Private Tales Answers With the Ancestors

[Tigris]

Tigris barely had time to register the crackling lightning before the Nhaaz’khar let out a guttural, agonized roar. The scent of scorched scales filled the cavern as the beast twisted in pain, its talons carving deep trenches in the stone. But it was not dead—only enraged.

Her golden eyes darted to Talmanes just as he lunged from the window.

“No! Stay where you are!” she snarled, but her warning was lost beneath the sound of splintering shields and the panicked cries of the Tyrians.

The drake lurched forward.

A single warrior, one of the younger ones—Korr,—wasn’t fast enough. He had tried to move, had almost made it, but the drake’s massive claw slammed down before he could escape. The wet crunch of bone and flesh being obliterated echoed through the tunnel. A scream—cut off too soon—was all that remained of him. Blood pooled beneath the beast’s talons, steaming against the stone.

Rage and sorrow twisted in Tigris’ chest, but there was no time to grieve. The Nhaaz’khar as it locked eyes with her.

A deep vibration thrummed beneath her feet, a low pulse in the air that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. At first, she thought it was the drake—but no. This was different. Older.

Something was waking.

The gates to the old city had been opened.

The red runes on the cavern walls—once merely warnings—flared to life, and so too did the same runes she wore on her skin, their glow creeping like veins of fire. Tigris gasped as heat flooded her veins, her vision blurring for a fraction of a second. And then she felt it.

Power.

Not the quiet ley-threaded whispers of the world she had always known, but something ancient and dormant now roaring back to life. It poured into her like lava into a dry riverbed, a power that had waited centuries to be claimed.

The Nhaaz’khar lunged, its talons poised to rip her apart.

But Tigris didn’t retreat.

She raised her hand. And the air answered.

With a howling rush, the cavern’s stagnant atmosphere twisted into motion, swirling around her arm before exploding outward in a concussive blast. It struck the drake square in the chest, sending the massive beast skidding backward, its claws gouging deep into the rock to keep itself upright.

The force of it sent dust and debris flying, and for a brief moment, the battlefield fell silent.

Tigris stared at her own hand, fingers still tingling with the power that had just erupted from them.

This was not her usual magic.

Something had changed.

She glanced to the others, all who stood staring between her and the abyssal creature. "Go!" she ordered.

 

[Tal]

Tal stood for only a second, bewildered by what he saw.

Instantly, a thousand questions flickered through his mind, a thousand answers coming almost directly on their heels. He had theories, ideas, all woven from stories long ago told. But none of them would help them now.

Not in the moment.

The Nhaaz'Khar's head lurched and lunged back and forth. Jaws snapping shut with a thunderous crack as though it were trying to reset it's own jaw. Neck frilling left, and then right as it tried to shake itself free of the jarring force Tigris' had poured through it's body.

Tyrian's below quickly began to shake themselves of their silence, their leaders urgent shouting sending them scurrying. The shuffle of feet echoed out as the Caravan began to make their way down towards one of the halls. Rushing as quickly as they could by the building Trista and Talmanes had entered.

Then the beast lunged forward again.

Muscles flexing, the Drake gave no warning as it pulled free of it's stupor. Offering it's ear bursting cry only as it bounded towards Tigris and those that fled behind her.

As its cry echoed through the Cavern, stone began to shift and move. The rock beneath it's feet sliding, and then erupting outward. Red crackles of lightning bring the onyx stone high in several pikes driving themselves between the Drake's scales. A roar of pain erupted from the beast, echoing out as Talmanes landed just a dozen strides away.

"Kill it!" Talmanes hissed, saving his questions of what Tigris had done.

Intent on slaying the beast first. "Now!"

He called, his other hand flickering up as another collection of pikes erupted from the ground. The earthen pikes stabbing into the Drake's belly, brackish blood spilling across the earth as it struggled to break free. Tearing it's own flesh as it desperately tried to reach the fleeing Tyrian's.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris barely heard Talmanes' command—she was already moving. The air hummed around her, her skin tingling as if it recognised the magic surging through her veins before her mind could catch up.

But she had no time to dwell on it. The Nhaaz'Khar was still fighting, wrenching its massive body against the earthen pikes impaling its flesh. Every movement of the beast was chaos—stone cracked, blood sprayed, claws scraped against the cavern floor. It would not die easily.

