Very little is known about the events leading up to the Collapse. There are scattered histories and folklore throughout all of Galladia pertaining to life under the Dragon’s tutelage. We know that they came to us a long time ago and helped gather our burgeoning tribes of us to form civilizations. They encouraged us to learn about our world and the forces that dwell within, guiding us to understand more about everything. There’s a reason Dragons are associated with schools; they were the first teachers.

They standardized a language they developed for us. They mediated disputes. They sheltered us from disasters. They healed plagues. They invoked strange magics to create a form of rapid transportation and communication. But why?

Answers we will never find out. The entire species disappeared, and our world fractured. The Dragons took with them our teachers, our judges, our protectors. The magic network they built grew mad without them, turning into the chaotic and dangerous Feywilds. Legends say they disappeared to fight Yannis, the scars of their conflict separating Galladia and all the other regions from one another. This author doesn’t know if he can believe that. Evidence of the Dragons persist, but Yannis? Only ancient tales and the odd sailor can give credence to the existence of any ‘demons’. No bodies have ever been found.

I fear the dragons abandoned us. I fear they grew tired, or bored, or worst of all, deemed us unworthy. And it terrifies me, for how cruel must we be for a lonely race to look upon us, raise us, and determine we cannot witness the splendors of the cosmos with them?

—Excerpt from Meditations on the Collapse

The last book written by Scholar Deraj Carbonne before Bergin’s Immolation of Heretics

 

 

         Rael’s opponent was big. He towered over them, prowling about like a hungry bear. He was as hairy and as articulate as one too. His fists were like hams swinging at his sides as he lumbered towards Rael, his sunken, inhuman eyes focused on them. In a flurry of movement, he charged, his clenched fist coming down like a meteorite. Rael sidestepped, trying to deliver a heavy strike into his side, but his muscles were too dense. Just as Rael punched his jaw, he crouched lower to catch the blow on the side of his head. Rael winced, shaking the pain from their hand as they stepped back. The giant of a man did not let up, though, and pressed his advantage. He ran towards Rael again, who tried to dodge to his side again. The expressionless warrior shoulder-checked Rael and sent them sprawling over a mangrove root.

         The man straddled Rael’s chest, delivering a couple jabs to their face before raising both arms in the air to deliver the final blow…

         “That’s enough.” A gruff voice called, and the man faded away. Rael got themselves to their feet, closing a nostril and puffing out a clod of bloodied snot.

         “I had it.” They scowled at the man.

         Derrol was a Faulk man with hard-set, ice blue eyes that seemed to bore into whatever he focused on. Much like his Tome, his scarlet u reached his chest in thick bundles that he liked to scratch whenever he was thinking, as he was now.

         “I’m not sure how being on your back as a foe twice your size pounds your face in means you ‘had it’.” He crossed his thick arms, the barest whispers of a smile dancing under his beard.

         “Humans can’t move that fast.” Rael avoided looking at Derrol’s raised eyebrow, wiggling about like a massive fuzzy red caterpillar.

         “Unless they’re using spells. Or have taken vigoroot. Or they’re being helped by a fae. Or your opponent isn’t human.” Derrol’s smirk grew large enough for Rael to see his mismatched white teeth glint from under his thick facial hair.

         “Fine” Rael huffed, kicking a loose mangrove root.

         Derrol’s smirk disappeared.

         “You asked me to train you. That means you listen, and you learn.” The Faulk captain leaned against a mangrove tree and knocked on it three times. “You knew you were at a disadvantage when you started a month ago, with your dinky little Tome-Dagger. You willingly ignored advice to learn more spells, choosing instead to focus on those you have and your body.” Derrol nodded. “I can respect that. Too few warriors appreciate a good foundation. But a good foundation means you don’t just learn the basics. You have to un-learn all the basics you’ve been doing wrong.”

         “I know, I know!” Rael sat down in the sand, summoning their Tome. It barely hurt now, pushing out of their chest in less than a second. Quicker summoning was one of the first lessons. They examined the knife, fingers trailing the clipped, sharp point, and the badly hardened edge. Rael didn’t know what happened to the original, but their Tome replicated it, flaws and all. “I just thought I’d be good at this. All my life, I could throw a punch with the best of them. Now, I can barely stand for a minute in training. I see your kids fighting their own Tomes and lasting longer, fighting better.”

