Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

9 (Revised)

ORILION

In darkness — the flames of truth.

Embers of clarity awash in the abyss.

In light — the endless nothing.

Beads of lightning burst and scattered the truth deeper into the void. It bounced through clouds of pitch swirling with a thunderous moan. Another chasm trapping him deep within the ground, burying him alive. Knots twisted in his heart, choked and pressed tighter into the small space. Explosions rocked the world, though the motion of movement never betrayed its presence.

He drowned under dirt.

Voices.

Too many voices — none recognizable; neither Lesinia's or Tharalon's. Millennium turned to ash at his fingertips and the void inched up his legs. It consumed him and eeked out his essence to feed its terrible hunger. All that he was and ever will be, stolen from him.

Wind caressed his cheek and brushed behind his ear. The storm of pitch heaved and swirled into tornadic force. Another dreamless pit. His last memory immolated in the blazing light of the eldest sun, swallowed into an incomprehensible rift. Moonlight calmed the fury, but came with no source.

Lunayu — can your light reveal what I've forgotten? Can the memory of the moon lay bare what I have wrought?

Dark mist rose in front of him.

Who are you... but who am I?

Draconic roared throughout the dream and shook the abyss. Water droplets scattered and hung in the stale air. In each one, broken shadowed pillars crashed into the clouds and to the world below. Massive jaws raised lightning through the mist. Arcs of blue sparked off their razor sharp teeth to bounce along the hanging crystals. Orilion reached his hand out to the faint image.

It tore across his spine, and he spat out crimson splattered sunlight. He brought his shaking hand closer to his chest, stained with blood. Tormented screams filled his ears and begged for mercy.

In the water, beautiful golden marble fell and caused great waves in the darkness around him.

The sky — his domain — brought down.

No, it is not possible. Arth'lun was the sky. Arth'lun was the heavens, the golden city in the clouds. My home. My home could not be taken down by me. Orilion dug his fingers into his temples, where pressure from the world crushed his skull. He longed to scream when crimson flowed into his sight. Waves of the ocean lapped at his chest. Grey orbs danced around him, striking as fast as lightning.

Voices.

Judgement and rage.

His soul threatened to tear itself apart right to his immolated wings.

"This is madness."

It sounded ahead of him — as unrecognisable as the others.

It swallowed his platform of light.

"You crush the mortals at a whim when they fail to satisfy your hunger — and dare to call yourself a giant! You dare call yourself a dragon!"

Lightning flashed; once and twice.

It forked into the clouds of pitch.

Two giant wings rippled with the energy and crimson eyes bore into him — bloodthirsty and never satisfied.

His dream shattered with the huge, winged dragon. He clawed out of the void, but it swallowed him whole. Terror drowned his throat, and choked on his own helplessness.