Val’Go Hi’gege was a strong dragon, but not as strong as his forefathers. Born after the age of Gods and Calamities, he did not possess the vast wisdom of his father’s fathers. Nor did he have their strength. Long past was the rule of the Sky King who united all dragon-kin beneath the long blue skies and long past was his teachings that made his ancestors so powerful. Dragons only possessed the power of the verbal tongue. Any artifacts had to be made by the smaller, more dexterous races; such as dwarves or elves.
Humans weren’t as adept with magic as they were, so they were only used as physical slave labor if ever.
Yet sadly, Hi’gege was one of the few Greater Dragons of the Volcanic tribe that resided on the border of the Great Divide. Unfortunately, he was the one tasked to hold this section of the Great Divide. As decreed by the great Dark One of Olde, an ancient monster that had existed before recorded time. One who was more frightening than the Southern gods or the Demon King himself. The man who handpicked a single monster tribe and decreed that they and their descendants would watch over their piece of land.
Hi’gege was not a stupid beast like the other ones though. Unlike his father, he already knew why the great divide existed. With a sigh, he looked at the towering pine trees around him with longing. The tall trees towered over his monolithic body unnaturally. He longed for the skies again as his limbs ached from the regeneration of his limbs. Thinking about plenty of things, regretting many of them. He laid his head down on the cold, soft dirt below and rested his eyes.
One of the Southern Gods, Alistair, had approached him on the Southern Divide Mountaintop with a Deal. Kill the Silver-haired girl and her company, he’d deal with their problem. Yet, here he lay. In a trench filling ever so slowly with his own blood as the moon hung high in the sky. His right arm turned into a charred stump along with the adjacent wing. The hard scales that covered those limbs only covered the parts that didn’t need to flex, like joints. Which was where the arm and wing were blown off at.
The scales on his main body were blackened from the golden flames, which startled him. Being a dragon born in the dept of the Burning mountains of the snowy northern alps in the Demon lands, he held great resistance to heat and cold. This attack though… He could feel flames that made him cringe from the overbearing heat. That was not the flames of a normal mage. That was a flame that transcended the realm of mortals. Well, mostly. There were still remnants of mortal flames inside it, but he wasn’t going to say that to whoever hit him with it. It wasn’t a fatal wound.
The limbs were already festering with new flesh and bone. Signs that the dragon bloodline was still strong in him. He was glad it was just a limb and not his spinal column that took the hit. No creature with regenerative powers could withstand a hit like that unless they were gods. Dragons were certainly not that, no matter how much pride they had. An affront to the Gods was one thing, claiming to be a god was something else. Even the most lenient god – God of the Forgotten winds, Maria – did not stand for a mortal calling themselves a god from what he understood.
He didn’t even curse the Southern God Alistair for not telling him there was such a powerful being among their ranks. He didn’t know if he could read minds, but he was not going to take his chances. He would leave these lands the moment he could, tradition be damned. Just having to lay in this state for half a day had already exhausted his body and mind, which may have been being because regenerating limbs were taxing.
He felt small for the first time since he was hatched as the pine trees towered over him. Their shadowy under branches like fingers of the darkness trying to consume him. He might have suffered some mental damage after he noticed what he felt. The silver moonlight that poured on him being the only thing keeping him sane after this long painful time, he was thankful whoever hit him didn’t pursue him.
He closed his eyes, hoping his birth nest mother was healthy, or at least alive. He hadn’t been home in the last fifty years. His nest mother was nearly three hundred years and was not the healthiest of the dragons. He often worried about her. Now he was beginning to be thankful for being maimed. This changed his mind to return home and abandoned this senseless claim over this land. With these thoughts, he rested his head on the cold earth mount that had pooled under his head.
And for another hour, he had peaceful dreams of home and his nest mother. Of the she-dragon he had loved before he left and his friends. Until a sense of danger awoke him from his sweet paradise. “I see you’ve failed…” A deep, magnetic voice called out to him. Panic began to kick up as a godly pressure smashed into him. “My lord! Mercy!” The dragon called out in his dragon tongue. “The deal was you kill those humans and the white-haired woman with them by midnight.” Two floating orbs of blue appeared in the dark forest before a man stepped out from the shadows.
“My lord, Alistair! Please give me another chance!” The Hi’Gege pleaded. He cursed himself for not trying to make it into the Demon lands where the Human gods had no power, where he could be safe. Now death had come for him. “I admire the dragon’s pride, but I know you guys still value your lives.” Alistair, dressed in a Greek-like robe that showed a well sculpted male body with his long wavy black hair. His blue eyes were actually glowing with mana rather than his eye color.
Before the dragon could plead once more, Alistair rose his hand. A sinister smirk painted his face as he looked down on the despairing dragon. Hi’Gege knew what was going to happen. He knew what was going to come if he failed, but it was too late. The regret barely showed before Alistair brought his hand down on a chopping motion on the Dragon’s skull, splitting it into two. Blood and brains spilled in between the newly parted skull. He looked down on it with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. He turned in the direction of Fable’s End and disappeared in a mist of golden light…
. . . . . .
Atop of Fable’s end was a lion-sized wolf. He sat staring over the garden, his dim eyes unfocused as he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. The garden glowed faintly with different glowing plants here and there. His silvery fur was long grayed by the passage of time. Distant memories of a more happy time fluttered through the garden in his mind, a time and place long ripped from the reality of this twisted world. It wasn’t the world his Mistress had help shape. Now that she was awakened from her long slumber, he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to face her in light of his own situation.
