Welcome to Gaia! ::

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The eternal night was as silent as always, save for the chirping of crickets in the thickets all around the village. Coarse blades of grass rustled in the gentle breeze, and there was the ever-present scent of earth and water in the air, as well as the metallic tang of softly kindling flames far away. The land was flat, gently rolling hills rising and falling like waves on a frozen sea. There was something calming about the quiet expanse, and as Synrai waited, he closed his eyes and let the silence seep into him. It stilled the trembling in his limbs, and the panic in his heartbeat. He could think clearly now; there was something he had to do, a purpose. He had always fought with a purpose, for something he cherished. No matter what had happened, it was this he had never let go of. If he continued on, despite everything, for those he cared for most, everything would work out. But Synrai was fast realizing that there was only so much a single person could do. For as much as he had cared for these people, as much as he tried to tell himself that he must stay true to his purpose, his heart had in the end been divided.

It was said that she faded away…

He had had to return to Celestir, to fulfill a promise he had made. But when he had once more set foot within the sacred gates, he had found that she was gone. How many months had he searched in vain for her? Or had it been years?

Heavy footsteps resounded near him, dry twigs snapping. Synrai listened to the breeze for a few moments more, feeling it play across his face, and weave in the raven tendrils that were his hair. His swords were set firmly in each hand, the silver blades gleaming in the distant orange glow of the village—though of course he could not see them. The dragon did not turn to face his opponent, not yet, but rather chose to speak.

“Was I really that easy to find?” Synrai laughed playfully. Really, he had expected it to be hours before the summoner caught up with him. It had only been a few minutes. But it didn’t matter. Hours or minutes—it would end the same way for Synrai.

“I could sense you in the window, Silverwing,” the smooth voice of his opponent intoned, his words dripping with venom. It made a harsh contrast with the calm, quiet voice of the dragon. “I knew you were there, listening and lurking like the rat you are.” The summoner stalked forward, brandishing his ebony staff, which beginning to distort oddly. “You carry the stench of darkness upon you. I can see it clearly even now.” Synrai still remained still, his back turned, even as Axys advanced.

“Then your master, it seems, has granted you strength unparalleled,” Synrai murmured. “But at what cost, I wonder?” At this the summoner laughed, his mad cackle resonating across the fields, silencing the crickets and muffling the breeze. High above, a falcon shrieked, though the dual-bladed warrior did not flinch.

“There is no cost,” spat Axys. “Through Lord Riven, I have attained my goal. I am immortal! Vast powers are at my command. And with them I will achieve what you could not! I will bring peace to this world! Eternal harmony!” The summoner had stopped now, a wicked grin under the faceless mask that hid his visage. “With my powers, I will crush the accursed Centauri. The war will be finished—victory will be mine!” Synrai heard the note of rambling in the summoner’s voice—characteristic of those who had succumbed to the desire for power. He had heard the call on more than one occasion himself, ever since using the dark spell to bind the poison inside of him. But the loss of his eyesight always kept it in check. What else would the darkness take from him, if he dared to use it again?

“Harmony through bloodshed is not harmony at all. You will bring these people nothing but suffering.”

“You have already seen to that,” hissed the summoner, stepping forward again. He was three feet away, his staff pulsating darkly. “Turn and face me, Silverwing.” Synrai did as he was bidden slowly, his youthful face worn and tired. For once, he nearly looked his age. The dragon studied his adversary, and knelt, driving his swords into the earth between them.

“I won’t fight you,” said Synrai, his head lowered. His hands rested limply at his sides; pale digits brushing the grass. Snarling, the summoner reached down, his talon grasping the dragon’s collar, and wrenched him up off the ground. Synrai remained limp as he stared blindly into the expressionless mask. Axys paused for a moment, his face inches from the dragon’s, hesitant. He seemed to be seeing something then that he had only just remembered. The first time Silverwing had returned to Nathoran—they had fought then, too. Axys had believed that the dragon would die…

