Nearly there.

The rumbling thunder of the distant storm was a constant reminder to keep moving. The unpredictable currents surrounding what remained of the archipelago were vicious in their temperament, thrashing aimlessly through the ocean with their master long gone.

Guarding the eternal grave of those who once lived there. 

Their name was all but forgotten to mortal beings. Only a few coastal-dwelling peoples had ever established trade routes with them. Of those that remained, most regarded their existence as naught more than an ancient fable. A parable of an island kingdom swallowed by the ocean because of hubris and defiance of their deities.

The truth was much more hopeless.

What were once splendid beaches of marble-white sand became little more than swaths of salt and ash. A lifeless miasma preserved the bones of the slaughtered for eternity, most of them doomed to keep their hands clasped in prayer forever.

Prayer to the very beings that had ended their lives many centuries ago.

As much as her body screamed for rest after many hours of flight, the Windrider knew better than to disturb the island with her physical presence. Their selves might have been gone, but the deep bond between the hallowed ground and its once-guardians was still powerful.

Despite how little of the latter remained.

Thankfully, her destination wasn’t too far away. After a few moments of meditation, the dragon continued further inland. Her golden eyes scanned the ruins of forests and settlements alike in search of anything that stood out as she flew.

There was less and less to be found each time. 

What hadn’t burned down was left to erode in the briny air. The beautiful wooden sculptures this island was especially known for were now little more than featureless hunks of dried kindling, awaiting their turn to be on the receiving end of the endless storm’s wrath. Back in the day, she would spend days simply absorbing the beauty of this place, natural and crafted alike.

The depictions of its four guardians took up a large and deserved part of the latter.

Valor.

Love.

Bloom.

Passage.

Names long lost to time, and to themselves.

The thought stung more than even the salty air; the Windrider forced to compose herself lest her tears disturbed the island underneath her. It was far from her first time here, inside the charred carcass of the jewel of the ocean. The suffering that underlaid the gruesome sights never got easier to process, to reconcile with what she remembered of Her.

What she remembered of them all.

Their courage.

Their kindness.

Their patience.

Their wisdom.

They weren’t proud of their pasts. Of what they once were. They had made many mistakes. Out of haste, out of thoughtlessness, even out of cruelty. Even at their lowest, though, when they still were as wild and ferocious as their still-untamed islands, they cared deeply about the islanders’ wellbeing.

Soul by soul, the life that filled these dense forests and craggy cliffs became a part of something larger than itself. Something destined for so much more than a hasty death at the hands of whichever predator found itself hungry that day.

And their deities followed.

Prayer by prayer, ceremony by ceremony, the four deities shed more and more of their savage natures. Their followers’ faith shaped them from guardians of the land to guardians of the people, their civilization growing ever brilliant with each passing year. 

The Windrider still remembered her first visit to this enchanted land, to what those that had visited it had described as heaven. She remembered the deep truths of philosophy and geometry the islanders had discovered and were eager to share with anyone who would listen. Their joyous songs, elaborate rituals, and exquisite delicacies.

The latter especially made her exhaustion sting that much more acutely, as did the contrast between her memories and the surrounding reality.

As did thinking back to the memory of her discovering the islands’ destruction.

One moment, the dragon was racing across the azure waves to visit old friends. The next, flying above thousands of dead, above unending wildfires, above charred, dismembered remains of island-wide celebration. She screamed, she wept, she called for anyone still alive amongst the carnage.

And found what used to be Love.

If not for her kin’s swiftness, she would’ve died there and then. Died to what had once been her close friend and mentor, turned malicious and yet utterly hollow, not a thought emanating from its shell as it attempted to torture her into suicide through torment unimaginable.

For the longest time, the dragon assumed that an evil force had possessed them all. Possessed and drove them to commit unspeakable atrocities before leaving their islands for good. There was no other explanation she could think of that came close to explaining the harrowing change that had occurred in even one of them, let alone all four. 

It was only recently, relatively speaking, that she finally learned of what transpired here. Of the unimaginable crime that turned them into their present selves. Of a tragedy the Expanse had failed to prevent. Eventually, It gave in and offered her the explanation, the guilt of responsibility weighing heavily on Its divine essence.

One day, the flimsy wall that separates this world from others was breached in the middle of a joyous ceremony.

Hardly a rare occurrence if Expanse's words were to be believed. Its luminous reach is constantly on the lookout for these tears in Infinity’s filament, ceaselessly maintaining the boundaries between realities.

Before It could do so here, however, something slipped through the crack.

A nonexistence beyond comprehension. An absence of light, an absence of self, a living manifestation of ravenous hunger. Hunger for selves, hunger for light,

Hunger for names, mortal and divine alike.

Before the deities knew it, they were gone in a gust of wind.

Their very beings were consumed by It that Wasn’t. Expanse’s intervention drove It back into Its own sunken realm shortly after. By then, though, it was too late. Without a mind to exert control over their divine flesh, every savage part they were purging themselves off crept back in.

What were once beloved guardians were usurped by everything they had repressed.

The Malice of strife.

The Cruelty of life.

The Misery of change.

The Grief of death.

No tale of the events that transpired had ever left the islands, for none had escaped the slaughter that followed.

The Windrider knew full well that her presence here was little more than folly. A childish plea towards a friend long gone, a naïve wish to unwind time and to something, anything, to prevent that unimaginable tragedy. 

And yet, she repeated her pilgrimage again and again. Each time, she brought the most meager of offerings with herself, a singular orchid bloom.

Just like the ones Love would endearingly weave into Her own and little ones’ hair at every opportunity.

Only the plinth remained of the monument of pearl and silvery wood that once sang Her praises. It loomed above the lifeless ruins, an utmost perversion of the living rainbows of flowers once surrounding it from every side. A patch of salted, barren dirt was the only remaining sign the latter had ever existed.

Holding back tears, the dragon clasped her own hands to the furthest extent she could and prayed, her words eclipsed by the approaching thunderstorm.

“Oh, the ever graceful Love.
 To thee, I offer this gift.
 May it findeth thee at peace.
 May we be granted solace.”

And then, she followed it with a whisper of her own, placing the bloom on the plinth. The moment the last word left her white muzzle, she took off, flying away from the island before any of its once guardians could show up.

“May Daybreak deliver thee home.”