Matt ran as fast as his legs could carry him, scrambling up the craggy hillside behind his property until he could see the tree line of the Schwarzvald forest standing at attention in the distance like rows and rows of proud soldiers. Behind him he could hear the first of the guards beginning to reach the ruin of his farm; unintelligible conversation carried towards him on the wind, the din of voices amplified more than their words. After what could have been no more than a handful of sentences several horses galloped away from the farm, their hooves growing louder behind him. Chancing a glance over his shoulder his stomach churned as he saw several silhouettes growing closer. He was being followed. Had they already seen him? Quickening his pace as the riders struggled up the incline he scanned the area before him, searching for any physical landmark that could conceal him. Several rocky outcroppings jutted from the landscape, piled up from the ground in uneven stacks as if a giant had been playing with blocks. Holding his breath he dove behind the nearest one. During the day it would have been a terrible hiding place, in his haste to get behind the rocks he had failed to notice that it was among the smaller of the outcroppings, narrow, and little more than four feet tall. He prayed that in the darkness of the nearly moonless sky it would still do well enough to shield him from the view of his pursuers.
Waiting with his heart in his throat, barely permitting himself to breathe, Matt tucked his knees up to his chin, bending himself into the smallest shape he could manage behind the small pile of rocks where he had hidden. He could hear the riders drawing closer, whispered conversations growing louder, every gallop taking them closer to his hiding place. Surreptitiously he pulled his hood over his head, hoping it would keep his skin in shadow. A rock clattered past him, kicked up from under a horse's hoof that could not have come from more than a handful of feet behind him. He tensed further, if that was even possible, willing himself to remain absolutely still. The horse clopped up behind him, its head extending over the rock and above him, hot breath blanketing his body with the beast's every exhale.
Please don't look down, please don't look down.
Other horses came into view in his periphery; at least four in total making up the group. The others wandered parallel to the horse that stood above him. Too afraid to so much as turn his head, Matt could not discern the faces of any of the riders, unsure if the group consisted of any men that he had interacted with in his many years of traveling into Clearfield. His heart yearned to cry out for assistance, to see a recognizable figure ride to his aid; but Vincent had been so earnest and insistent that it was vital for him to escape without drawing their attention. He trusted the mustached merchant implicitly and if his friend believed that he would be safer the sooner and quieter he could manage, then that was what he would do. So he remained steadfast in his silence, suppressing all sound as staunchly as the boldest of malcontents accused the High King of suppressing the voices of his people.
How long is this horse going to stand above me?
What felt like an hour ground on, slow as molasses inching its way down the trunk of a tree as the rider remained motionless above him before at last it turned away stepping a few feet to Matt's left and towards its fellow searchers. He quietly allowed a small sigh to escape his mouth as he breathed in relief. The rider whirled at the slight sound, his eyes locking with Matt. A faint beam of moonlight fell upon the man's face, illuminating familiar features.
Joseph
His father's friend pushed back the hood of his cloak, his completely bald head shining like a beacon in the night. The man's intense brown eyes widened in confusion as their eyes met. He opened his mouth to speak but Matt shook his head vigorously, silently pleading for Joseph to not bring any attention towards him.
"Ask Vincent," he mouthed, not trusting a whisper to go unnoticed after the minuscule noise of his sigh drew Joseph's attention. Joseph squinted towards him, trying to read his lips in the faint light, his brow furrowing intently.
"Vincent," he repeated slowly, taking his time in carefully articulating the word, moving his mouth in over-exaggerated pronunciation, shaping every letter of the merchant's name. He held a finger to his lips when he finished, shaking his head again to discourage Joseph from speaking before pointing at himself and then in the direction of the Schwarzvald Forest. Joseph's eyes narrowed in concern, but after a long pause he nodded. Matt let out a second sigh, silently this time. Another of his father's friends was going to aid in his escape. Turning his horse away from Matt, Joseph rode several feet away from his hiding place behind the small outcropping, lifting a hand to his brow as if scanning the surrounding area.
Swiveling his head back towards the rocks, Joseph nodded towards him stiffly, but not unkindly before he opened his mouth and shouted, "I see something!"
Matt started in alarm, What is he doing? Don't draw attention in this direction! He shrank back as the other man turned sharply to look towards Joseph, hoping that his hiding place had not been spoiled.
"Something moved over there!" Joseph called, pointing north, away from the direction Matt had indicated he was heading, easing Matt's nerves. The riders pivoted their horses, riding off towards the imaginary point Joseph had indicated. Joseph rode with them, reaching a hand behind his back and waving for Matt to run.