         “A child’s fistfight is hardly a way to measure yourself.” Derrol’s gruff voice softened as he helped pull Rael to their feet. “Keep in mind that we Faulks have been fighting since before the Dragons came. And when the Dragons left, we were the first to adapt to the Collapse. The arable lands ravaged by chaos, we retreated into our ancestral swamplands and fought against demon and fae alike. We’ve lived in these swamps since time immemorial, and we’ve taught our children to fight as we have. By fist, by spear, by bow, and yes, by dagger. For the rest of Gallandia, the Empire is a mighty beast. For us, they’re just another obstacle for us to endure. Forgive yourself for not living up to our standards; we’ve got at least a millennia’s head start on you.”

         Rael nodded solemnly as Derrol patted their back good-naturedly. They walked from the sandy clearing towards the canoe hidden in the reeds. Rael helped Darrol pull it out and got in the front, taking the paddle to the water once Darrol stopped rocking the boat and settled down. Rael could not see the sky as they passed from the thick canopy; a constant fog enveloped the swamplands in a tight embrace. One of the many factors preventing an all-out invasion from the Bergin empire. As they glided through the water in silence, the chirruping of bugs, birds and beast surrounded them in a symphony, masked only slightly by the fog. A fat, four-meter-long alligator approached the canoe and started swimming alongside them

         “That’s Henry, right?” Rael tried to keep the nervousness out of their voice. They’d seen Henry before, but it was rare that he got this close. He was massive and moved through the water with the deceptive ease and grace of a powerful predator. Rael had tried to swim in the waters of the swamp several times; the algae, silt, and viscosity within made it much harder to swim through than normal water. “One of his scales around his left eye is pale.”

         “Good catch.” Derrol nodded, unbothered. “Henry is also one of the only gators comfortable enough to swim so close. Him and Harriet, though she’s a bit shier than him. Prefers the deeper waters.” Derrol pulled out a strip of jerky from a knapsack and tossed it to Henry. Fast as a whip, the gator snapped up the meat and rumbled happily. The two of them paddled in silence as the alligator swam by their side. They watched a swamp panther look at them lazily from the branches of the canopy as it feasted on the body of a python. A crocodile almost crossed their path, feigning to be a log, when Henry swam forwards and hissed at the smaller reptile. Soon, the smaller trees were replaced by roots extending from below to breach the surface, smelling of salt. Then the larger trees were steadily replaced by titanic prop roots, all leading back to one location.

         “Aren’t you worried that the Empire will find us? Setting up on a Grand Mangrove just paints a target on us.” Rael motioned to the roots leading back to the massive tree.

         “Grand Mangroves don’t reach nearly as high as the Great Oaks and Redwoods. To anyone from above, it just looks like more canopy covered by fog. And the empire does love their balloons.” The little light that breached the fog faded as a denser canopy slowly overtook them. They pulled their paddles in, gliding on the water and beneath a larger prop root into a leather harness. Together, they stood up and pulled the line reaching above, a series of pullies whining as the ropes grew taunt to bring up the canoe. “You know, you are improving.” Derrol noted as they heaved. “Before, you would have tried to block the strikes of my Tome. Now you know enough to dodge and aim in the right places. If my Tome-warrior hadn’t clenched its abs, that punch would have pushed the breath from its lungs, and your next blow would have knocked his jaw out.”

         “If.” Rael grit their teeth as they pulled one last time, bringing the canoe to hang along others in harnesses.

         “If.” Derrol affirmed. “Fights are often decided by the smallest margins. I want you to think on your mistakes today. Tomorrow morning, we’ll start using spells. One for each of us. We’ll keep it a surprise.” Derrol winked, then climbed out of the canoe and onto the prop root. He waved Rael goodbye as he made his way up the root to a thicker portion, where the larger ships were docked along some domestic Calidaerum.

