The Sesthali Project

[Paragon]

Closed to Ataraxis.

One month ago...

The knock at the door had come on a day like any other. I'd turned my head up at the sound, wondering what new tides would distract me from my work; it seemed I would add the last touches to this wooden furhog another time. Gloria looked up from her book, one of those the Navigator had brought back with him from the realms beyond our village. There on her lips was that corner smile: the one all wives had, the one that told she knew exactly what I was thinking.

In did little Nisia come, huffing and puffing as she dragged in snow from the chill outside. After sweaty old Noye and his snot-nosed boy, the girl was a welcomed sight, although she had as much sweat and snot as both of them combined from running up the mountain. Most villagers took their time in their trek up the frozen inclines; there was never a rush in a haven as ours, so very small and hidden deep in the frozen, wooded valleys of Salvar. As such, after seeing Nisia so agitated, I had to ask what was wrong.

To my greatest surprise, the answer she gave brought a warm flutter to my heart. "Dorian? My boy is here? My boy is here!" I could not hold back my excitement, and Gloria herself was positively glowing. Half a year wandering the realms, and my our son had come home!

I could not hold back my excitement. My wife immediately started glowing when I told her, but said that she would come down the mountain at her own pace. I hugged her and she kissed me, as always avoiding the harshness of my beard, laughing as my long hair tickled her cheek. I hoisted Nisia up onto my shoulders and flew down the mountain so fast an avalanche might as well have given us chase.

When I got to town, it proved simple to find my son. He was in the center of the big ball of people, and as I made my way to the crowd I let Nisia down. I walked up to my boy and put my arms around him, saying, "Welcome home."

We had a great banquet that night, seated on fur carpets in the snow under the stars. With great mugs of ale in our hands, Dorian told us all about his adventures. Up until half a year ago, the only man to ever leave the village on a regular basis was The Navigator, and we could tell that Dorian had learned the same style of story-telling. He told of his adventure deep down in the caves of Corone, or far out on the magical island in the middle of a lake filled with flowers so colorful that they made the rest of the world seem gray, or up high on the mountains of Ahyark meeting Wyverns. It wasn't long before I saw the marvels he'd described as clear in my head as if he'd whisked me there himself, to witness them at his side. The night felt like it went on forever, and only ended when my son, my wife, and I decided to retire to our snowy mountain cabin.

The next day, Dorian was the first one up, and he even made breakfast for us! I thought that was highly irresponsible for a guest, but I couldn't stop laughing regardless. He was only back for a few days, why not treat his old man and mother? He sat us down and told us that there was a bit more to his stories, and to our surprise we were introduced to Fallow. As if appearing from the air itself, a little black dragon stood on the table in front of us. He was so small, and yet there was great depth in those glowing green eyes.

In our heads we heard a timid, quiet voice, "H, hello Mr. Dorian's parents. I'm Fallow, and I, I travel with your son... I hope that's okay."

"Haw!" I laughed, which may have given the dragonling a little jump. "Looks like my son has a little guardian! Of course it's okay, little buddy!"

Hearing those words made Fallow relax, and after warming up to us he spoke of the missing piece of Dorian's journey: The great dragon Malanthar. This was a name familiar to me, but my history mattered not. My son also told me about his first experience with Fate-crafting, and how it reminded him of something similar with a girl named Lillian. I must confess, the description of what Lillian did surprised me, and while Dorian apparently thought nothing of it, I was concerned.

The days pressed on, my son coming down the mountain with us to enjoy the company of the town. We were living peaceful lives again, if only for a short time. I understood all too well that feeling of wanderlust- the desire to see the world, the beauty and depth of it shaking me down to my core; In my youth I was the same.

One night, I got up. Gloria was sound asleep, allowing me to slip out of bed undetected to wake my son. I brought him to a portion of the wooden wall that I had not looked at for half a century. I muttered a pass-phrase, and the wall turned into a door that lead downstairs. My son gave me one of his rare looks of surprise as I lead him down to an empty stone room with a basin in the middle of it. In the middle was a device, and he couldn't be sure if it was a fountain or a mirror.

