Thunder of Thanasis Rise or Fall

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.




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.

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

--- 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.

--- 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.