Thunder of Thanasis Rise or Fall

[Cole]

--- The Rising - The Ashen Spires ---

​

The scent of sulfur and charred stone filled the air, thick and cloying with the promise of danger. Heat radiated from the blackened ground beneath Cole’s boots, even as the rain began to fall, hissing against the smoldering rock. Thunder rolled overhead, echoing off the jagged peaks of the Ashen Spires, the volcanic range stretching high into the storm-choked sky. Rivers of molten rock cut through the terrain like veins of fire, pulsing with the life of the earth itself.

Cole let out a slow breath, steadying his pulse, though the pounding in his chest was impossible to ignore. He kept his smirk light as his golden-brown gaze flickered over the gathered competitors, each one waiting at the precipice of their fate. More than half of them would be dead within the next few hours. Some by the landscape itself, others by the creatures lurking in the dark, waiting for fresh prey. And some… some would meet their end by the very beasts they sought to claim.

The Rising was never meant to be fair.

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the faces of those who dared to stand at the edge of the world and demand more. Some were tense, fists clenched, whispering prayers to gods who had never stepped foot in Thanasis. Others, like Cole, carried themselves with forced ease, masking fear beneath bravado. His fingers twitched at his sides. He had waited for this moment. Trained for it. He had to succeed. For Finn. For himself.

A distant horn bellowed, its deep call swallowed by the storm. The Rising had begun.

--- Within the City - The Main Plaza ---

​

The tremor started as a whisper beneath the streets, a gentle vibration that barely stirred the dust.

Then the earth groaned.

Stalls in the merchant's corner rattled, ceramic wares tumbling and shattering as the shaking deepened. Windows trembled in their frames. Birds took to the sky in frantic flocks. People froze, confusion twisting into fear as the ground beneath them lurched violently. The sound of cracking stone split through the air like a scream, and suddenly, the earth was breaking.

A jagged rupture tore through the heart of Thanasis, the main plaza splitting apart as if some great beast clawed its way from beneath. Buildings crumbled at the edges, toppling into the abyss. A deafening roar echoed from the darkness below, primal and ancient, a sound not heard within the city walls in a lifetime.

Then came the sounds. Clicking, scraping, a grotesque chittering that rose from the darkness of the newly-formed chasm. From the shadows, they crawled forth—hulking, eyeless figures clad in the bones of their past kills, their barbed tongues tasting the air for prey.

Jarlax.

​

The creatures surged forward, their guttural growls lost in the chaos of the panicked city. From the void, their wyvern mounts launched into the sky and shrieked, descending like death itself upon Thanasis.

The Rising had begun—but so too had something far, far worse.

"Man the walls!!"

"Light the beacons!!"

"Protect the Hatchery!!"

​

Screams filled the streets as the first bodies fell. Steel was drawn. The fight for Thanasis had begun.

 

[Synneve]

The ashen sky loomed overhead as Synneve stepped in with the others who had gathered for what might be their final hours of life. It was a barren, hopeless place. Quite apt given the occasion, she supposed. The ground beneath her perfectly not-broken-in-yet boots was cracked and dry, scorched and depressing. A gust of sulfur-laden wind brushed past her making her nose wrinkle when the acrid taste hit her.

She paused, her heart pounding relentlessly against her ribs, and closed her eyes for a fleeting moment. Breathe. You have been preparing for this moment for your entire life. She tried to soothe herself, pushing back the memory of her family's relentless expectations. Each scar she bore, each drop of sweat was a pledge against the eternity of their disappointment. A fate that she could not bear.

Her mind swirled with echoes of harsh words, the weight of a legacy steeped in failure. It was not the sting of defeat today that tormented her, no. It was the dread of an everlasting condemnation. She knew today would be the last day of her life. But it would not be her own doing that lead to such a fate. She had prepared for twenty one years. Twenty one years of obstacles, weapons training, history lessons. She knew how not to die.

But she was not built to survive.

Not like her brothers or her father. It was a miracle that her mother had survived her own Rising on being an absolute maniac, alone. Synneve, however, was unfortunately sound of mind while being given every other feature of her mother.

The Rising was not meant to be kind. Around her, others gathered- faces etched with determination and terror alike, each silently vowing to challenge and best the cruel hands of destiny. A horn bellowed from afar, its sound rolling over the scorched land like a call to battle. With a final, steadying breath, Synneve squared her shoulders and stepped forward. I will endure. She affirmed silently, eyes fixed on the fiery horizon. I will rise above.

 

[Talorgan]

Jarlax.

Talorgan stood by a market stall, frozen as he looked across the main thoroughfare at one of the creatures.

He spent most of his life in the wilds. A pursuit for a third son like himself, he documented his findings as he scouted close to the ground. He would proudly proclaim that he had more experience seeing the Jarlax up close than his kin.

That was not true. Commoners, soldiers and scouts who manned the defences of the city and wall saw them far more. Talorgan liked to boast in front of his peers who only saw them from a great distance on dragon back.

He was still unprepared to see them up close whilst wearing his finest. Biersys was far away and he had a simple formal knife at his belt.

"Fuck."

 

[Cullen]

- Borderlands - The Wall -

"The beacons are lit! They've breached the city!"

What? How?

Cullen's breath caught as the cry called across the wall, cutting through the howling wind. He had been on the front lines for weeks, pushing them back, holding the line. Not once had they broken through. The walls were manned day and night, the skies patrolled without rest. It was impossible.

And yet—

"Fall back!" The order came sharp and decisive. "The city is under attack! We return to Thanasis—now!"

Cullen didn't hesitate. He vaulted onto Meala’s back, his fingers curling tight in the leather straps as the dragon launched into the sky with a powerful beat of her wings. Around him, others followed suit, their formations shifting in practiced precision.