"The girl you mentioned. Lillian, was it? Can you put your hands in this basin, and think of her?"

Dorian thought it quite weird, but he obliged nonetheless. Pictures of Lillian and the adventure at Ahyark blurred in and out, much to his surprise. I adjusted various moving parts of the basin, and the water rose into a globe. The breadth of Althanas was displayed, showing my son familiar landscapes- and those he had never seen before.

It turned and turned, but after a few rotations I crimped my eyebrows. "She's nowhere."

"What do you mean, what is this thing?"

"It's... a way to keep track. Of things, of places... of people."

"Like me?"

"Haw! If I was that worried about you, son, I wouldn't have let you leave in the first place! It spoils the stories you bring."

"It's not a problem, father, I was just wondering. What do you mean when you say she's nowhere?"

I told him that it meant she couldn't be found. If she were dead, we'd know where her corpse was. If she was burned, we'd know where her ashes were before being scattered.

"In short, she's hiding. Behind something powerful... Which tells me all I need to know." I gave my son a serious look, unable to hide my guilt and awkwardness. My demeanor toward my son was usually quite sincere, and up until now I felt that he considered me incapable of holding secrets. "Dorian... if you ever meet this girl again... bring her to the village." It was not my intention to pry into a girl's business, nor was it my son's. What I had to tell her, and him too, could wait, unless he took it upon himself to ask the dreaded questions.

My son stared at the hands he took out of the basin, curling his finders inward into fists, "The feeling I have, this connection that we share with her, I cannot think that it is merely coincidence."

"I would understand if you have concerns. I have not been entirely earnest with you."

"Father," he looked at me with a smile. "What I seek is the how the view looks from the highest mountaintop, how the sun sets in the savannah in the Tular Plains, how the creatures live in the forests of Concordia. Your secrets are your own, father, when you choose to tell me is when I will listen."

[Ataraxis]

A pecking noise had woken Lillian hours ahead of schedule. Only halfway out of the dark, she noted wearily. Outside, a dozen lantern posts softened the cold night’s gloom; they were as flowers of light, hazy but radiant through the feathery frost that rimed the windows. When she wiped the fog her breath had left upon the glass, a bracing chill shot up her fingertips, cutting through the muddle in her mind.

Again with the pecking? The racket had dragged her out of bed, and she shambled her way to the source with her eyes painfully shut, groping the walls and furniture like a blind girl down an unfamiliar hallway. The noise was now a ringing in her sore skull, and she wondered if some stray woodpecker had mistaken a tin can for a tree. Lillian found herself stopping at the entrance, where she knelt to better examine the letterbox.

It clacked open at once, and a rush of wings sent the girl tumbling on her back with a shriek. Her eyes went suddenly wide, eerily luminous in the pitch darkness; they scanned the vestibule for an intruder, cold and hard and piercing like chips of jagged ice. They caught the faintest glint of copper, and before she could even question why, her hand had sprung out to snatch the thing in flight.

“A… bird?” Not quite, she realized at once. Though avian in design, it had wings of canvas, clockwork joints and a frame of thin copper wires. Lillian couldn’t yet tell whether it was a proper machine or animated by sorcery, but she was much more concerned about the glass capsule attached to its neck. She uncorked one end as delicately as she could, picking out a tiny roll of parchment with her nails. With only the distant lights from her bedroom windows, she managed to read all the same.

“Lillian Sesthal, my son Dorian told me how to reach you.
Should my instincts be right, then it is urgent that we speak.
Come, and I will tell you everything about your last name.
P.S.: Swallow the paper, and you will know the way.”

“Pithy, but still cryptic,” she said with a sigh. “Brilliant.” Despite her reservations about traveling hundreds of miles or more on the basis of a mere four sentences, they were four very good sentences. She had met a young man named Dorian a few months back, at the town of Lovstok near the Ahyark Mountains. We set out to find wyverns, she recalled with a smile, and we ended up finding so much more than we could handle. He had spoken to her about his life, living in a remote mountain cabin with his folks, and she had told him where to send his letters, should he ever need any help in the future. What she hadn’t shared, however, was her last name.