Tigris lunged. She vaulted over debris, closing the space between herself and the thrashing drake. Its frilled head whipped in her direction, its pupils constricting into thin slits as it pinned its gaze on her.

The hunting spear on her back was in her hands before she had even registered the movement. Tyche screeched above her, diving at the beast’s wounded flank, tearing at its eyes with a furious assault of talons and beak.

Tigris didn’t hesitate. She leapt. Her feet barely touched the crimson-lit pikes before she launched herself higher, onto the drake’s back. Its scales were thick, slick with its own blood, but she found purchase between the ridges of its spine. Heat radiated from its body, scalding against her skin, but she gritted her teeth and drove the spear down.

Once. Twice. A third time, blood spattering her face.

The spear sank deep, the impact jarring her arms. The spear snapped, and Tirgis went hurtling into the wall as the creature bucked violently.

 

[Tal]

"TIGRIS!" His voice boomed through the chamber, echoing out as she was thrown into a nearby wall. The thud of her bodies impact sending a jolt of panic and rage through Talmanes.

Already in it's death throes, the Nhaaz'Khar bucked left, right, and howled in pain as blood spilled from it's wounds. The creature would have died anyway, but Talmanes did not care. His anger overtaking him as a spark ruptured over his arm.

Another of the Pikes suddenly exploded but this time from the ceiling. It pierced downward, and drove deep into the wound Tigris' had dealt. Pinning the dragon to the ground, and sending a yelp of pain echoing through the chamber as it finally went limp.

Not that the Prince even noticed.

Before the beast was even dead he scrambled across the hall, quickly rushing forward.

He did not care for those in the caravan. He did not care about where the dying beast came form. He did not even care about the fact that the cavern built by their ancient ancestors had clearly tried to protect. All that he cared about was her.

"Tigris." He repeated as he reached her side, practically sliding onto his knees. "Tigris are you okay?"

 

[Trista]

Trista ran.

She had barely processed the scene—Tigris sent flying, Talmanes’ voice raw with panic, the drake’s final howl still ringing in her ears—before she was moving. Her breath came short, sharp. She shoved past the Tyrians trying to rush forward, barely registering their stunned faces. Someone tried to grab her arm—she ripped herself free.

She had to get to her.

Trista hit the ground on her knees beside Tigris, her fingers already moving before her thoughts could catch up.

Pulse. She pressed two fingers to the side of Tigris’ neck, feeling for the steady thrum of life. There. But faint. Too faint.

Breathing. She turned her head slightly, her cheek hovering over Tigris’ lips. The exhale was weak, shallow and uneven. Wrong.

Then—blood. A slow, dark pool beneath her skull. It soaked into her hair, glistening against the onyx floor.

Trista’s stomach twisted. She didn’t realise her hands were shaking until she reached for her satchel.

"Give me space," she snapped, more forcefully than she intended.

She could feel Talmanes watching her, could hear the shuffling of Tyrians hesitating to obey. But she didn’t look up. She didn’t have time. She tore through the satchel, searching, calculating.

Willowbark, poppy sap—no, she’s unconscious, it’ll slow her breathing—stitchwort—damn it, not enough. Her mind raced, listing every herb, every remedy. Not enough. Not fast enough.

Come on, Trista. Fix this. Her heart pounded against her ribs. There was so much blood. Trista swallowed hard, inhaled sharply through her nose, and steadied her hands as she began to work.

The runes, though, they flickered. On Tigris' skin, on the floors and walls of the tunnel.

"No!! She's not a fucking sacrifice!"

 

[Tal]

Talmanes lay upon his knees, his face a mask of horror and fear.

Gone, at least for now, was the confident Prince. The criminal mass murderer. The monstrous madman.

There now was only a man fearing to lose what little he had left.

The runes began to glow all around them. Each droplet of spilled crimson seemed to spark them more and more. A wave of light rushing over the stone, trickling across the entirety of black Onyx in steady waves. Like a pulse they came with every speck of blood that fell.

Panic gripped Talmanes, his mind unable to link the warning of the Runes to what was happening now. Lips pressing thin as he watched Tigris' skin pale and the small rise of her chest begin to fade. His fingers twitched, head shook. "No...no..."

