Darkness greets him as he awakes. A quiet noise filters through the darkness and the cold that surrounds him and he instinctively turns to look at it.
A Mirror dragon, dressed in brown and gold, illuminated only by the faint reddish-brown glow of the runes carved into her skin. She scribbles on the floor, detailing more runes on it, while she mutters something under her breath.
His throat is dry and it hurts to push the words out, but he still calls out to her. His words come out broken and quiet, but she turns to him anyway.
A smile breaks across her pale face. “You’re awake!” she says happily. “We’ve healed your injuries,” she said, tapping one long finger to her chest. He glances down as she takes a large step over one of the bigger runes she’s etched on the floor.
"My name is Aeolyss,” she says. “I’m the Divine Scholar here.”
He should speak, he knows, because those are the types of statements that seek answers. Unfortunately, those answers are not something he has.
It doesn’t take long for Aeolyss to realize this. She pouts and backs up a step, her coat swirling around her ankles. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me,” she said, and it’s too late that he sees the bars lit up by her runes. She’s already on the other side of them.
"Well,” she says. “You can’t actually keep secrets from me. I know all of yours already.”
Another dragon appears behind her, the glowing of her red eyes and her emblem lighting up the room even further. He flinches as latent power simmers from the runes around him. She doesn’t say a word.
"You know,” Aeolyss says, watching him closely with gleaming red eyes. “I don’t actually attend to these matters personally much, anymore. But you’re just so interesting.”
The dragon behind her lifts her hand and the runes explode in vibrant, red light. And he screams.
-- -- --
Aeolyss closes the door behind them and the screams are muffled. Drest still stares at the door anyway.
"He really has no memory of anything, does he,” she asks.
"No!” Aeolyss says. Her hands shake not with fear or pain, but excitement. Drest has only seen her look like that once before. “Amnesia isn’t an uncommon result of trauma, of course,” Aeolyss says. “At least according to the healer. But, in this case, we must study it. And we must take advantage of it.”
"The Holy Queen will be pleased,” Drest says softly as she gazes at the door.
"Oh, I already am.”
Drest bows and sees Aeolyss do the same. Tallah has left her mask behind, and her sharp red eyes glow in the darkness. “I am so glad you have decided to tend to this situation yourself, Aeolyss.”
"My Queen, I require no gratitude,” Aeolyss says. “How could I do anything but?”
Tallah smiles and Drest feels her heart flutter. “I am certain your attention will give us the results required. But, Aeolyss… not too quickly. The Plaguemother must have her justice.”
It was dark, in the underground cave she had chosen to live. Once, she had been surrounded by the brightest light, but now she was hidden away, and though it had been by her choice, she could not help but miss what she once had.
The Wastelands were never silent. They whistled and shrieked with ever changing rot and disease. One would grow used to it, maybe even in joy it, if Plague truly ran through their veins. But it kept Azami awake at night, wondering if it would finally be the day something far fiercer than sickness of Plague caught up with her.
Feet pattered over the stone ground of the cave, and Azami opened her eyes. She could see the faintest bit of light filter over the oppressive darkness of the cave’s walls and she rolled off her makeshift bed, slipping a hand underneath.
The hilt of the sword fit in her palm perfectly and memories of many battlefields came rushing back. And by the Plaguemother, how she wished, in that moment, she had never left.
“It’s me, Azami,” her love called quietly, and her soft, beautiful voice washed any desire other than to wrap her in an embrace and never let go. She let the hilt go without a second thought and rolled to her feet.
“Yannis,” she whispered back, and her mate hurried forward and into her arms. It was, all at once, like air had returned to her lungs. Azami closed her eyes, and relished the light that had returned to her life.
But even here, in their sanctuary, the Plaguelands remained a dangerous place, and Azami reluctantly leaned away from Yannis’ embrace. “Were you followed?” she asked.
“I was careful,” Yannis replied and followed her words with a kiss Azami could not deny even if she wanted to.
