. A dragonmage he was no longer. But the elven tongue for a broken bonded dragonmage was afiltaer. But if there was a different name in Valerian for human dragonmages, there had to be one for him. The tongue of the elves can fuck off.

He grunted a response and moved forward.

Gyl sighed, looked back at the horses and followed. “Right then."

“Lead the way, creature slaver," Tirian said, allowing Gyl to walk in front of him. It was as much for the merchant to lead the way as it was an assurance he would catch an arrow to the back.

“You're brash," Gyl said as he walked past Tirian. “Anyone ever told you that?"

Tirian sighed. “None that lived to tell anyone else."

Gyl paused, furrowed his brows, swallowed, then continued forward.

The ground beneath their feet softened the deeper they walked into the marsh. After an hour, water pooled into each of the indentations of their footprints.

Deciduous trees swooped low in awkward, curved angles. Thick olive colored moss clung to branches. The air hung thick with the musk of murky water and animal shit as the ground gave way to ankle deep water.

Opening his mind to the arte, Tirian scanned the Taenlands around them. Every inch teemed with energy, both from the water and the vegetation. Occasionally, creatures stirred in the trees, or beneath the surface of the water. Twice, large lizards with armored backs dashed into the water and disappeared beneath the murk.

Two hours in, Gyl shot a long serpent coiled around the branch of a tree without prejudice. “What's your jerk with this elf anyway? She's a recluse—don't bother nobody lest they fuck around her territory."

“Her territory?" Tirian asked with a quirked brow. “How did she come by this territory?”

Gyl shrugged, nocking another arrow. “Suppose she just…took it. I don’t know. She was spotted some decade or so ago in there and, as far as I can tell, she never left. The locals of Balanor call her a witch elf. Has a wicked hold over the swamp around her home. Makes people disappear.”

“She does have a way of making people disappear,” Tirian muttered to himself, images and memories of Carn and the others flooding his mind. He closed his eyes and pushed them back. A swell of anger rose in his chest and receded just as quickly. He needed to focus. “How much farther?”

“About four hours or so,” said Gyl. “You’ll know we’re getting close when you see the bright blue mushrooms.”

Tirian narrowed his eyes. “Beyonder spores."

Gyl cocked his head. “Is that what you call them where you're from?"

Tirian remembered his mother's teachings. But the centuries that passed had shown him she didn't know everything. “What do you call them?"

Gyl halted and turned. His stare sent a chill down Tirian's spine. It wasn't fear, but an unease at the anxiousness with which Gyl answered.

“Death's footprints."

Chapter 5:

Two Mages, One Mother

Five and a half hours passed, not four. The swamp continued to grow thicker, the water deeper as Tirian and Gyl sweated through the muck.

“How much longer now?” Tirian growled. The suction of earth to his soaked boots was exhausting. His thighs burned with fatigue.

“We…we should be…here,” said Gyl, his voice trembling through thick at the sharpness of Tirian’s question. He furrowed his brows and whirled in a circle.

“I’m beginning to think you’re giving me a fuck around, slaver.” Tirian drew his sword from his sheath. “I imagine I'd get as much clarity from your innards should I display them out across this water."

He kept his eyes focused on Gyl, but something in the back of his mind told him to open his senses to the arte. When he did, the world lurched around him.

Tendrils of energy were woven in intricate patterns. A faint sound resonated in the air. He furrowed his brows and focused. It was no creature. Not the wind. Pushing his mind farther out, he studied the waves of energy. He had never seen the design in nature before, only in elven magic.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Wh-what?" Gyl asked, lifting his axe

Tirian let go of the arte as he started to feel it drawing on his mana reserve. “It’s a Gods damned ward—a glamour. We're here."

Gyl opened his mouth to speak, then paused as Tirian drew on the merchant's energy. “What…are you…doing?"

“You're going to die," a soft, woman's voice filled the air.

“What?" Gyl asked, whirling around.

With an outstretched hand, Tirian siphoned Gyl's tendrils of energy, pulling them into his arte.