He said softly in agreement with Trista, echoing her words.

"She's not." Talmanes agreed, the pulse of runes continuing again and again as if arguing against their word. The blood now pooling, and then gently beginning to seep away into the stone itself. "She's not a sacrifice."

As the words echoed Trista's again, the light within the tunnel suddenly seemed to burst. Instead of pulsing, the runes lit up all at once flooding the tunnel in a reddish glow that washed over every single one of them. The Tyrian's within all feeling a sudden well of not power, but life. Strength. As though the ancestors themselves wrapped them in a tight embrace.

Tigris' wounds not beginning to heal, but her breathing steadying, her chest beginning to rise and fall more steadily.

Those long gone, giving those here now time to survive.

 

[Trista]

Trista’s hands were shaking as she pressed them over the bloodstained stone beneath Tigris. The light had flared so suddenly, so powerfully, it was like a breath drawn too sharply. She could feel it—life. It poured into the cavern, flooding over her, surging through her fingers, and for a brief moment, she thought she might be seeing things.

But no.

Tigris—her chest was rising, the shallow breaths becoming steadier, the warmth returning to her skin. The glow of the runes seemed to echo in time with her heartbeat, pulsing like a living thing. Trista’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at the way the runes responded to the blood, to Tigris’ fading life. It was the old magic. The kind she’d only heard whispers about. But this wasn’t just magic—it was the earth itself. The ancestors were responding.

For a split second, Trista didn’t move. Her hands were pressed flat against Tigris’ side, feeling the subtle rhythm of the world itself. Then, slowly, carefully, her eyes flickered upward to Talmanes. Her heart slowed, the panic melting away as she felt the pull of something greater than herself, greater than any one of them.

Trista turned her gaze back to Tigris. The steady rise of her chest was all the confirmation she needed. She wasn’t sure how this was happening or why, but she knew. This wasn’t a moment for questions—it was a gift, and she would take it.

Her hands, once trembling, now felt warm against Tigris' skin, as though the earth itself was reaching through her to heal. Slowly, impossibly, she felt the edges of Tigris’ wounds begin to knit back together, the torn flesh and bone mending with a gentle hum of power. Trista closed her eyes, a quiet breath escaping her lips.

Tigris' eyes shot open, her chest rising sharply as she gasped for air, the breath feeling foreign but welcome in her lungs. Her eyes, wide and confused, scanned the dimly lit tunnel before locking onto Trista, who knelt beside her, trembling.

A choked sob broke from Trista’s throat, and the tears she had been fighting spilled freely down her cheeks. She cupped Tigris’ face, her hands shaking with relief and disbelief. "Tigris," she whispered, voice breaking, "you’re alright."

Tigris blinked, her vision still blurred, but her lips curled into a small, pained smile as she reached a hand up, resting it on Trista’s trembling arm. The weight of the moment sank into them both, and in that silence, Trista wept.

 

[Tal]

Murmurs echoed out among the crowd, whispers that sounded almost like a song. Beneath the sound of their speech the scrape of Talmanes' boots echoed out, his steps seeing him scramble forward as he practically leaped to Tigris' and Trista's side.

Desperate relief flooded through him the moment he saw Tigris' eyes, though in truth he understood none of what had happened.

None of what had happened in the last fifteen minutes at all.

Somehow, some way the Ancestors had blessed them. Not once, but twice. Something had awakened within Tigris' within Trista, within the very hall that they now stood. The Prince had never read any writings of this, had never heard of it from any Blood Witch.

Another day it would have presented the greatest mystery of his life. A question that he would have needed answered.

But in that moment he didn't care.

All he cared was about her, them.

His arms swept almost immediately around Trista, his knees skidding against the black runic stone beneath him. Other hand slipping to cover Tigris' palm that rested upon her kindred's arm. "Tigris."

Talmanes breathed her name, the panic and relief all mixing in a flood of emotion. Tears already rolling down his cheeks as he pulled them both closer.

"Thank you." He breathed to Trista as his forehead touched hers. "Thank you."