Intending to take full advantage of the opportunity Joseph had created for him, Matt leapt to his feet and took off in a sprint towards the forest. The rocky ground was now notably sloped downhill as the topography of Verden made its way from the craggy hillsides of the Azure coasts down towards the elevation that most of the central regions of the continent resided. He turned to see if any of the horsemen had heard his steps across the hard ground, taking his vision off of the land before him, not allowing him to notice the ankle high pile of stones that his foot connected with, sending him tumbling down the rocky hillside. Sharp sticks and loose stones sliced through his already tattered clothing, finding exposed skin with painful accuracy. Cursing, bouncing, and sliding the whole way down Matt landed in a heap at the base of the embankment. He lay stunned for several long moments, seething at the dragons, life, and the gods themselves; he hated them all.
Pushing himself back to his feet, he brushed small rocks out of his scrapes and cuts, shaking debris from the folds of his clothing. With difficulty he began to jog towards the Schwarzvald Forest that towered in the distance, thankful for the relatively even terrain that covered the remainder of the distance between himself and his destination. He jogged for an hour, he was certain it really was an hour this time, it was not merely his nerves. The rain, moments before coming down in sheets, slowed to a drizzle, the clouds above him slowly thinning to reveal patches of starry night. The ethereal silver light of Megás, the largest of Eda's three moons, illuminated his path in narrow beams. Gazing up towards the cloud cover expanse above him, Matt searched for a sight of the large, cratered, silver-white disk of Megás, a familiar, resplendent feature in the night sky, its large disk waxing and waning monthly, watching down on them all from up above. To his disappointment the clouds had not yet dispersed enough to allow him an unobstructed view of the moon's splendor.
The two smaller moons, Lumpéire and Tríntos, in descending order, were not to be found on this night. Appearing less frequently in the sky than her larger sister, Lumpéire visited several times a week, it's orange and pink luster appearing to fade from full to new at twice the frequency of Megás, its ruddy light casting a much dimmer intensity over the world. The third moon, small blue and green hued Trintos, remained full at all times, although it made only sporadic appearances in the night, its appearance was always marked with great wonder and curiosity by those who tracked the nightly dance of the heavens. The more superstitious crowd was want to mutter and rave about witches harnessing power from the little moon's infrequent visits, swearing up and down that their 'friend's neighbor had been transformed into a cat,' or their 'cousin's friend's uncle had been bewitched' by any number of supernatural or magical beasts who had grown stronger from Trintos' light.
Pushing such cosmic thoughts and deliberations out of his mind, Matt continued to focus on his jog towards the forest, placing one foot in front of the other. He could feel his energy running low, each step growing harder than the last. The rocky ground had given way to dirt, somewhat cushioning his footfalls, but it did little to ease the ache that was beginning to creep up his ankles and into his legs; he was not built for this sort of distance running. He pushed through the pain, unwilling to stop before he reached the forest.
When at last he approached his destination, Matt could no longer contain a gasp of pain and exhaustion. Taking hold of his knees he leaned over, breathing heavily. The ominous tree line of his shortcut rose high above him; dark, evergreen trees, several dozens of feet higher than any growth around his farm demarcating the boundary between the Azure Coast where Matt had spent his entire life and the Great Plains that covered vast swaths of central Verden. He forced himself back upright, taking in all he could of the sight before him.
A shiver crawled down Matt's spine as he stood alone at the edge of the massive forest, a small, lonely figure against a backdrop of proud conifer giants. No one with any sense traveled through the Shwarzvald Forest if there were any other practical routes; even if it meant adding several days to their trip. If Matt had not been so desperate to travel unseen he would have never even considered this as an option. There were too many stories abound of travelers entering the forest of completely sound mind and body and leaving a blathering mess, a shell of their former self; if they left at all. Merchants and explorers swore up and down that something foul lurked under the dark boughs of the ancient trees, waiting to devour those who lost their way, tempting careless wanderers away from the narrow, rarely tread paths where they were never seen again. Whispers of dark magic practiced deep within its shadowy depths dissuaded all but the bravest, or most foolish, attempts at traversing its wilds. Of which category Matt belonged he knew not, but for the sake of his survival he hoped it was the former. Unlike the wives tales of Trintos, Matt was much more ready to believe most of what he had heard of Schwarzvald Forest. Too many men that he knew to be stalwart and rational steered clear of this area of Verden for the stories to be entirely baseless. Steeling himself, he dove into the forest at a dead sprint.