It wasn’t long before Thanasis loomed into view—and Cullen’s heart slammed against his ribs at the sight. Wyverns swarmed above the city, their monstrous forms silhouetted against the glow of their spreading fires. They rained destruction from above, their riders sending down torrents of flame, while Thanasis’ dragons rose up to meet them in furious battle.

His squad veered, climbing higher into the storm-churned sky to strike from above. Cullen barely registered them breaking formation—his attention was locked on the streets below, where the ground had split open like a festering wound.

The Jarlax had come from beneath the ground..

Screams carried through the air, mingling with the clash of steel and the guttural roars of beasts unleashed upon the city.

Cullen tightened his grip on Meala’s reins, jaw clenched.

"Fuck."

 

[Leovold]

Wretched wings filled the air, swarms of verminous wyverns and massive bat-like monstrosities. The bats, at least were ridden by Jarlax, though Leovold was not certain about the wyverns. It mattered little. Each monster in turn needed to be seared from the sky, and then from existence entirely.

Leovold rode atop Iralux, called to battle alongside others of the Scaleguard by the presence of the beacons and warhorns. He and his wingmates dove into the fray bravely, dragonbeath blazing.

Things were going poorly. Of the five in their initial wing, two had been brought low. Galus had been ripped to shreds by the titanic bats and their Jarlax riders, his dragon fleeing off towards the mountains in fear and mourning. Farron's dragon was swarmed over by wyverns; Leo could only watch as the bond-pair were driven into the side of the walls, breaking the dragon's neck and crushing Farron's body on impact.

For every vermin Leo and his wing brought low, five more surged to take their place. It was a nightmare. They fought on as boldly as they could, but they simply did not have the numbers to continue at their current pace.

"Rise! Get altitude! We need a moment's peace from this fray, and a better view of what we're dealing with!" Leovold called out to his wingmates over the din of battle. Iralux corkscrewed upwards, firing jets of white-hot plasma as he did to rid himself of their surrounding assailants. The other Scaleguards followed suit, their white and green dragons rising up to meet Leo on high.

The scene below was mortifying. Where did the Jarlax come up with these numbers? Like a swarm of fire ants and hornets, they raged below. Thanasis was bleeding. Leovold felt Iralux's rage through their bond, and he wished his own body could sustain itself the way a sun dragon's could. Perhaps if the Dawnstone had not been allowed to waste away...if the Solherres had not allowed themselves to become so weak...

Soon, however, Leovold beheld two glimmers of gold; both familiar, both from different directions, and both giving him equal parts dread and hope.

The first was the sheen of that accursed marked rider, the Morvane cur. Even his dragon seemed a mockery of House Solherre...yet his presence on the battlefield would be a welcome one.

The second was that of a massive, hulking, beast of a dragon, an abomination if ever Leovold had laid eyes on one. It could only be Leovold's father, Lord Tyros, riding atop the back of his dragon, Magnus. The thing was a horrible hybrid of various broods, with enough sun dragon blood remaining in its veins that it could still unleash plasma from its mouth. Gods, did it look wrong, though. Tyros flew in from the direction of the inner sanctum, clearly intent on taking some amount of glory for himself.

Leo looked back to his men.
"We've rested enough. Dive back in! We have to keep the vermin occupied until more reinforcements can arrive!"

 

[Abel Stonesworn]

A most peculiar sight portended doom for the city of Thanasis as the large figure of Abel Stonesworn ran through the city with his hard expression set in concern. He felt it before anyone else, to be specific Petra had sensed it before anyone else. There was a rumbling beneath the city, one that did not come from her.

The eruption of the Jarlax from beneath them brought with it a shiver of fear that ran down his spine. This imagery had been much the same as all those years ago when he had been forced to earn his dragon. He had lost a lot of good friends that way.

Petra's bond spoke of a flood of bodies beneath the earth, so much so that she could not hope to stem the tides below by herself. That alone hardened Abel's resolve as Petra was not one to admit failure easily.

"Rise, Petra. We will fight above."

As much as he yearned to go check on the King and his family, the flood of Jarlax primarily targeted the city and its people. Without the people then there would be no city.

A second large rumbling followed, many of the panicked crowd believed it to be more Jarlax and their frenzied escape only intensified, but what followed was the shifting of the earth beneath Abel's feet followed by a slight shift. It started as the immediate earth around him and then expanded to the street as a whole and then some of the surrounding buildings.

A thunderous roar like the sound of millions of rocks rubbing against each other boomed out as Abel's mount 'The Juggernaut' rose from the dirt with the old warriors standing upon its back.

Unlike many of his fellow ascended, Abel did not take to the skies. Instead, he and his dragon kept their feet firmly planted on the ground volleying shards of rock, that shot from the dragon's back, targeting the flying Jarlax above.

"Petra, be careful of the crowds."

 

[Dane Fedyr]

The bellow of the Rising rung out, striking all sound, even the rain.

Dane Fedyr traded one hell for another. The front lines had been as red as a slaughterhouses' floor; blood and bodies littering the field, and only two dragons were downed fatally. They had been small, but even still, to kill a dragon was an effort.

As soon as the horn signalled the beginnings of the Rising, he fled, finding cover first before assessing what to do next.

He was tall, big, and most likely to be targeted to be eliminated before he could kill anyone. He wasn't here to kill, he was here to bond a dragon. Dane didn't wear a crown of Marks, like his friend Cullen did, but instead it devoured his dominant arm in dangerous swirls at his bicep, leaving a sleeve of tendrils that trickled down to his hand.

Find a dragon. That was the first course of action... Find a dragon, strengthen the numbers.

That was what he had promised Cullen when his friend warned him of how foolish his plan was.

But Dane already lived through hell. This new one wouldn't be much to weigh against him.

 

[Greydon]

This was a day of retribution.