“Well. As far as traps go, this would make a decent one.” Lillian gave the parchment a quick sniff; if it were poisoned, she at least wanted to know she’d been killed by something odorless. She balled the parchment up, closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, prayed to the moon and, throwing caution to the wind, popped it into her mouth like the sourest of grapes.

There came a breeze from within – not in her lungs, but in her mind. Every shade of every color flared inside, like myriad threads of light peeling from a midsummer rainbow. They twisted and turned, tangled and unwound, weaving a shimmering network across every cell of her brain. When the overwhelming sense of interconnectedness eventually faded, Lillian found herself grasping what could only be described as a new memory. She knew where the village was. “Okay. I was not expecting that.”

She started when something squirmed in her hand. The… bird, as it were, had grown agitated. It seemed eager to leave, now that its mission had been accomplished. Lillian got to her feet, rubbing out the ache in her tailbone as she made her way back to the bedroom. She flipped the window clasp and gave the frame two dry wallops before the panes burst open in a cloud of diamond dust. A sudden wave of cold sent her teeth chattering, but she kept strong, lifting the strange automaton to the endless night skies.

“Ow!” The blasted thing had pecked the tip of her index, drawing blood. It flew off after that, and the glass capsule about its neck seemed somewhat darker before they both shrank to a dot in the horizon. Grumbling, she licked her wound, looking daggers at the heavens before slamming the windows shut.

Lillian tried to go back to sleep, too tired and annoyed to travel at this hour. She tossed and turned for a while, until it dawned on her groggy mind.

“Dorian,” she said, absently at first. Her brows then furrowed. “Dorian who?”

[Ataraxis]

At the turn of dawn, her knuckles pecked at the door: four knocks to a syncopated beat, then a steady four more. Lillian waited then, thick gloved hands buried deep in her pockets, beet-cheeked and breathing fog thanks to the highland chill. If not for the cloak of midnight blue that draped her from head to toe, the long trek up the Veil Mountains with its biting winds would have made her a permanent fixture on the trail to the old log cabin.

The door swung inward, and a dead raccoon sprang out to greet her. A stifled scream later, she realized it was only a hat, perched on a large, harsh face like chiseled wood with a beard of grey moss. The old man regarded her intensely, eye to eye and ice to ice… until the ruthless glare trickled away like melt water. “Well, there’s no mistaking it now,” he let out, in equal parts relief and regret. “In any case... we have a situation.”

The greybeard ushered her inside, swatting the coat of snow off her cowl and shoulders with crude, heavy strokes that almost sent her reeling. Despite a sudden coughing fit, the crackling warmth of a hearth fire was already comforting her, and she felt the numbness in her limbs slough away like old skin.

“My name is Belias,” he began as they rushed past a table where two sets of tin plates and cutlery still busied the table, with bits of yolk and grease only just beginning to crust over. “But since the villagers call me Bel, you can go ahead and do the same.” He picked two heels of buttered rye bread from a wicker basket and tossed them carefully to Lillian. “You came much, much earlier than anticipated, but it might still be too late – might as well face that on a fuller stomach. Don’t worry, eat. Gloria would tell you the same.”

They stormed into an adjoining room, where the log walls could barely be seen behind countless hung displays of strange design: shovels and ploughs and flails and shears, as well as maces, swords and armor. For a moment Lillian felt six again as she nibbled on the toasted rye, remembering how the walls of her little hovel in the desert were just as fraught with her father’s work. It runs in the family, Dorian had told her, when he’d spoken of Bel’s craft and of his own.

“Sun-Thema,” Bel whispered to a clear space in the wall. The surface rippled to a fade until solid wood turned hollow darkness. The man wasted no breath telling her to follow, and with heart in throat she descended into the unknown.

