Story Children of Volk

[Baconhands]

Part One

Rain was falling again. The wind was howling; the buildings all groaned in its grasp. Occasionally lightning flared and thunder roared, illuminating draconic shapes in the sky. The residents of Volk were tough, seafaring people, however those along its eastern coast dared not leave their homes, such was the fury of the storms that struck. Even Tallin, one of the largest coastal towns in the east, located snugly in a naturally formed harbour, though it stood defiant, was quiet as the tempest bared down upon it.

The silhouettes that appeared in the sky always seemed familiar to Kadri, though each had a unique name to her and her family. The largest was named Ljos. He shone brightest and roared the loudest. He was the eldest of many siblings, according to the tales, and his voice always rang to rein in his brothers and sisters. Eitur was one he was always reining in; a mischievous creature who was the fastest of the children, she was fickle and quick to strike in vengeance. If somebody slighted her, even incidentally, she was sure to make her fury known. Bryti was much more conservative – she appeared rarely during storms, and only with her elder brother’s permission, but when she did, she was the most brilliant and beautiful to behold.

Kadri knew that the storm did not bring those three or their siblings; the children of the Aspect of Lightning did not have the time or the omniscience to appear with every storm, if they were even still alive. Yet with every flash and every boom, the lineaged’s scales tingled with a familial affinity that always affirmed her connection to the creatures that inhabited the storms. Sometimes, while she was glancing at her forearm, watching the cluster of a few dozen azure-blue draconic scales, she could see lightning pass between them, and seconds later a thunderous roar would follow from outside. Such occurrences would make her reflexively smile.

After a moment the young woman stood, surrendering her position from the window in her room. She could barely see the building on the opposite side of the street, and, to her disappointment, the dragons appeared very rarely, and their voices were quiet as if whispers when they did. The storm had fallen quickly, and with little warning. Kadri had been caught outside, coming back from a less than successful fishing trip from one of the stone piers only a few minutes from her home. Only twenty seconds in the rain and her clothes had been soaked through, her raven hair completely dishevelled, and her pale skin covered in goose bumps. Even now, having bathed and dried and with a fresh tunic, and trousers on, the nature of the rain still affected her.

As she stepped out of her room the aromas of frying bacon and freshly baked bread greeted her nostrils, and a pleasant smile came to her face. She navigated her way to a large room, barely divided in two by the different flooring. The first, categorised a lounge, with several arm chairs, one of which was large enough for her to lay across comfortably. There were several tables, and a small fire place. The floor was stone but covered in a fine carpet, with a fair distance put between the fire place and it. The second was a kitchen, also stone, but it was bare. There were several ovens and hobs, and a sink and counter for preparing food and washing dishes.

There were several occupants of the room. Kadri’s father, a burly man wearing lose clothing and sporting extremely short black hair, was in the kitchen, minding the bacon as it continued to sizzle. Her eyes, fell however, on the two others, whom were sitting in two of the chairs which they had moved closer to the fire.

The pair appeared to be in conversation. Kadri saw one of them, a young woman with chestnut-brown hair, olive skin, and striking features, cast a cynical glance at the other. “I’m certain that is not how it works in any way,” she stated flatly, her accent coming through every syllable.

“But!” began the reply. A gangly young man was its source, an incredibly tall fellow with simple features and short hair and bright brown eyes.

Kadri decided to get involved. “What’s the topic?” she asked with an enthusiastic grin, speaking to Sigrid.

“Hendrik thinks if he gets good enough, he’ll be able to compete in the lineaged tournaments,” came the hazel-eyed woman’s response.

Kadri raised an eyebrow, and sat down between the two of them, “I feel like we’ve tackled this before. Maybe a year ago?”

Hendrik took pause, his expression betraying that he was thinking incredibly hard. After a few intense moments, his enthusiasm evaporated from him as he apparently recalled the answer.

The lineaged put a comforting hand on his for a moment before she started warming both of her hands near the fire.

Silence settled, only broken by the occasional crack of the fire and the gentle sizzle of bacon. Ten seconds passed. The resting silence was finally broken by Kadri’s father who brought over three plates, each carrying four rashers of bacon and four thick pieces of white bread, before he dismissed himself back to the kitchen.

Hendrik was quick to construct two sandwiches and had wolfed them down before Kadri had finished half of her first.

“If the Aspects were to have a fight,” he began, his energy returning to him, “who would win?”

“That would depend,” Kadri responded quickly, “on who was on whose side.”

“The Dragon War was a draw,” Sigrid stated, though she quickly began to muse, “which means either they’re all of equal power or the two sides were equal.”

“I wouldn’t begin to speculate which ones were weaker; it would be like comparing individual grains of sand to see which was bigger,” Kadri said.

Hendrik was quick to throw out three names, but Sigrid quickly countered with another three. Kadri brought up a combination from both lists and added some of her own, happy to contradict her statement for the sake of joining in. The debate continued for nearly two hours as they went back and forth, agreeing and disagreeing until eventually, they concluded that all ten of the Aspect Dragons could probably defeat the other ten, depending on the day. The final remark was Sigrid’s, “Look; if I were a betting woman, which you know I am, I wouldn’t put money down at all if they were to fight. They literally created the world and destroyed the continent, I don’t think any one of them could categorically be considered stronger than any of the others.”

The storm continued to rage, but no thunder had been heard for nigh on forty minutes. The wind howled in its place but it could not match the thunder’s fury. A glance out the window revealed it was well and truly night; not even the lashing rain could hide the passage of the day. It was quickly agreed that Sigrid and Hendrik should stay until the morning. Pyjamas were lent, two temporary beds were set up by moving the chairs close to each other, and soon enough the three of them were sipping at hot drinks and settling down for the night. Hendrik was asleep soon after finishing his.

Kadri was reading a well-worn, leather bound collection of short-stories based on myths and legends that was titled Saga of the Aspects. The book itself was a shared favourite of the trio. Each had different favourite stories within it; Kadri’s was named Children of the Storm, a tale brimming with intrigue that ultimately cautioned against idleness while emphasising the virtue within ambition that was tempered by humility.

“You know Ljos is the fucking worst in that story,” Sigrid stated flatly.

Kadri looked up from the page and noticed that Sigrid was barely holding back a grin. The mage responded, mock scorn in her voice, “You non-lineaged wouldn’t know the struggles of having so much power and responsibility. Nobody could have done better, only people like me would understand.” She upturned her nose, putting on a voice, “And you Commonwealth folk are especially naïve! Always thinking you know better!”

“Madam, your prejudices should not infect our literary debate!” Came the retort, the grin well and truly established. “And I for one know that Ljos made every single worst decision-“

Thunder boomed overhead, deafeningly close, startling Sigrid so much she let out a small scream before she quickly covered her mouth. Kadri jumped. Hendrik turned over in his sleep and mumbled something about winning a tournament.
The two women shared a beat of silence before Kadri started laughing uncontrollably, “That’s right! I knew you couldn’t get away with saying something like that for long!”
Sigrid crossed her arms and shook her head in protest, “Simply proves that all of you descended from Arbuzs have the shortest tempers ever.”
Thunder rumbled again, quieter, yet somehow more foreboding.
Kadri had stolen Sigrid’s grin. “Might I suggest you be more careful with your choice of words?”
“You can keep suggesting that I do and I will continue to ignore your advice.”

When Kadri woke up, both Hendrik and Sigrid were still asleep. A glance out of the window revealed it was still dark; the Aspect of Light was still preparing to grace Volk with dawn’s presence. A yawn escaped the lineaged. She lay, staring up at the ceiling, as she had done hours before, trying to will herself back to sleep. She wasn’t certain how long she had been lying there for: a minute, ten, maybe even an hour. Dawn was apparently no closer when the lineaged decided that sleep was currently far from her grasp. The Saga of the Aspects was within arm’s reach. What felt like only a second passed – Kadri had the book in her hands, a lantern by her side, and she had the book open at its contents. Eleven stories, one told by each of the Aspect Dragons and one told by all of them. Despite the choice available to her, it was always a coin flip between Children of the Storm and The Dragon War.

They were two very different tales; the first, a mystery about the death of one of Arbuzs’ children that almost led to a great conflict in the mortal plane. The second was a tragedy; a story about desperation that brought all the Aspect Dragons into a war on the mortal plane that broke the continent of Euross into nineteen pieces. Kadri having read the former earlier, flipped the book to the beginning of the last story.

It played out as she remembered; it began with an explanation that the ancient civilisations that had inhabited Euross were created as a way for the Aspect Dragons to settle disputes. Each was led by a family of lineaged, the first human descendants of the Aspects. While the Aspect Dragons could not intervene directly, they often directed their other children, such as the dragons, to assist the human kingdoms in their fights. Nixhem and Arbuzs, the Aspects of Metal and Lightning respectfully, were in conflict, and thus their mortals were embroiled in war. The reason was never explained fully in the book, and Kadri could never recall any priests of the Haven giving much guidance on the matter either.
Every battle was lost by Arbuzs’ kin, and soon his kingdom faced destruction. While it was never mentioned, Kadri always felt like her forefather would have tried to sue for peace, seeing how desperate the tale describes the war had gotten. The lineaged of Arbuzs, as written in the Saga, cried out for deliverance, as their enemy was soon to destroy their kingdom in its entirety, besieging their final city. Arbuzs answered, crafting an artefact of such great power that the besieging army was scattered in a day and his mortals were able to reclaim all land lost and soon it was Nixhem’s country that was facing destruction. Pride always swelled within the young lineaged as she read this chapter, but also a great sadness.
Arbuzs’ success worried the other Aspect Dragons; Awramaar, Aspect of the Arcane and oldest of the siblings, and Selta, Aspect of Ice and the calmest of them all, tried to intervene and mediate a peace. But other forces were at work. Olikah sensed an opportunity to permanently reset the balance of power in his favour and joined Arbuzs in creating an artefact for his mortals to use. Three others took after him, forcing the hands of five others, who took to the mortal plane to stop the destruction of their people.
All ten of the Aspect Dragons were soon embroiled in conflict, leading their people in war against each other. The final chapter culminated in a battle where all ten clashed.
The description of this battle always disappointed Kadri, for it was vague and broad in its scope. But the moment the siblings realised their folly always made Kadri take pause. The story ended with the continent shattering, and whole armies and cities falling into the abyss that the gashes in the world created.

 

[Baconhands]

Part 2:

With dawn’s arrival, Kadri had finished reading the tale. A glance at a timepiece revealed that it was nearing six o’clock. She didn’t know how long she’d been reading for, but she knew it was useless trying to sleep now; today was a travelling day. A tournament was taking place in five days’ time in Kaunu, one of the largest settlements in Volk with a population nearing fifteen thousand people, ten times that of Tallin. It was a vertex of the lucrative Jewellers’ Triangle, exporting precious materials such as Volkscrest to the island’s maritime partners and attracting a significant number of foreign merchants and exotic wares in return.

Many other tournaments were occurring the same weekend, but the trio favoured this one for several reasons: the city was a mere eighteen hours’ walk from Tallin, there were many side events should an early knock out occur, and most importantly it attracted the best competitors on this half of the island. This tournament was a chance to prove you were on par with the best of the best, or, failing that, it was a chance to watch the best compete against the best. Merely travelling to the tournament was rumoured to catch the eye of the Ever Watching; the spirit that chose the heir to the throne of Volk. To put it simply, it was foolish to even consider going to any of the other tournaments when Kaunu was running one.

After another hour had passed, both of Kadri’s companions were awake. The storm had moved on for the most part; a light drizzle of rain made its way to the ground. The clouds that dared to challenge the sun’s dominance were quickly retreating westwards along with whatever stars remained in the moon’s absence. The party’s journey would be accompanied by clear blue skies.

Soon enough, Kadri was waiting for Hendrik and Sigrid at the north of Tallin. She let herself bathe in the sunlight and what little rain remained in the air, determined to stay awake for the journey. This relief lasted a few minutes, before the rains finally ceased in their entirety and the skies were empty.

Hendrik was the first of Kadri’s companions to arrive. A smile always came to her face when she saw him on a travelling day; his attire was the same as he wore for tournaments. An ivory coloured gambeson made up the first layer, over which he wore a black tabard with a crudely embroidered symbol, that of three azure-blue waves, on its chest. Black trousers and brown leather boots, as well as a belt around his waist with a leather scabbard that sheathed a dull-edged sword, completed his costume. He was carrying a large, canvas bag on his back.
“Hail our lord and saviour, the vanquisher of nobility, for he has arrived in earnest!” Kadri grinned, bowing low.
A moment passed as he struggled to think of a witty retort. A defeated tone came to his voice, “You know… one day Sigrid will come up with a nickname like that for you.”
Kadri straightened her back and shook her head, “You should be proud of it. It speaks of a skilled warrior.”
“So why do you make fun of me for it? I know that voice, Kadri, and it’s a mocking one.” Hendrik pouted.
The lineaged smiled a half-cruel, half-reminiscent smile. It had happened a few weeks prior; Hendrik had placed well for the first time ever in a free for all, having finished fifth; but it had been purely accidental. Despite his competitive nature, Hendrik didn’t have the conviction necessary to face down others in a free for all, preferring to stick to the peripheries of the arenas to try and simply place well by attrition, a tactic that got him generally to a low to middle place finish. In this tournament however, he had managed to not only keep his distance from others, attributing his victory to his lighter armour which allowed him to move a lot quicker, but also he had managed to knock out three prominent nobles. As he had pulled back his blade to swing, he backhanded one in the face with enough force to daze him, managed to slam the flat of the blade against the temple of another, and once he swung the other noble was so bemused by the incident that he got a swift strike to the head.

Before she had a chance to give any form of explanation, Sigrid had approached. She was dressed resplendently, very few people would have guessed that she wasn’t noble. She wore a tight-fitting, short-sleeved white tunic that had an embroidered gold trim. On the right lapel was one of the many symbols of the Consulate, gold talons on a white shield, the edges of which were black. A belt was around her waist where two pouches hung. A cloak adorned her shoulders, raven black and trimmed silver.

“Are we ready?” She asked with a beaming smile that matched the sun.
“I reckon we could have been off ten minutes ago if you two simply stuffed your things into a bag and wore it when we arrived.” Kadri said with a sigh.
“But where’s the fun in that, my dear dragonling?” Sigrid grinned, “If you have wealth, it should be flaunted, even when traversing the emptiest roads. And I have the best security in the world besides!”

The road was well maintained between Tallin and Kaunu. It was easily wide enough to maintain steady streams of travellers heading both ways simultaneously. Traffic was frequent; barely half an hour had passed and a dozen carts, laden with barrels, bags, and sometimes people, had already overtaken them. It wasn’t an abnormal amount by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clear to see that many were merchants and traders heading to Kaunu in anticipation of the influx of people.

The road to Kaunu was a favourite of Kadri’s, due mostly in part to the features that were to her left as she walked. Emerald green plains were running inland, with trees that dotted the landscape. They stretched unimpeded for about half a mile, before they reached the Azurelak; a massive body of crystal-clear water in the day that glowed vibrantly blue at night. Arbuzs and Selta had supposedly clashed here in the Dragon War. The lake was supposed to have formed when Arbuzs called down a lightning bolt that sheered away the Aspect of Ice’s scales, and as they fell, they melted, forming the lake. Selta managed to retaliate. The Aspect of Lightning’s blood fell on the wounds in the land; the mountains beyond the Azurelak. Dark clouds conglomerated around the top of them, and lightning could be seen striking the peaks at any time of day.

Around midday, the party stopped to eat. They made their way to the edge of the Azurelak. While the sea was closer, the lake had some strange magic to it that made it warm when the air was cold, and cold when the air was warm, and thus it was always relieving
Hendrik had volunteered to pack food; it was nothing special – bread, salted beef, and a few pieces of fruit and vegetables, primarily tomatoes, lettuce and apples.
All three of them had their feet in the water and were sitting on the bank of the lake. Sigrid had brought a blanket to sit on, to prevent her clothes from staining.
The topic of conversation had changed and flowed on a whim; it initiated with Sigrid announcing her intention to go to Silverun in the near future with her parents to try and drum up business ties between Tallin and the trading guilds there. Then Hendrik stated his plans to get some new weapons and armour with his winnings from a few weeks ago, to which Sigrid was quick to point out he could only afford one thing of good quality and started recommending smiths when Hendrik revealed he wanted a new sword most of all. He also explained that he it was his ambition to learn how to make them himself. Eventually the topic settled on their standard subject; the Dragon War. They had debated which side was in the right many a time before and today wasn’t too different, with the exception that Kadri didn’t contribute much, nor did she pay much attention to her companions; she was desperately trying to stay awake. They still had most of the journey to go but she could feel exhaustion clawing at edge of her mind, trying to drag her into slumber.
When she yawned, Sigrid grinned, “So… how long were you awake for before we set off?”
The lineaged’s voice betrayed her, “Only just before dawn was when I finished reading.”
“More than four hours?”
“Easily.”
Hendrik’s shoulders sagged, and he laid down against the soft grass. Sigrid seemed overjoyed – she didn’t have to say anything; her eyes lit up and her grin got wider. She was quick to return to the topic of dragons, however, though she could not hide her jovial tone, much to Hendrik’s clear annoyance.

Their attitudes remained until the evening as they continued their way north. The sun had fallen past the mountains and the sky was stained a brilliant array of blues, oranges and purples. The first stars, the first children of the Aspect of Light immortalised in the skies, could be seen. The waning moon was rising. Before darkness could well and truly settle, the party took a few steps off the road and decided to settle there for the night before continuing onward to Kaunu at dawn. Hendrik set down his bag, inside was a bell tent, large enough for the three of them to comfortably sleep in for the night. The roads between Tallin and Kaunu were well patrolled, especially on the weeks before and after a tournament; security wouldn’t be an issue.

The trio sat once more in the grass; while it was cool, it wasn’t damp. The stars shone above, the last vestiges of day had well and truly disappeared. A gentle breeze from the south brought with it warm air from lands far away; sometimes Kadri thought she could smell the spices of the Commonwealth’s markets, or that the winds brought with them the sounds of distant wars. Alas, that evening neither sense was rewarded with an image of foreign lands; her only experience of such things for the immediate would be Sigrid. A silence settled among the trio while they were eating as they gazed upwards.

Kadri was the one to disturb the quiet, “Do you think the Aspects still watch us?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Sigrid said almost sadly, “It… has to be an odd existence. Not being able to do anything on the plane they created. Not being able to help their children or intervene to stop something terrible.”
“Makes them sound selfish,” Hendrik stated. “They could do something, but they refuse to.”
“Because they don’t trust themselves to stop once they’ve achieved their goal,” Sigrid said, still somewhat morose, “look at all the times they did intervene, and look at all the terrible things that happened because they did. That’s why they created us, isn’t it? So they wouldn’t have to intervene.”
“And then they did anyway,” Kadri sighed. “Isn't it odd; the dragons were their children, the animals were created out of competition, and humans were made so that we would die instead of them? I suppose ironic is better; the dragons are disappearing, the animals have become intelligible and we're left as the masters of what used to be Euross." She paused, "Maybe they don't intervene because they feel guilty."
Sigrid considered it for a moment, "I don't think the dragons are disappearing; there were never many to begin with. I agree with you, though; if the Saga is true, then I can't imagine any being would be able to have that many deaths on its conscience without doing something about it."
“I remember Preacher Arvid said something about guilt,” Hendrik mused, mimicking Sigrid's thoughtful expression, though not out of spite, “the Dragon War must have really gotten to them. I like that idea though, like they're making up for past mistakes.”
“We’ve definitely had this conversation before,” Kadri yawned, “And since we've come to an agreement, I am going to turn in. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Yes mum,” Sigrid grinned.
Kadri knew she had said something else as well, but she was too tired to recall it. She entered the tent, closed the entrance behind her, changed into more comfortable attire, climbed into her bedroll and as soon as her head rested against the floor, she was asleep.

 

[Baconhands]

Part 3:
Morning arrived. Kadri was awake. To her surprise, she woke to the sounds of conversation. She sat up groggily, looking around the interior of the tent. It was dark inside, and so Kadri assumed that the sun was not yet risen. She could hear the gentle pattering of rain, alongside the voices outside, one of which was distinctly familiar. Sigrid was still asleep, her head resting against her carefully folded cloak. Hendrik, however, was nowhere to be seen. Kadri felt a wave of relief wash over her. Careful not to wake her remaining companion, she got changed and stuck her out of the entrance of the tent.

