Private Tales Echoes of Shattered Scales

[Eryx Thorne]

"Quiet, you great lizard," he accidentally said out loud.

Eryx paused at that. He felt anger surge, but he remembered his discipline and instead exhaled slowly. “That was uncalled for, Thanasian,” he said quietly. He had no idea the man was talking to his dragon. After all, with his draconic features, he had been subjected to derogatory terms like "lizard" and others.

He didn’t respond to anything else, not even a huff at the cursing, entirely too grumpy at the sudden personal insult. He made his way up the path, the sound of the monsters distant, but still scratching away at the seal. Eryx knew they were on borrowed time. He glanced over his shoulder, looked back at Tharion, and nodded, “Go first. I can support your weight if you falter,” he said. Because I’m a great big lizard, he thought moodily.

 

[Tharion Araelor]

"Uncalled..."

He had not enjoyed the last hour. It took him a few moment to even realise Eryx would be insulted.

"I can feel my dragon's concern in my head. I was not speaking to you."

Tharion realised that he hadn't used a tone that converted apology at all. He sighed.

"I did not mean offence," he added more earnestly.

Having decided on his route, Tharion set both hands on the rocks and started to hail himself up. The angle wasn't too straining, part of it was more like a scrabble than a climb.

 

[Eryx Thorne]

Eryx blinked once at the explanation.

He said nothing.

The apology hung there, awkward and unadorned, and Eryx let it pass without comment.

He watched Tharion start the climb. Then Eryx followed, angling his broad frame sideways to fit the narrow chimney. Plate scraped softly against stone. Dust sifted down over them both, stinging his eyes and catching in his throat.

The passage tightened. The air moved upward in a faint draft.

From somewhere directly below, he could feel the stone shift slightly.

Eryx did not look down.

“You may wish to increase your pace,” he said flatly, delivered evenly through a thin whistle of breath.

He shifted his weight to push higher, and his boot slipped.

For a brief, sharp moment, his grip faltered, armor grinding as he slid a fraction of a span before he caught himself again with a grunt, muscles locking hard against the stone.

 

[Tharion Araelor]

Tharion felt the movement before he heard Eryx's warning. Dust trickled faster from above, sifting into his hair and eyes.

Tharion didn't reply. He checked that Eryx still had a grip.

He drove his boots harder into stone, fingers digging into shallow handholds, pulling himself up in short, powerful bursts.

The passage narrowed again. He scraped his knees through the leather. His bruised ribs screamed with every breath, but he pushed the pain down.

Tharion glanced down. The Thagretian clung a few spans below, broad shoulders wedged tight, one gauntleted hand braced, the other reaching for the next hold. Blood still streaked his face, dark in the faint blue glow filtering from above. The knight's eyes met his for a fraction of a second.

Below, the stone groaned again. It was louder this time. Dust exploded upward in a choking cloud.

"You with me?"

No mockery or sarcasm came with his question this time.

 

[Eryx Thorne]

Eryx looked up when Tharion glanced down.

For the first time since they had fallen into this wretched pit, fear flickered in the Knight’s eyes, sharp and unmistakable.

It was there and gone in the span of a breath.

His jaw locked. “Climb,” he growled through clenched teeth. The word rasped, edged thin by the whistle in his broken nose. “Now.”

His gauntlet slipped. Rock grated under steel. His boot skidded, and for a moment his weight hung wrong, balance failing. He snarled under his breath and drove a shoulder hard into the stone, abandoning finesse entirely.

If precision failed him, brute force would not.

He shoved upward, muscles straining beneath plate, fingers digging into cracks that bit skin through gauntlets. Dust poured over them both as he forced himself higher, wedging, pushing, hauling. Stone scraped. Armor groaned. He climbed not with grace now, but with stubborn, violent refusal to fall.

Tharion’s silhouette vanished over the lip first. Eryx followed moments later, dragging himself over the edge and onto open ground. Grass appeared beneath him as he rolled onto his back with a heavy exhale.

The sky stretched above with stars.

He lay there, chest rising hard, breath loud in the quiet night. His nose throbbed. His ribs burned. The whistle in his breathing sounded embarrassingly stupid.

He closed his eyes for one measured moment. Then opened them again.

After a long pause, without looking at Tharion, he spoke.

“Eryx Thorne,” he said, voice steadier now, though still roughened from exertion. “Knight of the Draconic Order of Thagretis.”

 

[Tharion Araelor]

Tharion hauled himself over the lip of the crack and rolled onto solid ground, knees hitting cold earth. Grass crunched under his palms, brittle with night frost.

He stayed on all fours for a second, breathing hard through his mouth, lungs protesting every inhale. His hands were raw, palms scraped bloody from the climb. Blue ichor still clung to his sleeves, drying to a crust that cracked when he flexed his fingers.

Behind him, Eryx dragged himself clear and collapsed onto his back with a metallic clank. The knight lay staring at the stars, chest heaving, the whistle in his breathing loud in the sudden quiet.

Tharion pushed to his one knee slowly. Whatever had woken below seemed content to stay buried.

Garruk's presence flooded the bond the instant he surfaced, warm and immediate. The dragon understood he was safe and waited for him.

He exhaled once through his nose.

"Tharion Araelor," he answered. "Former rider of House Araelor."

He let the words settle between them. No titles. No boasts. Just the truth, plain and stripped. He stood slowly.

He offered a hand to the thagretis knight.

"I am terribly sorry that we seem to have lost your merchants in the dark," he said softly.

 

[Eryx Thorne]

Eryx had been staring at the stars when the name settled over him.

He paused. Then slowly turned his head to look at Tharion.

“Former rider,” he repeated.

He rolled onto one elbow and pushed himself upright, accepting the offered hand only after a brief hesitation. His grip was firm despite the injuries. He was careful not to drag the smaller man down as he rose.

“Are you on the run, then?” he asked plainly. “Would returning you to the Thanasis border place you in danger?”

There was no judgment in it. Only assessment.

At the mention of the merchants, something almost betrayed him. The corner of his mouth twitched before discipline smothered it.

“Grom is a remarkably slippery man,” Eryx said. “He and his assistant are likely hunkered somewhere lamenting their misfortune and counting their inventory.”

He glanced toward the dark line of the horizon where Garruk waited unseen.

“If I approach this time,” he asked, his tone dry, “will your dragon attempt to eat me?”