This time, when Azami broke away it was with a smile. She took Yannis’ hand in hers, and asked “do you want to see them?”
Yannis, as always, looked a little stunned, but she nodded all the same, and Azami lead her further into the cave.
Azami had chosen to sleep not too far past the mouth of the cave, and the light they gave off could not reach her there. But as she lead Yannis further into the cave, the green glow bathed the walls and soothed aches in her she had never known existed.
When they reached the cavern itself, Azami glanced across to Yannis, and was treated to the exact thing she was looking for. The overwhelming awe that never failed to cross Yannis’ face, so different from the fearful determination she had first worn in this very room, when she had shakily whispered on Azami’s bare skin “you know what being a Priestess of Haja Dhan’ya means,” never failed to make Azami’s heart flutter with pure joy.
“When will they hatch?” Yannis asked as she hesitantly made her way closer to the nest.
Azami followed her. “I can’t say,” she admitted. She was no hatchling caretaker. “Soon, I think.”
“I wish I could see them,” Yannis said sadly. “I must return to the Tower by daybreak.”
Anger rose in Azami then, and she pushed it back fiercely. There would be other times, more appropriate, to bring that subject back up once again, but the heart wrenching confused sadness and desperation Yannis had looked at her with when she said “but I can’t leave,” was enough to hold her tongue.
Instead, they lingered by the eggs that held their unhatched children for the rest of their time together, speaking quietly to each other, and pressing soft kisses into each other’s skin. Eventually, they rose again, and made their way back to Azami’s makeshift bed. Yannis leaned down for one last kiss before hurrying into the Plaguelands, on her way back to an evil place that did not deserve her.
Anger was stirring in Azami’s gut again, and she turned to her bed, and pulled her sword out from underneath it. She stared at its sheathed blade. Here she sat, in a cave of secrets, guarding two more, but that sheath contained the most secrets of them all.
With a deep breath, Azami placed the sword back under her bed. She was surer than ever now, that there would come a time where both she and that blade would need to be uncovered, their secrets laid bare in front of the light for all to see.
But not yet. For now, Azami would hide away. For just a little longer.
Notes: These interludes will be about hatchling/parent letters sent to my dragons. This one is written by TheDwarfQueen from her dragons Luz and Roche to their daughter I have, Vayle.
Red magic sparkled across the stone floors of a lone tower that stood tall under the shadows Wrymwound's smog created. Glowing runes formed in the air and red eyes hungrily took them in, lingering over every archaic symbol.
"Hello?"
A voice, quiet, but loud enough to disrupt, sent the magic falling away. Even a strong statis spell was not enough to save it; Yannis turned to the intruder, her jaw clenched.
"It's a day of silence," she snapped.
Vayle's tail swept nervously over the ground. Hesitantly, she took another step forward. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"Oh, of course you didn't," Yannis replied. "The High Priestess didn't announce it two days prior either. What do you want, Hunter?"
Wordlessly, Vayle reached out, a letter clutched tightly in her claws. Yannis glanced down at it with a hot glare, before she snatched it from Vayle's grip.
"Get out," she ordered. Vayle obeyed, her head tucked down between her shoulders.
Yannis lay the letter on her a desk and returned her attention to the spell she was casting before the intrusion. Recreating it would be difficult, but if she could just...
The day ticked by. Yannis failed in recreating that spell, much to her ire, but she still found time to practice several more. It was only when her magic began to wane in strength and precision, when she was ready to retire for the day, that Yannis reached out and tapped Vayle's letter. In a wave of red, it disappeared from the table. It would reappear in another flash of magic, nailed to the door of Vayle's parents. The words followed a second lower, and appeared just as Vayle had written them down earlier that day.
Mother and Father,
Thank you for writing. I miss you so much. This clan I have joined, it is difficult to live in, but I feel it in my bones it's where I am supposed to be. My heart couldn't take it to leave, but still I feel as if something is wrong here.