In the distance, the lineaged could see the luminescence of the Azurelak. It stained the base of the mountains an ominous blue-grey and the made the storms above the mountains somehow even more menacing. She looked up, feeling the drops of rain against her head; an individual cloud, barely twice the diameter of the tent itself, was above them. Everywhere else between the mountains and the sea was not subjected to the temporary drizzle. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, for it was the time of night where the moon had set but the sun was yet to rise, she eventually found Hendrik, sitting on the ground, leaning back against his hands. The figure opposite him was not familiar, at least by appearance.

Though they were sitting down, Kadri could tell they weren’t particularly tall though she wasn’t certain as to whether she should attribute that to their age or them being short generally. They had young and youthful features but their eyes, though curious, round and, naïve like Hendrik’s, seemed ancient and weathered. They were a staunch grey, akin to the lineaged’s, but were much more stable. The stranger had middle-length, unkept hair that fell just about to the top of their shoulders. Their form was swamped in long, flowing robes in shades of blues, purples, and greys, and they seemed to have an aura about them that radiated a powerful yet welcoming presence. What Kadri’s eye the most was the scales on the stranger’s face.

Typically, those who could trace their bloodlines back to one of the ten Aspect Dragons had a cluster of scales, shared in shade and colour with the Aspect, on one of their forearms. Very few cases were recorded where they appeared elsewhere on the body; they never appeared above the neck. This stranger’s scales traced the ridges of his cheeks and lined his eyes. They were a beautiful array of azures and dark blues, meaning-

“I thought I could sense one of my kin nearby!” the stranger beamed, practically shouting a greeting to Kadri. Their accent was odd to say the least, certainly not of Volkish origins; it should have felt alien, but Kadri felt uncomfortably comforted by it. “This lovely gentleman has been regaling me with tales of nations, war, and intrigue.”
Kadri was stunned, practically paralysed, unable to properly process what had been apparently happening.
The stranger seemed to become genuinely disappointed at this, and their beaming smile was replaced by a frown that appeared to speak of some grievous insult.
The silence was uncomfortable. The sea sounded miles away, the pattering of the rain seemed to intensify.
“Um…” came Hendrik’s venturing voice, “should I continue?”
The stranger sighed, suddenly depressed, “I’m afraid not today. Perhaps I will seek you out later. In Kaunu yes?”
“Correct!” Hendrik said.
The stranger’s grin returned, “Wonderful! More stories then! I look forward to it!” The rain intensified for a moment; lightning struck the stranger. Kadri averted her eyes, when she looked again, they were gone, along with the rain.

Free of her paralysis, the lineaged took tentative steps towards Hendrik. She spoke slowly, as if to a child, “Hendrik, do you know who that was?”
A shrug accompanied the young man’s response, “No, they didn’t give a name. They just sat down and asked if I could talk to them for a while.”
“How long were you talking for?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t been keeping track of the time, Kadri. They were just really good at listening.” He looked at her curiously, “Why the questions?”
“Because that was a Spirit, Hendrik!” Kadri exclaimed.
Hendrik’s eyes went wide, “You mean… like from the books?”
“How was it not obvious?!” Kadri continued, “Did you see those scales?! The clouds?!”
Hendrik shrunk back, “Well, I don’t really know how you… lot work. They could have been a very special lineaged.”

Kadri felt furious: how could he not have known? Such interactions weren’t unheard of, but they were ridiculously rare. Spirits were among the first beings to be created by the Aspect Dragons. They were among the most powerful creatures on the continent in some cases. The Ever Watching was supposed to be one of these Spirits. The one that had visited was clearly not as powerful as the ones in the stories but still, such an encounter was a momentous thing. The lineaged took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh; she had thrown the opportunity away by freezing up. That wasn’t Hendrik’s fault.

She had just now noticed that lightning was crackling at her finger tips, and Kadri, seeing Hendrik’s horrified face, felt a wave of guilt overwhelm her. The lightning dissipated with whatever anger she felt and Kadri sank to the ground, keeping a fair distance from her friend.

“I… sorry Hendrik,” Kadri said quietly.
“All’s forgiven, Kadri,” Hendrik smiled sincerely, but warily, “Arbuzs is a scary Aspect. Almost as scary as his lineaged.”
Kadri smiled a half-smile, “Preaching to the choir.”
“At least you’re not descended from Awramaar,” Hendrik offered.
“Those pompous pricks? I’d rather die than be one of them,” the lineaged stated with a grin. “The same for if I was one of Bakrit’s bastards.”
Sigrid’s prying voice emanated from the tent, “Are you going to tell Aron that?”
Kadri turned to glare at the tent’s entrance, “What do you think?”
“I should tell him?”
“No! Not at all! Don’t you fucking dare!”
A menacing cackle was the response. “You can expect some blackmail in the near future, Kadri!”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Four:
The march to Kaunu held similar weather as to when the party left Tallin; the clear skies beamed a bright blue, the clouds were relegated ominously, albeit securely, to the west, and the sun climbed optimistically in the east. When their destination came into sight, it was much as Kadri had remembered it. The city had no walls, ever welcoming to any traveller. Whether they were there to trade, to rest, or to simply enjoy the competitive culture of Volk, Kaunu was open to all. It covered a large area with several of the outlying buildings reaching as far as a mile from its centre. While most of the architecture was much the same as Tallin, the nucleus of this circular city held several grander buildings: the abbey, with its great spires challenging the heavens, the guild hall, the only one in the east that wasn’t unassuming, and the arena, where the finals of the hosted tournaments took place.
A river, the Avon, ran into the sea about half a mile north of the city proper. This waterway ran from the interior to the sea and had its origins in the mountains where minerals and Volkscrest were harvested. Two roads, one running north towards green pastures and one heading south to the fishing grounds, fed Kaunu both literally and figuratively. They were both choked with people. Traffic disproportionately headed towards the city. Some had set up shop outside it, creating a pseudo-marketplace of a myriad of multi-coloured market stalls that were selling goods from across the Nineteen Islands.

The party, despite leaving early, were caught in this midday rush of merchants, traders, and travellers. Kadri couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the poor guards, who were trying desperately to direct the crowd to the appropriate authorities. Most of them seemed quite young, probably volunteers who were only working temporarily while the tournaments were being run. The lineaged heard the city paid quite well for this sort of work, and it came with a number of perks such as free food in a number of inns and taverns dotted around the trade hub. She and Sigrid had tried to convince Hendrik to volunteer, but he had refused, stating he would much rather be spectating and competing.
The trio found themselves on the end of an outrageously long queue that stretched for a quarter of a mile outside of Kaunu proper. Determining that they would be there for at least an hour, Kadri volunteered to browse the stalls and grab food for the three of them. Five gold pieces, enough to purchase one of the finer bottles of wine in Volk, was graciously given to her by Sigrid. The Consul had been reluctant to give such money away, but the lineaged was quick to point out that merchants tended to charge a huge premium for food and goods at these events, especially for food that was from far away lands such as Alba and Silverun. Moments later, she was walking down to the tents and stalls outside of Kaunu with a broad grin on her face.

She returned, carrying a leather satchel over one shoulder and some form of wooden chest with a handle at its top in the other, to a rather grumpy looking Sigrid, and a Hendrik who looked on the verge of collapse.
“One hour,” growled the Consul, “How did it take you one fucking hour?”
“An hour,” wheezed Hendrik weakly in support of Sigrid’s outrage.
“I think you’ll find it to be worth it,” Kadri grinned, “the chefs needed time to prepare your dishes individually and, since I care for the both of you, I got you stuff from different stalls! Also, lots of queues and people, you know, standard market stuff.”
In reality, the acquisition of food had been fairly straight forward. The market place, while not devoid of life, wasn’t experiencing a lot of custom yet, as was to be expected. Kadri instead, had been distracted by the stalls. Words couldn’t describe how liberating it was for Kadri to be walking among such diverse goods and people once more! The tournament was days away from actually beginning, and this pseudo-market was already twice the size of Tallin’s proper market, and it had bombarded Kadri’s senses with intriguing scents, bright colours, and a cacophony of beautiful, chaotic sounds that only a proper market could bring. The lineaged practically bounded from stall to stall, inspecting and browsing everything that was on offer. She had brought with her a small notebook and a quill for this exact reason, writing down the names of merchants she spoke with, what they were selling, how much they cost, and sometimes reserving some items, such as a particularly fine purple cloak, made of what felt like silk, from the shores of Arbor which she knew Sigrid would absolutely adore. It was only the loud grumble of Kadri’s stomach that brought her back to focussing on her actual reason for being there: food.

The lineaged had spent just over a third of the money she’d been given, most of which was spent on the satchel and the chest. The queue had apparently been unmoving for the last twenty minutes, thusly, Sigrid and Hendrik were sat at the side of the road, their place apparently guaranteed by a nearby guard.
Kadri placed the chest down first, and lifted its lid. Inside were three meal-sized wooden bowls, secured with their own lids. The lineaged had been sure to mark each one with the initials of the intended recipient. For Sigrid, she had acquired a pasta-based dish, mixed with some sort of tomato sauce with about a dozen herbs and spices, that apparently did something to the flavour that Kadri did not understand, with diced chicken and bacon mixed in. A simple meal, but one that brought a touching amount of nostalgic joy to Sigrid’s face when the meal was unveiled that Kadri thought she might be a changed woman for a few moments.
That same expression, though less nostalgic and more probably simple excitement that food was in front of him, came to Hendrik when it was revealed that Kadri had gotten him pulled pork, lathered in a sweet sauce, with fried, cut potatoes.
Kadri had had a plethora of choice, but rice was so rare in Volk that she simply had to have some, fried with eggs, vegetables, and mixed with slow-roasted pork.

Hendrik had brought basic cutlery. The queue remained unmoving, and so the trio tucked in.
“How… did you… manage to spend as much as you did on… just this? Not that I’m complaining.” Sigrid inquired suspiciously between, mouthfuls. Apparently, this meal was enough for Sigrid to forget her normal etiquette.
“Well the chest is enchanted by a lineaged of Sendrin, so it’s perpetually one temperature, hot but not so much that it will burn food, on the inside,” Kadri explained. “And this here has a few things inside it.” The lineaged grinned as she indicated to the satchel, “Namely, bottles of red wine.”

The queue finally began moving ten minutes after the party had finished their meals, and it was moving at a much quicker pace than before. After a further ten minutes, they were at the front of the line. Three inspectors were sorting the incoming traffic. They were all dressed in white and black robes with the symbol of the city, a ship leaving the side of an open gatehouse, on their left lapel. Normally these inspectors wouldn’t have been in place, but with the influx of merchants due to the tournament, such measures had to be implemented to ensure any illegal goods were filtered out. When the trio were called forward, they were simply asked for their purpose of visiting.
“They’re competing, I’m sponsoring,” Sigrid said, producing three pieces of paper. They had been collected by Kadri from the Guild Hall in Tallin, and listed their names, where the papers had been issued, and their stated role for the upcoming festivities. The document was stamped with the symbol of the Guild Halls.
The forms were looked over briefly, their bags were opened and searched, before they were waved in without any issues.

The trio had entered from the south, and thus were well situated to find an inn that would accommodate them for the entire tournament. Most inns were in the north of the city, along with the market, since the port was situated north of the city, near the river. Hence, more travellers tended to stay there. The south, while not abundant in choice, had several quiet, but still relatively high quality, establishments that were somewhat unknown to travellers from the rest of Volk and were certainly unknown to foreigners. While most of the traffic headed north, the party diverted right down a less busy cobbled road. A minute or two passed before the trio stood outside of an unassuming three-story building with a wooden sign that read The Squire’s Choice in simple black lettering.

Kadri was the first to enter. She was greeted by a familiarly modest albeit spacious room. There were maybe a dozen round tables, with about six times that number of chairs and stools scattered around. The furniture kept with the inn’s rustic aesthetic, as did the bar at the other side of the room. The floor, much to Kadri’s surprise, however, was covered in a fine blue carpet, and several lanterns hung from metal chains from the ceiling. They held no fire, however, as natural light was pouring in from windows on both sides of the building.

There weren’t many patrons; Kadri counted eleven in total. Most looked in her direction as she entered and she was greeted with a round of smiles.
“There they are!” a hearty, country accent enthusiastically shouted from the other side of the room.
“Here we are!” Kadri beamed, elation clear in her voice.
As Sigrid and Hendrik entered behind her, Kadri watched as a short, barrel of a man with balding, ashen hair for a top waddled over enthusiastically, arms outstretched, ready to embrace the lot of them.
“Come ‘ere you!” he said, taking them individually into a soft bear hug. None of them resisted.
As he released Hendrik, Oskar took a couple of steps away, “I’ve been countin’ down the days I ‘ave. Didn’t know if you’d come today or tomorrow; we had a wager on it me and ‘elga we did.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder, “I assume you want the usual?”
All three of them voiced their assent. They sat down at a worn round table and a minute later Oskar had sat down next to them, drinks and room keys in hand.
“Who won the bet, you or Helga?” Sigrid asked.
“Well, ‘elga, I think it goes without sayin’,” Oskar admitted, “You gonna be runnin’ your usual stakes this time Sigrid?”
The Consul produced a ledger, “Can’t give you odds yet on individual matches, but I assume…”
“You’re goin’ to the finals this time, ain’t ya Kadri?” Oskar asked, though it was more a statement than a question. Before the lineaged could answer, her mouth full of apple juice, the tavern owner continued, “Go on, I’ll put twen’y down for ‘er to get to the finals.”
The lineaged spat most of the juice back into her cup. “Well, no fucking pressure on me then is there?” Kadri exclaimed.
Oskar seemed unfazed, and rested a pudgy hand on Hendrik’s shoulder, “And I’ll put five on this strappin’ young’un to get through his first round, regardless of who it’s against.”
Hendrik sat up straight at this, his shoulders back and his chest proud, “I won’t let you down.”
“I know kid, I know, it’s gonna be plenty fun watchin’ ya,” the old man smiled sincerely.
As soon as Sigrid had finished scribbling everything down, she looked up with a smile, “Right, I’ll get odds to you before you hand over anything.”
“Now don’ you be treatin’ me special, Sigrid, I know what you’re like with my customers,” he said, shaking his head, “don’t be so ruthless with ‘em.”
“It’s that ruthlessness that keeps them interested,” Sigrid grinned in response.
A bawdy laugh escaped Oskar, “O’course, o’course. When do you want me to advertise the bettin’?”
“When the brackets are released,” Sigrid chimed, “Should give people a bit more confidence.”
“Right, right, will do, will do. Enough about that. Updates, stories, tell me everythin’,” Oskar insisted, leaning back in his chair and taking a large swig of his drink.

The trio chatted with the tavern owner well into the evening. Time seemed to pass at four times its normal speed. Tales were told of Hendrik’s fluke victory, life back in Tallin, and the journey to Kaunu including the encounter with the Spirit. In turn, Oskar began by meandering around several topics, strangers in cloaks and the such, before settling on what his son, Aron, had been up to, a topic Kadri took a special interest in. According to his father, he was apprenticing with a ship captain, and had most recently been to the Commonwealth’s colonies for business that Oskar admitted he didn’t quite understand. What he did know, however, was that he was due to return in a day’s time.
“You should come along, I reckon he’d be ‘appy to see all you lot,” the old man smiled.
Sigrid eyed Kadri coyly as the lineaged seemed almost frozen at the idea. “We’d be more than happy to,” the Consul grinned.

The Squire’s Choice had been steadily filling as the conversation drew on. Oskar had some staff, but only a few, and it became apparent soon enough that they were beginning to struggle as time ticked by. The tavern owner excused himself and went to serve behind the bar after lighting the lanterns.
Every seat was full as the clock turned to eight, and several were already standing. A few performers had started playing music; a group of local bards whose songs were energetic and lively, albeit somewhat amateur. The patrons were supportive, however, and joined in as often as they could.
After food, a delightful stew with soft bread, was had the party were quick to begin on ciders and ales. Hendrik was drunk soon enough, and was quickly socialising with anyone that even so much as looked at him, eventually joining a group of rowdy young folk who were trawling as many inns as they could before they passed out. Kadri made sure that the staff kept the key to his room.
Soon after Hendrik left, Sigrid fell prey to alcohol’s influence, and Kadri stopped drinking to keep an eye on her. The Consul had a habit of becoming incredibly competitive when inebriated, and would make wild wagers with anyone who could come up with one, with the result always being the same: Sigrid would always win. Kadri was convinced that Sigrid was blessed by the Aspect of Luck.

Later, when they were among the last handful of patrons, Kadri managed to convince Sigrid to go to bed by betting that she couldn’t get to their room first. The two women tended to share a room, at Sigrid’s insistence, because it saved money.
Kadri had been left to carry the party’s stuff up a flight of stairs and along a corridor to get to their abode. She fumbled with the key for a moment, an impatient Sigrid tapping her foot every second that passed, and was pushed aside when it was unlocked so that Sigrid could get inside first.

Kadri wasn’t given a chance to concede; when Sigrid spotted a bed, she swayed unsteadily to it, and collapsed onto it, asleep. The lineaged took a moment to drop off the party’s inventory unceremoniously and ensure Sigrid was lying at least somewhat comfortably before she closed the door and locked it.
The room was cosy, barely large enough for the two beds that it was home to. There was a mirror and a wash basin and little else in terms of furniture. It had a window facing outwards from the front of the inn, towards the city centre. It didn’t provide much of a view, in fact as Kadri glanced out of it she could only see the structures on the other side of the street. There was a notice board too, standing a few feet from the road. It was made of wood, with only a few pinned messages on it. Kadri imagined that many of the messages that had been there were blown away when the storm had hit.

A somewhat ambiguous figure, dressed in a hooded cloak, was pinning something to it. Odd, the lineaged thought, that someone would be doing so at this time of night. She watched the figure for a minute or so before they strolled away down the street. Her eyes followed until the figure disappeared from sight, then they were drawn to the notice board. Squinting and straining, she tried to discern at least what the title of the document was; it was in large bold lettering, but at such a distance, it was difficult to perceive anything but a couple of letters. Curious, Kadri unlocked the door and headed down the stairs, through the tavern, and out into Kaunu.

The document didn’t look like anything special; the words were written in black ink, and the handwriting looked like they belonged to someone deeply out of practice, or panicking. As Kadri inspected further, it didn’t look as if the message had been written in a hurry. In fact, while the handwriting looked somewhat unprofessional, there were some parts that looked as if they had been written delicately and slowly. Its title was written in bold, block letters that read, A Gift. A cynical smile came to her lips. The lineaged unpinned the parchment, resolving to return it later after she had read its contents.

Once she was back inside, she took a seat at a table in the centre of the tavern. Of the many people that had been here, only four were left: two staff, denoted only by the aprons they wore, who were cleaning up after the patrons, and two customers who were sipping at hot drinks and speculating who the victors of the upcoming tournament might be. Oskar was nowhere to be seen. Kadri had lost track of them during the evening, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the tavern owner was passed out somewhere in the building.

Her eyes were drawn to the parchment. She’d laid it down on the table, and started to read:

“Dear Reader

It has come to my attention that this town will soon be host to festivities and competitions that will assist in the determination of the future of this Kingdom. Volk holds a close place to my heart, and I would hope one day to see its influence extend beyond the restrictive confines of its home island, much as Arbuzs helped his descendants ensure their continued existence on this plane.
To this extent, I will be watching the competitions with a great interest, for if the victor impresses upon me that they have the capacity to be a symbol for this country, and carry the Aspect’s blessing, then I shall give unto them a mighty gift, with which they shall be able to lead this island to dominance beyond the waves.

I shall find the champion if one proves themselves worthy.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Five:
The next morning, Kadri found herself taking a meandering path through Kaunu to the dockyards north of the city. Kadri knew that there would be a huge crowd outside the arena, and thus she steered clear of the city centre, navigating familiar streets that, while busy, were moving significantly quicker than any of the main roads. Sigrid had yet to wake up and after speaking with some of the staff Kadri knew that Hendrik had only stumbled back in an hour before the lineaged had gone for breakfast. It had been an interesting morning; she’d shared the main points of the notice with Oskar and they had spent about half an hour speculating over what this gift might be, and who the anonymous donator was. A member of the aristocracy, trying to curry some form of favour with a potential future monarch was the suspicion that they both came to. What exactly this gift was, was beyond the both of them. This wasn’t exactly frustrating, but it added a layer of mystery to the upcoming tournament that Kadri couldn’t help but ponder as she walked.

This same intrigue had caught the imagination of the city. The notice had apparently been posted on every message board across Kaunu, each handwritten exactly the same as the one that had appeared outside of the tavern. Where one of these messages was found a small crowd formed, and wild theories abounded from some sort of way to drum up hype for the tournament (not like that would ever be necessary for Volk), to an Aspect Dragon breaking its exile to come and lead the island nation to some form of militaristic glory.