The merchant's eyes widened and welled with tears. He opened his mouth to speak but choked. The murky water splashed as Gyl fell to his knees. “Tell Maebra…I love-”

With a jerk, Tirian swung his sword horizontally. Gyl's head landed in the water, face down. Blood spewed from the arteries in his severed neck a few moments before his body let go of the battle and dropped sideways into the swamp. The water darkened with crimson.

Tirian felt the surge of power through the arte as his heart pounded. “Now why did you have to go give a warning?"

A woman stepped out from behind a low hanging tree, balanced on a branch. An elf woman. Silvery blonde hair flowed halfway down her back. With high cheekbones, sapphire eyes and tapered ears, she looked like a predator with her prey in sight. “Would you rather he not know what killed him—who killed him?"

“He's dead," Tirian said as he gripped his sword tighter. “Doesn't matter. Besides, that wasn't what I was talking about."

The elf walked out onto a lower branch hovering above the water, a feline grace to her steps. “It has been far too long since a man saw my wards for what they were."

“Do you know why I've come?" Tirian asked.

The elf grasped an adjacent branch and swung around it, her long locks whipping through the air. Pausing with her back to Tirian, she wrapped her leg around the vertical branch and let her arms fall, her face turned upside down as she peered at him with a grin. “Only took you four hours to see me."

“Are you the prophet?" Tirian asked, minding his footing. He knew she could cross the distance between them in a flash.

The elf sighed with an audible annoyance. With an airy cheer, she let go of the branch, flipping backward, landing in the water. “Am I…the prophet?” Her tone was playful, a stark contrast to Tirian’s.

“Are you Teriaina?” he asked curtly. He walked forward, holding his sword out before him. He drew on the arte, pulling on tendrils of energy as he focused on the heat waves around them.

The elf slowly rose to her feet and cocked her head. “Such a name has not graced my ears in ages.”

Tirian narrowed his eyes. “So it is you.”

“Have you the reasons in mind I came to be the wretched of the Taenlands?” Teriaina asked.

Tirian lifted his sword slightly. “You made a prophecy about an Elmerïan—about a world breaker.”

“Always forget there were two, they do.” Teriaina hummed and took long, sweeping strides in the water, dragging each foot slowly with each step.

Tirian froze, his heart sinking to the pits of his stomach. “Two…what?”

“Two Elmerïans—" Teriaina produced twin daggers from unseen slits in her drab robes, “—in my vision. A breaker of the world. And a mender of the broken."

The hairs on Tirian's neck rose, a shiver running down his spine. “You're lying." He kept partial focus on her blades. They were bright silver with intricately woven gold laced along the double edge.

“Lying?" she asked with a chuckle. “I have no reason to lie to you. You are not a threat to me."

Tirian let out a long breath. “You clearly don't know who I am."

“Well, no." Teriaina smiled. “But I have seen my end and it is not by your hand, oh severed one."

Severed one, Tirian thought. By instinct alone, he drew on more waves of energy and reinforced the barrier to his mind. “And which one am I?"

Teriaina laughed, letting her daggers relax by her sides. “Which one are you? Neither."

The response cut through Tirian's heart like a blade of ice. “What?" His question was dripping with poison. He wanted to rip her heart out of her chest. To see her blood staining the murky waters around their ankles.

Teriaina laughed again, which only bolstered Tirian's rage. “I didn't see your coming until this morning."

Tirian took a slow step forward. “You didn't prophesize me as this…world breaker?"

“No."

Tirian's sword hand trembled. “You…fucking bitch. You're the reason they're all dead!"

“Am I?" she asked, though it seemed rhetorical, as if she had not a care in the world her words had sparked a war between the Elmerïans and the Dragon Court. She shrugged and let out a childish groan. “There is a connection—between you, and both breaker and mender. I can…feel it. Do you know what I mean?"

Tirian's stomach fluttered. “What connection? Stop with the damn riddles, woman!"

“Too difficult to tell," she said quickly. Pointing a dagger at Tirian, she smirked. “Would you like me to see your end?"

“Try it. I will gut you and leave your corpse for the marsh to swallow." Tirian's words turned to a growl. He lowered himself into a wide, defensive stance, finding solid footing beneath the water.

Loathing elves was not enough to break his habitual style of combat. It was something they drilled into him for a half century, until the prophet changed everything. Until she had seen his world ablaze and under shadow. He gripped his sword right, the ancient martial techniques flowing through his mind.