Far downstairs, they came upon a vast chamber of matte black-stone, so vast and lightless she could not tell whether the ceiling was high or low, or if there were a ceiling at all. Only a massive basin of smooth, dark granite stood at the heart to offset the illusionary void. The water within was unlike anything she’d ever seen: as clear and radiant as a cut diamond, yet as thick and reflective as molten silver.

“I see you’ve already worked it out,” Bel noted, his coarse, salted beard bristling as he smiled despite himself.

“Belias Sesthal, father of Dorian Sesthal,” she began, the words feeling mechanical and empty from her mouth. Though her mind had long grasped the answer, her heart was another story. “It’s no wonder why he… why you… why everything else here feels so… familiar.”

“Strictly speaking, we’re only family the way the whole of mankind is a family.” Bel walked up to the basin, removing his squirrel-skin gloves before dipping long fingers into the fountain mirror. The water stirred, rose and peaked and dove like iron dust under a lodestone. A globe had formed from the silvery substance, slightly squat as it turned to the rhythm of night and day. “The name Sesthal is merely a bastardization of what we really are. People like us kept it as a token of a past we dare not forget, and only to be used amongst ourselves. Your parents taught you well not to share it.

“Our blood, Lillian, is of the Sesthali. We are not a people of Althanas – not originally, at least. Nor are we, it pains me to say, a good people.” He paused then, as if loathe to go on. “But we are a powerful people. We are all, without exception, so very unfortunately powerful.”

The globe came to a sudden halt in its rotation. It expanded to thrice its size, and she could now clearly see that it was a map of Althanas. A dark red stain began to spread from a point far southwest from the coasts of Corone, but no map she’d memorized before had ever shown anything there but endless ocean. “Much of Althanas has yet to be charted, but… a whole continent gone unnoticed?”

“Few sentient species can hide as well as we do, to be true… but that is the least of this world’s worries.” Bel seemed to mull his words, as if unsure what crucially important point to address next. “Dorian told me you can weave nigh-unbreakable webs, seemingly out of thin air. This tells me that your Sesthali parent did not teach you in the ways of our craft, and that your powers only manifested as such by instinct. This was wise of them.”

“And what craft is that?” Lillian asked, sensing a sudden coldness descend upon her as the words left her lips. Father did not want you to know, Lily.

“The weaving of Fates.” A slash of light tore through the dark, nearly blinding the both of them. The red stain had spread all across the globe, immersing the world in blood. Fear had wrecked Bel’s face, and when he looked to Lillian, she knew there was no time left. “Lillian, how did you come here so fast? Penska is two month’s distance from here, even on horseback. You could only have gotten the letter two weeks ago!”

“I–”

“No lies,” he cut her short, seeing through her wariness at once. “We have no time for these games! Is it the Sky-Road? Can you use it?”

“The what? No, I… I can weave a… a bridge between any two points of Althanas as long as I have a clear image of the destination, but the new memory wasn't enough so I had to imagine Zaleiya instead and walk from there and–”

He snatched her hand at once and submerged it into the silver water along with his own. Memories of Dorian coursed through both their minds, connected by a thread of thought thinner yet stronger and so much more potent than anything she’d ever felt before. She saw a mountain, different from the Veil, darker and bloodier. Flashes of a mining town drowned her mind. A blue light shone brightly upon the blood map. Salvar. North East. “Why?”

“We are defectors, Lillian,” he said at last, almost croaking. “We defected, and for so long we hid behind our Veils… but they never stopped looking. The way we can sense kinship as familiarity… they built an engine that can extrapolate it, amplify it exponentially. They’ve tested it twice now, failing but always getting closer: that’s why I sent you the letter. Their machine can find people like this Astrarium does, but they have the power to pierce our shrouds. They have the power to find everyone.

“Please, Lillian. They can see me, they can see the village. They can see Dorian…”

“…But they can’t see me,” she whispered in realization, tugging at the cobalt cloak she always wore. Bel sighed, the pain of countless eras brimming on those clear blue eyes.

