The princess fell from the sky towards the Dragon of Calamity, who laid splayed on its back, swiping at her with its forefeet. To the soldier’s eyes, this was the descent of a new saint, come to purge evil from the world. But to the monsters that paused their raid on the fortified camp to watch, it was the sight of a cat playing with an angry sparrow.
Engulfed in raging starlight, iridescent with the shade of stale blood, the sword that fell towards the dragon’s neck flew with purpose and inevitability, threatening the very earth beneath it with certain doom.
But then, the dragon’s giant and heavy form scattered like dust, and disappeared from view. Unable to stop her descent, the princess fell, cleaving a canyon through Nagan-Tal’s black mud with the dreadful glow of her sword’s path.
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The fiends and subhumans squawked and cried in a panic, fleeing the scene, while soldiers stood, paralyzed, by the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. But then, as crimson lightning erupted in the sky, the reason for the monsters’ panic became apparent.
Storm clouds swirled above the plain. And the shape of a serpent appeared in their shadowy depths as streaks of red lit up the growing tempest. The Dragon of Calamity. It was for this reason, that it received its name. The power to summon natural disasters, a deadly voice, but most of all… Its claim to the lofty station of Grand Magion – the greatest sorcerer in existence.
Its sole eye glowed in the storm cloud, gazing down at the world, swiveling erratically from side to side. That is, until it came to focus on a single point below. The shaky figure of Marielle Granfell, who, by some miracle, had managed to stand up, with her half-molten sword up in the air.
“…”
She knew it. Her defiance was meaningless. In the face of the beast’s unfathomable power, no amount of self-delusion, effort, or natural talent could save her. All of the strength in her body that she could muster was spent just to stand up. And the void left behind by the depleted blood power gnawed at her very bones.
Her fate was pre-determined the moment she was stationed at Nagan-Tal. And yet, something, an unfamiliar, forgotten feeling deep at the very root of her soul forbid her from dying. She straightened her back. Held her sword firm in her hands. And pointed it at the cyclopean terror up in the sky.
‘CRACK!’
Lightning bolts rained from the heavens, turning mud into steam and trees of opaque glass. But she didn’t budge. Storm winds ripped through the plain, flinging unfinished palisades and unhitched wagons up into the sky. Horses cried and tumbled across the ground. Men howled in terror as they formed a pile to avoid their steeds’ fate. And, finally, the very earth came loose.
But even as her mind went white with the fear of losing her last ally, who cowered back at the campsite, she stood firm in the eye of that storm, even as she teetered on the verge of death by exhaustion.
“…”
The plain grew deathly silent. The clouds dispersed. And the morbid fire that bloomed in the dragon’s eye faded out of existence, like a mirage, alongside its darkened silhouette.
Cries of joy filled the air. Hardened soldiers, who spent all their lives fighting against terrifying monsters wept inconsolably.
The Beast of the End. Nemesis. The Earth-Gouging Worm. The Dragon of Calamity.
It was thwarted, again. But even as Granfell’s second princess let her weary body slip from under her, doubts racked her mind.
“Why had it chosen to leave?”
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Smoke and ash erupted with a deafening thunderclap, rocking a mountainside manor. Bizarre and frightening in its enormity and elaborate construction, it was cut out of sheer black stone that protruded from the mountain’s tallest peak. And far down, by the foot of that mountain, a cavern opened, like a hungry maw, swarming with subhuman creatures that bent their backs pitifully at the sound of their master’s arrival.
“…”
Hot air billowed, and the cowering monsters fell on their backs, pushed away by the wind pressure. The smooth rock walls of a baroque and opulent gateway shined with the light of his crimson scales. The Dragon of Calamity had arrived back at its lair, and, with a labored push, slid down into the cavern, shoving aside a tidal wave of scampering servants.
Solidified splatters of precious metals and glass lined the smooth walls of the cavern, and cool condensate streamed down into its depth as underground rivers. And in its deepest fathoms, connected to the manor above through mystifying magic paths, was a deep, crystalline pool.
Overhead, the water flowed upwards, as though to defy gravity, in an impossible display of magic prowess, and then coursed back down through channels packed with purifying substances.
Below, in the frigid pools where the dragon rested, enormous shrimp the color of fine pearls skittered about its body, picking off debris. And up in the black stone residence, the winged monsters and humanoid servants were abuzz with activity. It was a closed system akin to an endless loop, where nothing could come or leave to disturb its fine balance.
And at the bottom, like a grave, a watery abyss held the body of the Dragon of Calamity, suppressing the ambient heat of its body enough, that aquatic monsters with shimmering, semi-translucent scales and snow white carapaces could make their nest there, out of the light’s reach.
The dragon’s eye, enveloped by a single, glassy, lens-like eyelid, peered out into the underground lake’s depths, as though searching for something. Too focused on its inner thoughts to move, or even breathe, the serpent laid in stasis, until the pool’s icy water turned green with the poison that flowed through its body.
One after the other, the dragon failed to notice presences that came and went, making requests, reports, and depositing treasures around the miniature ocean’s banks. Only once, did it deign to hear out one of these beings. A strange figure that swooped in from the narrow tunnels that lined the chamber where the lake was.
Landing on one of the many seats surrounding the dragon's resting place, it revealed its form with a small bow, and spoke. A being with a woman’s face and the body of a huge bird, whose feathers opalesced a jade-like green.
“Magion Lodegrim. The council of Lords requests your presence.”
“…”
Its voice did not echo in that vast chamber. Produced by an organ unique to avian creatures, it was as melodious as it was unsettling, compressed and shot with precise control straight into the now murky, toxic waters. Although, for all its efforts, the monster’s deceptively human lips flapped strangely out of sync with its words. In all of its aspects, the messenger evoked the image of a puppet that, in the dragon’s eye, overlapped with rows upon rows of previous arrivals.
“Magion, you will poison all of your pets to death at this rate.”
“…”
“Be that as it may, we really can’t continue unless you crack Nagan-Tal’s defenses this month…”
“…”
“Argh! Why must you be so difficult?!”
“…”
“Fine. I shall inform the council of Lords that you will not be present today. Please contact me or Magion Ida until the end of the week! Otherwise, I’ll really be in trouble!”
The creature cried angrily before taking flight and leaving through the tall shafts in the cavern’s ceiling, headed for the manor up above. And, for the longest time, the dragon stewed in its inner thoughts. Slowly but surely, bubbles rose above its form and superheated, deadly fumes filled up the chamber.
Unable to wrap its head around his last meeting with a woman called Transient Blade, it laid in deep hibernation, as though frozen in time, until a voice rang through the flooded chamber.
“Grand Magion Alcuin Lodegrim. Wake up.”
The voice of an all too familiar figure, wreathed in blood curdling darkness. A sorceress once known as Magion Ide, who dabbled in curses.
“It is for your sake, too, that we must make good on this promise. You know it, don’t you? Granfell must be destroyed. So go! Wake up! Lay waste to them! Or everything will be in vain!”
And so, Alcuin Lodegrim returned to slumber, and the Dragon of Calamity reared its head above the waters once again.