“Ah!" Teriaina chirped, her face brightening with a smile. She stood up straight and returned her daggers. Closing her eyes, her smile widened, threatening to devour her face. “There it is."

Tirian clenched his jaws. She's baiting me.

“You are bound to them both by blood." She nodded and tapped her chest, then opened her eyes. “They will both be your undoing."

“By blood," Tirian muttered. He had only one person bound to him by blood. “Ethecior."

“N-no," Teriaina said, her tone dry. She narrowed her eyes. “That is not the name of the one who will rise to challenge you."

Tirian swallowed, desperate to return moisture to his throat. An old technique came to his mind, one of distraction for those who like to talk or thought themselves superior. “How can you see what is yet to come?"

“I am what you call-"

Without giving her a hint of a warning, Tirian pulled the heat from the water around Teriaina. The swamp turned to ice, locking her legs in place. In the same breath, he threw his sword, warping the tendrils of the water's heat into momentum. Focusing on the air particles, he sent a sharp gust into the sword to drive it faster.

He rushed forward.

With a nonchalant wave of her hand, Teriaina muttered something inaudible. The ice exploded at her feet and reformed in an instant, wrapping around the golden sword before it could touch her. With a muted hum, the blade suspended in the ice four feet from her.

Tirian expected such a counter. It was either that, or she would move out of the way. Diving headfirst, he pushed a tendril of white hot energy into the ice, shattering it in a thousand pieces. Catching his sword, he let his momentum carry himself forward and slashed horizontally.

His blade whispered through the air where her head was a moment ago. Tucking his head, he rolled across the cold water, chunks of ice floating about. In a flash, he returned to his feet. His heart sank. His breath came in heavy waves as he slowly turned, scanning his surroundings.

“Where are you?" he roared, blinking the water out of his eyes. His legs ached, arms trembling as the draw on the arte sapped his strength.

Opening his mind to the power coursing through his body, the world shifted around him. Waves of energy swirled, entangled in tight paths where the trees grew. He had seen elves before with the arte sight, the ability to see and manipulate energy around him. They burned as bright as horses with their enhanced strength and power. And those with the ability to wield magic burned brighter yet.

But there was nothing. No mimic sun of raw power that should be there. “Where are you?" he repeated, whispering to himself.

“Why do you seek my death?"

Tirian whirled around, swinging his sword in the direction of her voice.

Teriaina stood directly behind him. She caught his wrist and hurled him across the swamp.

Pain seared through Tirian's back as he crashed against a tree. At that moment, he regretted selling his living steel armor. But the coin, and the appearance of a beggar, had gotten him farther than the elven armor would have.

“Fuck," he coughed and pressed himself up into a kneeling position.

“I did not seek your death," said Teriaina. “Still don't. You may leave."

She was crouched on a branch by the time Tirian looked up. He lifted his sword again. “Your vision…killed my friends. My family." His mouth went dry. His heart ached. “Carn."

“I am sorry for your loss," she said, dropping her feet and landing on her ass. Her prowess was exceptional. “But it was not my hands that snuffed their light."

“It might as well have been," Tirian growled. He winced and stood.

“The choices made by the Dragon Court were not mine," she said with a slight chuckle. “That's why I left."

“It started with you," Tirian said, his eyes burning as tears threatened to spill out.

Teriaina gasped. Her eyes rolled back and she began to convulse. Without warning, she flipped backward off of the branch and landed flat on her stomach in the water.

Tirian narrowed his eyes and watched for a moment as she thrashed, her face submerged in the water. She's going to drown, he thought. Good. I hope it fucking hurts.

Then he thought of her words, of his connection to the world breaker. His stomach lurched as questions upon questions formed in his mind. “Damn it."

Running forward, he grabbed the back of Teriaina's hair and lifted her face out of the water. “Tell me what you know." She continued to tremble. “Tell me what you've seen!"

Her convulsions stopped. Her breaths were labored. A soft wheezing came with each inhale. She grasped his wrist with an iron grip. “I…see…you."

For the first time since he laid eyes on her, fear painted her face. She reached back, clutching Tirian's fingers, and twisted.