She backed away, dove into the depths of her mind, and pictured the strange mountain, the mining town, the dark caves and Dorian’s fearful face. Deep in the darkness, she found the thread she needed, green and blue and brilliant. She pulled, and a vivid storm was born. The stone chamber was now aglow with swirling lights of aquamarine as an unfathomable pit formed at their feet.

Their eyes met, and she nodded.

Lillian jumped. The world faded into black. Then, nothing.

[Paragon]

Borse Aryakham. That was the name uttered by the people of this town before the war. A former Salvic mining town in a mountain valley, it could only be reached on foot through a complicated trail. Dorian was one of the few people to come here since it was abandoned.

"How do you even know about this place?" the black dragonling Fallow asked as he hovered above Dorian's head.

Looking up, he answered his friend, "I heard about it being used as a supply line for the war. I only learned of its destruction after setting off from home."

The skies had a spattering of marshmallow-shaped clouds, and the glow off the stones around him gave the air an orange hue. He could see the mass graves at the side of the town, covered in makeshift tombstones that were mostly composed of rocks in arranged orders. He walked to the center of town and looked toward the mountain. It still rose high into the clouds, and while it was tempting to climb up it for a better look, he was here for the mine, which knew its share of fame throughout the land, for containing many rare ores that fueled the war effort for the League. All around him he could see stone buildings, now falling apart due to disrepair. Moss and weeds popped out of every crack, and various beams of sunlight pierced through the roofs of the houses and out the windows.

The houses has a particular long, rectangular shape. Most of them had two stories, a ridge roof, and the ground floor was built into the slope of the mountain behind it. In the entire town, all of the windows and doors were built in the same direction, south-east, to be better exposed to the warmth of the sun. They were built together in small groups, and had small open spaces for a yard or storage area in the front. Between the small groups were long, steep staircases that went up the mountain. Walking up to the entrance of one of the houses, he could look down and see the roofs of other buildings down the staircase.

Fallow's voice entered his mind, "What happened to this place, anyway?"

He shook his head, "I don't know the whole story, but they say a wizard was involved."

"A wizard?! I've heard of them. I hear they can make like... a bunch of cakes appear. And then eat them!"

Dorian smiled, and continued walking up one of the steep staircases. The mine was at the top of the town, where the steepness of the mountain permitted no more dwellings- simply a hole into the mountain from which they began excavating. Fallow decided to explore more of the town in the meantime. He kept staring at the ground, since the sun's position cast light directly on his face. That was when he heard a sound, like someone talking. He looked up and squinted, hovering his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Higher up on the staircase stood two long silhouettes.

"Malak, is this the one?" asked one of the silhouettes impatiently. Dorian could tell it was a female voice.

"I don't see anyone else around here, do you Sariss?" Malak replied. This voice was more masculine, but still had the same level of annoyance.

Dorian didn't know what was going on, but he decided to say, "Oh! I didn't know there were still residents here. Or are you travelers like me?"

Sariss continued, "Why are we the ones who have to go to the farthest one from the hub, huh? The others had their targets right next to them!"

Malak sighed, "Stop bitching. The faster we get this over with the faster we can go back to the Sky-Road."

Dorian kept trying to focus on their appearance, but that pesky sun kept stifling his attempts, "Um- I'm sorry to interrupt but- what is going on?"

Malak stretched out his hand and motioned for Dorian to come nearer, "Look, It's simple. We need you to come with us."

"W-what?" Dorian stuttered, taking a step back. "I don't understand, who are you people?"

"This is a waste of time," Sariss said. "Just get him!"

Malak shrugged, deciding to try this one more time, "We were sent to retrieve you. It'll all be explained later, okay?"

Dorian blinked, not knowing what to think. Retrieve him? Here? How do they know who he is? How did they even find him? Something about this didn't add up. "Sorry, but I have work to do. I'm not going anywhere without a good reason."

Sariss yelled, "How about your life! Is that a good enough reason for you? Malak, do it already!"