“You—the poison… I understand now,” the summoner whispered. “So that’s how you survived.” A deep chuckle sounded behind the mask. “But no more.” Axys laid the other hand over the dragon’s chest, watching as Synrai flinched. Underneath, he could feel the binding spell, and the poison underneath, roiling beneath his fingers in a never-ending battle. A battle that was keeping Silverwing alive. The summoner reached for the darkness, and began unraveling the threads of the newest magic. Synrai gasped as he felt his arcane arts diminishing, and the poison begin to course through his veins once again, tracing lines of white fire through his body. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain, his body going rigid; it was like being stabbed again. The dragon bit back a howl of agony. A taloned hand loosened its hold on his collar, but Synrai only barely registered the fall. His hands gripped his heaving chest. Somewhere above him, someone was laughing. Why—? He opened his eyes—

—and stared in wonder at the red color of the summoner’s robes, illuminated by the radiance of the nearby village. The grass below his pallid fingers was a dark green. Synrai turned his head slightly to stare into the stars. The heavens gleamed a dark blue, pinpricks of dancing light scattered throughout the velvet hue. The spell was gone… and that meant—

“I can see,” Synrai whispered, smiling painfully before his expression relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed. Axys leaned down and surveyed his beaten opponent, grinning beneath the mask. The dragon’s breath was ragged.

“I never would have thought you’d have it in you,” he chortled. “I guess even the great Dragons can be flawed.” He snapped his fingers, and the guardians housed within his staff leaped out, their toothy maws grinning widely. The smoke creatures seemed to solidify, transforming into black suits of armor, which took each of Synrai’s arms and hoisted the dragon between them. The group made its way back to the village, Axys in the lead. High above, Riven surveyed the scene, pleased.

Axys led the way to the village circle, before the great cylindrical building. The elders would be pleased indeed…

The endless cherry blossom forest stretched seemingly forever ahead of them. The forest floor was littered with petal rain—as always. It was winter, and the weather was cool and calm. The winters in the celestial world were never harsh, but the air today was colder than it normally would be. Nevertheless, Synrai liked it, even though the one he was walking with didn’t seem to enjoy it too much. He would have called the temperature brisk. She would have said it was downright frigid. Synrai wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked, and felt the brush of lips on his cheek.

“Synrai, why don’t you wear your hair like that more often?” a playful soprano asked. The dragon looked at the beautiful girl beside him and smiled ruefully. His raven strands cascaded nearly all the way to his ankles, like a dark waterfall.

“You don’t think it might get in the way?” he laughed, twining his fingers in her wavy golden locks. The girl shook her head.

“I want you to wear it exactly like that when you return, okay?” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. Synrai stopped, wrapping his arms around her lithe form.