Tirian screamed as his middle finger snapped. He let go of her locks and fell backward, pain pulsing from his broken bone.

With a roll, she twisted and planted both feet into his chest, sending him skipping like a flat stone across the water.

Agony burned through Tirian's chest and hand. It shot up through his wrist and into his forearm. “You…fucking…cunt!"

Teriaina crouched low in the water and drew her daggers again, teeth bared. “No. You will not leave this swamp, bond forcer. You…so much death…fire…blood. Maerïnor." Her words turned to a whimper, as if she mourned something from the past that was now gone.

Tirian felt around in the water. Weeds ran through his fingers. “Bond forcer? What are you—" he sucked in a deep breath as another wave of pain rippled through his knuckle. His broken finger caught in the mud, “—talking about?"

“I see you," Teriaina said, each word emphasized. “You are both world breaker and mender, heart ripper and people gatherer. You are death itself."

Tirian's left hand found his sword. He kept it underwater and furrowed his brows. Sweat covered his upper lip as his heart hammered in his chest. “Enough with your fucking riddles, woman."

“You seek the impossible," said Teriaina. “She is gone. The Great Mother must not return!"

Tirian forced a searing pulse of momentum energy into his sword, sending it through the water. Just before it reached her, he shifted the tendrils,driving them upward around the blade. It plunged out of the water and buried into her chest. A thud resounded as the hilt struck bone. The force of the attack sent her reeling backward.

She landed with a heavy splash. A quick moment later, she stared at the canopy above with glossy eyes, her heart ripped in half.

Tirian sagged, leaning on his forearms, his face inches above the water. His vision blurred. The spell had taken more than he had stored. “The Great Mother."

Stories had been told over and over of The Great Mother. Along with her twin, she was the first dragon to enter Maerïnor. Over 9,000 years had passed since then. It was said she was a great white dragon, where her brother was black, the affinities of life and death.

Tirian's heart surged with adrenaline as an idea formed in the depths of his mind. Life. She…can return life. Carn.

Chapter 6:

Best Laid Plans

Verilia

2991 AC

“Stand…down." The elf's command cut through the Castil Forest, amplified by a spell, no doubt.

Tirian clutched his rib, wincing as he took in a labored breath. He would heal faster than a mortal man, but experience had taught him more about pain and injuries than any sentinel could learn in a lifetime. He knew, at least a half minute before he coughed up blood, it was broken. A bone punctured his lung. It was probably from one of the Velensmirans' boots.

“Wait," Tirian growled, holding up his trembling hand.

Rage burned through his mind as he laid eyes on his weakness, his inability to harness power worth any measure. The weight of his arm was also a reminder  he was growing old. For twelve minutes he fended off the Velensmir elves, far longer than any other warrior could.

But without a blade, he was no match, especially if they tried to kill him. His sword was now a broken shard, a remnant of it's former glory. He had Ethecior to thank for that. The little bastard had his coming as well. But he was third on Tirian's priority list.

Grunting, he knelt and looked around. He was surrounded. Dozens of Velensmirans held their spears, swords, and arrows aimed at him, their almond shaped eyes boring holes through his bravado. Mirinthiel armor shimmered in the sunlight, silver with golden swirls.

“All in all," Tirian said, pausing to take a deep breath. Pain tore through his chest. “I must say, I haven't been…this fucked…since before Carn died."

An elf stepped forward, more square jawed than most. The Velensmirans gave him a wide berth, the only time since the battle began they took their eyes off of Tirian.

The elf's auburn hair flowed without fray down his back. Embossed on his evergreen hued chest plate was a symbol, an upside triangle with a dagger at its epicenter. On either side of the triangle were twin pines. The sigil was that of House Rothaeron.

Tirian narrowed his eyes. There was something about the emblem that struck something familiar in his mind. “Who are you?” he asked. With a tight jawed grunt, he stood. “Where have I seen you before?”

“Why are you here, World Breaker?” the elf asked, ignoring Tirian’s question without emotion.

Tirian cocked his head, the memories growing clearer with each breath. “You were there.”

“What is it you seek?” the elf asked.