Kadri thought back to the last time something like this had happened. It was a year ago, in Roahn in the west of Volk. A notice had appeared on every message board in the lake-side town, promising a vague reward for the victor. It was largely ignored by the general populace, and to their surprise, when the winner was proclaimed, a mysterious figure had stepped forward and gifted to them a silver crown with a sapphire in its centre. This was no trivial piece of jewellery, however, and it was discovered that this was an ancient item from before the Dragon War. The ambiguous individual who had gifted the item turned out to be a Spirit, who claimed to be acting out of the wishes of Ljos.
Word of this spread feverishly across Volk and beyond, bringing the small island to the attention of the Haven and its researchers, and a swarm of archaeologists had descended upon Volk. They had turned up nothing extraordinary in the seven months they were there. With the emergence of another message, the hype that had been absent last time was prevalent now.

It took her thirty or so minutes to get out of the city and a further twenty to get to the harbour. The road outside was sparsely populated; travellers came in large, sporadic groups, ranging between twenty and a hundred people, with a significant minority bearing exotic skin tones and foreign accents. As she passed by them, Kadri would flash a smile or nod in response to what she thought was a greeting.

A small town had sprung up around the docks themselves, about half the size of Tallin. It was home to the harbour’s many workers, and the few administrative staff who were unfortunate enough to bare the stress of keeping track of a ship’s incoming cargo, its crew size, its captain, and other information that Kadri simply didn’t want to know. She made her way through a maze of stone homes, inns, and ware houses until she was at the harbourside.
It was much the same as Tallin’s, Kadri thought to herself; it was a haven for small ships, owned by locals and visitors from the other cities and towns of Volk. A plethora of flags were flown: the silver bolt of Elsin, the rearing pegasus of Roahn, and the howling wolf of Loak were the most populous of the crowds. What set Kaunu’s port apart, however, was the mouth of the Avon. This allowed for larger ships, with multiple decks and many masts, to rest in the harbour’s safe embrace. There were few of them, but Kadri found herself in awe of the behemoths patiently waiting to haul the next cargo across the oceans and seas. These were the foreign ships that made Kaunu so lucrative a settlement, and though they were few in number, their cargos were not only sizeable but incredibly precious.

The port was spotted with benches facing out to sea. Most of them were empty, and so Kadri had a large amount of choice. A central seat was chosen, one which had a view up and down the docks. Crest’s Wake, as the locals called it, hadn’t escaped the buzz that had rippled through Kaunu. As she sat, she listened; over the sounds of the waves and the calls of the gulls, speculation abounded, and ideas appeared to become the social currency of the day.


“Do you mind if I take a seat?” A feminine voice with a foreign accent, unrecognisable to Kadri, asked.
Kadri nodded, and a figure dressed in tight fitting, plain robes sat next to her. Sitting down, she was an inch shorter than the lineaged, and she had wild black hair that fell just past her shoulders. She was in her mid to late twenties from her looks. Oddly, one part of the newcomer’s hair was dyed an azure blue, not too dissimilar a shade from the scales on Kadri’s forearm. They wore a smile on their inquisitive features, and their eyes were a deep, wise grey.
A moment of silence existed between the pair, before the stranger spoke.
“I’m not normally allowed to come here, you know,” she said, still smiling but a hint of sadness was noticeable in her voice.
Kadri decided to indulge the stranger, if anything to pass the time. “Why would that be?”
“My brother mostly,” the stranger said honestly, “Ever since our father left, he sort of took over. Bit of a tyrant I would say.”
A sense of sympathy began to well in the lineaged. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any other siblings you could… tell, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes. Plenty of siblings. Three of them. Or I had three of them. Just me, my brother and my sister now. And many nieces, nephews, and children. But he’s a brute. Very big, very strong, and quick to anger,” the stranger explained. “I think everyone is a bit scared of him. But he’s not very smart you see.” She held out her arms, as if exemplifying her being, “He can’t keep track of us all, as much as he tries.”
“I’m sure he’s just worried about you,” Kadri offered.
A laugh escaped the stranger, “Worried? About me?! Oh, when that day comes, the Aspects will be back!”
The lineaged offered her an awkward smile. “So… what do you think of the news?”
“News, what news?” The stranger asked sincerely.
Kadri raised an eyebrow, “The message?”
“Oh of course, yes that. Doesn’t concern me, I’m not competing,” the stranger state flatly. They leaned in close, clearly intrigued, “Does it concern you?”
Kadri shifted away, “Um… well it concerns everyone competing I suppose.”
“A competitor? What’s your name? I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Kadri.”
“Well good luck, Kadri. You’ve been wonderful to speak to. I hope you emerge victorious.” The figure stood and offered a hand for the lineaged to shake. Kadri took it. What happened next occurred in what felt like an instant. A person bumped into the stranger, grey clouds formed over-head, lightning struck from the heavens, and the stranger had disappeared in their entirety, a thunderous roar following in their wake. When Kadri’s senses returned to her, she realised the bystander had disappeared as well, and the clouds overhead had scattered.

Kadri blinked, as if surprised, but the populace continued by as if all was normal. To an extent, it was: teleporting in such a manner wasn’t uncommon for lineaged like Kadri. But Kadri had spotted no scales. Was this another Spirit? Perhaps. Typically, they were much more reserved than that woman. She had to assume that this was an especially powerful one, to obscure such a trapping. If she didn’t assume this, then she would have to conclude that they were a creature of great power, something she had never met or seen before.

“Who was your friend?” Sigrid’s voice permeated her thoughts.
Kadri looked up; the Consul was wearing much more modest clothing than the day before, though a silver necklace rested on her chest. Kadri must have been at the port for at least two hours for Sigrid to be anything less than hungover.
“I… I don’t know,” Kadri said cautiously.
“One of your many cousins?” The Consul pressed, sitting beside her.
“I… they didn’t feel familiar. At all. I didn’t even think they could cast magic until she teleported away.”
Sigrid raised an eyebrow, “Now you’ve got me interested. What do you think? Something very closely related to Arbuzs, obviously.”
“She had no scales.”
“No scales? That eliminates Spirits.” Sigrid’s eyes went wide with realization, “No… surely not… I mean… that can’t be right can it?”
The Consul met Kadri’s eyes; they had reached the same conclusion. Sigrid lowered her voice.
“But… why would a dragon be in Kaunu?”

 

[Baconhands]

Part 6:
“What if they’re going to try and launch some sort of attack?”
“Why would a dragon want to attack Volk, Hendrik?” Kadri’s scornful voice snapped. The lineaged’s mind was besieged by three principal stresses: the dragon, the tournament, and Aron’s lack of appearance. She, Sigrid, Hendrik, and Oskar had waited at the dockside until the moon was high, and the vestiges of day had long since retired before they had all collectively agreed that he would not be returning until the next morning.
Hendrik shrugged, “Lots of reasons. Maybe they want to disrupt trade? Or influence who will be monarch next? Or maybe-“
“These all sound like conspiracies that you’ve read somewhere,” Sigrid interrupted. The young man seemed genuinely wounded, but this didn’t stop Sigrid, “Let’s try to be at least… somewhat realistic with our theories. Anyway,” she continued, her voice suddenly finding optimism, “this is pretty exciting! What blessed times we must live in to be even within a mile of a dragon!”
Kadri paused in her pacing. An eerie silence was invited to settle in the room for a brief moment.
“I agree, but I also find it… kind of scary.” Kadri said quietly. Her companions’ eyes flicked towards her expectantly. “Well, I mean, who wouldn’t be excited by this? They’re so rare! And one of Arbuzs’ children nonetheless! Maybe one of his original four! Maybe it’s true what they say; there’s a dragon in every storm that hits Volk.”
“But?” Sigrid prompted.
“But… why now? Why the timing?” Kadri finally took the opportunity to sit down, taking a place to the right of Hendrik. “Kaunu’s an important city, sure, but it’s not Karrelis. And there’s a tournament going on, I’ll admit, but… it’s not like last time is it?”
“For now we don’t know if the message was written by the dragon, but I can’t imagine that her presence and the appearance of the message is just a coincidence,” the Consul speculated.
Hendrik interjected. He spoke slowly, his mind linking speculative events together, “They’re here to put someone on the throne. Because if they give the winner an artefact, they will be even more powerful in the Ever Watching’s eyes. And then, the monarch will be in their debt. And then they’ll get them to do her bidding.”
“That’s… well, not a bad shout Hendrik,” Sigrid said, genuinely impressed, though scepticism hinted her voice.
“This assumes that they’re a dragon at all,” Kadri was quick to interject, “I probably just didn’t notice the scales on her arm.”
“That does not stop us from theorizing that there is one,” Sigrid retorted.

Wild theories were thrown out until the conversation’s energy began to dull and dissipate. A quiet settled. The Consul suddenly reached over to her bedside, “I almost forgot. Letters for both of you. I think you can both guess what they are.”

Sigrid produced two cream envelopes stamped with a lightning bolt encircled by a crown in red wax. She handed handed them to their appropriate recipients. They were opened with two quick swift motions, and unfolded with as much eagerness. It was as talk of dragons had never happened, such was the enthusiasm of the pair to absorb and digest the information on the page in front of them. The lineaged took a seat beside Hendrik. Kadri looked at him, “Would you like to go first, or shall I?”
Hendrik looked up and indicated to her, “You.”
The lineaged nodded, and began reading aloud the printed letters in front of her,




“Dear Miss Laar,

It is with great excitement and anticipation that we welcome you to our most humble city. We would first like to thank you for choosing to participate in the upcoming tournament and we are certain that you will bring much entertainment to the spectators, as well as prove yourself a worthy combatant in the eyes of the Ever Watching!

The lineaged tournament will consist of single-elimination, one-on-one matches. The lineaged tournament has 323 entrants this year! Due to this unexpected number of competitors, we have decided that the first two days of competing will be preliminaries, and have placed the current top 64 seeded competitors (based on results gathered by the Guild) ahead on the bracket as is appropriate. They can expect to begin competing on the third day of festivities.

You will find on the inverse of this letter: when you will first begin competing, who you are projected to face for your next three matches (should you prove victorious in the first), and where you shall be competing.

We would like to wish upon you the blessings of Sidabrinis, and all of the other Aspect Dragons

With warmest regards
The Guild.”

She put down the letter, “My, that’s one hell of a turn out.”
“That’s… a tenth of the lineaged on the island,” Sigrid calculated. “This is the largest lineaged tournament we’ve ever been to.”
Hendrik was waiting patiently to read his. When he did, there were few differences, save for the middle part. It explained that there were over fifteen hundred participants, which Hendrik was quick to voice his disappointment about, given that this was supposed to be a national tournament, and that huge free-for-alls, numbering between twenty and thirty people, would make up the first two days, with the last four standing of each free-for all competing in further, albeit smaller free-for-alls, on the third day. The forth and fifth days would consist of one-on-one matches in a bracket style, leading to an overall victor.

Kadri rolled her eyes, “I love the Guild.”
“Well… it just means that when a non-lineaged becomes monarch then they will have really earned it,” Hendrik said with a sad smile. “Gives me a chance to make some new friends, anyhow.”
Despite the front he attempted to put up, Hendrik was always easy to read: he hated the free-for-alls, and Kadri and Sigrid knew it. It was one of the reasons why they encouraged him to take up a guard position at larger tournaments, because such contests always used that format. But the amateur warrior always insisted on competing and despite his disdain for the free-for-alls, he always had a tenacious attitude towards them.
Hendrik flipped over his letter. “Day 1, group seventeen, five o’clock in the afternoon,” his voice suddenly grew elated, “the Arena!”
Broad smiles took to all of their faces. “I knew it wouldn’t be too long before that happened,” Kadri beamed, leaning across and giving him a quick hug.
“On the main stage at a major! One goal down,” Sigrid grinned.
“I’ve got to tell mum and dad! They’ll be so proud!”
Kadri was genuinely happy for her friend, but in the back of her mind, she suspected they all knew why he would be in the main arena: somebody contesting the throne was in his group. But such fears could be set aside for the moment.
“If I do well, it’ll happen again!” Hendrik grinned optimistically. He paused before he continued, somewhat calmer, “What about you?”
Kadri turned the parchment over. She blinked. The words leaped off the page and Kadri suddenly felt sickeningly nervous and unnaturally excited. She could feel the colour drain from her face as the two emotions battled for control of her mind and body. What felt like an age passed as the conflict raged until an uneasy truce settled between both sides.
“Day three,” she uttered, “Opponent to be determined.”
The syllables hung in the air, dominating the room. Kadri was entirely absorbed by them, and they played back in her mind near a thousand times; she hadn’t noticed Hendrik moving to embrace her in a tight hug. The lineaged knew he had said something, but his words hadn’t registered; the battle of emotions had resumed, and it would continue well into the night.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Seven:
Kadri knew it wasn’t a nightmare; why would this ever be a nightmare? This was the dream of every person born natively to Volk, at least at some point in their lives. The lineaged would find herself in an arena – the arena. It was familiar to her. She had fought in it before. The stone pillars, immaculately chiselled and lined with Volkscrest that reflected the light, wherever it came from, so as to always highlight those that stood in its centre Kaunu. Stands grew around her. The roars of the crowd, invisible to her eyes but ever present nonetheless, rippled like waves across her senses; she struggled to process everything that attempted to even so much as register within her mind. She tried to take in a breath, tried to exhale after, tried to steady her nerves. But nothing would calm them. They shot electricity through her. Every heartbeat stung. How could this be a dream? How could this be what the people of Volk wanted? What she wanted? How could this be anything less than a nightmare?

She could see her opponent. They were formless, clad in shadows, crouched, she assumed, and growling like some form of beast. A crown floated ominously above their head. Kadri felt scared. Her heart beat like a drum; it was all she could do to drown out the sound of it, to try and focus on the creature in front of her. But disorientation struck at her, goading her, taunting her, and the crowd seemed to shift to extenuate the confusion with some form of malicious compliance. The lineaged felt herself fall to her knees. She wanted to cry out; shout out that there must have been some form of mistake. But her lips moved silently, and nothing came of it.

As she looked up at the creature, she noticed it begin to approach. And her despair metamorphosised. This creature was the problem. This was her enemy. Her fear transformed. Anger welled. The creature seemed to sense this, and it launched forward, seeking to silence Kadri. Words leaped to her mind, and as she uttered them clouds formed overhead and lightning struck down from the heavens. Kadri’s vision faded to black. Peace reigned for but a moment. Then a roar shook through her rest and woke her.

It had been the third time this dream had struck. The second time, Sigrid had offered her some tea from the market that was supposed to help calm her and ease her rest. While it feigned effectivity for the night prior, it had not yielded the same results this time.
Kadri sat up in her bed. She looked around her room, down to the base of the curtains on the windows. Light was streaming in. She could hear the crowd outside; the hustling and bustling of every day city life multiplied three-fold by the number of visitors. When the party arrived, the stream of incoming people had been a relative trickle compared to the torrent of the last two days. It had become more and more difficult to navigate through Kaunu; getting anywhere in less than an hour was now a feat worth celebrating.

The lineaged reached out. After a moment of fumbling, she grabbed her time piece. Glancing down at the time, Kadri knew she had missed the opening ceremonies, and she laid back down with a groan. She knew what she had missed; they were never different at majors. A few coordinated displays from local competitors, showing off a bit of the culture of the city, and finally the announcement that the competition had actually started by one of the Royal Council: whoever was free at the time, normally. Kadri stared at the ceiling for, as it turned out, ten minutes before she rolled out of bed, got changed, and went downstairs for breakfast. Or lunch, as the time dictated.

Sigrid was waiting for her, along with Hendrik. The latter was already dressed in his tabard and gambeson He always opted to borrow armour and weapons from the tournament organisers, simply because they were better than what he owned. While he was proud of his equipment, and had initially competed with it, it was very quickly apparent that it was not up to a standard for competing in any tournament. A full plate lay waiting in front of him, but there was no evidence that he had eaten any of it. Despite Sigrid and Kadri’s insistence that Hendrik had never eaten on the day he competed, before he competed, Oskar always gave him a large breakfast, a large lunch, and a large dinner.
Kadri sat down with a sigh. A pause hung in the air. Hendrik, as distracted as he was, also looked at her expectantly.

What little conversation happened did not go far. Sigrid and Kadri didn’t want to exclude Hendrik, and when they tried to get him involved, he responded with simple, short, one-sentence answers. The two women ate, and managed to succeed in encouraging Hendrik to at least have some of the plainer food that had been waiting for him. By the time they had finished, it was two o’clock in the afternoon, and the three resolved to head to the arena.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Eight:
Kadri and Sigrid had bid Hendrik good luck at a side entrance for the competitors and then proceeded round to the front on the hope that there were still good tickets for Hendrik’s upcoming bout. The Arena itself was somewhat of a marvel, albeit it did not hold the grandeur of Roahn’s or Elsin’s. It was constructed out of a mixture of chiselled stone and marble; the two materials shared the exterior equally, though they were designed to abruptly appear within each other, as if trying to steal the eyes of the spectators from each other. Two grand gates, easily twenty feet high, constituted the entrance. They were made of Volkscrest, a malleable yet strong mineral said to be blessed by the Aspect of Metal herself to resist the magical energies of any of her siblings. The material had a bright brass-like aesthetic to it, and when it caught the light it seemed to glimmer rather than shine obtrusively. On the gate was a mural to the Aspect Dragons, split in to two groups. On the left, Awramaar, Selta, Nixhem, Zalvaris, and Bakrit, and on the right, Olikah, Sendrin, Tamsus, Sidabrinis, and Arbuzs. The ten siblings were arrayed against each other, as they had been eight centuries prior.

There was a short queue for the Arena, maybe about ten people at most. The lineaged put this down to a few factors: first was the time of day, the second was that it was the first day of events, and finally, several lineaged bouts were taking place. A steady, albeit sparsely populated, stream of people was exiting the arena, broad grins on their faces as they recounted the matches they had witnessed. Kadri could still hear the roars of the crowd as she waited patiently to get to the front of the line; she could feel her skin bristling each time they did.
“Do you want a day ticket?”
Kadri’s eyes were snapped to the rather bored looking clerk. He was sitting at a simple desk, and he couldn’t have been too much older than the lineaged. He had dark hair, cut neatly, and sullen eyes.
The lineaged ran through the motions, “I’m a competitor. This is my sponsor. We’d like to spectate.”
“Name.” The clerk seemed almost insulted; reaching for a pile of papers that Kadri was surprised hadn’t yet blown away.
“Kadri Laar.”
The clerk skimmed through the papers lazily. “Laar. Laar.” He repeated. The pages stopped flicking through his hands and his thumb came to rest about the third of the way down the page. He glanced up, then quickly back down, and then back up again. The clerk’s eyes went wide, and suddenly whatever energy had been evaporating from him throughout the day had returned to him in a period of time that must have measured less than five seconds.
“By the Aspects. I mean. Well… I’ll need some proof.”
Sigrid had already produced the papers.
The clerk’s eyes scanned over them quickly, “Well, everything seems to be… well in order. Can I just say, you’re an inspiration?”
Kadri was taken aback. She looked to Sigrid for support but the Consul had stepped off to the side and was watching with an amused expression.
“Um… well that’s great to hear,” the lineaged said slowly. At first unwilling to process this encounter, only a moment later, Kadri had regained her composure. “You wouldn’t be able to guarantee us some good seats, would you?”
It was a long shot, Kadri knew. But the clerk’s head nodded quickly and Kadri, while still uncomfortable, was gladdened for this sudden fame.
“Of course,” he said, “the very front if you’d like.”

The lineaged didn’t take even a moment to think about accepting. There were several advantages to being right at the barrier, and they outweighed the drawbacks heavily. On the one hand, the further back somebody was, the more of an overview that person got. It meant that you could focus on where the action was. At the front, the field of view was limited. But when a duel, or a brawl with many fighters, took place right in front of them, very little could fuel a spectator with adrenaline, even more so when the combatants were evenly matched.

At the clerk’s insistence, Kadri quickly signed a scrap book he had, the first signature she had ever given, and proceeded inside, a chuckling Sigrid behind her. As they walked through a long corridor, they could see a mural, depicting the events of the final battle of the Dragon War, stretched along the walls. It was lit purposefully from different angles, by light sources from the wall, the floor, and the ceiling to bring highlights to certain parts of the battlefield, and to drape certain figures in shadows. The final few metres depicted the Duel of the Siblings, the last act in the War, with six of the Aspects duelling within the eye of a storm of chaos, and four dragons fighting for dominance in around them.