“It won’t be as long as you think,” he whispered into her hair…

~~~

Shyrion started again as the girl hugged her, tentacles and all. The ex-general looked around at the gathered Tainted, daring them to say a word. No one hugged Shyrion, well, not normally. But Tanya was an exception.

“Yes, hon,” she said to the girl. “Because you were so fast and all. But to catch a dragon, we’re going to need to go to another world. That’s where all the dragons are, you see.” Shyrion laughed. Wouldn’t Axys be surprised to see her again! “We have to find them, and then sneak up on them really quiet-like. It would probably be best to get one when it’s asleep.” This added as an afterthought.

“They’re really quite powerful, you see.” Shyrion remembered her last fight against a dragon. It hadn’t gone too well. But this would be a wonderful way to test the girl’s limits. Just think—if she could take a dragon, then anything else wouldn’t be any problem at all!

"Oh, and they'll probably look exactly like the humans," she said. "Think of it as another game!" Yes, Find-the-Dragon sounded fun, right?

"So," Shyrion clapped her hands together again, "to get to where they are, we'll have to go to Nathoran. Then we'll capture one together, okay?"

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"Woo-hoo!!!!" Tanya cheered and whooped, then released Shyrion to dance a few happy circles around her. "Catch a dragon! Catch a dragon! We're gonna catch a dragon!" she sang. "You and me, wheeeee!!!" she twirled around and bounced to attention in front of Shyrion again. "No worries, dragons might be strong, but if I swirly-whirly-twirly enough times, I can be even stronger!" she announced confidently. Then she lost whatever veneer of seriousness she might've had and resumed skipping around again, this time singing "Swirly whirly twirly, twirly swirly whirly! Whirly! Twirly! Swirly round and round!" she laughed.

((If Shyrion asks her what she means, she's going to tell Shyrion a way she can vastly increase Shyrion's powers. Just thought I'd let you know, its your decision if you want to tell Shyrion though.))

w e ' r e ¤ f l o a t i n g ¤ i n ¤ t h e ¤ a i r
d a n c i n g ¤ i n ¤ t h e ¤ m i d n i g h t ¤ s k y

Goodie goodie! Shyrion's gonna be all ZOMG, I'm amazing! xd

From the skies, the white falcon surveyed the village below, slowly being consumed by Axys’ forces. He had known it would be easy—still, the dragon Silverwing had disappointed him. Where was the warrior from long ago that had been so strong? Had his summoner broken him so much?

And yet…

Riven watched as a young, tousle-haired dragon prepared to face off against one of the Tainted guards…

My summoner... the voice of Lord Riven intruded Axys' thoughts.

Master, he is flawed. You have seen it. Your soul does not need a weak guardian.

Yes, but I have seen another. Do with this one what you will. He no longer interests me. And with that, the falcon began to observe the younger dragon...

The summoner strode evenly into the light of the village, prisoner in tow. He hadn’t anticipated that Silverwing would go down without a fight; but any struggle the dragon would have put up would have been futile anyway. Axys was immortal, and his powers were vast. And now he had what he wanted—he was on the road to lordship over this world. And after years of hunting Silverwing, he finally had the dragon within his grasp at last—but not for long. The traitorous warrior would be disposed of soon enough. If the elders didn’t see fit to punish him for his crimes, then Axys’ poison would soon finish him off. Riven had given him permission...

A dull crunching noise from behind interrupted his congratulatory train of thought. His guards at the back…

Ah, yes, he thought as he turned slowly. He surveyed his entrapped guards with disinterest. They still retained their armored shape, but it seemed as though the earth had swallowed them partially. The guards had dropped Silverwing, who now lay on his side, unconscious. The faceless mask made its way to a young woman with long, white-blonde hair and pallid green eyes. She held a determination on her face that told the summoner immediately that she was one of Silverwing’s accomplices.

She was also holding a bow and arrow to his face.

Axys looked beyond the girl to another young woman with brown hair and what appeared to be a small staff of some sort.

Grinning, the summoner placed a hand over his mask and removed it with a flourish, revealing his glowing green eyes that all but mirrored the orbs of the ladies in front of him. His face was deathly pale, nearly a sickly green, and cadaverously slender, riddled with intricate black tattooing that pulsed darkly every time he moved. The summoner whirled his staff nonchalantly. If he were going to have to fight these two, he didn't need a mask to impede his vision should he need it.

“I had anticipated something like this,” he said, gesturing towards the motionless Synrai. “I shall assume that Silverwing has told you of his—weakness. I have done him the honor of removing the binding spell within him, crafted by his own hand.” Axys smiled, despite the fact that there was a weapon pointed at him. What did he have to fear? “The poison is already taking effect…”

“But if you are so determined to help this serpent, then I suppose you give me little choice.” With that, Axys tossed aside his mask and raised his staff. The two guardians lost their solid forms for an instant whilst they freed themselves from the earth, only to retake their armor-shape again once they were loose. The two drew swords made of shadow, advancing on Leitha…

Axys’ raised staff gleamed luridly as he constructed a shield around himself. Immortal or not, the summoner didn’t fancy the idea of having an arrow sticking out of him. He brandished his glimmering staff, and dashed forward towards Link, his dark power carrying him forward faster. The bladed end of his staff swung out...

~~~

“Whirly-twirly?” asked Shyrion, catching the words ‘even stronger’. What did she mean by that? Was it a way to increase her power? The ex-general grinned, getting excited. She was already one of the strongest Tainted serving under Lord Riven—and this girl—

“What do you mean by that, dearie?” she asked in the most simpering tone she could muster. If she could make herself stronger, then maybe, just maybe, she could get an edge over that big oaf, Axys. How annoying he was, acting like he was so special just because he was chosen by Lord Riven. It was only because he was human, anyway, and had ties to the material plane. He wasn’t so great. Shyrion was infinitely better. Prettier, too.

Oh, how she’d like to teach him a thing or two. The ex-general’s bladed tentacles twitched. Well, they were going to Nathoran right? Shyrion gave a mental smirk.