The dense canopy of the Shwarzvald Forest quickly obscured the last vestiges of moonlight above him as he plunged into the dark forest. His head swam with emotions as he ran, leaving him only vaguely aware of his feet pounding against the soft earth and rotting leaves. Now that he was away from any immediate risk of being discovered, his adrenaline waned, leaving him feeling as though he were in a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare. In the span of only a handful of hours he had lost everything. His home, his family, his province; his whole world had been turned upside down by a single creature that up until this evening had only existed in songs and legends. But none of the loss could even compare to what hurt Matt most. The most horrible part was that it was all his fault. The dragon had specifically told him that he had come to the farm in order to kill Matt. His entire family had been killed for the sole reason that they had been around him at the wrong time. Why had he not taken his gut feeling more seriously? He had known deep down that he had been being watched, even if no one else had felt the same. Perhaps it was some strange expression of his Stormcrier powers.
He choked back tears as he crashed through the sharp underbrush. Twigs and low branches tore at his cloak and trousers as the clear path that had led him into the forest was quickly overtaken by the plant growth, reclaimed by the surrounding landscape. With travel being so sparse through the forest, there was not a defined path trampled into the earth from the steady march of feet, hooves, and wagon wheels that created many of the roads across Verden. Small game trails cut through where no people dared to tread, providing thin walkways to follow. Matt continued to crash heedlessly through the underbrush, oblivious to the stray branches that cut his legs through his trousers. All he could focus on was the sound of his feet hitting the forest floor and the pounding of his heart in his ears. He did not know if he could keep himself from falling apart if he let his mind wander; he had to focus on the sounds, only the sounds.
He ran until he lost track of time; lost track of distance, lost all sense of self. Only the faintest wisps of moonlight penetrated the looming canopy of needles above, barely illuminating the forest around him, offering next to no sense of direction. When he could run no further he came to a staggering halt, bending over to clutch his knees as he had before he had entered the wilderness. His breath came in ragged gasps, as his lungs struggled to pull in air. He retched, foul tasting vomit falling from his mouth onto the forest floor. He swiped the sleeve of his cloak hurriedly across his mouth, sloppily attempting to clean his face as he attempted another step forward. A second wave of nausea struck him and he found himself staring at his feet, retching again. He remained hunched for several long minutes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he heaved.
Slowly, he straightened his posture as the uneasiness in his stomach began to quell, stumbling away from where he had been sick with several staggering steps. He grabbed at the bushes and low branches that hung around the base of the closest of the tall trees, barely feeling the thorny brambles tearing through his skin. He broke and pulled the underbrush out of his way, forming it back behind himself in a semicircle until he had created a small protective den to separate himself from any fresh dangers the cold forest night might offer. He sat in his hiding place with his back firmly against the trunk of the tree, pulling the hood of his grey cloak over his head in an effort to keep his ears warm and hide his face from anyone who wandered by.
Matt almost laughed at himself. Who would possibly be walking through the Shwarzvald Forest, especially at this hour. And there was no point in hiding from the dragon, if it had somehow managed to fit his enormous scaled body between the trees it would not matter if he could see Matt, he would merely sense his power from afar just as he had earlier in the day, rendering all camouflage pointless. Matt had no illusions that he could survive another confrontation with the dragon. He had only managed to escape the first time because of the sheer lucky happenstance that the beast did not wish to be seen by the rest of the townsfolk. If the dragon came back to finish the job, Matt would most assuredly die. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to tip back against the tree, hoping that his exhaustion would swiftly overcome him, allowing him to drift off to a much needed sleep.
Unfortunately, his subconscious had other plans for his night, troubling his mind with visions and horror. Behind his eyelids Matt watched and rewatched the dragon kill his father and destroy his home, over and over again, searing the images into his mind's eye where he was certain they would never leave. He shook his head in an inane attempt to clear his thoughts but the only thing that could shake the loop was the burning questions that had tormented his soul since the moment Vincent had revealed the true nature of his birth.
His family was not in fact his real family; his father, brother and mother were not related to him in any way. Andrew had saved him as a baby and raised him all his life as if he were his own blood, but Matt had never been a Drake; and he never would be. Somewhere in Verden there was a family, almost certainly members of the nobility, that assumed that he had perished along with whichever relatives were present in the manor with him during the attack. Did that mean his birth parents were dead as well? Or had they not both been with him. Either way, there were aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, perhaps even siblings, who had no idea of his existence. Vincent had not mentioned what province Andrew had found him in. The only clue he had was that Andrew had been traveling to Esterwynn on business. Whether he had been found on the way there, the way back, or somewhere within the province he had no idea, but it at least gave him a direction to begin his search; East. Technically most of Verden was East of the Azure Coast where he had grown up in the province of Klippéfell, but it was better than no leads. When he had settled in whatever town he managed to find on the far side of the forest he would have to begin poking around for stories of a child of one of the ten noble families of Verden going missing in the two decades prior. Surely someone must have heard of his disappearance.
