A pang of regret washed over Bastain. He cursed himself for not pushing deeper into the spire that day. In his reading notes, he'd come across something that spoke of "geological nodes," a term from old texts that now seemed so relevant. That spire, the one that drained souls, it had to be connected.
"The spire is the key," Bastain murmured, frustration lacing his words. "They've traded endless magic for the cost of twisting life and death itself. Damn it! I should have ventured further. How did they do it?"
Yet it wasn't just the what that troubled him, it was the how. How had they managed such a feat? What technology had they tapped into? More importantly, was there a way to stop it? He knew that the spire was deep within elven territory, a stronghold he might never have the chance to see again.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a young child tugging at his sleeve. "What is that?" the child asked, pointing to the sky.
Bastain followed the child's gaze and froze. Hovering in the sky were enormous floating spheres, faintly glowing with magical energy. The intricate, unmistakable patterns carved into them marked them as creations of the elves. Suspended beneath these airborne behemoths were strange baskets and crude buildings, with shadowy figures moving inside them.
"They're claiming the skies..." Bastain whispered in disbelief. "A place only dragons dare to roam."
For centuries, the skies had belonged exclusively to the dragons, the undisputed rulers of the heavens. No creature, no matter how fierce or dangerous, could challenge their dominance. Even the bravest of birds or winged beasts were mere prey to the mighty dragons.
And for those bound to the earth, mortals like Bastain, the land was their only domain. The sky was untouchable, and dragons were the ultimate masters of that realm.
But now, as he watched the elven airships float effortlessly through the heavens, that ancient truth had been shattered. Slowly, methodically, those magical crafts defied the natural order, their very presence a provocation to the dragon clans.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the crowd, filled not with fear, but with joy.
"It's a dragon!"
In any other time, the sight of a dragon would have sent people running in terror, their hearts gripped by fear. But now, as the dragons emerged in the southern sky, the refugees below cheered with hope.
For the first time, the people found comfort in the presence of the most dangerous predator known to the world. The top of the food chain had arrived, and they welcomed it.
"It's a dragon, a whole group of them!" someone shouted, disbelief mixing with excitement.
Bastain looked up again, his eyes narrowing in focus. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. A group of dragons was soaring through the air, something almost unheard of. Dragons were solitary creatures, each one ruling over its own vast territory. They never moved in groups unless it was the lesser sub-dragons, like wyverns. But these weren't mere wyverns.
There were at least three red dragons and two blue dragons in the sky!
The red dragons, the most agile fliers in the heavens, danced through the air like deadly flames brought to life. The fiery glow from their wings twisted around them, giving them unmatched maneuverability. Their razor-sharp claws and fangs were deadly weapons, and when combined with the searing breath of fire they could unleash, they became an unstoppable force of nature. No mortal army could stand against them.
Bastain's heart pounded as he watched the scene unfold. This wasn't just another battle, this was something far bigger. The dragons, the true masters of the sky, were preparing for war.
And for the first time in his life, Bastain felt a flicker of hope.
Blue dragons, towering creatures cloaked in an aura of ice and lightning, were known for their raw magical prowess. Larger than their fiery red counterparts, they were rumored to be the most skilled spellcasters among the dragon race, their power spoken about in legends. At that moment, the sky was filled with three red dragons at the forefront, with two blue dragons looming behind them, their forms surrounded by a swarm of over a hundred wyverns. This assembly of dragons was more than a force of nature, it was a storm, a living calamity capable of reducing entire nations to rubble.
Their prey, however, seemed laughably small in comparison: a mere dozen sluggish airships, drifting lazily across the sky.
Onlookers, the battered refugees and survivors of the Elf War, erupted into cheers. They could already imagine the scene, the mighty dragons tearing through the airships, elves plummeting to their deaths, their reign of terror finally coming to an end.
But Bastain's heart sank. Something felt wrong, terribly wrong.
A low, ominous hum cut through the air.