“Could you teach me how to whirly-twirly, too?” she asked, her yellow eyes going all big and round. Shyrion could look moderately sweet and innocent if she wanted—particularly if there was something she was after.

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Unwelcoming noises and physical images disturbs the young guard. The dark stranger has appeared again this time with a couple of his minions towing the lanky man from before. That had to be the man from earlier, he has the same long hair and long if not powerful limbs. With a frown Ardan straightens up as does Lance. Whatever Felda had to say she kept to herself and slipped away to the other side of the Hall, disappearing in the shadows. Another of the strangers has appeared, it is Miss Link. Before the chestnut maned youth has time to bark out any words another woman has appeared. Then the unthinkable happened. Miss Link had suddenly lunged with her heel in the dirt road...and the earth beneath the ghastly guards seemed to swallow their legs! This alarms the Owlets. Seeing a battle ensue between the strangers though, custom keeps them from calling their squadron.
While it is impolite to cry for my brothers to help get between strangers, it would be even ruder to let Sir Synrai get harmed. Or for that vile looking man to do damage.
With a stony expression Ardan sets his halberd vertically before himself in a fighting stance. He moves forth, but pauses as the man removes his mask. His face nearly paralyzes the young man with disgust and gruesome awe, but he quickly recovers and keeps a distance from Synrai's body. If he were to get too close that black enveloped man would get angry and might strike the fallen stranger. Ardan didn't just want to leave Miss Link in danger though. Seeing her weapon he grows faith for her although he still puzzles over her earth-powers.
By my Lady Azura's Light! How did she manage that? Questions later, this matter will have to be dealt with...Azura preserve us.
A sickening slither noise turns his head to find the guards are free. Ardan growls and is not surprised when Lance runs ti his side. The two bound towards the guards, in midair they both charge their Fire. Ardan's flares over his halberd quickly and Lance's forms a temporary shield as they both land on the ground. Their legs tuck beneath them, rolling forth with their halberds spinning at their sides in unison, the Owlets rise to stand beside the girl with the short staff, glaring at the guards.
"You are threatening innocent people! By the charge of our King Zylon, that is punishable by law!"
Ardan stands steadily, legs loose to dodge and attack. He noted the brown haired girl had blocked the shadow guards' swords and admired her skill. Nonetheless he could not afford anyone to get harmed.

Felda blushes faintly. Her main reason for coming to Ardan was to talk with him since she had felt a sudden loneliness, but he is obviously working. Her hood keeps any from seeing her lips part to apologize. The shepherdess hesitates as footsteps, far too light to be human, rustle behind her. Another noise is that of a sac being dragged, or--wait, is that a man? Felda blinks as her eyes land upon the man being hauled towards the Hall. By two not very nice looking...things. Armored things with bright eyes. She quivers and does not want to see anymore. Felda slinks off to the side without looking back and goes to the far wall of the large building. Those people...nay, those things...what are they? Why were they dragging one of the strangers? Something blared in the back of her mind. He is not a stranger, his name is Synrai. Had she seen Link and another person appear as well? The girl peeks out from the corner. Her eyes widen within her comforting hood, the air suddenly seems colder. Standing in front of the Hall, before the two things that are now ensnared, is a sickly looking man. Very cruel looking as well. By now she is not in the least bit astonished to see Ardan and Lance, side by side, rushing to a stranger's aid. Something flares in the corner of her eye. All of a sudden the frightening man had formed bizarre energy about his person and flung himself towards Link. And then there is Synrai, unmoving and unguarded for the time being. Why are Synrai and Link in danger? Why is danger in Rizane? Without a second thought Felda drifts from the side of the Hall, walking as slowly as she ever does. The wind does not touch her cloak so it hangs loosely around herself. Her eyes ignore the battle only meters away, she is focused on trying to get Synrai to safety. Maybe the Council will have enough pity for a wounded man; to not get angry for Felda bringing in someone of need.

Link paid no attention to what the tainted was saying. She didn’t care for theatrics and anything that would distract her from planning was useless. The white dragon concentrated, her eyes jittering in their sockets as she watched what was going on around her. Her swift glances revealed to her that Synrai had fallen, most likely unconscious, and there were several outlets for escape or other tactics. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme.