Malak gave up, "Fine already!" He twisted his extended hand so that the fingers pointed downwards, and Dorian could see more shadows extending from the hand down to the steps.

The ground around Dorian began to shake violently, and he lost his footing and dropped to one knee, a fearful expression on his face as he discovered that he was surrounded by four rock walls that rose from below. He looked down and his boots were replaced by his Dragonet Greaves from Malanthar's castle. He still didn't understand completely the enchanted earring that let him exchange his equipment across long distances in a couple of seconds, but for now he was thankful. He heard the sound of rock grinding rock as his open ceiling was being sealed by a large slab of stone. With no time to waste, he jumped up through the rapidly-closing gap, finding himself a dozen feet((meters? I forgot what I said in my profile)) in the air above the steep staircase, with a much better view of his assailants.

((next part is the description of their appearance))

((tendrils, gourd-shaped thing, etc))

The moment Dorian landed, he flicked himself off to the side, his jump fast enough to leave his two attackers wondering where he had gone. He landed in front of one of the long houses and ran to its side, hiding behind that wall and taking deep breaths.

((Fallow comes over, dialogue, one of the little marble things floats over and explodes, sending Dorian into an old wooden cart at the base of a door. He opens his eyes and is surroudned by the little explody marble things, with the two attackers standing on a floating slab of stone. They tell him to give up, but Dorian, while lying in the broken cart, kicks the ground and sends himself bursting through the door of the long house. He gets up and runs to the other side of it, then almost loses his balance as the entire building is lifted up into the air. He takes up his spear and jumps up a couple feet, coming down hard on the ground using the spear's special ability and breaking the floor, allowing himself to fall to the ground, where he jumps away once again.))

((He gets on the steep staircase, with the two slightly behind him, and his plan comes into action: He takes out The Hydra Lance and throws it at them, hoping the sun blinds them long enough for it to hit, but it is deflected by a sort of perimeter of air marbles. He lands and keeps escaping, finally getting into the mine. He takes his spear and jams it into the mine shaft wall, causing a collapse in front of him that blocks out the invaders. He thinks this gives him some time when the cave-in of rocks starts shaking and Malak is moving them out of the way on the other side. Post complete?))

((incomplete. barebones.))

[Ataraxis]

Never be fooled by the light at the end of a tunnel, Lillian thought wryly when she emerged from the rift of her own making. On the other side had waited an ambush on all her senses: the blinding sting of a sadistic sun, the sharp, mineral staleness of a badly ventilated mineshaft, and of course the booming and grinding and crumbling all around that screamed of total structural collapse. It might just be the heart of a thunderstorm.

Spurred by the threat of imminent death, she kicked away at once, tossing herself bodily down the sloping shaft. The cascade of dirt and debris narrowly avoided her… the brunt of it, at least. The impact had sent stray fragments raining on the girl, which would have pierced her eyes if not for the shield of her upraised arms. A few gashes had left their scarlet marks, but those and a slight cough triggered by the dust clouds were, all in all, a fair tradeoff for an early demise. Less fortunate, Lillian noted with a scowl, was the loss of the bridge she’d built between Bel’s vault and Borse Aryakham. Count your blessings, Lily. Better that tunnel than this one.

“That can’t… Lillian?” she heard a worn out voice call out, not far off behind. “Thank the lords, I thought they had another colleague. Two was already overkill… three, I might have just laughed.”

“Oh yes, humor in the face of death,” she began, wobbling up to a stand as she dusted off her cloak. “Somehow, I can relate.”

A loud crack broke the hush that followed the cave-in. Dorian and Lillian had turned to the rubble, their cold blue eyes regarding the shaking rocks with wariness and calm. “Details later,” Dorian mumbled as he turned back and began to run. Lillian merely mumbled in agreement, following close in suit.

The obstructing stones parted without a fuss, almost reverential like sworn subjects before their king. Rays of gold wreathed his silhouette, softening the matte moss shade of the plated vest he wore over bland, dark robes. He fell to one knee, pressing the knuckles of his gauntleted left hand against the cold stone floor, and cycled the stale air in silent focus.