Father... I had no idea you had kept those flowers. And preserved them so beautifully! Thank you. I will keep them close to my heart. I hope you will say hello to Actaeon for me; what he was able to teach me is serving me well, though I do not often get a chance to use it.
And Mother, I have sent you some of the bones of my most recent kills. I have also told my friend and partner, Talene about you. She thinks you sound like a forminable dragon whom she would like to meet in battle someday, Plaguebringer willing. I asked her if she would like to cross you as a friend or foe; I don't think she quite knows herself. Either way, I think you would like her too.
Thank you both for you words of encouragement. They stay with me more than you know.
Your Loving Daughter,
Vayle
Notes: I wasn’t planning on getting started with Haja lore so soon, but I was suddenly inspired. So, here we go. Uh, warnings for vague dubious consent and torture I guess.
One could never think something different, no matter how they felt about the sickly green glow that had replaced her red eyes, or the way she smiled and spoke, like a snake getting ready to strike. Even the way she held herself, elegantly, but firm, made her appear like a deadly flower, luring her stupid prey to their deaths with her beauty.
Orirm couldn’t tell if he was smarter or stupider than those who surrounded her now. They were all falling for her tricks, but he, he could see through her gorgeous petals to the poison and teeth inside, and yet he still found himself drawn closer.
Her glowing green eyes met his and he could feel more than see the smile that spread across her face under the skull she wore. Her antennae twitched and Orirm felt his own sphere throb as a wave of pure smugness assaulted his senses.
He was by her side before either of them could blink.
“You’d follow me,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but Orirm couldn’t say no.
Her name was Tallah, Orirm learned. She was a Queen.
Her clan was still small, but they were loyal. They bowed before her with reverence. They cast their eyes to the ground when she walked past.
The only one who did not was a Fae called Drest. Tallah introduced Orirm to her as the High Priestess. Drest had looked over him and nodded, firmly, before turning to Tallah to tell her that the egg was coming along nicely.
It was in Tallah’s bedroom, where she told him everything. She told him how she had been born at the will of the Plaguebringer. That she had no need for family ties and that she yearned for none. Instead, the Plaguebringer’s blessing coursed through her veins and it was all she would ever need. She spoke of the truth of the Plaguebringer, and of how those weak to her message must be eradicated.
Later, when he was alone, Orirm reached for the connection he had always been told should exist and felt nothing but a roaring anger and deep shame.
Later, when he looked into Tallah’s glowing green eyes the moment before he removed her tatters, Orirm knew she would be his death.
Escape crossed his mind like a vestige of a dust storm; a sweep of something painful before it disappeared all together. Tallah had done what he knew she would. She had ensnared him all too well.
So he returned to her arms and waiting for her claws to bring him his oblivion.
The egg hatched, and the dragon that emerged was dubbed Aeoylss. Drest presented her to Tallah in the throne room and told her what she saw in her future.
“She will know more about magic than anyone but you, Holy Queen,” Drest said as the hatchling stared up at Tallah with wide, curious, red eyes. “Her studies will be unlike anything that has ever been seen in this world before.”
Tallah looked down at the hatchling and smiled a smile that Orirm remembered seeing for the first time all too well.
Aeoylss grew and Tallah awarded her the title of Divine Scholar. She, like Drest, did not drop her eyes when Tallah walked by.
It was the middle of the day when Tallah came to her rooms, Drest by her side and that smile on her face.
“Follow me,” she said and Orirm was by her side. He would walk willingly to his death if it was by her side.
As always, eyes fell away from Tallah like water droplets when she walked, but Orirm could feel them burning into his back.
Ahead of him, Tallah’s eyes wandered and her antennae twitched. Orirm followed her gaze to a young Guardian with a sword strapped to her waist. She didn’t drop her gaze and Tallah smiled.
Tallah lead him away from the crowds and into a dark room, and for a moment, he did not understand. His death, his execution at her hands; he expected it to be public, for the shame he had brought to all they were trying to do.