Tirian reached behind his cloak. The elves shifted, jutting their spears and swords forward. Pulling out his golden sword, or rather what remained of it, he held it before the elf. “You were there.”

The elf eyed the sword, then narrowed his eyes at Tirian. “Of course I was there, World Breaker.” His voice turned sharp with a tang of poison. “Do you not know who I am?”

Tirian looked at the sigil on the elf’s chest. He glanced back at the guard behind him. He had already known this elf. Had known he fought alongside Ethecior. He had witnessed the golden dragonmage sword broken upon the bastard’s crimson blade. Pushing tendrils of energy into his ribs, he focused on pulling the bone from his lungs. “Prince Aglorion.”

A gasp left Tirian’s lips as pain surged through his chest, ribs, and back. He began pulling on waves of energy from the forest, pushing deep into the arte and driving it into his lungs. The principle of healing was much the same with or without magic. Whoever was mending needed to know what made the body work. How muscles and thin, hollow tubes that carry blood worked together, how sinew joined with tendons and nutrients filled bones.

Tirian survived nearly eight centuries. He knew how to heal. That had not been a problem for as long as he could remember. The severing of his bond had taken something from him he could not regrow. He could no longer harness energy like he once could. No longer could he build a river of raw power to flood his veins. Nearly every tendril he siphoned into his arte had to be used immediately, else it would fade away.

“Tirian Roclorn,” Aglorion said slowly.

Tirian stopped drawing energy from the forest, his heart jolting. How did the prince know his surname? “You know me?"

“I know what you are," said Aglorion. “I know what you stand to gain and your motivations. My father has little time left in this realm. Of course, he has had five thousand years so it is no surprise. But I have taken his charge and yes, Tirian Roclorn, I have eyes everywhere."

“If you know what I seek, then why do I still draw breath?" Tirian asked.

“You may not have seen me, but I was part of the Dragon Court who hunted you for four centuries," said Aglorion. “You decimated the lands of people who wanted nothing of your war."

“My war?" Tirian roared, immediately followed by sucking air through clenched teeth as pain radiated through his chest. He coughed, blood coating his lips.

Waves of memories flooded Tirian's mind. Since killing Teriaina in the Taenlands, he had traveled across the world in search of history. Time and time again, the Dragon Court found him. Bodies stacked like papers on a desk around him. Each time, he pulled more energy from the living and created explosions far grander than he had ever done when Carn was alive.

Each time, it almost killed him. But he couldn't die. Not yet. Justice had not been wrought. And Carn was still dead. Nearly a century passed after the last encounter with the Dragon Court when a company of elves found him. Instead of fighting, he poured nearly all of his energy into bending light around himself. Sending tendrils into their minds, he controlled the narrative, what they saw. They found him…dead.

Aglorion took a deep breath. His demeanor was calm. His hands hung slack by his sides. “We were wrong."

An invisible pressure weighed on Tirian's shoulders. He looked up at the elf prince. “What?" The question came out in a whisper.

Aglorion sighed. “I may be a prince, but I am also a scholar, an academic subject, if you will. I know your story, Tirian Roclorn, World Breaker. I was there. I knew you were not dead. But it was time to break a cycle."

Tirian shook his head and wiped the blood from his lips. He knew an incoming bargain when he saw one. “What do you want?"

A smile touched the corner of Aglorion's lips. “Spare my people. Spare Velensmir and we will help you find her."

Tirian's heart froze. “Why would you…help me? What do you get out of it?"

“Spare my people," Aglorion said again. “What we stand to gain is of no concern to you."

“You might as well shove your sword…into my heart then," Tirian said, his breaths ragged.

“And your people?" Aglorion asked, arching his brows. “Your motivation going back to your conception of a dragon's bond was for love, was it not?"

Tirian swallowed, but kept his mouth shut.

“I know you helped form Az' Grim," Aglorion continued. “I know you drove the dwarves into the Bearmaw Mountains." He smiled as Tirian widened his eyes.

How had this prick come to learn so much in such a short time? Less than a year ago, Tirian put Ergoth in charge of the green orcs and helped build their city. But he had stayed in the shadows for Ergoth's sake. Az' Grim followed Ergoth, not Tirian.

