Chapter 40: Toward the Shrouded Throne

  Shortly after leaving Sar'Vareth, the procession veered toward an outpost a few hours from the city's gleaming arc.

  They descended as one. Dragons and avians broke through the clouds in a single sweep, wings eclipsing the sun as the air quivered beneath their weight. Dust spiraled across the ground as they landed.

  Handlers rushed forward, their shouts swallowed by the din of beating wings.

  For ceremony's sake, they had left the city each upon their own mount, dragons and avians soaring in perfect symmetry.

  But speed mattered now.

  The avians, though among the fastest of their kind, were still twice as slow as dragons and too frail for what lay ahead. With only twelve days before the Reckoning, every hour mattered.

  Orders passed down the line as handlers unbridled the avians and turned them over to the garrison, their bright shrouds and jeweled crests flashing in the sun as they were led away.

  Additional saddles were fastened with the sharp snap of steel and leather along the dragons' backs. Only two remained untouched, those belonging to Serenya and Alvereth. The remaining dragons, guided by eight riders and Commander Cenareth, each took on an extra passenger. Aeor climbed behind his assigned rider, the saddle creaking beneath their shifting weight as they rose into the sky.

  All eleven dragons bore the calm weight of discipline, their Essence steady, each Stabilized or Refined within the Awakened Tier. Only one shone apart, her light unbound.

  Naeysar

  Race: Empyrean Wyrmkin

  Essence Tier: Spark (D)

  Essence Stability: Flickering

  Status: Normal

  Archive Note: The dawn it carried was gentle. It shone not to conquer the dark, but to teach the world how to see.

  Naeysar's light was restless, shimmering along bronze scales in uneven waves. Where the others moved with tempered certainty, she moved as though the sky itself bent to her will, untamed, alive, and forever on the edge of brilliance.

  Among the riders, human and orc alike, only five had risen beyond Flickering Stability. Aeor was counted among them. Serenya stood highest, her Essence Refined and unwavering, her strength a quiet echo of the dragon she was bonded to.

  By the third day, they had turned westward at first light, circling toward Aurel'Tharan by way of the high pass. It would add a day to their journey, time they could ill afford, but the mountains offered what open sky could not.

  Cover.

  Their journey had been uneventful, at least above the clouds. Most lesser beasts kept their distance from the procession of dragons that carved through the sky. But the land below told a different story.

  Far below, herds of corrupted creatures moved in restless tides, dark shapes threading across the plains. From the air, their paths seemed almost deliberate, as if driven by purpose rather than hunger.

  For hours they flew in silence. Aeor's thoughts were consumed by the endless possibilities that beckoned.

  Then, Naeysar roared.

  The sound tore through the sky, deep and resonant, a call that rippled through the flight. One by one, the dragons veered inward, their paths folding until the formation tightened into a single, flowing arc. Wind thundered between their wings, yet amidst it, a voice carried clear.

  "The Veil draws near," Serenya said. Her tone was calm, but her eyes never left the horizon. "Vaelkar's presence stirs within its shroud. Stay close, and may Sol guide our path."

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  Ever since Vaelkar had claimed Aurel'Tharan, a vast veil had settled over the land. It stretched for leagues in every direction, a living shroud that swallowed the Solenar ancestral seat from sight.

  Scouting parties had ventured into the Veil more than once. Most never returned. Those few who did came back scarred. Armor torn, faces ashen, eyes wide with something that no longer belonged to fear. They spoke of corpses that would not rest, of beasts long dead rising in frenzy, their minds hollow, their spark of life extinguished. What remained was not survival, but fury, an unending rage that burned where life had once been.

  Now, as the flight pressed onward, Aeor saw the truth of their words unfold before his eyes.

  The change came gradually.

  At first, the world ahead seemed unchanged, but as they flew, a faint crimson light began to unfurl across the horizon.

  The clouds drifted low, their edges shimmering as though set aflame. From above, faint motes of crimson fell like drifting ash, their descent slow and hypnotic.

  The land beneath was changing. What had once been open terrain was now drowning in a rising mist, its surface mirroring the crimson cast of the sky above.

  The flight grew silent. Even the dragons seemed subdued, their wings slicing through the mist in solemn rhythm. The farther they went, the more the world bled into that endless shade of red.

  Aeor watched in silence, a slow unease coiling in his chest. The air carried the same weight as Vaelkarreth, thick with decay and steeped in the scent of ruin. That memory stirred another, of Sil'Karrel, where the color had faded from the world as they neared Morvaketh's resting place.