The moment she breathed her first breath of this lifetime, he felt his connection with his mistress rekindled. It was a strange feeling, like a dying flame revived by pouring torch oil on it. But he did not have the courage to face his old Mistress. It had been centuries since he had seen her. He hadn’t been here since the city fell and Lady Camilla, bless her kind soul, sacrificed herself to build that barrier and seal his Lady Avery’s soul. It was a stain on his soul he could never wipe away.
Now he was old. He was dying. His body lacked the youthful strength and agility he once so proudly held. The power granted by his mistress so generously. And he repaid her by nearly forgetting her. He felt his old heartache with shame at the realization. Of what a terrible subordinate he had been once she had left them. He started his own pack. He loved, had been loved. He had made beautiful children, then watched them all wither to the passage of time. He knew the pain His Grace, Edward, had felt when he watched Lady Avery die. He had finally learned the cost of loving.
He believed he loved his Mistress once, but it was just the blind faith and affection for a friend he confused it with. She had become his idol, his best friend, his master, and his creator all in one. She did not deserve such a fate to be forgotten by everyone. The world only knew her as Glacier. As the Hearthmother. But he knew her as Avery Bailey, his creator. Yes, he knew the purpose of his existence. He also knew how he came about. He was a companion for her to ease her time in this “Prison”. Or so he thought this world was to Lady Avery.
It wasn’t until she died and her parents began the process of “Archiving the world” did he find out that this prison, was the only thing keeping her alive in her mind. He also found that woman, was just a poor child. He hadn’t even known and the more he found out, the more he hated his ignorance. He placed such a fragile person so high, that if she were to ever fall, would he had even listened to her? He didn’t know the answer to that question, but he felt guilt gnaw on him like a wolf to a bone.
This girl was the only reason for his existence, but she never treated him like some tool or pet. She treated him like a part of her family, along with the other two. He repaid her by nearly forgetting her. All the excuses he tried to justify his actions, but they felt like shams. Empty words you’d mutter to a child who would forget within the month. He was getting too old for this world…
“Why are you here, Old mutt?” A deep male voice sounded from behind Fenrir’s ears, pulling him from his thoughts, but he only acknowledged it with a flick of his left ear. “I could just kill you if you don’t feel like answering me.” A tall man, dressed in a black business suit, stepped out of the shadows to stand beside the world. The wolf sighed, too exhausted mentally to argue with the Lord.” I was wondering if I should go to the Mistress.” There was a brief pause before the Lord answered.”Go to her. You know the reason for your existence. Thus I won’t waste my words. Unless you felt you’ve lived long enough, mutt.”
Fenrir rolled his eyes. Putting aside the harsh language of the Lord, he was actually a caring person. He was just standoffish to most people other than his daughter, Avery and Lady Camila, his wife. He had known Lord Edward long enough to know his true personality and the Lord was definitely pushing him toward his daughter for both their sakes. Otherwise, he would have picked the honorable Dragon or that insufferable cat. “I will then, thank you for your insight, my lord. May you reign long.”
Fenrir bowed then took one more longing look at the garden he had spent his youth in. He wasn’t sure it was the best time of his life, because he couldn’t top the year he met his love. He guessed there was still enough room in his old beating heart to keep them close together. Those dim eyes seemingly brightened slightly as he vanished in a mist of grey that fluttered into the mountain breeze.
Edward Bailey looked over the garden, his golden eyes soft as a sad, pitiful, smile spread across his lips. “You don’t have long to live, you stupid dog. You just have to enjoy your last year…” He knew. The old wolf could not force himself to live another year. He would perish by the end of next year at the most. It would have been best if he just lived happily with his pack… That human-like expression vanished as a black aura radiated from him “And here I was having a moment, Alistair.” And Fable’s End lit up with a great magical battle.
. . . . . .
“Tsk, that damn bitch is back.” A drunken dark elf sat in a mud building that resembled a bar. “Ho, ho! Who pissed off the great Ha’vie!? Haha!” A drunk dwarf asked as he swayed side to side as other people passed back and forth dressed in different armors and states of dress. “My master…” She snarled. The dwarf dropped the cup the moment the words left Ha’vie’s mouth. “You’re spilling your shit on me, Gannar! fuck!” The dark elf wiped the cheap ale off her leather greaves angrily. “I just got the demon blood out of it!” She moaned at Gannar.
“Wait, you have a Master Ha’vie?!” The bartender, a youthful copper skinned girl with big breasts and doe-like eyes. She resembled the typical naive Adventurer Guild attendant, but she was attractive so they stuck her on bar duty most days. She couldn’t be any older than sixteen, but Ha’vie wasn’t going to lecture the people of the desert about morals. She had enough of that stuff centuries ago. Ha’vie still resembled that beautiful dark-elf from the days of Primordials – or better stated, the days of her slavery.
“Yeah, Glacier. I just felt the connection reform right now…” She said soberer now, her anger fading as she circulated her mana through her body to purge the alcohol “Eh? EH?! T-T-The hearth Mother?!” The elf shut the girl’s mouth with one hand “Shut it, Annabell!” She growled as Grannar patted his cheeks to try and soberer up. “He’s going to come now… Isn’t he?” She knew which ‘He’ the dwarf was referring to. Like most Fey races, Dwarves had long lives, som living up to ten-thousand years, whole Grannar wasn’t that old, he certainly was in the upper thousands. He had not seen the wonders of the first age, but he was there during the tail end. When the world had the pick up the pieces when the gods disappeared.
They were referring to Glacier’s dad, Lord Edward.