His partner tiptoed in after him with eyes of ice and an easy smile, similarly garbed if not for silvern plates and a shorter hem. “Boy runs from a shark by diving into open waters. Hilarious.”

“No,” Malak cut out of the blue, a first sign of worry seeping into his tone. “Something’s not right.” He drew to his feet at once, then stormed down the shaft with long, scissoring strides. Sariss yelled after him, demanding that he elaborate, but he kept his quiet, as if fearing words might materialize his greatest fear. Alas, in the end, that precaution did nothing to help. “Skata! He’s gone.”

Sariss’ scowls came as easily as her grins, it seemed. “There’s no way we could lose him. Forget the mineshaft, you could find him anywhere on this whole stupid mountain.”

“That’s the thing. Can’t you sense it?”

Sariss took the reins of her frayed nerves, relaxed, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she understood. “That signature… that can’t be. The Sky-Road? The kid escaped on a bloody Sky-Road?”

“More like an improvised form of it, from the faint traces of weaving it left,” Malak answered, pensive. “It’s crude, but only in the way that a combustion engine built out of vines and driftwood is crude. It’s brilliant… and it shouldn’t work.”

She scoffed, annoyed at the thought of giving an escaped prey any form of esteem. “If it’s anything like the real one, though, we should be able to track it.” After that, her face became a strange mixture of disquiet and resolve. “We can’t lose this one, Mal.”

“I know.” He pressed the fingers of his gauntleted hand against the hard soil, until it gave way like mud. He rummaged within the earth for a moment before pulling out a jag of stone from the bedrock, then a large slab of the bedrock itself. Sariss hopped behind him on the moving block of shale, wrapping her arms around his waist. Then, with a pull of the lever, they were off, surfing away from the shaft and down along the mountainside at breakneck speeds.

“Fancy ride,” Lillian spoke, sounding in the empty darkness like a disembodied voice. “Sorry Dore, there wasn’t any time to tell you my plan,” she said then, pulling away from the tight embrace they’d been stuck in for the last few minutes, although she was still careful not to let her cloak slip off from the frame of her much taller companion.

“Hey, it takes a sad and bitter man to complain about a hug from you. If anything, it’s the sharp lump of rock pressing against my spine that made that time less than comfortable.” Dorian, with Lillian still hanging from his neck, made a few awkward duck steps to move away from the wall, sighing in relief as the pressure left his back. “I guess I finally got to see firsthand why you never take that cloak off.”

“It filters out any aura or exotic energy hidden within, but since he seemed to be a geomancer of sorts, I had to wrap us up in a layer of occulting shadows as well. Even then, they might have still found us if the traces of my bridge hadn’t thrown them off our scent.”

“Well thanks for that, Lil. I mean it.” Dorian still seemed shaken up, but not like a man who’d only just escaped a gruesome end; the smile had yet to leave his lips, still fueled by the thrill of being chased. It was a while before the novelty wore off, and another while before the gravity of the situation finally settled in. “As for the details… how? How did you know where I was, or that I was even in danger? Did… did my dad send you? Is he alright?”

Dorian had worked out the gist of it on his own, but it became clear to Lillian he knew nothing pertaining to the people who were hunting him, knew nothing about his true lineage. Bel would have been content never having to tell his son about their… about our tainted blood. “He… he should be.”

That did not please him a whit. He rushed to the maw of the mine, staring helplessly at the sullen day, the distant peaks and the endless, frozen miles. “We have to go. If I got it right, they’re heading straight to the village by tracking this, uh… bridge of yours. We have to-”

“It’ll take days on foot… but give me two hours, and I’ll be able to build another bridge. We’ll get there before them, I swear.” They would already be there if the cave-in hadn't disrupted her first gateway, but she knew better than to tell him that. Considering the spear in the wall, he had caused the collapse on purpose. It was a good tactical decision, but Dorian might still torture himself if he knew. That being said, Dorian's hunters aren’t my main concerns... if they got to Dorian so fast, then what of Bel?