         Rael, nursing their sore body, used one of the rope bridges to cross the roots towards one of the denser sections of the Grand Mangrove into the village proper. Feldon village, named for its jarl, was one of hundreds of chiefdoms in Faulkie, which were constantly in flux. Disasters like storms, floods, and raids were common, so sometimes villages would join, separate, or migrate. Nearly a week after Rael had recovered from their ordeal, the people of Richtie village had come to join with Feldon after their village accidentally angered a particularly powerful fae. Rael was swept along in the community effort to build more homes, which helped distract them for a time.

         Rael was roused from their thoughts as someone called their name.

         “Rael!” A skinny, middle-aged man called from his hut, which leaned against the trunk of the Grand Mangrove. Bak, the village shaman, was unlike his Faulk peers in that he was perpetually skinny rather than rippling with muscle. Even with the meat-heavy diet, it was difficult for someone who casts as much as a shaman to gain mass. He’d braided his silver hair and beard with sprigs and twigs from the surrounding grove, for ceremonial or personal reasons Rael did not yet know. The shrubbery in his hair bounced enthusiastically as he waved. “Rael! Come on over!”

         Rael approached the shaman, trying hard not to wince. He was very nice, but his personality was a bit…much for Rael. “Hi Bak. How are things?”

         “Splendid! I’ve received word through the grapevine that several successful raids on Bergin towns were conducted, no doubt thanks to the weapons you helped make!” Rael allowed him to clasp their hands but pushed him away after he held on for too long. Bak was quick to praise and proved to be very…tactile.

         “I barely helped, Bak. Sherra and Gault did most of the work.”

         “Before you came along, Sherra was struggling to work the bellows as she nursed little Hiram, and Gault could scarcely temper a blade without being distracted by his newborn. With you at their side, the couple can more easily work as parents and blacksmiths! Don’t sell yourself short. A capable young adult like yourself should be prouder!” The shaman proclaimed, pulling Rael towards his hut.

         “I really should be going; As you said, Sherra and Gault need my help.”

         Bak stopped and stared directly at them.

         “You haven’t heard? They’re preparing for Hiram’s baptism at noon. You’ll have the morning free.”

         “I heard. I just don’t know what a baptism is.” Bak’s jaw dropped. “By the Dragons, I forgot that it’s not done outside of Faulkie! Apologies, Rael. As spiritual leader, I should have made you aware.” Again, he took Rael’s hands in his own, then nodded sagely and reached up to gently trail his index, middle, and ring fingers from the crown of their head to their glabella. From what Rael could tell, this was a common practice among the more spiritual Faulk, a sign that meant they will empathize more. Then he chuckled. “Some of my peers would say that as a new member of the community, you should be baptized yourself…but you came with a Child of Dragons by your side. How is Azmond, by the way?”

         “Well enough.” Rael sighed and let themselves get dragged into the hut. The inside was just as hot and humid as outside, and Bak’s three apprentices were each immersed in their own task. Jeida, Bak’s niece, held her hands to the trunk of the Grand Mangrove, her Tome-warrior holding her shoulders besides her as she connected to the mighty tree with the Grapevine spell. Orph, the oldest, was brewing a stew over the heating stone in the brick chimney, the only structure not made of wood inside the whole hut. And sickly little Barnabas sat cross-legged on one of the beams above, stroking a carved bird as he meditated.

         “How is ‘well enough’?” Bak motioned for Orph to pour a bowl of brew for Rael. Orph, as mute as always, nodded and brought a pair of bowls for them both.

         “He’s stopped having nightmares. But he stays in the same hammock as me to sleep. Sometimes, I wake up to him standing watch over me, and I worry for him. But otherwise, he’s as cheerful as always.” Rael watched their reflection in the brew furrow their brow. It smelled bitter, but the fumes helped ease the tension from their shoulders. They took a sip, and the minty-aloe broth helped soothe their sore muscles and clear their mind. “I see him playing with the other kids, every now and then. Kids his age, too young to understand the weight of what he is. He laughs, and chases, and jokes, but there’s something that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. No child should have to go through what he did.”

         Bak nodded sagely. “To have a ship torn apart by a storm is already bad enough. But to have his caretaker suffer wounds and being lost adrift for over a week without food? Derrol told me what you looked like when he recovered you; overdrawn, skin and bones, and still trying to punch anybody that wasn’t Azmond. It must weigh heavily on him.”