There had not been an attack on Thanasis since the lunar eclipse, the nights where the Moon Dragons took to the skies and danced. His own dragon had flown in those dark skies, had been the one to witness the brutal deaths of his bloodline. That night held so much loss, dragon and human alike.

The screams disorientated him. He had been dispatched to the Merchant's Corner to retrieve a new cradle for a struggling egg, but before he could get to the carpenter's shop, chaos had ensued.

"Protect the Hatchery!!"
​

The words chilled him. Filled his person with cold as the rain seemed to seep into him. The storm had come at last, and with it, wyverns and jarlax.

The Hatchery, where he meant to be. He knew the doors would lock, that he would not be able to get inside, but he could very well defend it.

"To me!" The man yelled in High Thanasian, a summoning of his dragon. Drazhan was a hulking figure of a Moon Dragon, and the high pitched call that echoed across the sky was like an omen. The teeth of his kind were sharp, designed to damage with a bite, and their jaws being one of the strongest of the dragons of Thanasis. On his warpath down to Greydon, braving the pandemonium, Drazhan commanded the sky and lowered himselk enough that Greydon Tomyris could run and jump to latch his arms around the dragon's open claw.

Together, they took to the sky, headed straight to the Hatchery to defend.

 

[Bani]

Bani vaulted over a chimney, sending a few loose bricks tumbling to the streets below. Not that anyone would notice in the chaos, and if she was lucky it might brain an invader. Her small feet clacked on the clay and stone shingles, and with a burst of strength she threw herself over a narrow street, landing hard and rolling on the opposite roof.

She couldn't fight down here, not on foot, not against Jarlax. She needed to get to Vex, to get into the sky. She blew again on the small whistle in her mouth, secured around her neck. It was a high frequency, and one Vexillion had learned to pick out against all the noise of the world. Bani leapt off the roof again, this time with no platform for her to land upon. Her tiny frame fell, running through the air, until she was swept up by a black blur.

Bani held fast to her dragon's feathers, securing herself in her seat and adjusting her goggles, which had fallen askew. "Take us up, boy." Vexillion climbed effortlessly, pulling the pair of them almost straight up into the smoky sky. Bani grit her teeth against the darkness that encroached around the edges of her vision, breathing only when Vex leveled out before she lost consciousness.

For a second they were weightless, floating at the crest of their arc. Bani's eyepieces glinted in the sun, and from behind them she saw the maelstrom of battle. Dragons meeting wyvern, soldier meeting jarlax. Her eyes darted as quick as hummingbird wings, tallying combatants and drawing trajectories. As she and Vex started to fall, she locked in to her flightpath.

Never let them see you coming.

Woman and dragon dove like a black arrow into the heart of the fray, ready to weave and cut and burn.

 

[Cole]

--- The Rising - The Ashen Spires ---

The ground was as much his enemy in this game, as the others running beside him. Every step had to be measured, every move deliberate. One wrong foot, one moment of carelessness, and he’d end up like the man who had just disappeared into the earth, his screams swallowed by the molten rock far below. Another runner wasn’t so lucky either—steam and scalding water burst from a geyser, and she barely managed to stumble away, her face raw and blistered.

Cole kept running.

The jagged landscape of the Rising was a living, breathing monster. It cracked and shifted beneath him, riddled with lava pools and unseen crevasses that waited like hungry mouths. But beyond the terrain, beyond the dragons circling the peaks, and slumbering in its caverns, the greatest danger came from the other contenders. Men and women who, like him, had trained for this moment. Who wouldn’t hesitate to put a knife in his ribs if it meant securing their own victory.

He was prepared for that, too.

His boots skidded against loose scree as he took one of the more manageable inclines, muscles burning with the effort. The wind howled, thunder roared, the rain and heat relentless, and as he climbed, something above caught his attention.

Dark clouds cut across the sky.

He stilled, breath heavy, eyes narrowing as the realisation hit him. Not clouds. Dragons. Squadrons of them, their riders abandoning the wall, streaking toward the city. Something was wrong.

"What the fuck..." he muttered, pulse hammering against his ribs as his mind shifted to his younger brother.

His stomach dropped. Ice flooded his veins, panic threatening to take hold. But before the thought could fully take root, the earth roared beneath him. A jet of molten rock burst skyward just feet away, the heat scorching his skin, forcing him to throw up an arm against the searing blast.

"Shit."

His heart pounded, but the fear was already being replaced with something sharper, something unyielding. He had no way back. Not unless—

His gaze lifted to the peaks, to the hulking shadows that waited within them.

"Alright, beast," he growled, rolling his shoulders as he set his sights higher. "Let’s be havin’ you."

And with that, he climbed.

And climbed.

And climbed.

 

[Imogen Celreos]

The first tremor sent a shudder through the foundations of the house, rattling the glass vials in Imogen’s apothecary and sloshing the contents of a forgotten tea cup onto the desk. Her breath hitched. Then came the second—a deep, bone-rattling quake that sent dust spilling from the rafters and knocked a few books from their shelves.

The city bells rang in alarm, their desperate clangs echoing out across Thanasis.

Imogen was already moving. She flung open the balcony doors, stepping onto the stone ledge with her heart hammering against her ribs. From her vantage point, she saw the plaza below erupt, a gaping wound of darkness torn into the very bones of Thanasis. From its depths poured Jarlax, their grotesque, writhing forms slithering free like nightmares made flesh. Wyverns shrieked as they took to the skies to rain fire and terror down upon the city.

A chill spread through her limbs, as sharp as a blade, but she did not hesitate.

"Father! Ivan!" Imogen called, spinning back inside.

She did not need to explain. Her father was already fastening his gauntlets, her brother pulling a thick, scaled cloak over his shoulders. There was no moment for words, only action. Their dragons would answer.