That thought brought a third wave of questions to mind. If he managed to find any relations out there in the world, would they even want to meet him? He was far from noble and refined; his whole life had been spent doing hard labor on his adopted family's farm. He had never been trained in courtly manners or duties. Would he be a disappointment to his noble lineage; just a painful reminder of what they had lost all those years? Before a handful of hours ago he had never summoned as much as a few sparks from the ether or wherever Stormcrier's lightning entered this world from, let alone used his powers to fend off a fully grown dragon. Would they even be able to teach him how to harness his powers at his age?
It has to be possible for me to learn, he told himself. The original human stormcriers had been adults when they were taught the secrets of the dragons by Tjörden. If they could learn with no prior knowledge or experience than surely he could at the very least learn the rudimentary basics of his power.
A peculiar tingling sensation, as if someone were poking him with many small needles, crawled up his spine causing him to give an uncontrollable shiver. A hidden reserve of alertness and adrenaline surged through his body, burning away all vestiges of the exhaustion that had been threatening to overtake him just moments before. He sat up as straight as an arrow, his head swiveling upon his shoulders in an attempt to take in the totality of his surroundings. Something powerful was very near. The same static electric feeling of power that the dragon had exuded at his farm permeated the night, raising the hair upon his arms and setting his nerves ablaze. Had the dragon found him? Was it back to finish him off?
To his relief, at least temporarily, something was different about this feeling than he had experienced earlier. There was no sensation of being watched, no malevolent presence staring at him with hungry, predatory instincts. Repeated and careful examination of his surroundings did not reveal the enormous red dragon anywhere in his vicinity. He released a breath he had not realized he had been holding; even if the beast could somehow render itself invisible it would not have been able to travel so softly and silently. Whatever or whoever was causing his discomfort was merely close by, not stalking him.
His curiosity quickly getting the better of him, he slowly and silently pushed himself to his feet, his hands sinking into the spiny pile of pine needles beside him. Wincing as he cautiously pulled aside the protection he had crafted for himself, the brambles seeming to tear into his flesh more vigorously the slower and quieter he attempted to move them, he had somehow avoided many of the thorns in the reckless abandon he had constructed his defenses with earlier. He crept as silently as he could over the dry needles, crunchy pine cones, and lower hanging branches of the dark forest in the direction the feeling seemed to emanate from.
It was impossible to keep track of how long he skulked through the timeless forest night before a distant voice reached his ear. At first it was much too far away for him to make out any words, it existed as the faintest of whispers, just barely tickling his senses. As he drew closer the whisper grew into the hushed undertone of a man's voice. Matthew froze, attempting to discern what was being said. He cursed softly to himself as he quickly came to the realization that he was still much too far away to make out anything except the occasional syllable. He continued forward even more slowly than before, praying with every step that he did not break any fallen branches underfoot. At least a hundred, agonizingly slow yards passed underfoot, each soft crunch causing him to freeze with fright, before Matt found himself peering into an enormous clearing. Placing his body firmly behind a thick trunk, he carefully wrapped his head around the tree until he could see into the open expanse, pressing his cheek against the rough bark exterior to shrink his visible profile to whoever may be speaking.
A cloaked man stood in the center of the ring of trees, clutching a burning torch in his right hand that illuminated an immaculately carved life sized stone statue of a dragon with it's flickering orange light. Why someone would expend such talent in a place that no one would ever see it was beyond Matt, unless the statue had been carved exclusively for the darker denizens of the forest, or constructed in an earlier age before people feared the Schwarzvald. The stone likeness was amazingly realistic, from the length of the wingspan, that raised high above its back, just as the red dragon had lifted his before taking flight, to the details of it's scaly hide. So lifelike was the depiction that the instinctive urge to run washed over him, overwhelming his senses. With great difficulty he pushed away the unreasonable feeling, it was only a statue, it could not harm him.
A quick glance skyward revealed that the thick clouds had reclaimed their dominance of the night sky, covering the moons and stars and leaving nothing but a circle of darkness above the clearing; a void that peering into an ancient abyss, a window into one of the darker realms. Matt shivered at his own sinister thoughts as they had, unbidden, drawn imagery to stories of the dark treacherous gods that the priest back in Clearfield had always warned against. These Daeum, or Daemons as they were sometimes called, had betrayed their fellow gods long ago in the days of myth and creation that had shaped Eda before fleeing to their own twisted planes of existence, ever threatening humanity from their realms beyond.