         “Yeah.” Rael clenched their jaw. ‘If only that was all he’d been through.’ They sat in silence for a few moments. A few moments too long for Bak, a notorious blabbermouth.

         “Baptisms!” He clapped his hands. “You are familiar with Xythael?”

         “One of the few dragons we still remember the name of, mostly because he was the patron Dragon of the Faulkie tribes.” Rael thought back to one of the few things they’d remembered from class in that boring little schoolhouse in Tulip’s Hold.

         “Close, but acceptable given that you’re not a born Faulk.” A muscular woman appeared behind the shaman and held out its hands. Bak and his Tome-Warrior spoke in tandem. “Prestidigitation.” The image of a white and green dragon appeared in the palms of the Tome’s hands. It towered over a tiny grove, regal and pristine despite the silt. Bak had a twinkle in his eyes. “A very simple illusion spell. Very limited, but incredibly useful in a variety of ways.” He cleared his throat as the dragon moved about, showing every angle of itself. “First, some of the more…extreme-minded Faulk believe that we are a ‘chosen people’ because Xythael stayed with us for so long, whereas other dragons migrated a lot with their teachings. And that is true, from a certain point of view. It is more accurate to say that the ancient Faulk were, uh, troublesome.” The illusory image shifted to show various groups of people, tribes, killing each other over scarce resources.

“And the dragons considered it in our best interests that we have a stable figure to guide us. That figure ended up being Xythael.” The dragon appeared once more, a silent roar causing all the warring tribesmen to cower. One brave warrior charged forwards…only to be picked up casually, shaken and spun around before being put down. The warrior stumbled around before collapsing and puking. “Xythael made it very clear that force was not the answer. Second, as Xythael was with us for longer, we grew to understand Dragons better. That is how we know that they were not just masters of magic, but their own bodies as well. Scales would shift, wings would displace, limbs would lengthen, all to suit their wants and needs.” The dragon in the Tome’s hands mimicked the changes in physiology in elegant and clean ways, but the changes only made Rael’s heart drop. ‘Like Yannis’ “Furthermore, they could shift from one sex to the other, or neither, or both. To them, one’s body is akin to a change of clothes. We know this, because our people were blessed to witness Xythael lay a clutch as a female as her mate stood watch, then stand vigil as his mate laid her eggs decades later.” Either out of respect or ignorance, Bak chose not to show that. Instead, his illusion changed to mimic Sherra and Gault holding baby Hiram in a swaddle. “Now, when our children reach the first half year of age, we wash them in the same waters Xythael used to wash their clutches, so that we may follow in the footsteps of their own kin. A baptism.”

         The family in the illusion walked down the smaller slope of one of the larger roots to meet a gathering of people watching over them as they unwrapped Hiram. Slowly, methodically, the cooing baby was submerged in the mossy green water, then brought back up to be wiped off. Then, each person gathered by Hiram, and gently passed three fingers from the crown of his head to right between his eyes. Until the last, an illusory Rael, beamed at the child and passed their own fingers from his crown to his glabella.

         “Baptisms are times when friends and family gather. I’m sure the couple would appreciate you coming along. Our community takes care of our own.”

         “I’m not sure we’re that close.” Rael said softly, drinking the last of the brew.

         “I assure you, you are.” Bak affirmed.

         “Fine. Where is the ‘baptism’ taking place?” ‘It’s a bit silly, but at least it’s not going to the priest every time you sneeze.’

         “The lowermost root, south of the Jarl’s longhouse.” He clasped Rael’s forearm and shook it. “At noon.”

         Rael nodded and waved him and his apprentices goodbye as they left the hut. They turned north to the free house that had been given to them, a thatch hut that hung from the lower branches, connected by a rope bridge. It looked like a pie of thatch, or a massive bird’s nest, that swung in the breeze. Apparently, it was supposed to help sailors slowly get their land-legs back. Originally, it was a young raider’s, but he’d lost his life in a skirmish a little over a month ago. Rael and Az had moved in soon after, having lived in the guest longhouse before then. Rael climbed up one of the steeper roots, careful not to spill the large amphoras of liquid that dotted the sides of the trail. As they approached, the liquid within would glow, lighting up the darker parts of the trail. ‘Bioluminescence’ Rael remembered the term that Sherra had taught them as they began to walk again, recovering from their malnutrition. They rubbed the scar in their thigh where a piece of wood had embedded itself.