Imogen reached for her bow, strapping the quiver of venom-dipped arrows across her back before securing the polearm at her side. Her armour was light but lethal—woven from dark, flexible plating, designed for speed and silence.

From the shadows of the courtyard below, Vaelith stirred.

A nightmare of dark green scales and six clawed legs, he moved like a wraith—silent, swift, and unseen until it was far too late. His eyes glowed like molten gold as he coiled against the wall, waiting.

With practiced ease, Imogen swung onto the railing, gripping the edges before dropping down onto Vaelith’s back. He did not wait for a command. Together, they descended, scaling the walls down into the city below.

The moment they touched the streets, Imogen loosed her first arrow. It struck true— a Jarlax twisted, its shriek cutting off as venom overtook its limbs, leaving it a frozen, helpless husk.

She did not stop.

Her brother and father flanked her, their dragons moving in tandem, cutting through the chaos with lethal precision.

The hunt had begun.

 

[Synneve]

The world exploded into motion. Synneve surged forward, boots pounding against the ground as the Rising began. All around her, bodies moved and people scrambled across the jagged expanse before them, dodging deadly obstacles that nature itself had placed in their paths. Here, the ground was uneven. The burning air was brutal. Every step was a potential misstep ready to spell the end.

A scream cut through the chaos. Someone wasn't fast enough when it came to the geysers eruption. A few feet to her left, there was a piercing hiss and the roar of boiling water. Synneve didn't look to see who. She couldn't afford to. Nor could she stomach it, that she was sure of.

She leapt across a narrow break in the land, barely clearing the molten river below. Heat licked at her calves, her boots burning her feet as she landed on her hands and knees. The sharp rock bit into her skin, but she pushed herself back up and ran.

A shadow fell over the land and Synneve risked glancing upward for only a fraction of a second.

Massive wings beat against the air. A sight unlike any other, a raw display of the dragon's majesty and fury. It must have been a distraction. It worked. Synneve faltered. For a breath, she forgot about the burning ground beneath her, death waiting with his open arms. For a moment, all that existed were those dragons. Terrible and beautiful living myths soaring through the heavens. And soon...she was going to have one of her very own.

Move!

Someone shoved past her and she hit the ground. Good, solid ground.

There was a sickening splash, a strangled gasp. The other person had not been so lucky. The scent of seared flesh and burning hair filled her nose. She flinched, bile rising in her throat, as she forced herself upright and pushed forward as fast as her legs could carry her. Around her, others were moving again too, shaking off the same trance she'd fallen into.

She dodged another geyser just in time. There was no stopping now. No second chances. Only forward. Only survival.

 

[Talorgan]

He was still unprepared to see them up close whilst wearing his finest. Biersys was far away and he had a simple formal knife at his belt.

"Fuck."

The jarlax didn't look at him. For a moment he felt relief. A single glance around him and he saw how unprepared others were. There write families and children browsing the market.

"Hey! Over here!"

The jarlax seemed to take that as a challenge. Talorgan looked down at the knife. It was sharp, but fragile.

The jarlax heft up a huge club that had been made out of bone. It had been ground down to a sharp edge.

Talorgan stayed closed to the market stall. Ad the jarlax swung he ducked and lashed out.

The formal blade caught the creature low to high, but the blade shattered as it struck rib.

Over his head, the club had sheared right through a wooden beam. His slash seemed to only annoy his opponent.

Talorgan dived over the market stall. The club hit the wooden table behind him, shattering planks.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen had fought in the air before, but never like this.

The sky was a writhing, blood-soaked storm, torn apart by the screams of dragons and the shrieks of dying men. The stench of burning flesh, charred scale, and sulfur choked the air. Wyverns clawed and snapped like rabid dogs, their riders a frenzied blur of bone and malice. Jarlax riders darted through the storm of fire and wings, striking like assassins from the shadows of the smoke.

And Cullen was now in the thick of it.

Meala let out a furious bellow, her golden scales smeared with blood—some of it hers, most of it not. She twisted mid-air, her colossal wings throwing up a gale that sent two Jarlax riders spiraling off their mounts. Cullen barely had time to register their screams before he caught sight of a wyvern lunging from below, its hide a sickly, mottled black-green.

"Hold!" he shouted, pressing his knees into Meala’s sides. The dragon flared her wings and braced against the wind sheer. Cullen rolled back, weight shifting, and the wyvern’s jaws snapped shut where his leg had been a heartbeat before. Meala’s tail whipped around like a battering ram, catching the beast full in the ribs with a sickening crunch. The wyvern tumbled, spiraling down into the chaos below.

He caught sight of Magnus, then. Unmistakably the mount of Tyros Solherre, and then the golden scales of his heir's sun dragon. His loathing was a living, breathing, burning thing..

Cullen swore under his breath. Even now he looked like some shining, righteous bastard straight out of a ballad. Cullen had no doubt that if Leovold had his way, the bards would be singing about House Solherre by week’s end. Posthumously, preferably, he thought bitterly.

Cullen might have smirked if he wasn’t busy trying not to die.

Meala banked hard to avoid a spout of dragonfire, and Cullen’s grip tightened on the reins as he took in the battlefield. It was a slaughter. The Scaleguard was outnumbered, their formations breaking under the relentless assault.

Cullen straightened in the saddle, reaching over his shoulder for the spear strapped to his back.

"Steer clear of Magnus," he murmured, and Meala growled in response. "Lets go."

Meala tucked her wings, diving into the fray. The air shrieked past them, her golden form cutting through the carnage as Cullen leveled his spear at the nearest Jarlax rider.

 

[Dane Fedyr]

"Fuck!"

Dane swore loudly, steam throwing him off balance as it spurted from a fissure in the earth, inches from his face and had him throwing himself off to the side. He fell, and pain shout out from his shoulder down to his hand as he rolled onto the ground. It wasn't flat and soft. It had been disrupted, and small shards of rock cut into him.