“Take Bör Mesari," said Aglorion. “Those pompous high elves deserve it." There was an ocean of malice in the way he said high elves. “Leave Velensmir alone."

Tirian cast his eyes to the dirt. “What makes you think you can trust my word?"

Aglorion laughed, as if he had just heard the sharpest joke one could create. “Oh, Tirian Roclorn, I do not trust you."

“Then why?" Tirian asked. He ran a dozen ideas through his mind. “I could kill you once I have her."

“You could," said Aglorion. He squatted down and cocked his head. The guard behind him took another two steps closer. “But you are a broken old man. I do not trust you. I trust in your madness and your will. You should have died time and time again. And yet, here you are. This time, I choose to spare you. Your oath will be bound in blood and by magic. Your word will be tethered to your life thread."

Tirian tightened his jaw and forced himself to stand. “One condition."

Aglorion rose to his feet and held a hand out to the side, silently commanding the Velensmirans as they took yet another step closer, their armored boots hammering the ground. “You misunderstood, World Breaker. This is no negotiation. You simply have a choice."

Tirian's stomach churned at the bend, World Breaker. It was not his title. If the elven seer was truthful, that name belonged to Ethecior, wherever the bastard was now. Nor was he the World Mender. Sucking in a deep breath, agony swelled, consuming his thoughts. He was dying. Each inhalation came with a wheeze, blood seeping into his lung.

He looked deep into Aglorion's eyes. “Fine."

“Very well," said Aglorion, clapping his hands together. “Once our healers mend you, you will take the oath. It will bind you as strong as any dragon bond. Break it and you will draw your last breath."

Tirian swallowed hard. He could see no other way, at least none he could take before he bled out. The question came to mind which brought him to the southern border of Velensmir. “I need to know one thing."

Aglorion narrowed his eyes, an amused look etching his face. “What would you like to know, World Breaker?"

“I have watched this land for the past year," Tirian said slowly, his throat taught with a reflex to cough. “You send eggs to Bör Mesari."

Aglorion smiled. “You wish to know why."

Tirian furrowed his brows. “No. I know why. You elves…hoard them for yourselves…out of fear of more Elmerïans rising."

“What is your query, Tirian?" Aglorion asked curtly.

“Before I can begin my next phase, I have to know." Tirian looked around slowly, his eyes pausing on each of the Velensmir kingsguard. Lastly, he swallowed and gazed toward Aglorion. “Where do your eggs come from?"

The prince smiled, nodded, and stepped forward. Holding his hand outward, he said, “Come, Tirian. There is much to discuss before we can bring her back."

Tirian gripped Aglorion's forearm and pulled the elf closer, ignoring the pain. “Before we bring them all back. Every Elmerïan and their dragon."

Tirian clenched his jaws as Aglorion pulled him to his feet. He took a deep breath as the elves pressed their fists to their chests, a salute of the old ways. “Let us bring forth a new era," he said, locking eyes with the prince. “A new empire. The Ashen Empire."

Take heart and be warned, for Tirian will return in Book 2 of the Elmerïan Chronicles.

Afterword

Thank you so much for reading Ashes of a Risen Empire. Interestingly, this was the first story I wanted to tell in this world, but I knew I couldn’t do a proper telling without giving away all of the epic chaos that is to come in the Elmerïan Chronicles. So…I simply wrote a bit about the origins of Tirian Roclorn and how it led Verilia to Whispers of a World Breaker.

My plan is to write a novella in between each book in the main series. Some may be larger than others depending on the stories you would like me to explore. However, I wouldn’t have written this piece at all without the love and support of all of you, my readers. Fans like you are what make my dreams come true.

Lastly, however you are receiving this book, whether it is a free download from my website, or you have purchased a physical copy from Amazon, I can’t thank you enough. If this is your first taste of Maerïnor, strap in for Whispers of a World Breaker! If you are a returning fan, I hope you enjoyed this shorter story. There are dozens upon dozens of little details in this novella that will come back to the main series until the very final book.

And this leads me to my last thought, a request, if you will. If you enjoyed this story, or even if you hated it, I humbly ask that you go to Goodreads or Amazon, or wherever you would like, and leave a review. Reviews help authors a ton, and I think they help indie authors like myself even more.