         They wanted to forge today. When they worked besides the heat, it distracted them from the bigger questions, the bigger issues. They could pretend they did not see the world change before their very eyes, pretend it was all a nightmare. Pretend they were a blacksmith apprentice, as they’d always wanted to be. Pretend Azmond was a normal child. Not a Child of Dragons, with an incredible and dangerous destiny waiting for him. Because if it wasn’t his presence that opened the Edge, Rael did not know what else it could be.

         Climbing the ladder along the massive trunk, Rael could hear the frolicking of children on the branches above and smell the mead on the wind. ‘No doubt the honey they harvested from the eastern branches has finally been made into mead. Jarl Feldon will no doubt enjoy tonight’s dinner.’ A familiar squeal resounded, and Rael’s heart almost gave out. ‘He’s okay, he’s among friends. Nobody would be stupid enough to hurt him.’ Still, Rael climbed faster, passing an older woman on the wide ladder. When they got to the top, they could see one of the bigger kids lifting Az and swinging him around. Rael almost stepped in but seeing the smile on the kids’ faces made them stop. ‘He likes it. They all do. What did I do as a kid?’ Rael scratched their nose as they thought, remembering only the times they fought, or hid, or watched. ‘Wow. Okay. Playtime is important.’

         Rael sat, watching the kids chase each other on the branch, tensing every time they got a bit too close to the edge. Sometimes one would fall and skin their knee, and sometimes they’d sniffle and loose a few tears at worse, but they’d get up again and start chasing one another once more. Soon, the children tired and the winner of their little game became clear. Azmond was still running around, not even close to out of breath. He’d filled out since they came here, no longer stick-thin, but not chubby either. ‘Even if he does eat more than me. Where does he put it?’ Azmond ran in circles around one of the older boys, who’d already had his own peach fuzz and solid frame. ‘I guess he puts it here.’

         “Az!”

         The scaled kid turned to face Rael, only to get tagged by the kid he was mocking. He opened his mouth in affront and huffed.

         “Rael! You made me lose!”

         “You shouldn’t have gotten distracted.” Rael said, hiding a smirk. “I just want to make sure we eat before we go to Hiram’s baptism. You hungry?”

         Loss forgotten, Azmond bounded over. As they walked to their hut, Azmond pulled on Rael’s shirt.

         “What’s a baptism?”

         “I think it’s a special baby bath…maybe you should take a bath as well.” Rael chuckled as he pouted.

         A few hours later, the ceremony began…and ended quickly. Rael’s presence was appreciated by the couple. Gault had given Rael a timid smile, whereas his wife had given them a hearty pat the back. Probably the funniest thing was when Gault had passed Hiram to Azmond to bless as everyone else had. Rael could see the more spiritual of them, mostly among Gault’s family, tensed. They expected something grand and magical, but when Azmond trailed his fingers down to Hiram’s glabella, the baby simply scrunched his face and babbled. When the moment passed, a few people chuckled mirthfully.

         Rael and Azmond walked with the young family as they made their way to the smithy.

         “I expected more pomp and circumstance.” Rael said cheerfully.

         “Naw,” Sherra chuckled and tightened the brassiere. “If it was up to Gault’s parents, maybe. We would have been there for hours!”

         “Sherra, you’re exaggerating. It wouldn’t have been more than an hour and a half.” Gault leaned over to Hiram, making faces as he talked.

         “Bah, an hour is still too long.” Sherra waved a hand dismissively as she threw back her scarlet hair. “Dunk the baby, and everybody gives their blessing. Easy ‘nuff.”

         Azmond giggled and whispered, “Dunk the baby” under his breath.

         “On the bright side, you don’t need to nurse Hiram anymore. We should start weaning him off of it now.” Gault reached for his wife’s hand as they walked together. She smiled and held it, eyes fading to remember the past.

         “I can practically taste the mead. Nobody ever told me drinking alcohol while nursing was a bad idea. I thought it was just going to be nine months sober.”