But undeterred, he got back up, still running for somewhere to make his claim.

A girl was before him, running towards him. Dane slowed, watching her warily to determine friend or foe.

What he had failed to notice was the large dragon circling back high in the heavens. So dark against the storming sky, Fedyr saw the eyes of the beast much to late.

"RUN!" The girl screamed, pure terror and tears on her face, not exertion and rain. "RUN!"

But no human could outrun a dragon.

The maws of the beastly thing opened and clamped over her, half her body dangling from it's teeth and tearing apart with a sickening wet sound as the spine cracked with a final clenching of it's jaw. The beast thundered upon the earth, shaking it's head like a common dog, and the lower half of the girl's body was flung to his right.

The dragon released the upper, slowly lowering the bloody thing as if it left a bad taste in their mouth.

Dane stared at the dragon. It's hide was a deep black, it was hard to keep track of the true size of it. With the dragon's head lowered, leering at Dane, he was sure this was the last thing he would see before death claimed him.

"I am a Marked One." Pushing up his sleeve, displaying the shadowed tendrils that consumed his dominant arm. Fedyr even learned High Thanasian to speak to any dragon he came across, but he was waiting for the maws of death to swallow him. This, was a desperate attempt. "I will not be silenced by cowards."

 

[Bani]

With her goggles pulled tight and her head wrapped entirely in a leather hood, Bani's own breathing was almost as loud as the wyverns' shrieking. She and Vex were small, their speed the only thing keeping them alive against dragon and wyvern alike. A stray wingbeat from either faction could send them spiraling, just as an errant plume of flame could engulf them.

Bani had a knife in her hand, but it was not for close-combat. At this speed her arm would break if she tried to strike anything. As they came up on a jarlax rider from behind Bani lowered her arm to the side, bracing as she could against the shearing wind. When Vexilllion's nose passed the wyvern's tail, Bani let the blade go with a firm flick of her wrist. Momentum carried the deadly piece of metal the rest of the way, embedding itself in between the Jarlax's shoulder blades. By the time its scream gurgled out of its bleeding lungs, Bani was a hundred yards away.

She wove this deadly tapestry a couple more times, but there were far too many enemies. She didn't have enough knives or pitch-bombs to dispatch them all. Vexillion didn't have unlimited fire, either.

Vex banked hard, spinning them upside down and fired a focused bolt of fire, igniting another wyvern's rider. He knew to focus on the riders, for the wyvern itself protested at the heat, but only its back was burned. Riderless, it was still a threat, but downgrading it to a wild animal from fire-breathing mount was a step in the right direction.

More and more wyverns erupted from the ground. Bani couldn't fathom how they had gotten under the city in the first place, much less how they could transport this many massive flying creatures. Inspiration sparked in her head.

She was not making enough of a difference taking out the riders, but maybe she could find out what the heck was happening down in that chasm. She squeezed the sides of her mount with her legs and directed him downwards. "We're going spelunking!"

 

[Leovold]

Aid was welcome...Leovold just wished it could come from any other source but the ones that were presently providing it. The Solherre heir fought on and on, his Scaleguard comrades at his sides, slowly getting overwhelmed and pushed back. Jarlax bat riders and wyverns alike took their victories by cuts and inches, slowly tiring and wounding the trio.

Cullen's intervention was, for once, a relief. Leovold caught sight of the marked one and Meala ripping through a wyvern on his flank like tissue paper. The noble watched as the pair cut a bloody swathe through the enemy, giving him and his wing ample opportunity to follow suit.

"To me! Follow that rider, form up!" Leovold called out, spiraling into a dive right after Cullen and shredding through a giant bat with his lance.

"About time your lot showed up!" he called after Cullen, hot on his tail.

 

[Cullen]

Cullen had barely twisted in his saddle to look back at Leovold when he caught the glint of a blade slicing through the air. A Jarlax rider was bearing down on him, spear raised, eyes locked onto him like a predator closing in.

Then, a knife struck.

It buried itself deep in the rider’s chest, slipping through leather and flesh like a whisper of death. The Jarlax barely had time to gurgle before toppling from his wyvern’s saddle, his lifeless body vanishing into the storm of wings and fire below. Cullen’s gaze snapped to where the blade had come from—just in time to see her. Small, fast, weaving through the chaos on a dragon that moved like a shadow through a gale. He had no idea who she was, but he knew she had likely just saved his life.

Fuck that would have been embarrassing. He was allowing himself to be distracted.

'Your lot.'

Leovold’s voice had cut through the battle like a jagged knife. Cullen's jaw tightened, his knuckles pale with tension as he gripped his reins.

'Your lot.'

The ones cast to the front lines, sent to die. The Marked.

Meala felt it. She knew. A low growl rumbled through her chest, her wings shuddering as she snapped her jaws, barely restrained.

It would be so easy.

One flick of the wrist, one twist of his blade, and Leovold would be nothing more than a stain on the battlefield. Cullen sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to let go of the thought before it took root. The better man. He had sworn to be the better man.

"You sound almost relieved, Leovold. Don’t tell me you missed me." he called back against the wind and chaos.

He didn’t wait for a response. He pulled Meala into a sharp dive, avoiding another wyvern and leaving Leovold directly in the path of its gaping maw.

 

[Cole]

--- The Rising - The Ashen Spires ---

He had been climbing for what felt like hours, his body protesting every movement, muscles screaming, hands raw and bleeding. Sweat soaked him through, trickling down his spine, stinging his eyes. He looked down, then immediately regretted it. The dizzying drop below made his stomach twist, and he shut his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. Apparently heights were going to be a problem...