He continued again as his fingers threaded up and into her hair. The other falling and wrapping gently around Tigris as he pulled them both into a tight embrace. Unable to let go of the last things he did not want to lose.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris' breath came in shallow gasps, the sensation of warmth still lingering where Trista’s hands had been. The pain, once sharp and blinding, had dulled into something distant, an ache that felt more like a memory than reality. Her mind swam with half-formed thoughts, the echoes of the runes' glow still flickering behind her eyes.

Slowly, she sat herself up, blinking the lingering dizziness away. She could feel her own blood soaking her hair, her back, but her wounds were gone. She gave a husky laugh under her breath at Tal's emotions spilling over..

"You're not rid of me just yet, Al'Vere.." she sighed, lifting a hand to his shoulder to squeeze it, her movements weak.

"Thank you, Trista. Sister. For your gift. I owe my life to you." she frowned, squeezing the woman's hand.

"Now lets get moving before another of those things makes an appearance." she smiled mirthlessly.

 

[Trista]

Trista barely heard Talmanes' whispered thanks, the world around her still spinning in the wake of what had just happened. Her hands had been warm—warmer than they should have been—and she had felt something shift, something unseen but undeniably real. The runes, the breath of life surging through the air, Tigris' wounds knitting together beneath her touch…

It was the Ancestors. It had to be.

Her fingers curled around Tigris' hand, afraid to let go as though doing so might somehow undo what had just been done. She pressed her forehead against Talmanes', his touch grounding her when she felt like she might unravel. His words sent a fresh wave of tears down her cheeks, but she did not pull away.

She swallowed hard, forcing back the sob that threatened to rise. "I-I didn’t do anything," she whispered, though her voice wavered. "It was them… the Ancestors."

"Either way. You're alright." she breathed, but her voice was hoarse, and her grip betrayed her lingering fear as she squeezed Tigris’ hand just a little tighter before finally letting go.

At Tigris' suggestion to move, Trista exhaled sharply, forcing her mind back to the present. "Agreed," she said, glancing toward the darkened edges of the chamber. "I’d rather not test whether the Ancestors have more gifts left to give."

Even so, she hesitated a beat longer, her gaze flicking between them. Then, she forced herself to her feet, reaching out to help Tigris up, readying herself for whatever came next.

She would have time to unravel later. Right now, all that mattered was that Tigris was breathing. That Talmanes was here. "We need to be more careful.. Not to disturb anything."

 

[Tal]

Slowly, carefully, Talmanes pulled himself up. Drawing Tigris and Trista with him so that the three of them were arranged in a small pyramid.

The Tyrian's behind them slowly floated around, some whispering of what had just happened in fear and others as though it were nothing less than a miracle. The Prince himself seemed not to notice, entirely focused upon the woman who'd been brought back from near death.

"Yes." He agreed softly with a nod of his head. "But."

Images flickering through his mind, the light of the runes, what Trista had done, what Tigris had done before even that. "But I think..."

A weariness flickered across his features for a brief second, lips turning as he finally looked back over his shoulder and through the cavern. The runes which had glowed so brightly were now once more dull and black, the magic inert as could be. "We have...awoken something."

Talmanes said softly.

"Something the Ancestors left behind, or something that was always here." Slowly he shook his head, not quite understanding. "The Blood feels..."

Slowly Talmanes raised his hand, lips drawing to a thin line as he peered down at his palm.

He had never been the strongest when it came to use of the Blood. His own magics were not gifts of the Ancestors of Tyr, but a ruinous power that his own family had long held on it's own. Yet he could still feel it, could still feel the power of their people flexing within his veins.

The moment those gates had open, the second that a debt of life had been paid the Ancestors had had answered. Though just how, Talmanes could not exactly say. "Stronger. Vibrant."

Fingers furled.

"Both of you..." He began, trailing off to let them come to their own conclusions.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris was silent for a moment, her mind still recovering from the sudden surge of energy that had burned through her veins. Her fingers flexed, feeling the vibrations in the air, the pulse of the cavern, of the runes, of something far older than she could even comprehend. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of what Talmanes had said.

"I... feel it, too," she admitted quietly, looking down at her own hands, as if expecting something to materialise there. The familiar hum of power, the weight of ancient blood, was tingling beneath her skin. Her gaze flicked between Talmanes and Trista, eyes softening for a moment, but the weight of what she was feeling quickly stole her focus. “We should be careful. Whatever we’ve awakened, it may not be finished with us yet.”