They exited the corridor, to the cacophony of sound that emanated from the audience. The cheering had since died down, and many of the spectators were making idle conversation. It appeared that Sigrid and Kadri had missed the last match. The size of the crowd was truly imposing, and each time the lineaged saw it, a shiver passed down her spine. Of course, when she started competing, the crowd phased into the background, but at the same time, it was an intimidating notion, knowing that all those eyes were on her. Hence why she was surprised Hendrik had competed for so long, and it was one of the reasons she admired him. He wasn’t a great fighter, nor was he particularly good at handling his nerves, but he had a tenacious attitude.

As per the clerk’s assurance, the two women had managed to get some space in the front row. They were sat in the middle of a long bench made of marble that was marked (stained) with black soot, highlighting where one seat began and the other ended. It turned out that this was unnecessary; the front three rows were sparsely populated. Getting a seat at the front was extremely expensive, and thus was normally occupied by the petty-nobility and merchants that couldn’t afford to rent a booth for the week. Most of them didn’t attend the first day’s events, seeing them as trivial.

The arena in front of them lowered about ten feet into the ground. There was no physical barrier between the spectators and this drop, but a spell, cast at the start of the day by a lineaged of the Aspect of Arcana, created a transparent wall between the audience and the competitors.

“You should flaunt your new found fame frequently,” Sigrid grinned, half-jokingly. “These are the sort of perks I’ve been waiting for, sponsoring you.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m seeded sixty-third. I barely made it in; this’ll be a one off.” Kadri mused honestly, “Think of it as me treating you. Anyway, you could always afford such a seat if you wanted it.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that! If you can’t have fun with friends, what’s the point in having fun at all?”
“We are about to watch Hendrik get absolutely pummelled,” Kadri stated flatly.
“And he’ll get to see you get pummelled in a couple of days.” The Consul said sarcastically.
Kadri let out a sigh, and the ambience filled for conversation for a couple of moments. “How many bets?”
Sigrid looked at her ledger, “Twelve on this one.”

“Citizens of Volk! Our most esteemed guests! The next match will begin in precisely two minutes!” A voice announced as if the speaker had been right next to the both of them.

The spectators scrambled to take their seats, and occasional cheering began. A tunnel, built into the wall of the arena and running down into the darkness, drew everyone’s eyes. The more prestigious competitors made their way out first, as they always did, riling up the crowd. This was done at the insistence of the organizers. The other competitors did not get such a luxury, and were instead held back, to emerge as challengers.

Kadri only knew the name of one of these first wave, and as she laid her eyes on her, her heart sank. Ase Friis’s frame was similar to that of a bear. Her presence commanded authority. Rumours abounded that she could fell two oak trees with one swing. She wore leather armour over loose fitting clothing, allowing her to move quickly if she needed. And she was more than just physically intimidating; she knew how to excite the crowd, how to wield her axe and shield, and how to keep her emotions in check. Kadri had nothing but respect for the woman; Ase had come from a minor aristocratic family and had fought her way to the top, supposedly even defeating a dragon in a duel of honour. Whenever the two had spoken, she had been polite and well-mannered. But she was ruthless as a competitor, and she had to be. She was a contender for the throne; when the monarch died, the Ever Watching would have a hard time dismissing her as the next queen of Volk.

When she emerged, last of the first wave, the crowd had erupted in applause. Even Kadri and Sigrid found themselves joining in.

One minute. The other competitors began making their way out. There were cheers of course, but they were but the equivalent of beats of a hummingbird’s wings on a windy day compared to that of the Prestigious competitors. Hendrik had come out in the middle of the pack, a sword in hand, a buckler in the other. A look of gritted, nervous, determination was on his face. As much as Kadri wanted him to succeed, there were always butterflies in her gut whenever he was fighting, and the lineaged could never tear her eyes away from him, despite his passive approach to the free-for-alls.

Ten seconds. The tunnel went dark again. Another spell, this time by a lineaged of Tamsus. If a competitor retreated into it, they would be blinded for the day.
The audience began counting down. The competitors arrayed themselves, and eyed up their opposition. Hendrik had backed off to the edge of the arena, and a few of the others had marked him.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Begin!”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Nine:
The lineaged was sat on a wooden chair, positioned beside a stone slab. Sigrid sat next to Kadri, scrawling away in her ledger. Hendrik was lying on his front, his head to the side, looking at them. A lithe man in his early thirties, wearing green robes with an embroidered symbol of Olikah, that of a red vial, on its left lapel, was uttering an incantation under his breath. While the Aspect of Poison was generally considered to be an antagonist in most of the legends and stories, he was also known for the creation of medicine and was considered to be somewhat of a patron to all practitioners of medicine. As was the dual nature of the Aspect Dragons. His lips moved near silently, repairing the damage done by Ase’s swing.

The infirmary wasn’t necessarily a harrowing scene; it was a large clean room with apothecaries (a couple of dozen at most) working seemingly tirelessly on a hundred or so patients, though they never seemed overwhelmed. Most injuries were quick fixes for the lineaged of Olikah. Hendrik’s, however, required a bit more time and care. Ase’s axe had found the young man’s spine, knocking him out in sixth in the free-for-all. It had happened quickly; one moment he had been on the run, the next he had been teleported out of the arena. Sigrid had blinked and missed it.

When Kadri and Sigrid arrived at the infirmary, he had already been operated on for ten minutes. It had been an interesting silence, thirty minutes or so of watching the apothecary work, repairing the nerves and the bones and sewing the skin back together. There was an ambient noise, the occasional groan, the sound of bones being reset and the occasional yell of pain or surprise or both. The apothecary took a step back.
“All is well. Give praise to Olikah when you next visit a temple.” He intoned.
Hendrik rolled onto his side and Kadri moved to make sure he did not roll onto the floor. The young man swung his legs around, and stood, at first shakily, but with Kadri’s help he stabilised. A couple of tentative steps were taken before he began striding with his normal confidence. Soon enough, the three were back outside in the Kaunu air.

The streets were bustling once more; night had taken hold. The stars shone above in the cloudless darkness; the moon led them westwards in an intrinsic dance.
The infirmary was located just off the city centre and, since the festivities had begun, it would play host to a stage and a travelling troupe of actors, harlequins, and storytellers. Their performances were always filled with people; the entirety of the city centre had to be emptied once the competitions had finished and then an hour later there would be something akin to a mad rush to try and glimpse the performance. Two years prior, the city centre had to be cordoned off to prevent people from trying to get in and had been cordoned off since. The troupe didn’t have a name or title, they were simply known as the Troupe.

To Kadri, there was always something mystical about them. Their stories were always from before the Dragon War, or so they claimed, and whenever the lineaged saw them she was enchanted by their outfits, their movements, and their voices. It was almost hypnotic. Almost. Rumours abounded that the Troupe Master was a Spirit of some kind, an ancient one, perhaps one of the oldest. Sigrid was always keen to point out that the Troupe Master had every patch of skin covered, including a grinning, porcelain mask hiding their face, perhaps to hide an unusual patch of scales. The Troupe enjoyed encouraging such theories and speculations and the trio certainly enjoyed them too; it added an air of wonder around every performance.

All three of them agreed that dinner could wait. The guards were barely keeping the crowd from rushing forwards, a thin damn holding back a raging tide. A quick glance at a clock revealed that there were five minutes before the guards would let people in to the city centre. They were positioned fairly far back. Catching a glimpse of the performance would be difficult, even if they were to get in, something Hendrik was actively complaining about.
“Give me a moment to think,” Kadri insisted.
“We don’t have a moment though,” Hendrik whined.
“We have time, Hendrik,” she growled.
“But-“
“I get it, you’re hungry! We can sort that out when we’re in a good spot!”
“Hey Kadri.” Sigrid said, tapping the lineaged on the shoulder.
“What?!” Kadri snapped, turning to face her.
The Consul indicated to a watchtower. A guard, a crossbow at their side, kept watch on the crowd. It was a few hundred metres in front of them.
Kadri looked at Sigrid cynically, though after a second, she knew what the Consul wanted.

It had been a boring night for Ingvar. The crowd, while excitable, was under control. Nothing odd had occurred. Most annoying for him was the lack of a partner to pass the time. There was easily enough space for three more people in the platform, was it so difficult to provide somebody just to pass the time? At least until the play started. Then he could care little.
He turned away from the crowd. Lightning struck just in front of him and his crossbow was raised instinctively.
“Don’t shoot!” a feminine voice called. “I bring coin, possibly hot food and drinks if you’d like them!”
Ingvar blinked repeatedly until he could make out the figure in front of him. She had raven hair, pale skin, a modestly curvaceous frame and wore blue and black clothing. He lowered the crossbow cautiously, and spoke with even more caution.
“How much?”
“More than enough! We just want a good spot for the evening.”
“We?”
“Can I bring a couple of friends?”
“That would depend on how much coin you have.”
The woman held out two gold pieces and Ingvar took them greedily. “Just two more.”
The figure smiled and nodded in agreement, “Just two more.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part ten (re-done):
Kadri lent against the side of the watchtower, peering out over the sea of bodies below her. She was thankful that Sigrid had such sharp eyes, and even more thankful that the guard, named Ingvar, was amenable to hot food, drinks, and coins. In that order as it turned out. Despite asking for gold, his face had lit up more when Kadri had brought back and baked potato and a fork than when she had offered him a couple of gold coins for the trouble of having three people up there with him.

Hendrik had begun to loosen up, but the lineaged knew he was still frustrated, as he always was. Tournaments were a regular part of Volkish life; competitiveness was a tradition and the tournaments epitomized that. Kadri suspected, however, that Hendrik entered because he was expected to enter. Once somebody entered one tournament, social norms dictated that they entered more. As was par for the course, Hendrik always enjoyed the travel to the tournament and the time before he actually had to compete, but then the nerves would build, and he wouldn’t eat and then, post tournament, Hendrik would barely speak to anyone for a few hours. The mage considered talking him out of competing, but such thought would always flow away from her mind like water down a stream; he was always determined to take part, even if he didn’t enjoy the actual competition.

Standing next to the lineaged, also leaning against the side of the watchtower, was the Consul. The pair had eaten silently, content to listen to the sounds of the crowd below as they had rushed forward to try grab space before the guards instituted a cordon. It had been an almighty wave when the time came; many of the guards had been swept away by the tide and a trio of mages, lineaged of Awramaar, erected a translucent barrier around the city centre to prevent more people from getting in. Why such a thing was not implemented at the start was never truly explained, regardless of the year. Kadri expected no answers this time around either.

“Good spot.”
“These eyes aren’t just for books and money,” Sigrid responded.
“They’re also for pretty people from across the Islands,” the lineaged suggested.
A playful shove hit her shoulder. A moment of ambient noise settled. “Shouldn’t be too long now.” The Consul mused. Kadri’s eyes glanced to her right as Sigrid continued, “What do you think the play will be about this year?”

Before the lineaged could answer, the crowd had suddenly hushed. In but a moment, a thousand conversations ceased altogether. All eyes were drawn towards a large semi-circular stage that stood in the middle of the city centre. In its middle stood a single individual. Dressed resplendently, in bright robes of a myriad of greens and reds, they stood unmoving, their head bowed and their arms crossed. Whatever lamps and lanterns were lit around the city centre dimmed, their flames silent and as enraptured as the audience. Torches around the stage sprang to life. And the figure spoke.

His voice, much like the announcer’s in the Arena, sounded as if he were only but a few feet from Kadri. “Ladies. Gentlemen. People of all persuasions and walks off life. I bid you all welcome to tonight’s performance.”
His head raised, and his arms unwrapped fluidly. As he spoke, he turned in place; slowly, effortlessly, as if trying to memorise every face in the audience. Even as far away as he was, Kadri knew when he had looked at her; he had a piercing gaze, one that seemed to read her mind and mannerisms in but a glance.
“At this late hour, we wish you all great comfort. We hope to entertain you, but more importantly we aim to enlighten you to some of Euross’s forgotten history, and perhaps this will stir within you a unique awakening.”
“Tonight we present to you a new play, adapted from texts so ancient that even the scholars of the Haven have forgotten them.”
The figure was suddenly wrapped in a wall of fog that quickly expanded to fill the whole stage. The torches fell dark.
“This tale,” came the figure’s voice, as images began flashing in the fog depicting silhouettes of dragons in battle, and siblings locked in conflict. The sounds of battle filled the air. “Begins far before the Dragon War, and before the creation of humanity.”
The air grew silent, and curiosity drew the crowd close and quiet. The wall of fog dropped, and with it every light source within a few hundred feet of the stage extinguished. Darkness dominated Kadri’s vision. The sound of beating drums resonated throughout the darkness, starting slowly, and building into a crescendo as the figure’s voice returned. “The Troupe proudly presents a tale of Arbuzs, Bakrit, and Awramaar. Of lightning, light and chaos. Of family, betrayal, and fury.”
The drums stopped with one final beat. “We proudly present: Catalyst.”

When light returned to the stage, it had done so in two forms. Illuminated was a woman; beautiful, dressed in a simple white dress with a simple black cloak over her shoulders. Though Kadri couldn’t see them from this distance, she knew that the woman had snow-coloured scales that traced the edges of her eyes: this was the usual depiction of Bakrit, the Aspect Dragon of Light. She was sat down, contemplative and sorrowful. Her voice was quiet, somewhat morose and yet somehow receptive when she spoke.
“I suppose it was inevitable. That one day this would occur. But no amount of preparation, no amount of council, no amount of witnessing the very same phenomenon ever truly prepares you for it. How dear Arbuzs bore it so well is beyond my wisdom. All others would have fallen to an unending grief, but not him.”
She paused and stood, slowly and purposefully. Walking to the other side of the stage, her every step carrying a joyless weight that echoed through Kadri’s heart. Her voice lost composure, when she next spoke, every syllable laden with sorrow. “Failure. As a parent. As a guardian. A failure to my first born and to all my children.” Bakrit placed her hands together, and then opened them slowly, and held them out in front of her as if cradling within them a fragile creature. A dim, pulsing light appeared in them, and she walked the stage’s perimeter. “All that is left of once such a mighty, and proud, and beautiful son. My son. My first born.”
Stopping, she looked to the sky above. It was a clear night, and the stars shone brightly. Bakrit closed her eyes, and the light in her hands shattered into ten pieces and floated into the sky above. Ten stars shone brighter for but a few moments, the constellation Drasis. The same ten stars appeared on the Aspect’s cloak. A sad smile took to her cheeks before she collapsed to her knees in silence. A beat passed. Two. Three.

Ten figures took to the stage, appearing in appropriate fashion for all their characters: a burst of flame, a lightning flash, a waning portal, to name but several. They began their debates, and their squabbles, but these were simple background noise, as Bakrit spoke once again.
“Seeing them all in their fierce debates, their conflicts that never quite come to blows…”

“Kadri,” Hendrik whispered, suddenly by her side, “Why are there eleven of them?”
The lineaged was sceptical for a moment, but then she counted them. Bakrit, Arbuzs, Awramaar, Nixhem, Sidabrinis, Olikah, Sendrin, Selta, Zalvaris, Tamsus. And one other.
Dumbfounded, Kadri shrugged, offering the best answer she could summon, “A mistake by the Troupe?”
“The Troupe don’t make them,” Sigrid said ominously. “I don’t like this, one bit.”
The crowd had yet to notice.

Unease settled in the watchtower as the play continued. After Bakrit had finished her monologue, she was approached by Tamsus, Awramaar, and Arbuzs and the other actors left the stage. What followed wasn’t dissimilar to the story The First People.

The rest of the first act was almost identical in fact, at least to Kadri’s memory. Awramaar, Arbuzs, and Tamsus tried to comfort their sister in various ways: the former tried to dazzle her with art and magic, while her twin, the Aspect of Darkness, assured her that all of her children would be immortalised in the night sky. But Arbuzs was silent, as if considering some sort of forbidden knowledge. When the other two left, he had offered Bakrit his condolences, but in a rare show of compassion from one of the more martially minded of the siblings, he produced for her a delicate creature. A bird, akin to an eagle, its feathers charged with lightning that zapped at the air occasionally. Kadri was enamoured with the creature: Arbuzs released it to fly over the heads of the audience, and when it returned, he offered it to her, stating that it was the first of a new kind of inhabitant of the world the Aspect Dragons had created, but at that time, it must be kept secret.

The second act, similarly, followed the story to the letter. Selta, the Aspect Dragon of Ice, had come to visit Bakrit. Proud of the many new species she had created from the template of the creature Arbuzs had given to her, the Aspect of Light showed her sibling the many animals that she had created; creatures that lit up the light sky, that could cloak themselves from view, and that could see in the deepest depths. She implored Selta to keep these a secret, and while she swore to do so, the Aspect of Ice returned to Euross to make her own creatures that would occupy the sea. Soon Zalvaris, the Aspect of Earth, did the same, and soon the rest of the siblings were stealing creatures and manipulating them into forms that more closely suited their Aspects.

The third act, deviated only slightly. Arbuzs, furious that his siblings had created their own creatures, came to blows with the Aspect of Poison, Olikah, believing that he had stolen away his gift to Bakrit. With the intervention of the other Aspect Dragons, the pair came to an uneasy truce, and the Aspect of Light revealed her guilt. The various siblings came to an agreement that they would make one final species together, one to avoid bloodshed among the siblings. Humans.

“She’s there again,” Hendrik pointed out.
A quick count and Kadri and Sigrid agreed: there were eleven on stage. Darkness consumed the city centre once more. The figure’s voice returned, thanking the audience for its attendance. The crowd erupted into applause and, in a surprisingly orderly fashion, began to filter out into the streets of Kaunu.
“Perhaps one of the Aspect’s children? Possibly the spirit of Drasis, come to watch over the siblings?” Sigrid offered.
“Artistic types,” the guard scoffed, “I bet it is like a ghost, come to observe the family and ensure they don’t get at each other.”
Kadri was happy to accept such a theory. A deep chill had settled throughout the course of the production, and she wanted to be back at the Squire’s Choice as soon as she could; a hot cup of tea, possibly some tomato soup, and bed were the things that most jumped to her mind at that moment. She shivered furiously, albeit only for a couple of moments, and with a bit of encouragement, Hendrik and Sigrid agreed to leave. They thanked the guard and left in the same manner as they had arrived; an incantation from Kadri, three lightning strikes, and the trio had vanished.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Eleven:

Kadri greeted the next morning much earlier than the one prior. She hadn’t dreamt that night; when sleep had embraced her, it had brought with it an eerie, silent darkness that could have lasted for many nights. But there was no arena, no draconic roar, no mysterious figure. Only darkness. And Kadri, while relieved, was disappointed, chiefly because somehow after waking up from such a nightmare she had somehow felt closer to her kin: to the dragons and the Aspects. She voiced her discontent over breakfast, which had only garnered strange looks from both Sigrid and Hendrik: Kadri was supposed to be competing the next day, against an opponent none of them had heard of before and both Sigrid and Hendrik had received the news of Kadri’s dreamless sleep with some form of enthusiasm.

That morning had been mostly uneventful; the trio had spectated a couple of matches and, after a quick trip to the Guild Hall, confirmed who Kadri’s opponent would be. A woman from the north of Volk by the name of Freya, a lineaged of Tamsus. They would be fighting at ten o’clock in the morning the next day in the main Arena.
“Heard of her?” Kadri asked Sigrid and Hendrik. Both of them shrugged.
“Clearly good enough to get this far,” Sigrid said.
Kadri had given the Consul a sarcastic look, before they searched for lunch.

As they were browsing stalls, the clerk that had recognised Kadri in front of the Arena had a chance meeting with them, and had brought a few friends with him. The whole situation was somewhat embarrassing for the lineaged; they didn’t truly bother her, simply asked for autographs, but this in turn started to draw the attention of others, who began questioning who she was and if she was in contention for the throne.
“Not at all, and probably never will be,” Kadri had insisted earnestly.
Much to her annoyance, Hendrik, ever willing to speak well of his friends, chimed in, “Of course she is! The Guild recognised her as one of the top sixty-four in the lineaged tournament!”
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement but apparently it was enough to enthuse the younger members of the small gathering that had formed around them. There were maybe a dozen or so people, once the majority had filtered away, and the oldest was only a few years older of Kadri.
They began asking an ordinance of questions, and the lineaged felt like she was being bombarded by hundreds of voices. She eventually knew Sigrid would intervene, but after a moment, the young woman had an idea.
“Right!” she practically shouted, raising her voice enough to silence the onlookers. “I have time for three questions, that is it. Then I have to train with Ragnar before my bout tomorrow.”
A gasp rang through the assembly.
“You train with Ragnar?”
“Of course!”
“Since when?”
“Since a few months ago.”
“Where?”
“Wherever he decides.” She paused and looked at Sigrid, who stepped forward, barely hiding her grin.
“That’s three questions! If you don’t mind leaving us alone for the time being; lunch is important and Ragnar does not enjoy waiting!”