  Do these Ancients command domains of their own? Aeor wondered. If so, why does Naeysar bear none?

  The thought lingered as he lifted his gaze to the sun. Serenya's words from the sanctum returned—

  Aspect of Light.

  Could it be that Naeysar's domain isn't absent, but all-encompassing? That the light itself is its reach? The notion felt impossible, yet something in it held weight. The sun burned above them, unblinking, and for a moment Aeor could not shake the feeling that they had been flying through Naeysar's presence all along.

  His thoughts shattered as a sharp cry split the air. Another followed, then a third, each one a harsh, grating sound that seemed to claw through the wind itself.

  From the mist below, three massive shapes rose into view, birds with feathers black as burnt iron and beaks the color of ash. They tore through the crimson haze with terrifying speed, their wings spanning nearly half a dragon's breadth, each beat sending tremors through the air.

  "Harriers!" Cenareth's voice rang out across the formation.

  The dragons shifted at once, the air filling with the thunder of beating wings. As the creatures closed the distance, Aeor caught sight of them in full. Deep gouges and gaping wounds marred their bodies, slashes that should have bled them dry, yet the beasts did not falter. Their eyes burned white, empty of reason, driven only by a blind, consuming rage.

  Aeor fixed on the nearest one, the air tightening around him as he called upon the Archives.

  Race: Pallwing Harrier

  Essence Tier: Awakened (E)

  Essence Stability: Stabilized

  Status: Deceased

  Archive Note: Once guardian of the peaks, now a herald of still skies. It sings only for the dead.

  The sky broke into chaos. One of the Harriers rose higher than the others and dove straight into the formation as it veered toward Alvereth's flank.

  His dragon banked hard, its throat blazing with gathered light. A beam of molten gold cut through the mist, but the Harrier twisted mid-dive, the shot streaking past by a breath.

  The air rippled with heat as another Harrier surged toward them.

  Naeysar's head snapped down, eyes narrowing. She dropped with a single, devastating beat of her wings, and the Veil trembled in her wake.

  They met in open air, a collision that sent fire and feathers spiraling in all directions. Naeysar's jaws clamped down, crushing bone and beak in one violent motion. The Harrier fell limp, its body trailing smoke as it dropped into the mist below.

  But then its eyes flared crimson.

  It rose again.

  Twisting upward, its wings beat with blind fury, a final spasm of rage defying death itself. It slammed into Naeysar's chest before she could react, the impact deep and wet. She reeled back, a snarl ripping through the air as fire burst between her scales.

  The bronze wyrm's fury ignited.

  Heat rolled outward in a blinding wave as Naeysar exhaled, fire unfurling in ribbons that burned through sky and cloud alike. The Harrier's remains vanished within a single, all-consuming blaze, its ashes scattered into the crimson mist.

  This time, nothing rose again.

  The other two came in close together, shrieking with madness. Their movements were wild, unthinking, wings thrashing against each other as they dove. One slammed into a dragon's flank, claws raking through scale, while the other tore at its wing.

  Cenareth barked a command, and the flight moved as one. Flame and shadow crossed the sky in violent arcs, dragons striking in seamless rhythm. The first Harrier caught the full weight of a dragon's fire and plummeted, its charred wings folding inward as it fell. The second hurled itself into another's claws, too lost in rage to flee. The two spun together, a twisting mass of flame and feathers, until the Harrier broke apart and vanished into the mist below.

  Silence returned slowly, carried on the beating of wings. The formation steadied, the red haze still shifting where the battle had passed.

  Naeysar released a low, guttural roar, less a cry of triumph than a warning. The sound rolled across the Veil like the echo of something vast reclaiming the sky.

  The warning went unheard. Above, the sky writhed with madness. Wave after wave of winged beasts surged from the mist, their cries raw with rage. For hours they came, driven by nothing but fury, striking again and again as the procession pressed on toward the mountains.

  As night approached, the rhythm of battle began to shift. The assaults no longer came in swarms but as brutal, drawn-out clashes. Each new beast struck harder and screamed louder, its fury growing with the dark. The fights dragged on, and though none of the dragons had fallen, their breaths grew heavy and their wings bore the marks of strain. Fatigue showed in their flight, in the slow descent of their arcs and the heavy rhythm of their wings.

  When the moon rose, it did so veiled in red, its light bleeding through the mist until the world below drowned in its glow.

  Far ahead, a faint silhouette took form against the crimson haze, jagged peaks rising like black spears from the horizon. The mountain ranges of Quethal. Their sight marked the border of Sar'Quethal, and beyond those mountains awaited Aurel'Tharan.

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