As soon as Axys moved for her she cast her bow aside with one hand, keeping the arrow with her, and drew her sword with the other. Her sword blocked the summoner’s blade and held it at bay while she struck in with the arrow. She knew they were close enough and surely the arrow would make contact, no one could possible be fast enough to block it . . . but of course, Axys would be different.

Link created an attack to fall back on should the arrow fail. Striking her heal into the earth once more a large rift opened behind her opponent and then she lifted the earth beneath his feet. This would toss him backwards and into the crevice. Jumping back in anticipation of a counter attack or reaction to her blows, Link had a short moment to look back at Synrai. He was still on the ground and quite unprotected. With a short flick of the wrist strong vines seemed to sprout from the ground and create a dome around the fallen dragon. They weaved quickly locking him in security and the vines sprouted deadly looking thorns. Anyone would be foolish to touch it and only she could get the vines away.

~ * ~

Ekanta was quite surprised to see what she saw. It was some sort of monster and it scared the bejeebers out of her. The creature was right behind Wyvern and she could guess it wasn’t going to tap him on the shoulder and invite him to tea.

“That wasn’t me.” She answered, releasing the water from his eyes. With a great jump she grabbed the boy’s shoulder and turned him around and out of the way so he could see what was there, “It was that thing.”

Sudden vines spurting from the ground cause the girl to step back with a gasp. No plant grows that quickly. Everything is churning, chunks of earth hurl from Miss Link towards the dark man, then there was a fissure, the stranger lunging back and...Felda sighs softly as she shakes her head. She could already see villagers rushing to their homes and young, Rizane guards only bustle about though, avoiding more of the strange shadow things. The shepherdess now looks down at Synrai. His actions earlier had proven he is very polite, why would anyone want harm upon him? Realizing he is looking at her with a rather glum expression her shoulders droop slightly. Felda feels so strange when others are sad, it makes her near just as sad.
Why are you sad, Synrai..? What could make a man sad..?
This thought resonates within her own mind; men are perceived as emblems of strength in Rizane. A sudden noise lures her to slip her eyes up. Now Link is in danger by the drifting stranger's own unnatural powers. There is no way he could be human, no way Link could escape that either. The girl feels her heart tighten and her breath catches in her lungs...just as suddenly chunks of ice formed to collide against the dark fragments. Their clash causes Felda to flinch and she pulls her cloak tighter around herself. She looks down at Synrai again. He seems to be in pain.
The ice...were you channeling that ice?
She puzzles over this as she kneels over the pained looking man. No, it is impossible, humans can only command Fire. And right now Fire is needed for one in pain. Due to the vicious vines and roiling battle it'd be a vain attempt to go to the busy Council for help. Steady on her knees she reaches her left arm through the vines. She sucks air between her teeth sharply as a few thorns scrape her pale skin, searing the scars on her arm and hand. But Felda keeps moving her arm until she has placed her hand over Synrai's. While touch is a very important factor in any living spirit's life, it is also dire to comfort and make a connection when using Fire. Making sure he does not try to dislodge her hand the girl closes her eyes to focus. In her mind she can see a small tendril of smoke. She slowly coaxes it into a scant group of embers. This concentration urges her hand and arm to become a soothingly warm temperature, her skin even glows slightly due to her long dormant Fire suddenly being willed in to use. No doubt Synrai would be able to see the jagged scars on her forearm.
I don't care right now. Just don't let him see my face, but most of all let him be soothed...
Felda breathes steadily and can barely hear anything as her inner Fire muffles the ambiance. She soon reaches the next stage of Forging, of Fire healing. Forming mental images to hopefully share with a willing person in need. This is what the shepherdess shares with Synrai:
A large wooden door opens before you. You don't mind, you know this is supposed to happen and so you enter. A grouping of lambs jostle to get your attention as you carry in sugar lumps for them, knowing they miss their mothers. Your heart aches to let them out in the fields but they are being weaned and you must not break the process. Once you kneel in the hay you take the smallest lamb in your lap. It bleats softly and rests against you, its fuzzy head limp on your shoulder as it seeks warmth in the cold absence of its mother. Outside a shepherd is playing his wooden pipes and the sheep graze and baa.
This image fades as another comes in...
Lying in the isolated room, a bunch of tied bells hangs over you and chime gently although there is no wind. No doors, windows, or any other living thing is within presence. Nothing but your person, the plush bed and ever kind bells. The bells twirl slowly and lull you to shut your eyes. A warm breeze, coming from no outside source oddly, blankets over you.
Felda lets these images linger for added relaxation before trying anymore. She peeks open her eyes, feeling in a haze. Her skin is still aglow and the air over her skin wavers like the space between a torch's flame and the dark air surrounding it. Felda feels a slight fear. People can will Fire on themselves, but she does not want to light on Fire again...mostly not when she is in the Forging process.
Don't trouble yourself, you have not willed Fire, just Warmth...now concentrate.