Reluctantly, they began to walk away. Sigrid burst into laughter; Hendrik wore an expression that spoke of severe confusion.
“I’m envisioning some form of merchandise in the future,” the Consul said with a broad smile.
Kadri gave her a glance, then a grin, “Oh definitely; I’m certainly the most marketable lineaged in all of Volk!”
“You know, I’ve always thought you would be some form of celebrity material.”
Hendrik took a grin for himself, losing his bemusement and kneeling in the road, “Your majesty; wouldst thou like an apple? It is the most noble fruit after all.”
Kadri grinned, “Ah yes, only the finest of foods. For soon, I will be your queen!”

The rest of the day passed as a blur, as did the evening and the night. The Troupe did not put on a second performance, and side events sanctioned by the city weren’t set to begin until the next day. Nerves mounted as the sun passed into obscurity, as numerous as the stars that populated the night sky. But unlike the stars, these weren’t consistent. They came and went, hit and ran, filling Kadri with a ticking time bomb of adrenaline that slowly but surely translated in to stress. As she tossed and turned in her attempts to fall asleep, she could feel the lightning dancing along her forearm, urging her to lash out at something, anything. Some poor target that would release this pent-up energy that had been welling inside her.

The lineaged’s eyes snapped open. She sat upright in bed, throwing the covers from her. Kadri took a quick glance at a time piece: midnight. She had gotten an early night to avoid being tired in the morning and was rewarded instead with two hours of tossing and turning. Clambering out of bed, she made her way to the mirror. Sweat had bedded on her skin, her raven hair was dishevelled, and lightning crackled along her scales, lighting them in brilliant azures and blues. Something felt off. She made her way to the window, pulled back the curtains slightly, and raised the window but a crack. Kadri glanced up; the skies were pitch black and low-hanging clouds dominated the landscape. There was no rain, but whatever storm that had arrived seemed to hold the threat of unleashing a torrential downpour should something not go the way that it wanted.

When her eyes fell to the streets, she saw the usual midnight traffic milling about. While quiet, it was somewhat comforting to see the usual spectacle of drunk people escorting other drunk people to their homes. Resolving that she needed to go for a walk, Kadri slipped into some comfortable clothes, wrapped her cloak around her, put a pair of boots on and headed out into cool air.

Barely five steps from the entrance, and Kadri heard thunder rumble above. It was quick, but decisive. Likely one of Eitur’s children; they often carried with them their mother’s lack of patience. Kadri was not intimidated. She decided to head to the city’s library and borrow a book to read before the rain had an opportunity to grace the air.

“Ah, we meet again!” A voice called to her. The lineaged turned sharply to her left, facing the source of the greeting. It was the woman from the docks, standing on the other side of the street. The hair was an immediate giveaway. She was wearing less conservative clothing than before: tight clothing that showed off a curvaceous form that made Kadri blush just looking at her.
Apparently the figure noticed, and she chuckled as she stepped forwards, “I noticed this was in your friend’s wardrobe; I thought it might be more eye-catching.”
Kadri caught her composure before it fell in to outright gawking, “That… I think that’s an understatement.”
“True, true. I think that might be the case. Leaves little to the imagination doesn’t it?” The figure grinned.
Kadri took a moment before cautiously began asking questions, “Who are you?”
“A relative.”
“Give me a name.”
“Names are such fickle things, as are memories and histories.”
Kadri took in a breath and let out a frustrated sigh, “Why are you here?”
“To assess you. Among others.”
The lineaged was taken aback by this response and, dumbfounded, repeated the figure’s response, “Assess me?” Wild theories abounded in her mind. “What do you mean, assess me?”
“Do you expect to win tomorrow?” The figure asked curiously.
“I… well… I’m projected to win…” Kadri answered. She felt some form of natural trust towards this creature, for she was certain that they weren’t human, and figured that if she were being assessed, these questions would be a part of it.
“You’re facing an unseeded opponent and you don’t give a definitive answer? How peculiar.” The figure stated flatly.
Kadri knew it was an attempt to get a rise from her. The well of stress was vanishing, being replaced by adrenaline with every syllable spoken. Thunder roared in the distance, accompanied by the patter of distant rain that was inching its way closer.
The figure gave Kadri a knowing smile, “I’ll be watching tomorrow, cousin. I beg you not to disappoint.”

Lightning struck down from the clouds. Kadri did not look away. For but a brief second, as the bolt struck the figure, Kadri’s eyes went wide. It was only a silhouette, but her suspicions, and Sigrid’s, and Hendrik’s had been confirmed. There was a dragon in Kaunu.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Twelve:

Sleep did not come to Kadri as soon as she’d have liked when she returned to the inn. The lineaged briefly greeted the few people still drinking at the Squire’s Choice before she headed upstairs and entered her room. She changed and led down on her bed, still, staring upwards at the ceiling. As the hours ticked by, she cursed and cursed and cursed, shifting between whispering them aloud and screaming them in her head. Assess her. Assess her for what? Why did so much ride on what happened at the tournament? She was nowhere near close to contesting the throne, regardless if she won the whole event, which she knew was not going to occur.

She wasn’t certain when she fell asleep: when she had rolled onto her right it was still dark outside, and when she rolled back what felt like an instant later the early morning hews were streaming through her window. Groaning, she realised that any attempt to gain any more moments of rest would result in her missing her match entirely.

Kadri struggled out of bed; she would be relying on adrenaline and nerves to keep her awake until her first match was over. Sidabrinis willing, she would not have two matches today or, if she did, then hopefully they would be many hours apart. Not wanting to tempt the Aspect of Luck much further, she stood, washed, dressed and exited the room as quietly as she could, having noticed that Sigrid was still asleep.

The lineaged ate breakfast alone; Oskar was apparently at the docks once more, waiting for his son on the off-chance that his ship would arrive. As much as she didn’t want to, Kadri doubted that Aron would be returning to Volk by the end of the week; from what she had heard about the Commonwealth’s colonies, he was in an unstable region that claimed far more land than it actually controlled. No thought in her mind suggested that he would not be returning at all, but many led her to believe that he would not be back in the near future.

At eight o’clock she left the Squire’s Choice and headed towards the Arena. Whatever storm had existed in the night had vanished by the time Kadri left.

The preparation room was unsurprisingly barren: only a handful of competitors brought some form of energy to the empty room and most weren’t exactly in an energetic mood. There were a couple of explanations for this: the majority of free-for-alls had come to an end, meaning only the duels remained. There were a dozen middle-length benches laid out: Kadri sat at an empty one.

The lineaged forced herself to sit up straight and take slow breaths. Whenever she thought she had her nerves under control the dragon’s voice would ring through her mind, an accursed bell that chimed to call the forces of doubt and fear to the fore. Kadri dared not willingly close her eyes; every blink brought forth the features of the creature she had spoken to the night before, and she could feel exhaustion encroaching upon her conscious mind.

“Kadri?”
The voice brought the young woman back to reality with a start. She knew the voice well; it was quiet, and well-spoken, and commanded authority without demanding it. The voice had a heavy weight of experience and wisdom about it and as Kadri looked up, she took in the form before her. Ragnar was a well-built man, athletic and muscular, with tanned skin that spoke of a well-travelled career. He was in his early forties, people estimated. He had short hair, though some of it fed down into what people often joked as the most glorious beard in Volk. A scar ran diagonally down his face, from the top of his right eyebrow to the bottom of his left cheek. Rumours abounded as to what the origin of the wound was, something Ragnar was happy to encourage: all that was known for certain was that he got it while on campaign a couple of decades ago.

He was wearing a loose black tunic and black trousers, and brown leather boots. This was not his normal attire; simply clothes to wear under his armour which Kadri speculated was somewhere nearby. All her worries seemed to temporarily vanish as she started talking.

“Nice to see you your majesty,” Kadri smiled, a hint of a tease to her voice.
Ragnar was somewhat taken aback by this, ever a humble man, “Our current monarch has many years left. That’s many years for someone else to take the lead.”
“Of course your majesty, whatever you say your majesty,” the lineaged grinned.
A glare was shot in her direction, but it softened to a thin smile, “Who knows what the Ever-Watching thinks? But such speculations aren’t really for us to worry about. The future holds what the future holds. We should speak about something we know will happen. Who’s your opponent today?”
Kadri blinked, letting her mind recall for a moment, “Lineaged of Tamsus, she was unseeded to my knowledge.”
“And yet she’s made it so far. Oh, I should congratulate you on being seeded so highly. It’s been a long time coming.”
Kadri gave a look that spoke partly of cynicism and partly of a barely restrained panic. “And yet,” she confessed, “I’ve never felt more nervous.”
“Care to explain?”
The lineaged thought for a moment: was this somehow part of the assessment? Was she supposed to keep the presence of the dragon a secret? But if it was assessing her among others then surely other people knew, and surely it was possible that at least one of them told somebody else. She had already told Hendrik and Sigrid about her encounter at the docks; it wasn’t as if dragons were exactly secretive creatures. Maybe this was an exception.
“You’ve seen the notices around town,” Kadri began. “Do you know who put them up?”
The veteran was perplexed. “Why is that bothering you?” He asked
“Why wouldn’t it? There’s been so much going on and I wouldn’t know where to begin to explain it all.”
Ragnar looked as if he would ask another question, but another individual approached, wearing clothes marked with the symbol of the Guild. Kadri knew what they were going to say, and simply stood and proceeded to the entrance to the Arena.

Kadri’s nerves were in full force now, and her concentration felt all over the place. She was aware that her opponent was stood next to her, but she was unable to take in her form, or her stance, or the instructions that they were both being given. Kadri knew the rules: fight until you can fight no more, try to avoid incinerating your opponent, etcetera, etcetera. When she was asked if she understood, she nodded, though she had not processed anything the official had actually said. Her opponent was a bit more energized in their response.

The gates before them opened, and the pair entered into the Arena, Freya running ahead of Kadri. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Kadri took in the scene before her. They were the first bout of the day; the floor was covered in a thin layer of sand, only half a centimetre thick and in several places the actual floor, a smooth grey stone, shone through. It was odd transitioning from spectator to competitor and vice versa; the sheer drop that separated the duellists from the audience now appeared like an inescapable prison, penning her in with her opponent. She took in the number of people present, and wasn’t surprised to find that the Arena was barely at maybe a fifth of its capacity. And yet, this was still many, many pairs of eyes that would watch, judge, assess.

Kadri forced herself to take a moment to breathe, to push all distractions from her mind. The sounds, the audience, even that damned dragon. She focused on her opponent, on the other side of the arena, standing forty-five feet from her. Freya exuded confidence, but this didn’t reach arrogance or cockiness. She was poised, ready. Her shadow seemed to act independently in the morning sun and, if it were possible, light seemed to try and avoid the unnatural movements it took. Kadri was familiar with this sort of spell; for all intents and purposes she would be fighting two opponents instead of one.

The announcer’s voice rang through Kadri’s mind: she had missed the countdown almost entirely. Two, and one, were the numbers that she caught.
“Begin.”

A second of time passed, but for Kadri it could have easily lasted an hour. She locked eyes with her opponent and Freya did not look away. Her eyes were deep bottomless pits of darkness, and Kadri’s seemed to adjust to match. She could feel lightning coursing through her, could hear the subtle crackles as energy danced along her scales. Every heartbeat felt like a ripple of thunder through her body. Unconsciously, a slight smile came to her lips; apparently, this was enough to agitate Freya into action.

Her shadow acted first, detaching itself from any contact with Freya and lurching forward with unnatural speed and erratic movements, rattling towards Kadri’s left. Freya herself seemed to utter something under her breath and a spinning black ball of energy began to form in her right hand, spiralling bigger and faster with each passing moment. After a couple of seconds, Freya extended her hand outwards and the sphere launched forwards.
“Audros skydas,” Kadri said quickly. She felt some energy leave her, and in a flash, a storm cloud formed overhead. Lightning struck down from the heavens, intercepting the projectile and bisecting it. The two smaller spheres slammed into the wall behind her with a mighty crash.
A quick debate in the lineaged’s head ended with her deciding to go on the offensive before the shadow got too close. Kadri had a plan to deal with it should it start causing too much trouble, but she intended to eliminate her opponent before she needed to implement it.

“Audros mestis,” she uttered. Lightning leaped from her forearm to her finger tips. She pulled her arm back and lashed it forward, a jagged line of energy and light that her opponent managed to just barely stop from making contact. A wall of darkness rose a foot away from her. The lightning seemed stop for a moment, as if indecisive, before it branched outwards like roots searching for nutrients. The wall spread to halt the seemingly endless branches of energy, becoming so thin in some places that Kadri could spy her opponent through it. A single bolt, most of its energy lost, found its way around the makeshift shield and struck Freya in the shoulder, wavering her concentration enough that the wall stuttered for a moment before it fell away, and a cry of pain escaped her.

Kadri felt her arm jerk backwards and her spell was redirected to her opponent’s left. A sound of frustration that was somewhere between a growl and a roar escaped her as she realised that she’d been delayed for the precious few seconds necessary for the shadow to get close. As she looked back, her thoughts were confirmed; she could see Freya’s shadow pulling at hers.

“Valguse Kaudu,” she intoned.

Lightning struck her. An instant later lightning struck a few feet from Freya, the sound wave caused enough to blow the lineaged of Tamsus off her feet for a few metres. Kadri recalled looming over her opponent, as Freya tried to scramble backwards. Smoke coiled from where she’d been hit, and there was a distinct smell of burnt flesh.
“Audros skydas.”
Lightning struck barely an inch from Freya. Kadri didn’t need to do any more. The duel was over.
The lineaged of Tamsus raised her hands.
She did little to hide her frustrated pride as she announced, “I concede.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Thirteen:
Every fibre of Kadri’s being ached with effort. She took a couple of steps before being forced to her knees, her body unwilling to carry her further. How long she was there, kneeling in the sand, lightning dissipating harmlessly into the air around her, she was unsure. Physically, and mentally, it felt like hours, every second felt like it was being purposefully elongated by some unknown force. She closed her eyes, determined not to keel forwards, focussing instead on trying to maintain some sort of steadiness to her breathing.

When she was brought to her feet, Kadri couldn’t have been more thankful. Every step tried to force her back to the ground, and the lineaged doubted she could have resisted if it weren’t for the two people who had taken her weight.

After being lowered down to a bench, back in the preparation room, Kadri couldn’t bring herself to look up at the pair that had assisted her. This was not for shame, but for sheer exhaustion. They sat next to her, and she glanced to both sides: Freya and Ragnar.

“I’d offer to shake your hand,” her opponent smiled, “but I think that might just knock you out.”
Kadri tried to straighten her back, and give some kind of dignified response, but this effort simply caused her to double over, her hair falling less than gracefully over her face.
“Don’t… don’t worry… we’ll… we’ll do that later.” Kadri assured her. “Swing by… the Squire’s Choice… I’ll buy you… a drink.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Freya chuckled.
“You lineaged always push yourselves far too hard,” Ragnar stated, half-joking.
“Magic is a blessing and a curse,” Freya responded.
With a bit of air back in her lungs, Kadri raised her head, adjusted her posture a little, and cleared the hair from her face. “You have to be… quite ferocious versus Tamsus’ lot. They are far too defensive… for anyone’s liking.”
“We’ll have to discuss tactics over that drink,” Freya grinned.
“I was going to offer, but it looks like you’ve beaten me to it.”
She mustered enough energy to extend a hand and Freya shook it gently.

“I’ve never seen you do a spell like that before!” Hendrik beamed.
It had taken Kadri at least half an hour to regain the energy to stand on her feet, and even then, she was shuffling shambolically, taking tentative steps forward. The Guild officials had to be convinced to let her go by a very impatient Sigrid, who had been denied entry to the preparation room, that Kadri needed this time to rest in a proper bed, with proper food, and proper drink, and that any denial of this could be considered collusion. Probably realising that the Consul would not let the matter drop until she got her way, and unwilling to call guards on somebody who seemed genuinely concerned for one of the competitors, the Guild had let her leave. Every step sent shooting pains up Kadri’s legs and there were more than a couple of occasions in the walk back where she had stumbled and Hendrik had caught her.
As it was, she had her left arm around his shoulders, and Sigrid was making sure that she was having a sip of water at least every few steps.
“Recent addition to the armoury. Walls have always been an issue; got to adapt at some point,” Kadri said sincerely.
“Can I get a bit of credit for that win?” Sigrid asked with mock innocence.
“You’re getting a cut of my winnings for the tournament and you want to take responsibility for the win as well?” Kadri raised her right arm, and a couple of sparks danced along her finger tips menacingly. “I might be dead on my feet, but I can bring you to the grave too.” She threatened jovially.
“Who got you the book you learned that spell from?”
The lineaged lowered her arm and stayed silent. The lightning dissipated defeatedly into the air. Sigrid’s smile grew into laughter, “That’s what I thought!”

Kadri couldn’t help the broad grin when the news reached her that she would not be fighting again that day – there had apparently been some form of complication during the match that would have determined her next contest, and this resulted in both of the competitors being disqualified. An official had tracked her down about an hour after she’d left the arena.
They were sat outside of a small establishment in the north of the city, which Sigrid said she had scouted out before she had headed to the Arena to watch Kadri. The building itself was not unlike the rest of its fellows: it was colourful but quaint, and faced a marble fountain in the middle of a square. Many birds flocked there, assessing which human would be most likely to hand over some food.

The trio were surrounding a circular table; in its centre was a clay teapot and in front of each of them, basic cups. In each was an herbal tea, purple in colour; it tasted sharp.
Lunch was brought to them by a young man maybe not a year or two older than Kadri, and she took note that Sigrid looked at him for much longer than necessary. The Consul had ordered on behalf of all of them. It was an odd dish to say the least, and Kadri was apparently physically perplexed by it. Hendrik seemed repulsed. The meal came in a large bowl; it seemed at first like a thick, brown, sludge of a stew. There was meat in it, Kadri could identify that much, as well as what she thought looked like slices of small, round pieces of bread that seemed to break the surface of the viscous liquid. The mage also identified a few herbs and vegetables that floated on its top, notably marrowort, a wonderful piece of vegetation known to give anything that it touched an incredibly spicy kick.
“At least give it a go!” Sigrid insisted.
“Do I eat this with a fork or a spoon?” Kadri inquired. The Consul rolled her eyes. And produced a knife and a fork. She cut into the ‘bread’, skewered it on a fork with some of the meat and placed the mixture into her mouth, giving both Hendrik and Kadri a look of parental scorn.
To Kadri’s surprise, and yet also satisfying her expectations, Hendrik was the first to try the dish and his eyes seemed to light up with an energy that spoke of surprise and enjoyment.
The lineaged followed suit, copying Sigrid’s initial movements. As soon as the food touched her tongue Kadri was enraptured by it. It was rich, though not sickly, and the ‘bread’, while it had a similar texture, was something akin to some form of herbal cake. The meat was perfectly seasoned, and practically melted in her mouth, complimenting the sauce wonderfully. She tucked in, wolfing it down hungrily. A joyous laugh escaped Sigrid, “I knew you two would like it! You should be more open to-“
Hendrik interrupted her, his mouth half-full, “Save talk. Eat food.”

Kadri was halfway through her meal when she spied a familiar figure on the other side of the square. They were sitting, waving, dressed in much more moderate clothing than the night before: loose fitting robes that still somehow managed to show off a curvaceous form. The lineaged was suddenly filled with a profound sense of dread, and her motions started to slow, and then stop altogether. Both Hendrik and Sigrid took notice; only the latter needed to stop eating.
“Isn’t that-“
“Yes, it is. The same person from the docks. And from last night.”
“Last night?” Sigrid asked, intrigued.
“I’ll… I’ll catch you up later on it.”
Hendrik looked over his shoulder, “Who are we looking at?”
Kadri described the figure. “That’s the drag-“
“Yes it is, Hen.”
“She doesn’t have wings.” He pointed out quickly.
“I know.”
“Or a tail.”
“Not in this form, no.”
“How do you know that’s a dragon?”
“Trust me, it’s… a familiar feeling coupled with… well I’ll catch you up on it later as well,” Kadri assured him.