The hand upon Lillian’s shoulder trawled her from those glum thoughts, but it was the quaver he hid from his voice that urged her to focus. “Two hours, then. Tell me everything you can, Lily. Please.”

Sorry for the wait. I should have more time now. You can skip ahead to the two arriving at the village.

[Paragon]

While Lillian was getting Dorian back up to date, a telepathic, high-pitched voice boomed into both of their minds, "Dorian! You're safe! ...Lillian?"

"Good to see you're unharmed, Fallow," said Dorian. "I was worried the blast might have weakened our link and sent you back to Malanthar."

"Greetings, little friend," added Lillian.

"It would take more than that to do me in! Although it didn't look like they noticed me at all."

The three stood at the entrance to the mine, Lillian concentrating on weaving her magic while filling the two in with the rest of the story.

Fallow couldn't believe it, "Sesthali? I had no idea you weren't human! Although it would be cooler if you were half-dragon, you know."

While Dorian seldom showed his frustration, he couldn't help but stare at Lillian while she prepared her spell. His father was in danger and all he could do was stand here and talk. He gripped the shaft of his spear nervously. When she was finally ready, a rift appeared before them, full of still darkness. It was a frightening sight, like jumping into a bottomless pit, but Dorian didn't think of emotions like fear as he quickly followed Lillian in with Fallow. The next thing he knew, he was landing on soft snow, and the sight in front of him nearly made him jump out of his skin.

The trees around his house were knocked down, some of the bushes were on fire, and his house had several holes in it. The place looked like a battle between two small armies had taken place.

"What's going on?!" asked Fallow as he flapped his little wings furiously.

Without hesitation, Dorian ran into the house, calling for his parents.

He received a reply from behind a wall, "Dorian, is that you?" It was his mother. The young dragoon immediately knew where she was hiding. He walked up to the same wall, but couldn't remember the pass-phrase. Lillian picked up on his helplessness and remembered the words, repeating them to see the wall open before them. Dorian nodded and rushed downstairs, where his mother stood up from the floor and clasped the hands of her son. "Thank goodness you're here! A man and a woman came, and your father told me to come down here. Then I hear all these sounds... and then silence. What happened? Where's your father?"

"I... don't know," said Dorian grimly. "Did you hear them say anything?"

"No, dear, I just was sent here, and I-I-"

"It's okay, mother," Dorian reassured her. "I'll get him back. I promise." His mother sighed, squeezed his hand one more time, then walked back upstairs, noticing Lillian and Fallow. She knew that Lillian was not a bad person, and could not possibly be responsible for this, so she asked her to please help her son and went outside. Lillian and the dragonling came downstairs, and noticed Dorian attempting to use the globe of water. His hands were in a the basin and he had a look of deep concentration. Father... where are you? There was a bright light on the globe, and it was moving. He recognized the area from his travels, but it was too far away. He looked at Lillian but she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it again," she said.

"We're fairly high up, and they're going downhill. Maybe... let's go back outside." Back on the soft snow that lead up to the house, Dorian looked down the mountain, allowing his greaves to be replaced with his hiking boots from Malanthar's Domain. "I can jump really far. If we're this high up, I may be able to catch up with them."

"I'm coming too," stated Lillian.

"These people are dangerous-"

"I know," she interrupted. "That's why I'm going to help."

"Me too!" Fallow added.

Dorian smiled, "Thank you."

Digging his boots into the ground, he prepared to jump as Lillian climbed onto his back while Fallow jumped into his shirt. Dorian was somewhat surprised by how light she was, but he had no time to think about that now. Remembering the details of the mountain he had lived on most of his life, thinking about that bright dot on the watery globe that represented his father, he aimed his ascent and took off like an arrow, flying passed the trees and high into the sky. If the people who took his father were anything like the ones from before, he didn't know what he could do to stop them.

But he had to try.