[No time to do a post for the Owlets, sorry! I'll get to them tonight or tomorrow.]

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Will postie for everyone else laterzzz.... xd

Synrai opened his eyes as he felt a warmth on his hand. His gaze alighted upon the pale hand of the human girl kneeling beyond the cage. The warrior gasped as his eyes traveled to the girl’s arm—which was riddled with scars. Some of them had been scratched slightly by the thorns of the raven-haired dragon’s prison. Worry and sympathy intermixed within the dragon’s thoughts, and he thought perhaps he should draw his hand away. He didn’t want the girl to harm herself on his account—not anyone else, not because of me… What could have happened to the girl to leave such jagged scars? His hand twitched under her touch, as if trying to move away. But there was such a warm comfort in Felda’s touch… it warmed the coldness in his body, and soothed the awful pain in his heart.

But there was something else as well; a gentle voice in his mind, and a wooden portal. Synrai wondered why—who was doing this? Felda? His mind struggled weakly; what if she should find out—but it didn’t matter anymore, Synrai realized. One way or another, they would all know who he truly was… The dragon relaxed, his eyelids veiling his crystalline orbs, and whilst the pastoral images flooded his thoughts, others surfaced from within… visions of long ago…

”Master Silverwing, do you want to play with us?” a tiny child tugged on Synrai’s dark pants as the dragon walked about the village, surveying the peaceful place. The bustling populace was so serene that it nearly seemed surreal. Children were laughing in the firelight as they played games amongst themselves. When one or two got in a squabble, their parents would guffaw heartily before sorting it out. Elderly men and women sat in comfort, telling epic tales of bravery to anyone who would listen. Small groups of children were gathered round about their feet, while the older audience lingered in the shadows, seemingly disinterested but listening closely all the same. They waved or nodded as the dragon passed, and Synrai returned their greetings with gentle smiles. Everyone was so at ease now.

It had taken years to rebuild this place…

The boy attached to his leg had to be younger than six years old. His minuscule frame had nearly been scooped right off his feet when Synrai lifted his leg for another long stride. The dragon steadied the lad with strong hands, looking around at the other children in tow. He always seemed to have a following of young ones tailing him nowadays. It left him wondering why they were so drawn to him.

“Shouldn’t you all be helping your mothers with dinner?” Synrai said loudly as he crossed his arms in a very motherly sort of way. A unanimous “awwwww!!” sounded from the assemblage of youthful boys and girls, but the dragon merely grinned.

“What shall we play?” he asked conspiratorially. The young ones giggled playfully.

“Tag!” a girl jumped up and down at the back, her long hair bouncing as she laughed. “Silverwing’s it!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” warned a blonde boy quietly. “Silverwing is the fastest man alive! He’d catch us all faster than you could even think about running away!” Synrai laughed lightly.

“And I’m not so sure about that,” he held up a finger. “You guys look pretty quick to me.”

“Not as fast as you!” grinned the blonde. “And you know it!” The boy nodded as though that settled the matter, and Synrai laughed again. “If we’re going to play a game, it should be hide-and-seek.” The children nodded. “And we’re the ones who have to find Silverwing!” The dragon gave the small group a surprised, comedic expression, and the young ones giggled again…

A small grin traced its way over Synrai’s face; the memory of the children had reminded the older dragon of Wyvern when he was small—a great big lively burst of energy he was. His younger brother had always constantly been in motion—and now he was so carefree… Wyvern, whom he had never actually seen…

