The Dragon Realms Saga

Dragon Realm Cypress

Woadhollow crumbled in a fantastic glow of the blight fueled fire. Avalon may have been watching her home village burn into cinders, but her past shrieked and stripped down the walls that she had built against her memories of the Black Rabbits. The misdeeds that she wrought onto others such as her own family seeped into her consciousness once again. It left her weakened within her heart and soul.

“Are you ok, Avalon?” asked Vada, “You haven’t said a word since we started the fire.”

Avalon still stared deeply into the dancing flames, mute and caught in a trance.

“We still have no clue what this Plague Reach might have been,” Vada tried to reach Avalon once again. However, Avalon remained quiet. “Avalon?”

Finally, breaking her long solitude within her silence, Avalon spoke, “Woadhollow is dead. Both to its denizens and to me. Let us leave this place.”

“And what of the mysterious shadow and message?” Vada pushed further. “What is ‘Wintertide’ supposed to mean?”

“I keep reciting a prayer in my head,” Avalon ignored Vada’s questions. “Over and over again. Hoping it would somehow make me stronger,

“Jedeo, I won’t give in, I won’t surrender,

I’ve ran all my life, I won’t run anymore,

I’m not afraid of the Ashes,

Grant me your Silencer,

From which all others are born,

And give me Wings so White.”

“Where did you hear that one?” asked Vada. The prayer was unique in its nature, none of it flowed or rhymed. Of all her training at the Blade Range, she had never read such a prayer in any tome or scripture.

“I listened to it. From my heart.” Avalon’s words almost rang like a song or more like a dream. Haunting yet beautiful. Strange yet truthful.

“And do the words help you?”

“Not yet,” Avalon whispered, half to Vada, half to herself.

“Then why do you continue to listen?”

A Black Rabbit’s question. Why listen to the heart when the mind yields your strength and determination?

“A question I shall meditate on, Sis-” Avalon broke off as Andros made his way towards the pair with his journal crossed in his arms clutched against his chest, “Gold Wing Andros, I fear what you have to say about our mission. I admit it was not the best showcase of my leadership…” she trailed off as Andros lifted his finger to interrupt the Silent One leader.

“You may stop right there, Silver Wing,” he said, “Your leadership was only affected by the deep rooted, personal nature of this mission. You were vengeful and acted in haste rather than properly assessing the situation.”

“I-”

“I am not finished, Silver Wing,” Andros continued, “Your new Silent One techniques are brutal, but I see potential. I feel that if I were to observe your abbey for longer, I would be able to effectively investigate what I was sent here to find.”

“You wish to stay longer?” questioned Vada.

“Indeed, Iron Wing Vada.”

“This is good news then,” said Vada, pleased with the announcement.

“It is news, that is all,” stated Andros.

“I suppose any news is better than bad news,” agreed Avalon, “Then we shall not let you down a second time!”

“See that you don’t.”

***

Inle covered his mouth with the collar of his cloak as he choked on the soot hanging in the air like a wall of fog. Meanwhile, the Collector sifted through the smoldering debris of what remained of Woadhollow.

“What are we looking for again?” asked Inle as he kicked through a pile of white ash, “Plague Reach, I know, but do we just scoop it from the ground?”

The Collector sneered at the thought of the elf’s ignorant question. He grunted as he attempted to lift a large shaft of timber, “Help me with this, whelp!”

Together they heaved the cross beam and pushed it aside, revealing an encrusted, black growth. It was miraculously unharmed by the fire. Like a very thick oil, it receded to reveal a jet black rose. The yikahti plucked it with the utmost care, whispering an incantation as he did so.

“This is the Plague Reach?” asked Inle. He was rather disappointed. He imagined the Plague Reach to be an insidious weapon. Volatile and god-like. The secret power of the mysterious Wraslyn, but it turned out to be some dumb flower.

“Consider this village a garden. Instead of a bed of roses, it’s dedicated to growing a single one. From this flower we can gather what we need to make Plague Reach.” The Collector pulled a small vial from his belt. He tipped the rosebud until a dense solvent trickled from it into the vial. The liquid gathered at the bottom of the glass until nothing else came from the rose. “In the next few days this will form a seed and we will have what we need from Woadhollow.”

“All this destruction and misery for a single seed?”

“A necessary sacrifice. The nursery requires souls to bloom.” Once harvested, the rose wilted and shriveled in the Collector’s hand. “Uther will be pleased.”

“The giant seeks one of the seals? What does Plague Reach have to do with any of this?”

“All in good time, Inle.” The Collector smirked. “We still have a task before we can assist

Uther’s mission.”

“How much longer will we waste our time toying with Lost Dawns?”

The Collector drew a large circle in the air with his claw, creating a doorway to another dimension. “You make a good point. We shall move forward with our plans. I also tire of these games.” He bowed, gesturing Inle to step through first. “Let us see how far our new Ghost Fox friends will push forward to prove their worth.”