“Aeolyss,” Drest called.
She came, the runes carved into her skin glowing and a smile wide across her face. “He’s mine?” she asked.
“As promised,” Drest said.
“Aeolyss,” Tallah said and Aeoylss looked up at her with eyes as wide and curious as she had when she was but a hatchling. “Show me what your studies are worth.”
Tallah smiled. Not at him, never at him again, but she smiled and then she left.
And even as pain seared through him, even as he changed and mutated, even as hatred and anger festered like the plague she was so fond of, Orirm could not help but want to see that smile one last time.
Warnings: Manipulative and abusive themes (goes for all Haja Dhan’ya lore)
It was far from the first time Zeeva had been in this clearing. Small and nestled between the growths at the very edge of the lip of the Wrymwound, she could visibility see the new strains of disease conjured by the cauldron, before the dissipated on the wind and began to spread.
She dropped the book on the putrid ground and instantly buried the fear that burst to light in her gut as the book sunk into the ground ever so slightly, as if it had wedged itself there. The binding was smoking slightly.
Zeeva bent down and turned to a page at random. The first time she had tried to use this book, she had made the mistake of attempting to read it from cover to cover. She hadn’t gotten twenty pages in before her eyes went the same way as the binding.
This time, she got a mere three pages in. Three pages before she heard it.
Magic spilled from her claws, Plague blistering in the air as infected vines shot out from the ground and reached up and up. Zeeva whirled on her heel, her heart in her throat.
Vines, cracked and crawling with disease, yet as strong as steel, wrapped up a tall body. A smirk crawled onto Zeeva’s face as Dima snarled her displeasure under her breath.
“What a surprise,” Zeeva all but whispered, staring at the large, red Ridgeback as she squirmed ever so slightly in her grasp. “I can’t believe you’d do this, Dima.”
Dima’s huge upper lip curled backwards, her pointed teeth just missing her bottom lip as she spat out, “do what, you stupid brat?”
The insult pricked a familiar bundle of rage buried inside Zeeva’s chest, but she brushed it aside easily enough, just for this. “Why would you attack your princess this way? When she stands all but defenseless, with her back turned?”
Dima is silent for a moment, her eyes wide. Then, like the bark of a dog, a harsh laugh half strangled by the vines across her throat is tears itself from her mouth. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice jagged.
The sigh is soft, but it cuts through whatever either of them are about to say next. “My lovely Princess,” Lieste said, his slender form still half hidden behind Dima’s bulk. He tapped his staff lightly on the tortured ground, and the vines holding Dima dissolve into wind. “I fear your delusions have gone on long enough.”
Zeeva took a step back, her red eyes wide. “What is this?” she asked. For the first time, horror crept its way up her throat, black and hot like how the cover had burnt.
It was neither Lieste nor Dima who answered her. “The Holy Queen has ordered your return at once,” Drest said.
A dark pit opened in Zeeva’s chest as she turned to face the Holy Priestess. Zeeva had never heard Drest’s voice raised, and this was no exception. She did not see any pity in her multi-colored eyes, either.
“You are under arrest for Treason, the act of going against the Holy Queen Tallah’s decrees, Your Royal Highness.”
The shackles dug harshly into Zeeva’s wrists and ankles. Dima’s smirk as she put them on had been plain to see to both her and Lieste. Drest’s back had been turned but she would have to be a piss poor Seer to not know what was going on, Zeeva thought as she grit her teeth together.
It wasn’t a surprise Lieste would do nothing. He was of the same level as Dima, and was likely allowing her to get her revenge on their Princess. Stupid and petty, just like Siani and the rest of them were. She would make them all suffer when she got free of those chains.
Drest was technically of the same level as she was, Zeeva knew. But that would not always be true, for one day, Zeeva would stand in her mother’s place and be a level above them all, and so Zeeva did not consider them of the level. Still, she was the closest she could be to her and her mother, and so Zeeva did not expect the same level of pettiness.