Steeling himself, he glanced upward. Only a few more meters. He was almost there. Pushing forward, his body felt like it was made of lead, each step a war with his own exhaustion. Finally, he reached the plateau. With a ragged sigh, he collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, every breath coming in short, desperate bursts. He let out a hoarse laugh, the sound ragged and unsteady. "Fuck... Let’s never do that again."

His hands, trembling with fatigue, scraped against the jagged stone as he pushed himself upright. The ground trembled beneath him, but not from the mountain’s rumbling. No, this was something else. The air had shifted, and now it felt... cooler.

He turned, slowly, oh-so-slowly, until his eyes locking onto the most breathtaking dragon he had ever seen. It was a sight to behold—a creature of ice and beauty, scales glittering like frost. It was magnificent. Terrifying, but magnificent.

"Hi there, beautiful," he murmured, dropping to one knee in the dust, his trembling hand pressing against the ground, keeping his eyes fixed on glacial orbs. His voice was steady, but inside, every instinct screamed at him to run.

But the dragon didn't seem to appreciate his flattery. Its lips pulled back, revealing teeth that gleamed sharp and deadly, like ice-glazed daggers. He swallowed, the weight of its gaze almost too much to bear.

"Alright... Alright.. Just trying to be friendly," he muttered, trying to quell the rising panic. He extended his hand, palm open, as though offering a gesture of peace.

Then its mouth opened. The sheer size of it, the promise of devastation that came with it, hit him like a blow.

"So that's a no...."

His instincts kicked in—he didn’t wait. He bolted. But he was too late.

With a deafening roar, the dragon exhaled a wave of cold that slammed into him like a battering ram. It wasn’t fire. It was ice—crystalline and searing. It spread fast, the freezing mist engulfing the air, creeping along the rocks and turning them to brittle frost in an instant and catching hold of his arm before he could dive behind out of the way.

"FUCK!" Cole screamed as the ice wrapped around his arm. As a blacksmith, Cole had burned himself more times than he could count, but this? This was worse—so much worse. It was cold. Cold that seared at his skin, gnawed at his bones, froze the very blood in his veins.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" he cursed again, clutching his arm to his chest, but it was hopeless. The ice constricted, like chains of frost.

His thoughts raced, but it all boiled down to one thing: he had to get away. The dragon had no mercy. No hesitation.

"Not today, sweetheart," he growled under his breath, teeth gritted, voice rough with pain. "Not today."

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He forced himself to his feet, vision swimming, body shaking, and ran. The pain in his arm was blinding, but he didn't have time to care. He could still move. And that meant he could still survive.

He ran, barely staying on his feet, pushing himself farther into the unforgiving landscape, away from the dragon and the freezing death that pursued him.

 

[Synneve]

Synneve's muscles screamed in protest as she pulled herself up onto a crumbling ridge. The climb had nearly drained her. Once making it over the last jagged outcrop, she collapsed onto her hands and knees, breaths coming ragged and uneven. Her arms were trembling, her legs felt like lead. But she had made it. At least to this point.

The wind was howling across the exposed peak, cutting through her sweat-soaked clothes with an unforgiving bite. Up here, the volcanic heat clashed with an icy gust. It was suffocating- a chaotic balance between fire and frost. Syn pressed her forehead against the stone, trying to catch her breath. Trying for will her body to recover even as the world around her spun.

Then, she felt it.

Something primal. Something ancient.

Slowly, she lifted her head and froze.

There was a dragon before her, unlike any she'd read about. Unlike any that she'd ever seen. It was enormous, a beast of glittering white and blue with scales that glistened like frozen crystals. It was a living force of ice and wind. It shimmered, ethereal, carved from the purest form of frost and set aflame. Its wings seemed vast as the sky, casting a shadow as they stretched outward sending a flurry of glacial mist around its towering form. Flurries which hissed as they hit the burning ground.

But none of that was what made Synneve's breath catch. It was the focus of the dragon.

Not on her, but on a child.

He stood barely ten feet away, trembling so violently that he looked ready to collapse. He was small, scarwny, with clothes full of holes and shoes untouched by battle but worn ragged by time. Hand-me-downs from siblings, no doubt. He was no warrior. He did not belong here. The boy's wide eyes were locked onto the dragon, mouth parted in a silent plea.

Gods. They sent a child to die.

The dragon seemed to regard the boy with a cold disinterest, its massive head tilting from side to side as if it were weighing its options. And then, the dragon inhaled sharply and Synneve knew in an instant what was about to happen. It was going to kill him.

She moved before she could think, body lurching forward and pushing off the stone. Her feet scrambled for purchase as she threw herself into the space between the boy and the dragon's killing blow, shielding the trembling figure behind her as she braced for impact. For pain. For death.

A deep, guttural rumble filled the air- an almost curious sound. Synneve forced herself to look up, swallowing hard. Icy blue eyes locked onto hers and she knew that meeting the gaze head-on was an invitation to be torn to shreds. She should have lowered her head, should have averted her eyes and submitted. Should have run like the child now ran for cover in a nearby cave entrance.

But she didn't. She held its gaze. She knew she was going to die. That much was clear. She had stolen the dragon's prey, interfered in which she had no right to. And yet, even knowing that her end was mere moments away, her heart did not quake like the boy's did. If this was how she would die, so be it.

The dragon reared up. Synneve's breath caught, but she stood her ground. Its wings flared wide, chest expanding as frost filled its throat. This is it. She braced herself, hands at her sides in tight fists, jaw tight. Then the dragon struck.

A blast of searing, burning ice slammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs and sending her flying backward. Her body hit stone hard, skidding across rough terrain before coming to a shuddering stop. Pain roared through her ribs while her vision tunneled. She gasped, fingers twitching toward her chest where a bone-deep cold spread across her skin. She barely managed to lift her head, body shaking from the impact.