         “Me too.” Gault nodded. “The things I do for love.” He said with mock dramatic weariness, only to be elbowed in the ribs by his wife. He smiled as he rubbed the sore spot.

 Sherra licked her lips. “I heard they’ve got a new stock of mead, and some rum our traders have gotten from the south.”

         “I smelled some of the mead earlier today.” Rael nodded. “And there’s still some wine the raiders brought back from Bergin.” Rael opened the door to the smithy for the family, summoning their dagger. “Ember.”

         A small flame leapt from their dagger to the forge, igniting the coal inside. Sherra clicked her tongue.

         “It always amazes me how proficient you are at your first circle spells. I guess that’s what a tier ten can do. Never could bother to improve mine once I’d sacrificed a tier for the next circle spell.” ‘How? It’s still at tier eight.’ Rael looked at their Tome-dagger as Sherra passed the brassiere to her husband and kissed him on the cheek. “Go relax, dear. I could use a break from the baby.”

         “He soiled himself, didn’t he?” Gault asked as his wife chortled. He sighed and took Hiram. “You did change him the last few times.”

         As he left, Sherra began looking over the swords, axes, and spears they’d made. There were far more axes than spears and swords, being the go-to weapon for the Faulk warriors. It was perfect for clearing vegetation and limbs. A good axe had a lot of use but failed to stand up to competent warriors with spears or swords. As Rael had learned when facing Derrol’s much larger Tome-warrior, reach and speed determined a lot in melee. When it came to quality, they could afford to slack off a bit when it came to axes, but not as much for swords. Sherra looked over one of the curved swords commissioned by one of the jarl’s men and pursed her lips before clicking her tongue. He took a ball-peen hammer and lightly tapped it against the blade.

         “Rael, this one’s got a crack in here somewhere.” There was a flash and a woman resembling Sherra appeared. She and Sherra spoke in tandem. “Show Metal Flaws.” Sure enough, a blue glow shone from within, highlighting the hairline fracture.

         Rael nodded and approached the sword, their own Tome in their hand. “Synthesis.” The crack sealed itself closed. Not as if it was welded, but as if the metal had joined together by itself. “The metal had to come from somewhere, so that part of the blade will be a bit lighter. We may have to remove some weight to the pommel to keep the same balance.”

         “Are you sure that’s how the spell is supposed to be used?” Sherra asked as she looked over the sword.

         “What do you mean, ‘supposed to be used’?” Rael looked at their dagger again, thinking about the spells they had. “It joins things together. That’s all it seems to do.”

         “A Spellmaster gave it to you after you helped him, right?” Sherra obviously didn’t believe that was the full story, but she couldn’t deny that the spell was of a higher circle than most she’d seen before. Everyone could feel the general circle of a spell once they’d cast enough spells of their own.

         “Yeah. Someone needed punching.” Rael answered simply.

         “Whatever.” Sherra rolled her eyes. “If that was the case, it’d be a stronger version of your Mend. But it isn’t. Hells, it fixes metal better than my own third circle ‘Fix Metal Flaws’ spell, and its obviously not meant for that. When did it last tier up?”

         “I used it with water, air, and iron to break something.”

         Sherra’s eyes widened. “You rusted something open with a spell. Clever. I want you to try something.” Sherra grabbed a prepared billet of layered metals. “I want you to join all these metals together. No air, no sand. Just join them.”

         Rael cocked their head but nodded. It was a bit easier than the other things they’d done. With but a hushed whisper, the billet was joined together seamlessly. There was some hissing as some air escaped between closing cracks, but as it stopped, Sherra nodded.

         “Now I can make some good crucible steel out of this. You’ve just shaved off a couple hours of my work.”

         “Crucible steel?”

         “See this?” Sherra held the billet up the Rael’s face. “I’ve layered these metals in a manner that would allow flexibility and durability. Each of the metals within are flexible or durable, but not both. But joined together, in Synthesis…” She slammed a large hammer on the billet. It rang clearly, perfectly. “They are greater than the sum of their parts. Think about other things you can synthesize…though maybe we should talk to Bak about finding someone to teach you alchemy. I really hope—”

         Orph burst through the doors.

         “The High Jarl is dead. Feldon has called a Thing.”