Just a fool, then, Zeeva decided. Mercy plainly given, her mother had told her, has no place from a Queen in the Plaguebringer’s realm. Mercy, like all things, must be earned, she had said.
Zeeva was still pondering what Drest would do to earn her mercy when Dima delivered her to her mother’s feet.
Tallah’s mask was firmly in place, but the smile that graced her lips could be plainly seen in the grateful and kind curve of her wings as she nodded at Dima. “Thank you, trusted Enforcer,” she said. The very ends of Dima’s wings twitched. “I’m very thankful to you and this esteemed Priest. You both have done your duty perfectly, and you both may return to your dwellings.”
Lieste and Dima both bowed. Dima, Zeeva saw from the corner of her eye, curled her lip one last time before taking her much prolonged leave at the heels of Lieste. There would be no mercy earned for her, Zeeva decided.
They were in a smaller room off of the throne room, Zeeva suddenly realized. She had been in this particularly room only a handful of times. It was rarely used, as her mother prefered to do business in the throne room.
Her mother was flanked by only Velanna and Drest, though that was a fairly normal occurrence. Aeolyss was always so difficult to pull away from her studies. Apparently, she wouldn’t be distracted even for something as important as the black tome that was clutched between Drest’s talons.
“My Queen,” Drest said softly even for her, as she held the tome out to Tallah.
Tallah reached out and took it gently, the slightest of sighs imbedded in her voice. “Thank you, my dear,” she said. “You and Velanna may leave us, too.”
Drest nodded immediately, but Velanna’s head tilted to the side just slightly. An objection, certainly, but not one she dared voice as she followed Drest out of the small room. The door closed behind them softly, but the loud thud that followed was anything but.
“Care to explain, my lovely daughter?” Tallah asked, gesturing to the book she had throne in front of Zeeva’s nose, that now spilled open once again in front of her.
Zeeva refused to take her eyes off her mother. “I wanted to learn,” she said. Her mother, for the first time in a long time, wore her mask in front of her. Zeeva reached for her own mask, but like the shackles had done to her wrists and ankles, she felt rubbed raw. At least her voice did not tremble.
“You are no Scholar,” Tallah said, her posture perfect and her wings folded curtly behind her back. “You have no right to those tomes.”
“I’m not a Scholar,” Zeeva agreed, her voice growing louder without her permission. “But you have a right to those tomes, and I wanted to learn. I’m the Holy Princess--”
“A Holy Princess who acts like a child,” Tallah said, her voice as stern and hard as Zeeva had ever heard it. “Do you remember, my dear, why I brought you here?”
She would never forget, Zeeva thought. You are born of a tainted bloodline, was the first thing her mother had told her. The Plaguebringer will forsake you, but I will give you the opportunity to atone. Do you accept, she had asked.
Zeeva had stood, small and covered in blood, and accepted her offer.
“Your bloodline is a disgrace,” Tallah repeated, as she approached her daughter. “I do not blame you for wishing to venture into the hidden arts, for your past family did nothing but. But I do expect you to be better than them. Do you wish to purify your bloodline, my daughter?”
“Always, Mother,” Zeeva said.
Tallah traced her jawline with another smile on her face. “I’m so proud of you.”
Zeeva stretched out, her tail arching off her lavish bed. The silk wrinkled easily under her claws as she rose elegantly off the bed and shook out her feathers and short mane. She dressed, slowly and leisurely, slipping her black crown upon her head last, and tilting her head to admire how the purple flower fell against her neck.
The jewels and baubles hanging off her sung softly as she turned, reaching for one of the many books that had piled up on her bedside table. She set most of them aside, reaching delicately for one with a black cover that shimmered like freshly penned ink. The pointed, decorative ring that adorned her finger matched it perfectly.
A slight smile made its way onto her lips. “Still here,” she said lightly.