"Buzz!"
The crowd's jubilation quickly turned to confusion as the massive fireball launched by one of the red dragons collided with a thin, almost fragile-looking shield around the airships. The shield shimmered with a pale, cabbage-green light, absorbing the fireball's destructive force as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Bastain's stomach churned.
The next attack came from the blue dragons. They summoned an icy blizzard mixed with deadly lightning, the elements crackling through the air with terrifying force. But just as before, the delicate magic shields enveloping the airships blocked every bit of damage with ease. The elemental fury fizzled out, leaving the airships completely unharmed.
It didn't make sense. Nothing could withstand the wrath of dragons so easily, nothing mortal.
Desperate to break through, one of the red dragons pulled back, soaring high above the clouds before diving down like a crimson comet. Its massive frame slammed into one of the airships with all the force of its colossal weight. But what happened next froze Bastain's blood.
Instead of shattering the airship, the dragon rebounded off its shield as if it had struck an unbreakable wall. The red dragon, momentarily dazed, had no chance to recover. Multiple high-level spells, fired from point-blank range, bombarded the beast. The dragon let out a guttural, agonizing roar as the magic tore through its hide, sending its massive body plummeting toward the ground.
The impact echoed across the land as the once-mighty red dragon, the symbol of absolute power, lay motionless, never to rise again.
The sight was horrifying.
The refugees' initial cheers turned into shocked silence, their hopes dashed in an instant. The airships, still moving slowly and sluggishly through the sky, remained untouched. Yet, it was the dragons, the most powerful creatures known to the world, that were now retreating, wounded and broken.
"How... how can anyone fight this?" Bastain whispered, his voice trembling. The question gnawed at him, eating away at his very soul. "What meaning is there in anything I do; delivering messages, fighting for survival, when even dragons fall so easily?"
He felt a hollow despair sink deep into his bones. Dragons, the apex predators, had always been untouchable, their presence a symbol of untamed strength. Now, with the elves' power on full display, Bastain felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. How could anyone stand against this kind of magic?
But what terrified him most was the realization that this scene wasn't unique to this battlefield. Somewhere, in every corner of the world, similar battles were being waged, and lost. The elves had perfected their defenses, their magical technology so far advanced that even dragons stood no chance.
The enormity of it crushed him.
Suddenly, a voice broke through his despair, a familiar tone laced with both amusement and authority.
"Of course it all matters, little Bastain. Perhaps it's time you listened to my advice."
Bastain's head whipped around, his heart skipping a beat as the voice sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that voice.
"Is it really you?" Bastian's voice trembled slightly, as he stood frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief.
The creature perched on the branch above gave a low, almost mocking hoot. "It's me. Young Bastian, are you surprised? Did you not expect me?"
Bastian's gaze sharpened, though his heart still thudded heavily in him chest. "No... not surprised," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I've been waiting for you. I knew this moment would come. I just didn't think it would be so soon."
Before her, sitting among the frost-covered leaves, was a creature that should not be there; a Snowy Owl, a species thought to dwell only in the distant North. And yet, there it was, in front of her, its feathers white as freshly fallen snow, its piercing amber eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.
The sight of the owl stirred something deep within him. He felt a tangled mix of emotions; fascination, dread, and a simmering anger just below the surface. It wasn't just the strangeness of seeing such a rare creature, but something more. Something he couldn't yet name.
Growing up under the shadow of rejection and cruelty had forced Bastian to grow up faster than most. Years of mistrust had taught him to be wary of anyone and anything that appeared too conveniently. he had learned to keep his guard up, even now, as the owl's beady eyes watched his every move. Despite the apparent absurdity of the situation, he knew this meeting was no coincidence.
Bastian had pieced together more of the truth than anyone else. He had known, from the moment strange occurrences started to unfold, that something, some force, had been guiding him, pushing him toward something bigger. It wasn't just his knack for clairvoyance; there was a darker force at work.