The dragon stepped forward, looming over her now, vast and terrifying. Frost curled from its nostrils, its maw parting just enough to reveal razor-sharp teeth within. It could kill her now. It was going to finish what it started. Its head lowered toward her, breath cold enough to burn. An immense body, a shadow of death, loomed over hers. She did not move. Did not beg. She only waited.

The dragon rumbled low in its throat, the sound rolling through her like an earthquake. It did not sound like rage. It sounded like recognition. As if it had just seen her for the first time. It exhaled and the lethal tension surrounding it had shifted, melting into something else. Something ancient and final. Something that made her bones hum and her skin prickle. It wasn't pain and it wasn't cold. It was connection.

The dragon pulled backward, blue eyes never leaving her. The burn on her chest flared with cold fire. This was not mercy. This was acceptance. It had chosen her.

 

[Dane Fedyr]

This dragon was a large and foul beast. Sulfur and decay clung to it's steaming breath. Dane was sure his largest tooth was still larger than his own height.

They both stood there, watching one another as the ground hissed and erupted with spits of steam that would scald him than a dragon.

"I am a Marked One asking for power to fight against those that have chosen I should fail. I will not fail this!" Still, he called out loudly in High Thanasian.

The dragon smiled, if one could call the widening of one's maw such a thing. The beastly dragon could floor him with his breath, he was huge and monstrous, and the flicker of his tail across the fissures and earth caused vibrations to permeate the area. He was colossal, a certain death.

"Will you bond with me?" He challenged.

The tail whipped the earth.

Quakes plague the area, and the earth split enough for lava to spurt upwards. It fell to the uneven terrain, and flooded quicker than anything Dane could anticipate.

Shit.

This dragon could have crushed him, burned him, even eat him, but instead, he wanted to watch Dane run from lava fast approaching. Dane swore loudly, watching the dragon's massive head lift...

There. Fuck, he thought he was seeing things, but there were straps crossing over the dragon's forelegs and chest. A loose ladder whipping in the storm's wind. It was bold, it was reckless... but Dane had told himself he would get a dragon or die trying.

Here's to a swift death...

 

[Greydon]

Drazhan was an extension of his own fury, brought on by the sudden appearance of Jarlax and wyvern alike. Each of their presence was a threat, a promise that blood would run through these streets of Thanasis.

Grey had taken to the skies upon his bonded dragon, a blur that melted into the backdrop of rain and storm that went unseen by wyverns until the moment the moon dragon's teeth sank into the necks of their enemies and tore them. Blood rained down with the heavens falling, but rider and dragon were careful with where they dropped the carcass. They made sure to crush any Jarlax on ground with it before taking to the skies again and going towards the Hatchery.

"We must defend it, my friend. Even if we are all that stands between them and those inside."

 

[Cthurgorj]

The sky trembled with the beating of wings. Dragons and wyverns swarmed in numbers heretofore unseen above Thanasis, creating a din of rushing wind, rippling fire, and screeching bellows. The dragons outmatched the wyverns in strength and speed, but the Jarlax held the advantage in numbers. If it took five wyverns to take down one dragon, they would send six.

Reinforcements had not stopped flowing from the fiery chasm, but they had slowed. For every three wyvern that fell only one came to take their place. While the cost would be high, it seemed that the Thanasans might just reclaim their skies if they could only hold on a bit longer. The nobles fought alongside the maligned, the ascended with the highborn, and some had even started targeting the fissure itself, keeping the invaders from even reaching the skyline.

Hope might be felt at this point by the foolish. Hope that was crushed by a deep and terrible roar beneath the city. A roar that grew louder, and louder, as it echoed from the rent in the earth. It was an otherworldly noise that left a dissonant hum in the ears. The noise grew to near-deafening at the fissure’s edge as a truly massive wyvern erupted from the earth.

It was four-fold larger than its comrades at least, with a wingspan that darkened a city block. Its scales were an inky blue, so dark that it drank the waning sunlight. Two thick legs with eviscerating talons, two wings that beat in tandem, and two heads that sang in raging harmony.

Cthurgorj rode upon its back. His eyeless face was obscured by bleached-white bone. A plume of colorful feathers trailed behind his helmet. An eclectic, though oddly well-fit assortment of bone and leather pieces adorned various parts of his body - shoulders, hips, forearms, legs and feet - though his broad chest was left pointedly bare, save for a smattering of scars and paint.

Though blind, the Sky Chief of the Jarlax seemed to survey the scene below him. The blank mask somehow turned to the blazing sun dragons in the distance, and he pointed a large spear in their direction. It bore similar feathers to his headdress, and his tremendous wyvern heeded its direction.

Titan wings bore it quickly through the air. Dragons immediately made for his position, correctly marking him as the greatest threat in the air. A red dragon dove from above and sprayed orange flames over Cthurgorj and mount. The right head of the wyvern turned and moved through the fire as though it were smoke, shielding the rider and swallowing the last of the flames in its open mouth. It caught the red dragon in its teeth, biting down through scale and sinew to snapping bone. The rider, trapped between man-sized teeth and his own dragon, was backlit against the rising light from the wyvern’s throat.

A jet of fire ripped forth, fully incinerating the dragon and rider in the wyvern’s jaws and engulfing an approaching green dragon. At the same time, the left head had turned to meet a blue dragon’s advance and breathed forth a howling blizzard, freezing the rider solid and blackening the dragon’s scales with frostbite.

Extinguish the invaders. Burn their corruption. Retake home.

 

[Imogen Celreos]

The roar tore through the air, a sound so vast it seemed to shake the marrow of the world. Imogen flinched, her breath stolen as it reverberated through her very bones.

Vaelith halted, talons biting into the stone of the bell tower they had scaled, his body tensed beneath her like a coiled spring. He was not afraid—but he recognised a predator when he saw one.