“I thought I should ask you for it first.”
Zeeva felt her tail twitch and promptly squashed the anger that rose up at her reaction. No need to fall out of control now, really. She curled her tail, slowly, around one of her legs and let out a loud sigh.
“They sent the smallest among them to do the dirty work, did they?” Zeeva asked, tilting her head just so.
“Give the book back, Princess,” Siani said. It was all Zeeva could keep from laughing. The venom in her voice was plain to hear, and yet she couldn’t raise even one feble claw against her.
“Of course,” Zeeva said, her baubles swinging violently as she turned quickly on her heel, the candles floating around her flickering. She tried to make her smile kind rather than predatory, but she knew she wasn’t successful and it didn’t bother her as much as it should. “I’d be more than happy, of course, to return this volume to the Divine Scholar.”
Siani’s small face was entirely blank, her large red eyes utterly flat. Zeeva, again, made the effort to turn her smile soft. She lifted the book to eye level and studied the spine for a moment.
“You know how protective Aeolyss is about her personal collection,” Zeeva said, tilting her head down and raising her eyes upward. “I’m sure she is missing it very much.”
Siani grit her teeth. “I know what you want,” she said, a small growl in the back of her throat.
“Oh,” Zeeva said, tossing the book onto her bed with a thud. It was, admittedly, dangerous, but it was worthy trade for the quick flash of object pain that flashed across Siani’s face. “You’re mistaken. I don’t want anything from you.”
A queen must conduct herself with decorum, Zeeva’s mother had said. The lilt in her mother’s voice, the effortlessness in the way she spoke and carried herself, no matter what emotions were roiling in her within, was something Zeeva had spent every moment she could remember trying to replicate.
But there was a reason her mother wore a mask, Zeeva thought as she threw that mask aside. Her voice curled, becoming harsh and sharp. Siani flinched, then, and Zeeva’s smile turned cruel. A worthy trade.
“We took that volume for research purposes,” Siani said, her voice hard. Zeeva almost -- almost -- scowled. “You took it to goof off.”
“You took it because you have an inane dream of surpassing Aeolyss and replacing her as Divine Scholar,” Zeeva said, her voice rising ever so slightly. “An act of treason.”
“That’s a lie,” Siani said, her small wings rustling up in irritation. “And if you truly cared about the Laws, you would have already told your mother. Instead, you, too, commit treason by stealing books that are for the eyes of Scholars only.”
Zeeva sucked in a quiet breath and stretched her wings a bit wider. “Then,” she said, lowering her voice again, “it seems that we are at an impasse.”
Siani scoffed. “You are not equipped to keep that thing,” she said. “Whatever you’ve learned from it won’t keep it safe or hide it. Give it to me, so I can protect all of us.”
Zeeva growled deep in her chest. “Absolutely not,” she said. “You have done nothing but order me around. Also treason. I am the Holy Princess, and I outrank you.”
Siani curled her lip and stretched out her wings, which in turn, trembled in anger. “You are a fool,” she hissed.
The next moment she was gone, but she failed to take with her the outrage that curled in Zeeva’s stomach. How dare she, that useless speck of dust, speak to her that way? How dare she quiver in anger and not fear?
An arrogant little slarg, Zeeva thought. The little bitch would never speak to Tallah that way. But of course she wouldn’t, would she? You must always be in control, my daughter, Tallah had once said as she reached out to rest a finger on Zeeva’s nose.
Zeeva had lost control. Like an idiot! Her rage exploded and spread from her chest, coming to rest everywhere in her trembling body, from the tip of her nose, to the edge of her tail plume. Her body went numb, her rage clamping around her muscles and veins, like being imprisoned in a block of ice. She snatched the book from her bed with slow fingers, and threw herself out her window, searching for a safe place to learn.
As soon as Zeeva’s window panes clattered against the stone of the tower she slept in, a pair of red eyes, with the barest hint of yellow, opened.