The figure stopped waving, but the smile did not fade. In fact, it transformed, becoming some form of mischievous grin.
“Do we… do we say something?” Hendrik asked.
Kadri took glanced at him, cynicism prominent in her voice, “Invite her over for tea? I’m not sure dragons drink tea.”
“Some do.” A voice answered her from behind. Kadri visibly started, banging her knee against the table. A quick look over to where the dragon used to be revealed that they were not there anymore; she was stood behind the lineaged. Kadri felt a hand rest on her shoulder, and with it came a profound sense of bewilderment and terror.
Chuckling, the voice continued, “Oh… oh cousin. Please… please try to control yourself in my presence. I just wanted to congratulate you on your performance today.”
An uneasy silence settled, broken by Sigrid a moment after, “You were watching?”
“I was. And I have some more matches to watch in but a moment. But I wanted to make sure my cousin was doing well after the dramatic ending to her match.”
“I’m… fine,” Kadri said carefully, “Thank you. Cousin?”
Kadri didn’t need to look to know the figure was grinning. There was a firm squeeze of her shoulder followed by a curt, “You’re welcome.” The dragon continued, “And I hope you won’t disappoint tomorrow. It was so interesting to see father’s gifts used by you. Your other fellows have been as intriguing to watch – though none of them collapsed at the end of their matches, at least not in such a dramatic way!”
Her shoulder was released; it was as if a lead weight had been removed from the lineaged’s arm.
“I wish you all the best tomorrow, cousin. Do my father proud.”

Kadri watched her two companions shield their eyes for but a moment and knew that the dragon had vanished. They both looked at her expectantly. Too many thoughts bounced around her head – all she could do was continue eating her food.
“You don’t get to give us silence Kadri.” Sigrid said.
The lineaged paused, swallowing. “What am I supposed to say?”
“You can tell us what happened last night,” Sigrid offered.
“Beyond that a dragon is watching me I can’t offer you much.”
“Why are they watching you?”
“To assess me.”
“To assess you? Why?”
Hendrik, suddenly vindicated, smiled broadly, “Because Kadri could be the next queen of Volk.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part fourteen:
The next day’s matches saw Kadri advance to the quarter finals, set to be held on the morning of the final day of competition. Oddly, the lineaged had been finding herself growing steadily calmer as the day went by – the matches, while challenging, did not bring upon the same level of exhaustion as her first and she blamed this mostly on her encounter with the dragon. Since lunch the previous day, Kadri had not encountered them, and this served to lift some sort of weight from her mind.

She had dismissed Hendrik’s theory almost entirely; many terrible things would have to happen to bring her close to even claiming the throne, assuming she could even hold such a position until the current monarch passed. Kadri had just barely made it in to the top sixty-four lineaged of a single tournament. People like her next opponent, Magnus, had been doing that consistently for years and Ragnar had decades of experience within The Tempest, fighting Volk’s enemies on the seas and the coasts of distant islands. They were definitely favoured higher than Kadri, she’d no doubt about it.

Then again, nobody knew what the Ever Watching was thinking. It was only assumed the Ragnar would be the next monarch of Volk because of his consistent results in tournaments and his successes as a captain in the Volkish navy. There was never a guarantee somebody would be the next king or queen – the Ever Watching always had the final say.

Kadri had successfully managed to battle these thoughts, forcing them to flee from the battlefield that was her mind. Of course they were not destroyed entirely, but they were in the process of a shattered retreat from her consciousness, and that was enough for Kadri to fill the void they left behind with a willingness to experience the assortments of foods, and drinks, and entertainment that had been gathered together by the travellers from the rest of the Nineteen Islands.

And so, when the time came for Kadri to face her opponent in the Arena once again she felt nervous, but she wasn’t exhausted – she did not have to fight these thoughts to fall asleep, for they had taken the night to recover, reorganise, and infiltrate her thoughts, slowly but surely coming to the fore. Kadri forced them back again; concentration was everything, and the lineaged could not afford to put a single foot wrong.

Magnus was an athletic man in his early thirties. He was well-built, with chiselled features and a well-managed beard but he sported chaotic, middle-length blonde hair. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt that did little to disguise his form. His purple scales, marking him as a lineaged of Awramaar the Aspect Dragon of Arcana, were fully on display, creating a ring around the middle of his right forearm. Such mages wielded pure energy – their spells were less exhausting to cast and channel, and were far more unpredictable than any other lineaged’s.

The weather was in Kadri’s favour: an overcast sky had settled in to spectate. A light rain was in the air – no wind could be heard, supposedly enraptured by the tension as the announcer began to countdown.

Magnus was a show boater – he’d spent the last ten seconds shooting beams of red-black energy into the sky that exploded into complex images that seemed to move in the air. When the announcer began counting down from ten, Magnus had managed to create the images of the ten Aspect Dragons, in both their draconic and human forms, in the air, changing to another Aspect with each number. It seemed effortless as he finalised the trick with Arbuzs and then Awramaar. The crowds adored it.

Kadri rolled her eyes, as he began shouting in her direction, his voice haughty and full of bravado. “I must say, my dear, that I was struck with surprise when I heard you made it this far! I’m sorry to inform you, but I’ve never been struck by the same person twice.”
The theatrics Magnus brought – she was aware that he knew how to counter every spell in her arsenal. He enjoyed playing with the lower-seeded opponents because of this. Kadri was already aware she was supposed to lose – why not have a bit of fun.
“Weird,” she couldn’t stop herself from responding. “If that were the case, you’d think you’d be placing better than fourth. Some men just have weak constitutions I’ve heard – just takes one thrust for them to be finished. I guess you must be one of them.”

For a brief moment, she thought she saw a crack in his glistening smile as the crowd responded rather positively to her jab.
She was rather disappointed that an insult was not hurled her way – the air in front of Magnus glowed a translucent purple that coalesced into javelin like bolts of purple-blue energy that hovered ominously in front of him. When they launched forward, all at once, they moved in jagged lines, one headed directly for her. A quick utterance, and Kadri had teleported, lightning moving to safety. The javelin landed where she had been a split second later, sending dust high into the air. The second javelin landed barely a metre from her, and she watched the third one turn as it flew. It did not turn sharp enough to avoid the wall.

The lineaged could not take long to think of her options – a quick glance at Magnus revealed that that spell had not drained him in any significant way, and he was already mustering another three bolts. She couldn’t try to outlast him; simply teleporting made her muscles ache slightly, and she was aware of it despite the adrenaline coursing through her system. She knew she would have to go on the offensive early on – he would win in a war of attrition. It was a matter of picking the correct moment.

Another barrage of bolts launched forward, and again, Kadri transported herself to safety, making sure to move in a different direction so that she held some form of unpredictability. The third salvo was the same, but Kadri this time took the chance to get closer, reducing the distance between the two duellists by a third. She tried to gauge her opponent’s reaction, but the smile still existed, and nothing seemed to have changed.

Yet again the javelin came, this time, rather than seemingly ranging in different directions, they converged on Kadri almost immediately after being launched. Another utterance – three bolts of lightning crashed down from the heavens, blocking the javelin’s paths and the energy they bore seemed to evaporate into naught but purple mists. She concentrated for a moment, bringing her arm up.
“Tiept vienn.”
The three arcs coalesced on her hand, and further energy generated at her arm, leaping up to join it. Her fingers flexed after a moment, and four arcs, leaped forward, branching out haphazardly, churning the ground as it travelled over it, converging on Magnus. Simply chaneling the spell was exhausting. Kadri’s opponent twitched his wrist, and the mists that had remained of the javelins reformed and struck towards Kadri. It was a race, between the lightning and the arcane bolts.

Kadri did not know what caused her to go unconscious; her spell, or Magnus’s.

 

[Baconhands]

Part fifteen:
“You should be proud of your performance.”
“Drop it Hendrik.”
“But-“
“I said drop it.” Kadri warned, her eyes darkening as she glanced at her friend. The lineaged watched him shrink back in his chair, his gaze forced away from her face and down to the table. She thought she heard him apologise, but the syllables were meek and quiet and her mind refused to register them. Instead, her thoughts raged, as if a whirlwind of barely repressed anger that was straining to be unleashed on someone.
Sigrid knew not to interfere; she’d recognised every single sign of frustration that had manifested in the lineaged’s body – the arcs of energy that danced across her scales, the furrowing of her eyebrows and the downturn of her lips that, combined with the other microsomal motions on her face, formed an ever-present scowl, and finally the tension that resided in her shoulders that seemed to resemble those of an agitated predator. The Consul gave Hendrik a look of caution too, though one much softer than the lineaged’s, and the young man took heed.
And so, for a time, no words were spoken between the three companions. Sigrid took to listening to the noise of the Squire’s Choice. It wasn’t particularly rowdy despite the tavern being relatively full. Most of the visitors, oddly, were in some capacity competitors and the majority of conversations were about the day’s matches.

“Do you mind if I have a seat?” One of them approached, their hand landing on the chair next to Kadri and pulling it back. The lineaged shot them a look; whatever confidence that patron had promptly vanished and soon enough they had disappeared as well, reappearing a moment later on the opposite side of the tavern.

“Mopin’ Kadri?” Oskar’s voice rang through the crowd. The inn keeper sat down with a heavy thump; a creak of protest came from the chair but it was promptly ignored. Kadri knew he was looking to match her gaze, but the lineaged refused to look up from her drink. “Cheer up, I ‘ear you did well, you did.”
“You didn’t see how close it was? Barely an inch away from winning I’ve been told, a fraction of a second from, how much was it, Sigrid?” Kadri brought her gaze up to look at the Consul, but her eyes were instead drawn to the figure standing as casually as they could next to Oskar, and instinctively they went wide. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Sigrid’s lips settling into a barely concealed smirk, and even Hendrik had a knowing look on his face. Kadri’s anger, though still present, subsided temporarily in favour of a flurry of flustered emotions that caused the young woman to fall silent for a few seconds too long.
“You know, Aron, I think Kadri’s in a bit of a foul mood. Maybe you should-“

Kadri rose from her chair, grabbed the newcomer’s rough hand in hers and led him as swiftly as she could from the tavern. He offered her very little resistance, and the pair left to the sound of Sigrid giggling, almost cackling, behind them.

When the air hit her face, a gentle early-afternoon breeze that tugged gently at her raven hair, Kadri’s senses seemed to return to her. She glanced down at her hand, and after a second released Aron’s from the vice grip she had his in. “Um… sorry about that.” She said quietly, her eyes flicking between meeting his and looking at the cobbled stones of the road. “It’s been a stressful week.”
The mage began walking down the road, a slow meandering walk that Aron caught up to and fell in pace with.
“Dragon’s and tournaments don’t mix? Who would have thought?” He teased, his features curling to a playful grin.
Kadri took a sideways look at him, demanding an explanation. His response was a disarming glance that spoke of one name.
“Hendrik,” they said simultaneously.
“Not that it’s confirmed that it’s a dragon but… it definitely is a dragon.” Kadri admitted after a moment. “How much did he tell you?”
“In the brief time we had between setting up that small surprise and your last match – dragon, you’ve come fifth.”
“Joint fifth,” she quickly interjected. “And I’m not taking the loss well so maybe we can move on from that.”
“But… a dragon. Spoke to you, is assessing you.” The apprentice began.
Her shoulders sagged at the mention of the dragon. “Was assessing me,” Kadri corrected again. “I lost. It’s not going to be interested in somebody that lost.”
Aron stopped, and Kadri felt him take her hand in his, and she pivoted to face him. His hazel eyes met hers. “You’re both too humble and too damn proud,” he said.
She indicated to the exposed scales on her forearm, “The hazards come with the territory.”
He nodded to the silver ones on his, “As if I don’t know that.”
Kadri rolled her eyes and Aron continued, his grip tightening, “The point I’m trying to make is that you shouldn’t count yourself out of anything other than the tournament. Clearly this dragon had an interest in you, and you got further than any of rest of Arbuzs’ kin. That will have to count for something.”

The mage slowly withdrew her hand from his, catching a glimpse of something metallic on his ring finger. She drew in a long breath, and exhaled slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe you’re right. Only time will tell. But… it’s been a weight off my shoulders not worrying about it. The tournament was what mattered.”
“And you’ve placed then you’ve ever placed before. That’s… well that’s got to count for something.”
“It will count towards Sigrid’s new business venture. Have you spoken to her yet? She’s planning on going to Silverun.”
“Is she now?” Aron said, his eyes listing away wistfully.
A chuckle escaped the lineaged, and she started walking again, “Right! Who’s the unfortunate soul that agreed to marry you?”
A glance back transformed the chuckle into a brief laugh as she watched the colour in Aron’s cheeks turn bright red. “They’re called Alex,” He started to explain, trying to remain composed, “they’re from Silverun. We… well we met on my first voyage there and… well on the second voyage I didn’t know when I would see them again and… it seems like it’s Sendrin’s will that our souls are intertwined.”
“Ah, young love,” Kadri grinned, her hands coming together in a mocking gesture. “So much passion, such a hot fire that has been kindled. Are they lineaged?”
“Does that matter?”
“It might.”
Aron stole her grin, “Is S-“

Kadri felt the lightning strike her; her vision was consumed by white that slowly faded. When she regained her composure, she tried to take in as much as her blurred view of the world would allow. Swirling above her was a tempest of black clouds, a void in their centre that spiralled upwards and out of sight. Beneath her feet was stone, but it was not cleanly cut, or cut at all. It was far more natural, and unpredictable in its texture. Around her stretched two diverse landscapes. To her left was a vast a complex system of lakes, streams, and rivers intercut by thin tracks of land, the water acting like mirrors to what little light wormed its way through to their surfaces. To her right was mountains, all smaller than the one she stood on, each with a system of clouds above it that seemed less foreboding than hers.
A familiar voice called to her, and a figure, dressed in tight fitting robes beckoned her closer. “Come cousin,” they said, “I have a gift for you.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Sixteen:
“You look surprised, cousin,” the dragon said, her lips curling upwards into a devilish smile.
“I-I… well… I…” Kadri stammered, her eyes struggling to focus on the figure in front of her. They darted from the landscape, to the sky, to the figure, and back to the landscape once more. A glance at the creature had the lineaged catch that smile transforming into a frustrated frown. The mage forced herself to find her voice, “Confused is an understatement.”
The dragon took a couple of steps towards her, looking the lineaged up and down, that plotting expression crawling across her features again. “Good. Then allow me to give you this and then I can send you back.”
She was holding in her left hand a perfectly smooth cylinder of metal. It was offered in Kadri’s direction and the lineaged took the opportunity to inspect it closer. It reflected the sky’s tone almost perfectly, maybe being a shade lighter than the layer of dark clouds that were above it. It was about half an inch thick and about four inches in diameter. On its top face were five symbols. Four of them surrounded the middle one, and they were positioned at the cardinal points of the top face. While she didn’t recognise them, Kadri believed they must have belonged to an ancient alphabet. The surrounded symbol was a pair of wings, one layered on top of the other, both facing to the right, their outlines jagged and jarring.

She wanted to ask questions, to interrogate this dragon, to make certain that she wanted to take this amulet. But something compelled her to snatch it from the creature’s hand and in the blink of an eye she was holding it. It was light, as if holding air, and felt as smooth as it looked. The creature chuckled and Kadri tore her eyes from the amulet, her eyes narrowing to an inquisitive glare that seemed to stun the dragon into silence for a moment.
The creature sighed, though the smirk did not leave her face. She waved her hand, as if permitting Kadri to ask the torrent of questions that had been building up in her mind only seconds before. “Who are you?” She asked.
“There’s little fun in me telling you that,” the dragon said, dismissing the question with a gesture. “I will state I am one of three.”
Kadri thought for a moment about the dragon’s answer. The second part of it seemed to be added on an impulse. She thought back to the docks, and how the creature had left the docks. That knowing, mischievous smirk that seemed ever present. Her eyes went wide and almost immediately Kadri felt compelled to kneel before the figure. As she did, her head bowed, she could hear Eitur chuckling.
“Yes, praise me, avert your eyes in reverence of the divine children of the Aspects etcetera etcetera. I’ve heard what your priests say, and while the other First Born enjoy such things, I must say it gets rather boring having a conversation with someone that won’t look you in the eye. So, will you stand up already and ask the rest of your questions?”
The lineaged did as she was told. “Th-there were only two.” She stammered, fighting against her instincts to avert her eyes. “What is this, and why are you giving it to me? I lost.”
“You got further than your other kin. I could hardly give this to a different kind of lineaged.” Eitur explained, “Which… is a shame. I wanted to come and give you this at the end of the ceremony; crown the champion. Give the next monarch of Volk a First Born’s approval. Bask in the adoration of the crowd for a bit.”
Confused, Kadri couldn’t stop herself when she pointed out the dragon’s double standards. Lightning struck mere inches from her in response.
Eitur’s grin softened to a reminiscent smile. “Arbuzs was beholden to his emotions – impulsive, curious, always jumping to conclusions and ready to fight. I’ll admit, it’s been interesting observing you; you have a lot of him in you but… it’s clear that thousands of years of breeding with non-lineaged have softened his traits significantly. Maybe that’s for the better.” The dragon paused, Kadri didn’t dare ask another question, though another had come to mind. How was this going to make her the next monarch of Volk?
“Wear it. You will see what it does. Find the other nine and bring them to me.” Eitur instructed.
“There are nine more?”
“One made by each of the Aspect Dragons. Roughly eight centuries ago.”
“You’re talking about the Artefacts?” Kadri said aloud, the amulet in her hand suddenly weighing more and more. “This… this started the Dragon War?”
“It did, the last proper war. The last war that actually mattered. It was a weapon then but Arbuzs decided to spite his siblings before they exiled themselves. Now it can find the other nine.”
“Why can’t you find them?”
“The First Born have an agreement not to. They were given to guardians by the Aspects to ensure they did not fall in to irresponsible hands. Unfortunately, father trusted his to my brother. And I am now entrusting it to you, so that you can find the others.” Eitur explained, the grin slowly returning.
Kadri was growing more and more suspicious of Eitur’s intentions. If the First Born agreed not to hunt the Artefacts, why did Eitur want them?
“What are you going to use them for?”
The grin’s growth stagnated and then it retreated once more. Every syllable bore weight, severity, and the clouds began to rumble in approval as Eitur spoke again. “Salvation. For you. For Volk. For the Nineteen Islands. For all of the creatures that reside in them. From an ancient foe that has been woken by explorers that did not heed warnings.” She turned away from the lineaged, her eyes gazing out at the lakes below. “My siblings and the other dragons will not act against her; she was one of us long ago.”
Kadri approached slowly. When she was within arm’s length of the dragon, she mustered the courage to try and press Eitur further. But she would not get a chance.

“Time is of the essence, cousin,” Eitur said, her tone dark. “Without the Artefacts she will not be stopped. And every soul in Euross will be enslaved to her will, and even the Aspects will not be an exception.”
Without another word, Kadri’s vision was swamped once again. She was back in Kaunu when she could see again.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Seventeen:
Kadri did her best to avoid answering her friend’s questions upon her return – each “Where did you go?” and “Who were you with?” and “What happened?” was dismissed with the same answer: “I’ll tell you later.” This did little to satiate Sigrid and Aron, who continued to press for real answers. Kadri knew the closing ceremony was coming up soon; she was supposed to be there because she had finished in the top eight. But the constant needling by the pair of newly self-appointed inquisitors got the better of her. She could always collect her winnings from the Guild later. Besides, she was tempted, oh so tempted, to try this amulet, this artefact, this all-powerful item that now rested fitfully in the satchel at her side, that had been given to her.

It was mid-afternoon. The sun hung proudly in the sky – Kadri could count how many clouds there were. Each of them was light in complexion, and they at a leisurely pace inland to try and join their brethren at the mountains. In her absence, the wind had not strengthened but weakened as if attentively listening for something. The companions had left through the south of the city, and walked for about twenty minutes along the main road before they turned to walk perpendicular to it. Kadri had bid them all to be quiet until they were a fair distance away and, for the most part, the other three obliged. Their questions had drawn curious eyes to them within Kaunu and Kadri wanted to avoid any unnecessary attention, especially given her placing at the tournament.