The multi-colored crystals glimmered in the sunlight from the sky outside. This cavern was so unlike others Synrai had seen—the ice here was transparent, and as the sun’s white rays struck the ceiling, the crystals broke the light into a myriad of kaleidoscopic hues that seemed to hang in the moist air, like miniature rainbows. The entire place was so vibrant, it seemed the kneeling dragon was swathed in celestial radiance. But Synrai wasn’t concentrated on the beauty of his surroundings; his breath came and went in short gasps. The Nen’Shri had contained the venom long enough for the wound to heal, but without the water magic there, it would finish him nonetheless. Synrai looked at the outline of the dark star surrounding him, checking each Rune etched within it for what had to be the thousandth time that day; and lastly, he gazed at the final binding Rune resting just above his heart. It was written in charcoal, but Synrai knew that once the spell was completed, it would be burned there as long as the spell remained intact… possibly forever…

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” a voice asked from the entrance. A tan furred wolf stood over the threshold, his one amber eye calculating. The other was white, like the snow all around him…

“I have to go back,” Synrai said, a determined look written in his blazing azure eyes. “I should never have left… things have changed… unraveled.” The dragon recalled his fight with the summoner when he had returned, and laid a hand over his chest. “This sickness will kill me unless I do something to stop it. I can’t die yet, there is still so much to do…” The Ookami lowered his head for a moment, in careful consideration.

“But if you just use your elemental magic to bind it—“

“Then I will lack the strength to fight,” Synrai interrupted calmly, steeling himself for the prayer. His body still ached from the ordeal, but the Nen’Shri’s temporary spell was holding. “I will be using my magic to stay the poison instead of using it to help restore peace.” The dragon gritted his teeth. “I will be weakened.” Synrai told himself that he had to remain strong—he sighed, and began…

“O Dark One, hear my voice; answer my call…” The star flashed a bright indigo blue, the Runes dancing as though they had been given life. The wolf nearby shifted uncomfortably…

“A venom rests within me, another of your sunless powers woven by another. Lift this curse from me, lest I perish.” The star began to flare, the edges becoming twisted; one by one, the Runes began to vanish…

“I beseech thee, bind this evil within—Metas!” As soon as the name of the final Rune escaped from his lips, a flash of light flew across the room. There was a searing pain in the dragon’s heart, followed by the draining sensation that usually followed overuse of magic. But then the feeling vanished, as did any trace of the pain that had plagued him not moments before. The brightness, it seemed, had temporarily blinded Synrai.

He blinked a few times, trying to regain his sight—what was happening? The spell had worked, had it not? His heart thrummed anxiously, willing the light to be returned to his eyes.

The dragon placed a hand on the icy ground, the other cupping his brow. Something had gone wrong... his vision wasn't returning...

He was blind.

The dragon reeled for a few seconds, feeling nauseous. Beside him, there was a rustling noise… the wolf had walked near…

“I can’t—see,” he murmured. “Why can’t I see anything…?!” And then he remembered… each of the dark arts… was woven with a price… The magic he had used had done this to him...

“No…! I said I would… go back…”

But it was all right now… because he could see…

It was over now…

The jingle of soft bells sounded in his ears, and the warmth was so comforting… he was in a room alone, enshrouded in warm cloth. It was so quiet here. There was no struggle now; he was back on Celestir, before he had ever left for Nathoran. A night would pass, and surely she would come to greet him with the dawn...

The pain was dulled... and finally, he could rest…

“Thank you,” Synrai whispered softly into the silence before his heavy eyelids closed, his breath gentle but steady in peaceful slumber…

a n d ¤ e v e r y o n e ¤ w h o ¤ s e e s ¤ u s
g r e e t s ¤ u s ¤ a s ¤ w e ¤ f l y

"Okie dokie!" Tanya agreed cheerfully. "This is gonna be lots and lots of fun!" Then she frowned a moment. "Hey, you said dragons can sometimes look like humans, right? Do they also smell and sound and taste like humans? I don't want to accidentally catch a human for my prize! There are lots of humans around. Humans are everywhere. I want a dragon." she said definitively. "A really cute dragon I can play with and who can play with me, and maybe give me rides and who I'll have lots of fun with and sometimes talk to..." her gaze went dreamy as she continued to imagine all the fun stuff she could do with her imaginary dragon.