From the chasm’s fiery maw, the beast rose. Its wings blotted out the sky, its two monstrous heads howled in tandem, one exhaling a furnace’s breath, the other a storm’s chill. And upon its back, a rider.

Imogen could not see his eyes—he had none. Yet, when his masked face turned toward the battlefield that was Thanasis, she felt marked. A shudder ran through her, but she crushed it down. There was no time for fear.

The city had just begun to rally. Their dragons had taken the skies. The wyverns had begun to falter. The tide had begun to turn—and then this.

Her eyes found the red dragon—one of their own—as it dove, and the wyvern's jaws closing around the dragon’s body with merciless finality. The rider’s scream cut short, and Imogen’s stomach lurched.

It was not just a wyvern. It was calamity incarnate.

“Imogen!” Her father’s voice cut through the chaos. Lord Celreos looked up at her from the ground, his face grim, his sword dripping with Jarlax blood. “Climb! Go for the eyes! House Celreos—to me!”

Men and women clad in the Celreos lifted their spears, and surged into battle.

Imogen’s brother was already wheeling his own beast, Rhaedros, around to meet the nearest Jarlax pack. “Imm!” He barked. “If you hesitate, you’re dead. Don't die!"

She let out a slow breath.

Fear is for the weak. For the slow. For the dead.

She was none of those things.

"Vaelith—go."

Her dragon moved like a shadow made flesh, leaping from the bell tower with frightening speed. The moment his claws left stone, Imogen loosed an arrow—its venom-dipped tip aimed straight for the wyvern’s left eye.

 

[Cole]

Cole sought refuge in a wide cavern. The heat was suffocating, thick with the stench of sulfur and molten rock. But he'd choose heat over frost and ice, any day. Cole gritted his teeth as he leaned against a jagged stalagmite, pressing a shaking hand to his frostbitten arm. Every nerve in his body screamed, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His lungs burned with every inhale, but at least he was alive. For now.

"Fuck this game hurts," he groaned, his voice hoarse, barely more than a rasp. With his good hand, he reached into the small sack at his hip, fingers fumbling for his water skin. The leather felt blessedly cool against his palm. He lifted it to his lips, tipping it back, the water sliding down his throat like salvation.

Then the ground shuddered.

A deep, guttural tremor rumbled through the cavern floor, vibrating up through his bones. Cole stiffened, his instincts screaming danger. He shoved himself upright, staggering back toward the mouth of the cave.

First, he saw the horns—massive, curved like blackened obsidian, jutting from the bubbling lava as though the cavern itself had birthed them. Then came the head, sleek and monstrous, its scales like charred stone, glowing from within, as though molten rock coursed beneath them.

Then the body.

The dragon emerged, dripping liquid fire, every breath sending plumes of smoke curling toward the cavern’s ceiling. Its molten eyes locked onto him, and Cole swore he felt the heat intensify under its scrutiny.


Well. He wasn’t about to call this one sweetheart.

He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his feet felt rooted in place beneath that terrible gaze. The dragon huffed, smoke coiling from its nostrils. The air between them grew heavier, oppressive.

Cole opened his mouth—hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say—but the words never came. Instead there were footsteps. Fast. Rushing toward him.

His instincts flared a second before the attack came. Cole turned just in time to see a man bearing down on him, blade raised high.

"Shit!"

He twisted, barely dodging the downward swing, the blade whistling past his ribs. The attacker snarled, already bringing his sword around for another strike.

Cole didn’t hesitate. He reached for his own weapons, fingers closing around the hilts of his twin short blades. Steel sang as he wrenched them free, crossing them in a hasty block as his opponent came at him again. Sparks flew where their blades met, the impact jarring Cole’s arms, sending pain lancing through his frostbitten limb.

The fight was nothing short of brutal. Both Cole and his opponent landed vicious blows, their blades cutting deep, each movement desperate and fueled by sheer survival. Blood slicked the cavern floor, sweat and exhaustion weighing heavy on Cole’s limbs. But luck had favoured him—his wounds, though painful, weren’t fatal. His opponent hadn’t been so fortunate.

He wasn’t dead—not yet—but he was finished. Cole stood over him, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin, his blades still steady despite the tremor in his injured arm.

The dragon watched. Its molten eyes, deep and unreadable, took in the scene, its massive form still as stone.

Cole met its gaze. And waited.

It blinked. Slowly.

The silence stretched between them.

And that was judgment enough.

Without hesitation, Cole drove his blade up through the man’s ribs, straight into his heart. The body jerked, then stilled. He exhaled sharply, yanking the blade free, staggering back as exhaustion pulled at his limbs. Blood spattered the stone.

Still, the dragon watched.

Cole wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then reached down, grabbing the dead man’s arm. He dragged the body forward, step by agonising step, until he was near the dragon’s feet. Then, with the last of his strength, he threw it down in offering.

His legs barely held him as he stumbled back, landing on his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Well." He coughed. "Can’t say I didn’t pay for dinner."

The dragon moved. A massive foot came down, crushing the corpse in a sickening crunch. Cole barely had time to react before the beast began to stalk toward him, each step slow, deliberate, the heat from its body washing over him in waves.

This was it. This was how he died.

The dragon loomed over him, molten eyes locked onto his, its massive talons lifting—then lowering—until one pressed against his chest.

Cole clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching toward his blade, but there was no use. His eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable—crushed, devoured, burned alive.

But the dragon did none of those things. Instead, its talon pierced into his chest, shallow—but scalding hot. A searing pain tore through him, a molten brand burned into his flesh. Cole’s roar of agony echoed through the cavern.

The dragon huffed, exhaling a plume of smoke, then stepped back, its glowing gaze never leaving him. Cole gasped for air, his hands shaking as he lifted his head to look at the beast.

"Really?...As far as first impressions go…" He gritted his teeth, voice hoarse. "Could do better."