When they stopped walking through the fields, the buildings of the trading town but silhouettes in the distance, Kadri turned to face her friends.
“Right, here’s what happened. I got teleported away by the dragon. The dragon turned out to be Eitur. Eitur gave me this.” She produced the amulet from her bag. “It’s… it’s an Artefact.”
Whatever distance was between the lineaged and Sigrid vanished in the blink of an eye. The Consul was inspecting the Artefact with keen eyes that could have belonged to a scholar, an archaeologist or a child. Hendrik’s jaw had flopped open in shock and Aron’s expression ran the gauntlet of shock, cynicism, and bewilderment.
“This… wait if… this started the-“ Sigrid stammered, stumbling backwards a couple of steps.
“And Arbuzs’ daughter gave it to you? Not just any daughter, Eitur gave it to you.” Aron took a step closer.
“Oh… by the Aspects we were in the presence of one of the First Born,” Hendrik said, sinking to his knees.
“Do you actually know if it is an Artefact?” The sailor asked, his voice laced with awe.
Kadri shrugged her shoulders. “That’s what we’re here to find out. She told me to wear it,” she explained. There was a loose piece of gold cord that looped through a small hole in the amulet’s top. As she stared through it, raising it to head height, she threw a cautionary glance to the trio surrounding her, and they scrambled back.

Kadri was aware of a growing urge to wear the Artefact, and this made her hesitate. She could feel a kinship with this amulet. This was made by her foremost ancestor, the Aspect of Lightning. As she continued to hesitate, she became increasingly conscious of the power that must have been in this small cylinder of metal. And now it was entrusted to her. But not by Arbuzs, or even the guardian he had given it to for protection, but by a creature that in the stories had stolen, tricked, and manipulated her way to get what she wanted. Aron raised a good point. If it wasn’t an Artefact then what was it?

It was an impulsive motion that placed the amulet around her neck. The Artefact fell to just above the top of her chest. Kadri tensed, every fibre of her being braced in expectation. A second passed. Two. Three. The lineaged hadn’t realized that she had closed her eyes until she opened them and found her friends staring at her with trepidation. She felt herself deflate as a concoction of disappointment and relief filled her system. A low, long, shuddered breath that spoke of both of these emotions escaped her.

She opened her mouth to speak, to voice her thoughts and theories.
“Saukti, Aezi.”
It was as if her voice had been hijacked, and her eyes went wide as each syllable escaped her lips. What few clouds were in the sky conglomerated overhead and thunder followed each utterance. The wings in the centre of the amulet glowed, becoming more and more intense with each passing moment until all of them had to shield their eyes. As the light abated, the clouds dissipated.

“BY THE ASPECTS THERE’S A HORSE!” Hendrik’s voice rang through Kadri’s ears.
Kadri lowered her hands. To say the creature standing in front of them was a horse was doing it a disservice. It was a pegasus, with snow white hair. The wings folded in at its sides were constituted not of feathers, but were entirely lightning. Its hooves crackled with blue and white energy and, on occasion, purple bolts danced across its body. The lineaged could not take in the creature for long before she crumpled to the ground, her energy sapped from her and the air avoiding her lungs. It took her a few seconds to regain any kind of breath.
Sigrid and Aron had rushed to her side, helping her to a sitting position. Hendrik had been completely bewitched by the creature in front of him.

The creature regarded all four of them with intelligence in its eyes. It appeared to be studying them, taking in every part of their anatomies. But it did not move. It kept its distance, seemingly awaiting some form of instruction. Its eyes met Kadri’s.
“I think it’s an Artefact,” Aron concluded quietly, sitting next to Kadri. Sigrid sat the other side of the exhausted lineaged.
“What will the Ever-Watching think of this?” Sigrid wondered aloud.
“I’m thinking… that I’m… I’m…”
“Blessed?” Hendrik offered.
“Fucked.” Kadri said glumly. She put a hand to her forehead and audibly groaned. The Dragon War mentioned a pegasus like this; she had never imagined that it was the actual Artefact.
“Aezi?” She ventured. The pegasus bowed.

“He could teleport entire armies in the stories, teleport them great distances,” Sigrid recalled. Suddenly invigorated, she turned to Kadri with a glint in her eye, “When you get your breath back, can we try an experiment?”
“Depends on the experiment,” Kadri responded, struggling to her feet. The Consul was quick to stand and steady her.
“How did you summon him?”
“I... the words just came to me.”
“Would it be unreasonable to suggest that if you wanted to go somewhere then the words might just come to you?”
Aezi neighed in confirmation.
“Where do you want to go?”
“To the Platinum Consulate at some point. But we should work you up to it. Maybe you can teleport us four back to Tallin? Then we collect your winnings from the Guild there? And then tomorrow we can try a bit further? Go to the Frost Veil perhaps?”
“That’s your definition of a bit?” Aron scoffed. “That was a whole day and night of sailing to get from there to Kaunu. It takes half a day to sail from here to Tallin.”
“It’s not exactly the Haven is it?” Sigrid said, shooting him a glance. “It is a bit in one context or another.”
“I’m… not certain that’s a good use of him,” Kadri said, moving to stand in front of Aezi. “Eitur wanted me to find the other nine. Apparently, he can locate them.”
“Why does she want them?” Aron asked. “She comes and gives you an Artefact and says go find the others. What does she want them for?”
“’Salvation’,” Kadri quoted. “She says there’s something else hunting them.”
Sigrid raised an eyebrow. “I’m doubtful of her motivations.”
“As am I,” Kadri agreed, “But I can hardly say no to her. She’s a First Born. If I don’t do it then she’ll get somebody else to.”
Hendrik chimed in. “You know… you’re practically guaranteed to be the next queen.”
Everyone paused. Aezi bowed to Kadri once again.
“Let’s… not speculate,” Kadri said slowly, a tremble to her voice. “We… I should prepare to find the other Artefacts. We can… we’ll test getting back to Tallin later. Once everyone has everything. Um…” she turned to look at the pegasus, “Can you… dismiss yourself until we’re ready?”

The creature took a couple of steps back in response, spreading its wings wide. They abounded with energy, the air charging for a moment, before Aezi flapped them once, and light consumed it once again.

(Hiya everyone. Thanks for reading up to this point! If you have any feedback to give for any of the parts then please send it my way!
I think part seventeen marks the end of the first section of the story. How many sections will constitute Children of Volk, I'm not sure. Enough to tell a proper narrative I hope.
Regardless, thanks again for reading so far and if there is any feedback to give then by all means I would love to hear it!
Thanks one last time
Bacon)

 

[Baconhands]

Part Eighteen:
“Ready?” Kadri asked, glancing at her three companions. All of them assented with silent nods. They stood to the sides of Aezi, just in front of his wings. The lineaged closed her eyes, and reached out, feeling the pegasus’ hair beneath her fingers. She thought about being in Tallin, envisioning her and her friends’ position on a map and where her home was in relation to it. She focused on it, taking a breath and then imagined herself travelling. It had felt like a lurching motion. When her eyes had opened, they were no longer by the Azurelak.

Nausea spread through the four passengers like a plague, each one succumbing and falling to the floor mere seconds from each other.
“Travelling by lightning horse… is the worst experience… ever…” Sigrid wheezed.
Hendrik forced himself to stand. “Hey!” He said elated, the smile clear in his voice. “The sign says Tallin is only a mile awa-“
The nausea caught up with him once again. Kadri winced as she heard the contents of Hendrik’s stomach hit the floor. “Important note…” she managed, sitting up and supporting herself with her hands. “Don’t eat… before travelling via Aezi.”
The lineaged glanced to the pegasus. He wore a condescending expression.
“Luggage…” Aron said breathlessly.
As the four of them looked around, all of them were struck by a sudden sense of surprise and annoyance.
“Did… did he only teleport what was touching him?” Sigrid asked.
“And what was touching us. Other than the ground.” Kadri observed.
“So… Aron’s bags…”
“Are back by the Azurelak.” Kadri finished. “Second important note, make sure to hold on to everything you want to bring with you.” She glanced at the sailor. “Did you leave anything important?”
“Just clothes… and not a lot… just enough for a few days.”
“Worth going back for?” Sigrid asked.
Aron shook his head. “Not for that experience.”
“We’ll go once we’ve gotten our breaths back,” Kadri stated. After a moment, she corrected herself as the rest gave her despondent looks, “I’ll go once I’ve gotten my breath back.”

The mage found her way to her feet and took steps that should have belonged to a drunkard back to the pegasus’ side. She paused for a moment, eventually finding the energy to straighten her spine, regain a regular breathing pattern, and grab a hold of Aezi’s back. Once more her eyes closed, the map of Volk coming to her mind. She thought of Kaunu, and the Azurelak, pictured it clearly in her mind. She heard herself say the word ‘travel’; her eyes flicked open.
Kadri couldn’t help the smirk that graced her lips when she realised that she had managed to get significantly closer to her desired location than before: she could see the luggage that had been left behind; it must have only been a hundred or so feet from her. The smirk transformed to a frown as a groan escaped her and she collapsed to the floor.
“Is this going to get any easier?” she asked between intermittent breaths.
Aezi regarded her with a look that either spoke of reassurance, annoyance, or pity. Maybe it was all three. Kadri stood shakily and caught the pegasus rolling its eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she growled, “some of us don’t normally travel dozens of miles in a second.”
Aezi responded with a cynical expression and a huff.
“I took it better than the other three,” she pointed out, crossing her arms. The pegasus avoided her gaze, refusing to concede her point.
“When you transported entire armies, I’m certain that most of the soldiers were worse off than me.”
A sarcastic look of protest.
Kadri nodded her head with exaggerated swings, disbelief tracing every syllable, “Sure they were.”

The ritual was repeated after Kadri collected the bags. Allowing herself some time to recover beforehand, her eyes closed, the map of Volk appeared, and once more she envisioned herself travelling to Tallin. An instant passed. Her friends were waiting for her. As before, nausea sought to bring her to the ground and again it succeeded. Aron’s bags lay strewn in a pile next to her as she let them fall to the floor, catching herself on all fours. She took wheezing breaths for only a couple of moments before she brought herself to a sitting position. Her three companions seemed to be fixing her with inquisitive stares, as if they were about to interrogate her. She waved her consent. The lineaged was surprised at the quietness of Sigrid’s voice.

“Kadri… we talked among ourselves while you were gone and… we have a couple of questions. First of which is… when were you going to start looking for the rest of the Artefacts?”
Stunned into silence for a few seconds, it didn’t take Kadri long to connect what few dots she had to create a theory. “That depends on how many of you want to come with me.”
“We all do,” Hendrick said. Sigrid and Aron stared daggers at him.
Kadri allowed herself a chuckle. Sigrid and Aron both turned their gazes to her – their eyes said that Hendrik was correct.
“You understand whatever is out there, hunting for these artefacts, or protecting them, is going to be extremely dangerous and will probably end up… killing us.”
“Then we can’t let you go alone,” Hendrik said, stepping forward, his hands on his hips as he struck a noble pose. The Consul’s eyes lit up with a form of ungodly fury – it was clear that he had stolen her line. A smile tugged at both Kadri and Aron’s features.
“No matter what you say we’re coming with you,” Aron stated, mimicking Hendrik’s heroic tone.
Sigrid sighed, and less enthusiastically said, “And nothing you can say is going to stop us.”
“We are almost certainly going to piss off the First Born by doing this,” Kadri insisted, the thought suddenly coming to mind.

All of them grimaced at the idea – they had only been contacted by Eitur, a known trickster and ne’er-do-well who conspired against her siblings frequently in the stories. Not that she didn’t have some redeeming qualities; she always seemed to operate on the basis that she was allowed to act against her sibling’s interests but anyone else who did would receive no less than the full wrath of one of the most tactful First Born in existence; an odd kind of familial loyalty. But Kadri had no doubt in her mind that the other First Born would take notice of a group of humans hunting down the Artefacts, and would likely intervene at some point. Who then would protect them from the full force of multiple First Born? Some of them were supposed to be powerful enough to strip away the souls of mortals with a mere glance.

“You don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way, only I do,” Kadri said grimly. “Admittedly because I am currently already in harm’s way.”
“Trading’s boring anyway – prosperous but boring,” Sigrid said, a slow grin creeping across her features. “If we piss off the First Born then… what can I say. I’ll happily die knowing I’ve pissed off the divine.”
“And it’s not like they will kill us straight away! We can assure them of our good intentions! They might sympathise with us – maybe let us go!” Hendrik announced, optimism building in his voice as he spoke.
“The First Born haven’t been seen for centuries. If the priests are correct then most of them are slumbering or have forgotten their custodianship of the Nineteen Islands entirely. I’d be willing to risk it,” Aron mused after all eyes had settled on him.

Kadri’s grim expression did not abate. Her eyes fell to the ground. “Fine… we’ll leave tomorrow.”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Nineteen:
That night, there was only one lone traveller walking the coastal streets of Tallin. On her right was the sea and the sounds of waves lapping against the beach; on her left was the town of her birth, and an uneasy yet welcome silence. Kadri had been walking for many hours. She had been tracing the same path to and fro since dusk, not for a second glancing at the time piece in her pocket. The mage had been surprised, therefore, when the first vestiges of day, the change from a black to one of a dark grey-blue, had made themselves known. It hadn’t felt that long since she had walked out of the door of her home, promising her parents that she would return in at most thirty minutes.

Her full attention had been drawn inwards; Kadri could only remember a few times when she hadn’t followed the first course of action her mind had offered her. On paper, she had already signed herself up to do that by telling her friends that they were all going to leave together that morning. And her instincts had been satisfied when she had told them that. But there was enough reluctance in her mind for a full-scale debate to start raging. Her ideas drew themselves into two camps; that of leaving with Sigrid, Hendrik, and Aron, and that of leaving alone.

Neither side could land a final, decisive blow to convince her one way or the other. The sound of the debate drowned out the world around her, manifesting as a high-pitched ringing in her ears that she instinctively tried to block out by bringing her hands up to cover them. Kadri squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of it all, unable to discern a single argument from the next as they all swarmed to get her attention, attempting to drown out the other side.

A single thought stepped forward, cutting through the chaos. The chamber of Kadri’s mind fell silent as every argument and thought turned to face this self-proclaimed mediator. The high-pitched whine faded away, and Kadri slowly lowered her arms to her side. She forced her eyes to open, and took a single deep but shuddering breath. To the library, it urged her, where there were many stories about heroes chosen by the Aspects. One such tale would surely be able to advise her.

The mage traced her way round the edges of Tallin, making her way slowly but surely to the other side of the port town. The library was located ten minutes down a road that ran out of Tallin, heading westwards towards the mountains. It was only accompanied by one other building, which sat opposite it; a temple dedicated to a select handful of the Aspect Dragons. There were few remarkable designs on the exterior of the library, save for a mural on the stone wall facing the road, which depicted Arbuzs and his three First Born in their draconic forms above the mountains of Volk.

A flickering candle, trapped inside of a glass lantern, hung above the wooden door on a curved metal bar. Kadri waited a couple of moments, watching the flame, praying that it wouldn’t go out. It did not. The library was open.

Kadri pushed the door open; it was heavier than she remembered. There was a low creak as it swung open. As she stepped inside, the door fell closed behind her with a quiet thud. She was greeted by a small desk that couldn’t have been much higher than her waist. Behind it, a studious-looking man was swathed in a red blanket that just about obscured the robes she knew he was wearing. He was hunched over an open book, his lips moving as he read. Another lantern illuminated the pages, and it stood precariously close to the piece of literature the librarian was reading. It also served as the only source of light in the building; there were no windows in sight – very little natural light found its way in.

Making her way forwards, Kadri ventured a greeting. The man, his features haggard, his skin burnt and blistered, raised his head. He squinted, narrowing his eyes for a moment in apparent annoyance, before his lips drew themselves into a thin smile.
“One day,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’ll visit here at a normal time, like everyone else.”
“And when that day comes, you’ll know the Aspects will have returned,” Kadri offered him a polite but genuine smile. “How are you Bo?”
“I unfortunately still have to work for a living,” he sighed. “A word of advice, Kadri, tournament life will eat you up, like it does with all lineaged. Do something with your fame when you get it, because the monarchy will be forever at your finger tips and-“
“I’ll wear myself to the bone trying to achieve it.” Kadri finished. “Look, I need a book.” She said, trying to change the subject as quickly as she could before the old librarian started rambling; it wasn’t that Kadri didn’t respect the elder’s wisdom, it was that Bo unfortunately gave a lot of the same lessons and told a lot of the same stories, on top of the fact that she was most certainly in a rush.
“We have books.”
“One about travellers. One of the ancient ones; when Euross was still around.”
“Hmph… going somewhere?” He asked, eyeing the amulet hanging from her neck.
“I’m always going somewhere, Bo.”
“And yet, this is the first time you’ve asked for a book before you’ve gone since you started competing in the tournaments. I know you don’t need this library’s books any more, ever since that Consul girl came here, bringing strange books from the Commonwealth.”
“Can you help me, or can’t you?”

The librarian’s nose twitched in response. His head fell back to his book as his right hand rose. He snapped his fingers, and a row of lanterns leading into the building came alight.
Kadri nodded her thanks, and made her way down the aisle, flanked on either side by piles of manuscripts and leather-bound books.
One of the lanterns shone brighter than the rest. Once Kadri was under it, the rest extinguished themselves. To her left were mountains of loosely bound pieces of parchment, on her right were five shelves choked with books. She turned to her right and, letting instinct guide her, grabbed the first book that brushed her fingers.

It was titled The Trials and Tribulations of Baelock: A Comprehensive Guide on How to Piss Off the Divine and Make Friends Along the Way. Startled for a moment, Kadri slipped the book into her bag, cursing herself that the title had genuinely piqued her curiosity. The lineaged grabbed another book, this time taking care to trawl through the titles before she settled on Tales of Euross: Stories from the Ashborn Empire. Reproduced for the Modern Era by Esther of House Griffinsbane was written at the bottom.

Satisfied, Kadri made her way deeper into the library, lanterns coming to life and flickering away as she walked. As she reached the end of the aisle, a rectangular table came into view, circled by five chairs. She sat down, took out the Tales of Euross, and flicked open the cover. A table of contents followed; it listed eleven chapters and a preface by Esther Griffinsbane. After briefly glancing at the chapter titles, she navigated to the fourth chapter, and started reading.

Had she not had an ulterior motive for reading, she might well have enjoyed it. The two sides of her mind were still very much poised to try and convince her one way or the other, and both tried to draw each page to their side of the argument. Thus, every subsequent page felt like it was growing longer and longer, as a variety of morals were repeated and hammered home by the story. As soon as she felt the high-pitched whine return, she slammed the book shut and let out a huff of frustration.

A moment later, the lantern above her flickered. Kadri straightened her back and turned her head to face the way she’d come from. The lantern flickered again.
“Bo?” She ventured.
The sound of something slumping against the floor answered her, and the lantern fell dark.
Kadri stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“You’re but a child…” a feminine voice echoed from the darkness, its tone more confused than threatening. “Why did… no matter. In the end, what must be done, must be done.”
The sound of bare feet impacting the stone floor began to emanate from the entrance of the library.
“Saukti-“
“If you summon Aezi, I will ensure that your entire town is burnt to the ground and the souls of its inhabitants will be lost even to the Aspect of Light.”
Aezi’s name got stuck in Kadri’s throat. How did they know she could-
“I wondered what game she would play. I really did.” The voice interrupted Kadri’s thoughts, chuckling to itself as it continued, “Placing him into the hands of a lineaged as young as yourself… that I did not expect. It’s cruel, vile, even. But I suppose it’s only right that children try to emulate their parents.” The footsteps came to a halt.
Kadri held her tongue.
“And what did Eitur ask you to do with him? He has such potential, you know?”
The lineaged felt lightning begin to dance along her scales as adrenaline began to flood her systems. She could visualise the doorway in her mind, teleporting there without a line of sight wasn’t impossible, but it was dangerous. Whether she could utter the spell to teleport her there before the voice acted was another matter to consider as well.
“No need for that,” the voice said, its tone surprisingly reassuring, bordering on motherly. “I just want to talk.”
“Show yourself then.”
“When I understand where you stand on Siyaka, I will. You have my word.”
Kadri was perplexed but shook the confusion from her head. She had to leave, and she had to leave now.
“Valguse-“
A hand gripped her wrist, “What did I just-“
Kadri wasn’t certain what spell she cast after that; there was a brief but rapid build up in lightning on her scales, and less than a second later it had leapt towards the chest of whoever had grabbed her. She was aware that they had been sent catapulting backwards and that they had impacted the wall, or the floor, hard. She heard a sickeningly wet crunch after a thud reached her ears. The lineaged did not hesitate. She sprinted for the exit.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Twenty:
It did not take her long to find her way to the exit. Kadri briefly paused to look at Bo’s slumped over body; her eyes struggled to register what they were seeing, primarily because they didn’t want to. His skin had turned grey, his eyes were blood-shot and dull, and his mouth hung open, exposing yellow, rotting teeth and retreating gums. Any thoughts that told her to help him were immediately silenced; even if he were alive, there was nothing Kadri could do. She turned and ran out of the library, the door slamming behind her.

