UL1 - Book 10 - Chapter 11

A warm updraft rose up the rim of the crater the size of a small sea.  Clouds streamed across the sky, pushed like a painter making strokes with their brush.  In the center of the bowl was a lake so smooth that it reflected back the image of what was above.

Rakonath, silver from tail to horn, glided across the rim with ease. Wind was swept away by his wings, each beat of them reflecting the light of the sun like a polished mirror.  He circled once, breathing in the scent of pine and stone, folding his wings and dropping toward the ground.

Air rushed past him and like a shooting star, the silver comet raced toward the land.  With a mix of grace and power, he shifted his wings, coming to a stop just above the ground, transforming into a tall man with silver hair and eyes, clad in a suit of red scales.

His feet crunched against the stone of the amphitheater larger than most towns, moving toward the section that was flat, ending at the edge of the lake.

Marbled pillars stretched around the area, canopies shaped like dragon wings providing shade for those who desired it, or a place to perch in the sun. All around them were clusters of dragonkind, watching as he walked with purpose and confidence.

Wide-eyed wyrmlings drew close to younger dragons, while on the outer rim full full-grown dragons perched like guards.  

A tap of claws announced a presence behind him and Rakonath turned his head, seeing the gaze of a dragon barely the size of a horse.  Emerald scales covered his body, glistening in the morning sun.

“Ophelius,” Rakonath said.

The emerald dragon bowed so low his nose brushed the stone.  A scroll twice his length hung from a harness across his back.

“Skyheart greets its Shaper.”

“Good. Thank you for remembering my wish. One title is enough.”

Ophelius swallowed and nodded. He then scampered toward a stone, a platform for him, or a toy for the older dragons.

“Creatures of Skyheart Basin. Witness the arrival of our guardian, Rakonath.”

Carried by a pulse of magic, his words covered the great bowl. Silence came, reverent and expected.

Rakonath continued to walk with purpose, finally reaching the small stone shelf that held back the lake that washed up against it.

Capital: Skyheart Basin

Population 4289

Edicts: None

The numbers were a comfort he never expected and also brought a small amount of pain.  Around him were ten elders, but he knew over half were still sealed in shells, some missing, not yet found. 

“Brood of scale and sky, children of our father Wekime,” he said, “I shaped this basin as a cradle. Its walls will break the wind, and it serves as a fortress for our kind. The lake is a mirror, a reminder for us to look inward before we cast our fire out.”

A few wyrmlings nearby tilted their heads at those words. One bold red, wings still speckled from hatching, waddled closer.

“Will there be hunts?” she asked. “My fire itches to fly.”

A rumble of approval came from the elder tier that watched over them all. Rakonath smiled and nodded.

“There will be hunts, Shale Spark. First we must learn why we hunt.”

He knelt and pressed his palm to the stone. A ring of runes rose up from the ground, writing etched in silver. It moved upward until the ring was as tall as an elder.

Edicts of Skyheart.

Guard the unborn. No egg is to be left unprotected.

Take only what the skies and land renew.

Hold our fire until words fail.

Share lore and knowledge equal to the gifts received.

Fly farther than fear, return wiser than pride.

Gasps came from a few while wings beat the air. A lanky bronze drake raised a claw.

“Even against thieves or an army of spears?”

“Words first,” Rakonath replied calmly. “When words fail, our fires will speak with our full strength. Nothing will stop our rage against one who seeks us harm.”

Satisfied murmurs filled the gathering.  The runic ring pulsed twice and settled into the stone.

“Marks, our Shaper?” Ophelius asked.

“Yes,” Rakonath replied.

He moved toward the ring, touching it with a finger and a second one appeared. It was as tall as a house, symbols of claws, scales and flame danced upon it.

“Choose the mark that feels true. Offer it to the ring.”

The first to move was a copper wyrmling, horns nubs barely showing through scales.  It waddled forward, choosing the symbol of a dragon rising to etch with its claw. Light flared, etching his name in draconis script above his head before fading.

Momentum came, drakes glided down, wyrmlings hopped, and elders descended carefully, not to injure the young. Each formed a sigil, some bold like storms, others quiet like the blowing breeze. As another touch was made, the ring glowed deeper, turning from moonlight silver to an amber like a sunrise.

When the last signature dimmed, every dragon present had made their mark, the ring sank into the stone and dissolved. A soft breeze blew over them all, warm like sunbaked stone.

“Skyheart is more than walls,” Rakonath said. “It will house our roosts, be the place we craft and store our treasure. No hoards shall be hidden in shadows. Knowledge is our first treasure.”

With a simple gesture of his hand, pillars at four points rose up along the inner terrace.  Crystal formed, rising higher and higher, spreading out like a flower that bloomed.  Within each blossom hovered an image.  A map of mountain ranges to the north, a sketch of the desert to the south. An outline of an ocean that vanished was on one.  Dragon’s young and old leaned closer to see what had appeared.

“These maps will change as you scout and return,” Rakonath said. “Learn them. The ranges hold ore for armor, scale plating to protect you. The desert offers rare salts for learning ways to improve our breath. The sea is a testing ground, storms that will temper wills.”

A low whistle of respect came from an elder.  His blue scales shifted as a single talon tapped against stone.