Barely a few steps out onto the road, Kadri heard the familiar creak of the door as it was wrenched open. The lineaged couldn’t help herself; she turned her head to face what was chasing her. What confronted her filled her first with confusion, then horror. A twitching figure, clad in Bo’s robes, stood in the doorway, a crooked hand on the frame, the other on the door itself. It took Kadri a moment to realise that the figure was not the librarian. Their posture was better, their skin smoother, their hair longer and darker, and their eyes were a milky white instead of a myriad of reds, oranges, and yellows. A silver chain, a transparent gemstone in its centre, glowered hungrily from the figure’s neck.

A smile tugged at the figure’s lips, though their thin eyebrows were furrowed and focussed on Kadri. They let out a gasp, their back straightening fully, the twitching coming to an end, their clothes deepening to a burgundy and trimming itself gold. The smile broadened, and they let out a sigh, stepping onto the road. Kadri was paralyzed, her brain struggling to process what it had witnessed, if it had witnessed anything at all.
“Kadri. Kadri, Kadri, Kadri… what a pretty name,” they paused, inspecting their fingers for a moment. “Bo tells me you’re a competent competitor… better than competent. A promising one. Enough to maybe be monarch one day, if the Ever-Watching so chooses.” Their eyes fell on Kadri once more, the smile transforming in to a grin, “He thinks so highly of you. I’m sure everyone here does.”
“Who are you?” Kadri challenged, her voice wavering.
A chuckle was her answer; the figure moved closer. One step. “I am resurrection.” Another, “I am rebirth.” A third, “I am Dusk.” They were ten feet from the mage.
Lightning crackled across Kadri’s scales, and the figure stopped, their smile briefly breaking and their eyebrow twitching.
“Don’t be unreasonable, Kadri,” Dusk said, raising her hands. “That amulet does not belong to you; it belongs in the hands of a First Born.”
“It was given to me by a First Born,” Kadri responded quickly. “A gift from a family member.”
The smile returned to Dusk’s lips, “And did that family member ask you to find nine others? Did she explain that they were given to creatures meant to protect them? Did she then say that a certain someone would enslave the Aspect Dragons?”
Kadri didn’t offer a retort. Dusk continued, taking a step forward, her foot landing silently against the stone. “You understand she’s given you this task because you are expendable? There are thousands of lineaged across the Nineteen Islands, Kadri, ten percent of them are of your blood. The First Born care not for the-“
“Tiept Vienn.”

The lightning that had been eagerly awaiting her call spread across her forearm. Three arcs pounced towards her adversary, striking Dusk in her abdomen, her right shoulder, and her left lapel. She was sent staggering backwards, a pained and frustrated expression lashed across her features. The scent of charred flesh filled the air; smoke rose from where the spell’s tendrils had struck.
Kadri took a couple of steps back; she did not hesitate when she saw Dusk’s hands twitch. Another spell, a single, more powerful arc, launched forward, striking Dusk in the chest, sending her recoiling backwards. The lineaged did not relent. Another arc, and another, and another. After a fourth, Kadri’s adrenaline failed her as she tried to summon one more. Yet Dusk still stood, and Kadri could feel unconsciousness beginning to claw at her mind.

The figure cocked her head, a familiar, malignant grin returning to her face. “My turn?”
Dusk flicked her wrist upwards. Grasping hands, rotten and pestilent, burst from the ground and clamped on to the Kadri’s feet, rooting her in place with an unholy amount of strength. More rose as Dusk once again moved her hand, clambering up Kadri’s legs to bound the lineaged’s arms to her sides. Exhausted, there was very little she could do to resist them. Dusk swaggered closer.
“I’m sorry you chose this path,” she said, coming to a stop only a few inches from the mage. “You could have helped me. We could have been allies. You would have been useful.” The necromancer took a hold of Kadri’s arm; her fingers sapped the warmth from her, and the lineaged was keenly aware that something else was trying to invade her mind. “Instead, you will join the rest of your horrible little people in bringing about the greatest resurrection Euross has ever seen.”

Panic flooded Kadri’s system; the figure’s touch was leeching all the warmth from her. A chill took its place, spreading like an epidemic that enthusiastically hunted down and ruthlessly dealt with any sign of resistance in her body. Kadri’s eyes foraged in vain for a way out. They stumbled upon the gem in the necromancer’s necklace. She was certain it had changed – her eyes had reported that it had gained the barest hint of opacity and her mind seized on it. Perhaps this was some form of weakness.

Kadri mustered every ounce of energy she could. Her body tensed, her lungs strained, her scales rallied to the fore. She allowed her mind to slip away for a moment, to find the words she wanted to say. She found them; the syllables leapt from her mouth. When she uttered them, Kadri was as surprised as the necromancer.
“Saukti Aezi.”
Clouds formed over-head, obscuring Tallin from the early morning sky. The amulet around her neck grew blinding once more, flaring up with such an intensity that Kadri and Dusk’s eyes were forced shut, and even then, the light found its way through. In that semi-darkness, Kadri felt Dusk’s hand forcefully ripped from her arm. A comforting, familiar presence stood in front of her. When the light faded and her eyes opened, the pegasus stood in front of her, its wings outstretched, lightning crackling along its body.

Dusk retreated, taking step after step after step backwards as she attempted to stare down the new threat. The undead hands that had immobilised Kadri retreated into the earth. An unspoken conversation passed between the pegasus and the necromancer. When her fingers twitched, and the earth began to move, Aezi reared up on his hind legs. He stamped downwards. Lightning burst from the ground in waves, surging forward from his hooves towards Dusk. It tore up the earth as it travelled, striking the amulet around Dusk’s neck when it reached her. Kadri could read her reaction as the distinct sound of glass cracking split the air; surprise, panic, and fear.

Aezi’s wings spread out once more; the necromancer signalled her submission. Skeletal hands erupted from the ground, engulfing Dusk’s body. They collapsed unceremoniously once she had been completely obscured from sight, clattering to the ground. She had vanished.

Content that she was at least being watched over by the pegasus, Kadri let exhaustion take her. A controlled crumble to the cobbled road took place. Aezi lowered his wings slowly. He turned to face her, she regarded him with thankful eyes.
“Any point… in me… asking how she knew… who you were?”
Aezi huffed; she was certain that if he could have shrugged his shoulders, he would have.
“It’s complicated?”
The pegasus nodded.

A silence settled between them; Aezi maintained a constant vigilance as Kadri got her breath back and struggled to her feet. The sun had broken the confines of the horizon, the most stubborn stars had been relegated to the west. In the east, the skies, for the first time in a long time, were clear. The birds sang their morning tunes to welcome the day, singing the praises of the Aspect Dragons.

A pair were making their way out of town; it was apparent when they had spotted her because they seemed to speed up. After squinting, Kadri knew who it was, and she gently stroked Aezi’s neck to calm him. He gave her a sarcastic look; he’d clearly recognised them too.
“Are you crazy?” Sigrid hissed at the lineaged. “Do you know how many people will be coming along this road for morning prayers?”
Hendrik was perplexed, his eyes drawn to Kadri’s forearm, “Do they normally look like that?”
Kadri’s eyes went wide as she looked down at where the necromancer had grabbed her. Her once sapphire scales were now pastel and dull, drained of their colour. Her arm still felt cold, almost numb, and pins and needles were rife among her fingers. “I’ll… I’ll explain later. Where’s Aron?”
“Not coming,” Sigrid stated, concern lacing her tone.
Kadri opened her mouth to question why, but she stopped herself. “Fine,” she said, a bit more venom than she’d wanted leaking into her voice. She stopped, allowing herself a breath. Sigrid and Hendrik took positions either side of Aezi, expecting Kadri to join them. The lineaged shook her head.
“I-I can’t let you come with me.”
“Don’t be stupid, we’re already here,” Sigrid stated.
“You don’t understand; I’m certain you will die.”
“And I’m certain that you will die if we don’t go with you,” the Consul retorted. “Stop being difficult and tell us where we’re going.”
“I’m not letting you leave with me.”
“And we’re not letting you leave without us,” Hendrik assured her. “I’ve already told my parents I’m going to join the military. I’m not going back and telling them that I’ve chickened out.”
“And I’ve told my parents I’ve organised my own trading venture to Alba,” Sigrid sighed. “Basically, we’re leaving. We want to go with you. Stop telling us we’re going to die because frankly, we can’t let you get yourself killed,” The Consul paused, and glanced at Hendrik. “How would you survive without us anyhow? You don’t have the money, you don’t have the connections, and you don’t have the supplies to survive out in the wild.”

Kadri glowered. The pair in front of her matched her with steely, determined gazes. Despite having half a mind still shouting at her to take extreme measures to prevent them from going, Kadri made her way forward, and placed her hand on Aezi. The two non-lineaged did the same. Kadri closed her eyes. She thought of Tamsus, the Aspect of Darkness, and where his artefact would be. Visualising a map once more, her attention was drawn to the largest island in the Nineteen Islands, a comparative giant that stood out in the middle of the map. In its west, about halfway down the island, a black spot called to her, hundreds of miles inland. She described this aloud.
“That’s in a region called the Salts,” Hendrik recalled. “One of the Commonwealth’s colonies.”
Kadri envisioned the point on the map, imagining herself travelling to the point. Nothing happened. Aezi whinnied his disapproval. The lineaged opened her eyes. Confused, she gave Aezi a questioning look.
“Too far?”
The pegasus nodded.
“There’s a bigger settlement further north right next to the coast,” Hendrik said. “That’s a lot closer to Volk; we could get transport inland from there.”
“How much further?”
“Like… thirty miles south of the Frost Veil.”
Kadri nodded. She closed her eyes once more, envisioning the map while desperately trying to recall the borders from her geography classes that now seemed so long ago. Ultimately, she gave up trying to pin point it precisely. If they had to walk for a while to get there, then they had to walk for a while to get there.
She could feel Aezi’s muscles tense. The lurching motion consumed her senses. When her eyes opened, the vast plains and mountain ranges of Volk had been replaced by sand, salt and dust.

 

[Baconhands]

Part Twenty-One:
Kadri struggled to stay on her feet; she was determined to not succumb to the nausea that had claimed her last time. To an extent, she was successful. She had not fallen over. However, she was aware that she was clinging onto Aezi with very little regard for his comfort. The pegasus endured it for a few long seconds before he neighed his dismay and Kadri, guilt ridiculing her for a moment, let go. Her balance stayed with her; her vision began to focus. Hendrik and Sigrid were on the ground, their faces drained of colour. Hendrik’s lip was quivering. Sigrid was taking as many deep breaths as possible. Both looked like they had seen a ghost. Kadri, however, came to the conclusion that they were shaken, of course, but no worse than last time. Her attention turned to taking in her surroundings.

The land ran flat for miles in every direction, though mighty fissures, many feet wide and several metres deep, rendered the land as nothing more than an unsolvable mess of pieces that didn’t look like they belonged to the same puzzle. Kadri glanced down - the island they stood on was covered in a layer of red and white. When she stepped, it crunched beneath her feet. Looking up, she noticed that every island was blanketed in a layer of the same substances; the colony’s namesake was everywhere.

Small but wide bridges that were painted blue and gold linked some of the islands together, though it was not immediately obvious that anyone had used them in years. No footpaths led from one bridge to another and there was not a trace that chariots or wagons had passed over them; the layer of salt that topped every island seemed remarkably level and undisturbed, as if even the wind didn’t want to disturb it.

Signs, Kadri thought. There had to be a sign somewhere. If they followed the road then they would inevitably come across something that told them where they were and how far they were from civilisation.

“I wasn’t ready,” Hendrik wheezed, “I convinced… I convinced myself I was… I was not.”
“While we’re not moving…” Sigrid managed between breaths, “maybe… maybe it would be worth… while telling us what happened to your arm.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Hendrik pointed it out barely… barely a couple of minutes ago,” the Consul persisted.
Kadri gave her friend a deflecting look. Sigrid, despite still recovering, mustered the energy to glare in response. The lineaged resigned herself to her fate, and rolled her sleeve up. The colour was gradually coming back to the scales that had been under the necromancer’s grip, but none of them had truly recovered yet. A stinging sensation danced among her fingers, and when she willed some sparks to come from her hand, it felt as if her forearm was being needled by a swarm of invisible knives. The pain was intense but bearable, and she’d gritted her teeth as soon as the sensation started. She stopped; Kadri didn’t want to tempt fate any further than necessary.
Sigrid was on her feet, her eyes wide.
“Somebody came after me,” Kadri said. “A woman. She mentioned something about something called Siyaka, and… she had to have been lineaged but she was doing magic I didn’t know was possible. Necromancy.”
The word hung heavy in the air.
“But… not even Awramaar’s lineaged can do that,” Hendrik recalled.
“I know.”
“Did she have any scales on her face?”
“I wasn’t exactly looking out for them, Hen.”
“Any scales at all?”
“Hendrik, she tried to kill me.”

Another silence reigned. Sigrid broke it.
“How did she find out about it?”
“Do you expect me to have an actual answer for you Sigrid?” the lineaged snapped. “I don’t know, I probably won’t know.”
“Can’t you ask Eitur?”
Kadri forced her sleeve back down and didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to face the pegasus. “Aezi, can you take them back to Volk?”

The lineaged felt Sigrid grab her arm. Kadri’s eyebrows furrowed, her irises darkened to a stormy grey, and she heard the crackle of lightning as it started to leap from scale to scale; the Consul held firm.
“Let go of me Sigrid.”
“You can’t do this without help,” the Consul replied calmly.
“And you two are only going to get yourselves killed, you need to go home,” Kadri growled, turning to face her friend. “Look, you know the risks now. I brought you this far because we didn’t want to have Aezi seen. Now you have to go home before you get hurt.”
“We knew the risks before,” Hendrik intervened, finally getting to his feet and moving to Sigrid’s side.
“And we’ve already had this conversation,” Sigrid continued, “if you couldn’t convince us before, what makes us think you can convince us now?”

Aezi’s braying interrupted the conversation. All three human sets of eyes looked at him; when he indicated southwards, they turned their heads in unison. It seemed little more than a dot in the distance at first. After a few seconds, it was obvious that it was moving closer, but at a pace far too fast and making manoeuvres far too drastic for a wagon or a chariot to make. With a glance from Kadri, Aezi raised his wings, was struck by lightning, and vanished.

Two tense minutes passed as the dot got closer. None of them saw much point in trying to outrun it, and the idea of hiding did not appeal to any of the trio; the only viable spots were in the fissures, meaning that if they were caught only Kadri would have been able to escape.
“It’s probably just regular people,” Hendrik offered hopefully. Both Sigrid and Kadri responded with cynical glances. Too much had happened for it to just be regular people.

The dot started to resemble the outline of a ship, though the deck appeared to be thinner than the underside. There were no sails or masts to speak of, and as the vessel continued to get closer it was becoming increasingly obvious that the ship was not touching the ground. It stopped rapidly at the neighbouring island; a gap of a handful of metres separated the trio from the ship. Its side turned to face the three Volkish. A gold dragon with its wings aloft and its mouth in a broad, terrifying grin was set against the black hull of the ship. Excruciating detail had been given to the scales and to the eyes, so much so that they seemed to gleam in the morning sun.

Hendrik drew his sword; Kadri noted with no small amount of dread that he had not sharpened it before he had left. He held it in front of him, out towards the ship, as if challenging it. It did not take long for the sword to begin wavering.
A person came to the edge of the ship; only their torso and head were visible. “Where y’all from strangers?” An accented voice called from the side, a wariness prevalent in every word.
None of the trio answered. A silence settled. Frustrated, the voice asked again, “Y’all understand me? Y’all natives or somethin’?”
Sigrid stepped forward, projecting her voice with the usual confidence that begat any Consul. “Not natives! I’m from the Platinum Consulate, these two are from Volk! We’re heading northwards and then heading inland.”
A pause, as the stranger contemplated their response. “Y’all shouldn’t be heading north. Nor should y’all be heading inland. This land here’s dangerous.” The stranger shook their head, “Y’all should come with me and head down south.”
“We’re in the colonies,” Sigrid said. “What makes here more dangerous than anywhere else?”

 

[Baconhands]

Part Twenty-Two:
“The North and the Interior don’t belong to civilized hands no more,” the captain explained. “Even the natives are migratin’ towards the coast. When they’re leavin’ you know somethin’ terrible’s afoot.”
Kadri did not hide her disappointment as she spoke, “You’re telling us that there isn’t anyone willing to take us inland?” The lineaged wasn’t beyond using Aezi, but something told her he needed to rest as much as they did; he had transported them a few hundred miles and Kadri was unwilling to try and find the pegasus’ limits. What if she pushed him too far? What happened then? Would he die from exhaustion? Kadri did not want to find out.
The stranger grimaced, before reluctantly stating, “There’s… maybe a couple around. Some ships of the ships helping evacuate the more isolated settlements in the Interior are being captained by mercenaries.”
“Where are they operating from?”
A pause followed, where only the wind spoke. The captain grumbled something to himself. Then, louder, he said, “Y’all are serious about heading east?”
Hendrik nodded, “We want to help any way we can!”
The captain rubbed a worn hand down his tired face and let out a sigh. “There’s a small village about a hundred miles east of here. Some of the mercs are usin’ it as a stopping point before they head south. I’ll take you that far.”

The trio climbed aboard. The deck was bare save for a singular crate in its centre that about half the height of Kadri. An upper deck was raised near the aft of the ship, sporting a wheel and a large wooden lever that was currently in an upright position. In front of this raised deck was a hatch. It was bolted shut from the outside. The captain took his position behind the wheel, one hand on it and one on the lever. He pushed the lever forwards and the ship began to accelerate, eventually reaching a speed that cause Sigrid’s hair to whip around her.

Kadri sat down, her back against the side of the ship, taking cover from the wind and basking in the gradually increasing warmth of the slowly rising sun. Sigrid and Hendrik came and sat either side of her, the latter unslinging his bag and resting it in front of him. He opened up the main pocket of his bag and rummaged inside.
“This standard for the Commonwealth?” the lineaged asked.
Sigrid shook her head in response, “Only in the Salts. These aren’t allowed to be owned by private citizens only those working for the civil service; they normally have some form of arcane core enchanted by a lineaged of Awramaar that levitates and propels them.”
“That’s probably what’s down below,” Hendrik observed dutifully. He had finished his rummaging, pulling out a stout and malformed loaf of bread. The two women looked at him, their eyebrows raised quizzically. “Dad made it ‘specially; he made it in a rush,” he explained. “Not the best he’s ever made but… would make a decent breakfast one day, maybe with some bacon and some butter.”
Kadri smiled half a smile, “I nominate Hendrik as the chef.”
“Seconded,” Sigrid grinned.
Hendrik hesitated, placing the loaf back, a small frown on his face. “As long as I can be the chef too,” he stipulated.
Kadri nodded. Sigrid assented too. A broad, beaming smile that temporarily eclipsed the sun sprung to Hendrik’s features. Kadri giggled tiredly in response; she had lost track of how many times she’d exhausted herself in the last week alone, and sleep was singing its siren song once more, calling her to its dark embrace.

It had felt like a blink, an inky blackness dominating her vision for only a brief second, before she was shaken awake by the sudden deceleration of the ship. She was slumped forward, her arms limply hanging by her side and her hair swamping her face. The amulet hung loosely from her neck; Kadri quickly snatched it as she sat up straight, suspicious eyes searching for any possible thieves.

A series of expletives turned her attention to the captain, who practically leaped down from the upper deck, landing with a stumble by the hatch. He fumbled with the latch for a moment and then tore it open, dropping into the deck below.
The trio gathered round the entrance, exchanging concerned looks as shouts of denial and the sounds of metal striking metal rang out from the lower deck. The stubbled face of the captain emerged, a grim and frustrated frown tugging at his features. “Core’s dead. Ship ain’t movin’ until it’s fixed.”
“Can you fix it?” Kadri asked, panic worming its way into her voice.
“’course I can. Got ta let it cool down first,” the captain said, lifting himself out of the hatch.
“How long will it take?”
“Few hours; at most half a day. We’ll be movin’ by nightfall don’t ya worry.”
“Nightfall?!” Hendrik exclaimed. The captain gave him a quizzical look. “We… don’t we need to be somewhere by then?”
Kadri let out a deep sigh of resignation, “We… we’ve got a bit of time. If we set up the tent and the bed rolls, we can get out of the sun for a bit. And…” she hesitated. “Then I can tell you about Dusk.”