“Who commands us beyond these walls?”

“No one, Vaelion,” Rakonath said. “We guide. We do not chain them, nor will they chain us. Order is a shared goal.”

He pointed skyward.

“I name the first goal, Wing Cycle. Elders pair with circles of twenty young. Teach them to ride the thermals, to read the wind and to land without shattering stone. When the Cycle ends, hatchlings will teach the next clutch. We rise by lifting our own.”

Vaeliion inclined his head.

Acceptance? Perhaps even approval.

Contemplating the elder’s action, Ophelius came forward again, his scroll case rattling.

“Inventory note, my Shaper. “Gem caches are low and some outer eggs… are misplaced.”

A frown showed for the first time on Rakonath’s face.

“A third of our number roost in distant valleys and mountains. We will find them,” he said. “I need Pathseekers. Drakes who are swift and silent to map safe passages. Two volunteers from each circle.”

Claws shot up in clusters and excited chirps echoed all over. Rakonath nodded to Ophelius, who recorded names with a flick of a quill that glowed green.

“You will leave at dawn in two days from now,” he said. “Return each dusk. Only stay longer when an elder who mentors you has marked you as strong enough to stay out longer.”

“What if a storm wind catches them unprepared?” an elder asked, gold scales raised as it spoke.

“Land,” Rakonath replied. “Fine refuge or cover them. Teach patience. We are dragons. Storms last hours but our lives span eras.”

Thrumming filled the gathered ones, a sense of restlessness dissipating at those words.

Satisfied, Rakonath exhaled, with it tension he hadn’t realized was there, swept away by the warm breeze.

Ophelius stood on his hind legs.

“With respect, mighyt Rakonath. Do we feast?”

He nodded and smiled.

“Yes, Ophelius. Bring the feast.” 

His herald scampered to the edge of the stone, touching his claws into the still waters. They shimmered and massive stone islands rose. Looking like seashells, water streamed from the full edges, ripples of life dancing and jumping in the captured water.

As the sound of saliva striking stone grew louder, Ophelius turned and moved to the stone he had been resting on a moment ago, tracing his claw along it, and draconic runes erupted in flames.

The stone in the middle of the amphitheater shifted, spinning away like a snake unwinding. A large stone platter rose, covered in chunks of red meat.

Wyrmlings squealed, barely able to contain their excitement as they shifted continually, eyes locked upon the food before them.

A tiny brush moved across his leg, and Rakonath glanced down. Shale Spark, the young red, held a fish between her teeth.

“For you,” she said.

He crouched and accepted the gift, scratching her head gently.

“Thank you brave one. Share the rest with your circle. Tomorrow you will begin wing drills.”

She clicked her teeth in excitement, trilling as she bounded off.

“Feast!” Rakonath said before he lifted the fresh fish to his teeth and tore a section off.

Dragons moved with haste, a few low rebuttals and teaching moments coming from the elders as some younger ones made messes, possibly wasting food as they played. Their tone was gentle but firm, and those who had been guilty bowed their neck in honor, learning a lesson before many.

Hours had passed and the suns drifted, sending shadows across the land from the mountain tops. Songs echoed as dragons flew, singing of flight and of life.  

As dragons did as dragons should, Rakonath flew through the air with them, overwhelmed by the sensation of hope that filled him.

“Forgive me, my Shaper,” Ophelius said.

He glanced back at the green dragon, riding with a few other hatchlings on his back.

“Yes?”

“Will the others fear us?”

He sighed, silver eyes studying the trio of hatchlings, all huddled together, claws wrapped around his ridges.

“Some might. Our task is not to shrink or roar first. We welcome all who come.”

The emerald nodded and said nothing.

A distant thunder echoed across the crater rim.  Night storms could be seen coming in from the eastern sea. Elders lifted their snouts, reading the weather by the moisture.

“Elder flight to me,” Rakonath called out.

Soon ten dragons flew near him. Each one was larger than he, but he didn’t fear a single one.

“You know the dreams our Father gives. Teach history to the young. Show them who we are and what we can become. Unlike other worlds where our kind fears the other races, here we have a chance to forge a new bond with them.”

An obsidian elder, a slight mark in her scales beneath a wing, dipped her head.

“We will fly in pairs and do as you ask. Tell me, do you want others to bond?”

The question had the attention of all the elders near him. 

In his chest was the thread that wound his heart. He knew exactly where Max was and could sense the joy in his friend's heart.  It had served as a fire when life seemed cold and harsh. The power they shared was a testament to what each could become if they were willing to entrust their lives to another.

“Perhaps in time if a worthy being comes. We won’t turn one away, regardless of their kind. Imagine the songs they would sing if a dwarf or demon was found to have a soul that echoed with one of our own.”

A few thrummed and a few remained silent.

“Benevolence is not weakness,” Rakonath said. “It is a promise of restraint until restraint fails. The one I am bonded with shows more kindness and restraint than you can imagine, but the storm he unleashes when it is required has washed away all that stood before him. I will mirror that lesson.”

Their heads nodded and for a few moments, they continued their flight in silence.

“It is time. Go teach the ones you are responsible for. A new day has come for our kind. May we show every being and god what our race can truly become.”