"The two men that went ahead have not yet returned, neither has Aundin, my lady," the cloaked man said, pulling Matt's attention sharply back to the scene at hand.
Aundin? Who is Aundin? Matt wondered. Vincent had mentioned a mysterious man to Andrew when they were in the inn. Was the man allied with this figure? Did they work for the dragon? Aundin could be the name of the dragon that attacked his farm? What would his father and Vincent known about these two men? Is that how they knew to return to the farm and look for the dragon? Questions flooded through his mind, racing by at such speed he could hardly comprehend one before the next took its place before a more pressing query entered his thoughts; who is he speaking with?
"Aundin has always been rash, he will make his way to us when he is finished with his fun," A loud, female voice said, startling Matt. He peered intently around the clearing, attempting to find where the voice was coming from. Seeing no one he assumed the speaker was standing in the darkness behind the statue, in the direction the man was facing, but her voice seemed much louder than it should have been, almost as booming as the voice of the red dragon's outer voice when he was not speaking from within Matt's head.
The resounding crack of splitting stone caused Matt to start in surprise. Loud and grinding, long cracks began to appear across the surface of the statue, spreading across its impressive length; but instead of splitting into large chunks as it appeared it would, a thin outer layer began to crumble away, like a snake shedding its skin, revealing a second, exact likeness beneath. The solid grey stone seemed to almost shift and darken in the flickering torchlight. Matt blinked, the low light had to be playing tricks on his vision. But as he refocused his sight there was no doubt in his mind that the statue was beginning to move. Slowly at first, just a twitch from the tips of the raised wings, which were undoubtedly darkening into a deep purple, then a long tail began to slither out from behind the statue, ever so slowly across the ground. Unlike the thick, clubbed tail that the red dragon had used to kill his father, this tail travelled down to a slender rounded tip. Color began to seep more rapidly into the statue, was it truly a statue? The dragon's chest began to rise and fall with long, deep breaths, the wings folded down towards its sides, and claws like razors pawed at the ground, kneading the dirt like an enormous cat. Fingers of moonlight began to peek through the oppressive clouds, shining down on the man and the dragon, the creature's scales sparkling like an enormous amethyst in the silver radiance of Mégas. The dragon opened its maw revealing pearl white fangs, glistening with deadly sharpness in the night. Just as at his house, Matt was overcome with awe and fear at the dramatic visage of the dragon. It was not hard to see how the dragons had ruled over humans for so long, they were like beautiful and terrible gods, capable of killing any who opposed them with a single bite, claw, or strike of a tail, not to mention they had the ability to call upon lightning, wind and rain.
Unlike the impressive yet brutish appearance of the red dragon, this dragon was much sleeker. Appearing smaller from nose to tail, its shoulders were also less broad and it's legs less thick, but in no way did this dragon look weak. Powerful muscles rippled under its vibrant scales with every movement and Matt had no doubt that it could and would kill him in seconds if he was noticed.
The man standing in the center of the clearing knelt reverently and bowed his head, "Lady Kvandi," he breathed, respect and fear evident in his voice.
"Rise," the female voice commanded, clearly emanating from the purple dragon. She sounded younger than the larger red dragon, her voice smooth and silky, yet powerful and commanding. "Am I the last to awaken?"
"Yes my lady," the man said getting to his feet. "Aundin sensed one of the false Stormcriers nearby and went to kill it. The rest went straight to Catûn."
"I too sense the false Stormcrier is still nearby," the dragon Kvandi said, "It seems Aundin has not killed it yet."
"How close is he my lady?" The man asked. "Aundin should have been back by now. Can you smell him?" Matt shrank backwards carefully as the man began to look around the clearing suspiciously.
"I can not smell anything, it will take some time before I will regain my senses. It is fortunate that I can sense the human at all," Kvandi said, her voice echoing around the forest, crystal clear and menacing. "But Aundin would not allow a solitary human to escape, even if it wields a mockery of our power; I am sure he is enjoying the hunt."
"You have been asleep for a little over a hundred years my lady, it is impressive that you can sense anything at all."
"One hundred years?" Kvandi bellowed, her teeth gnashing wildly in fury.
"If I may, my lady, I believe it is to our advantage that it has been so many years. The humans have grown fat and arrogant in their victory, only the very oldest among them remember what it was like to live under the true Stormcriers. The younger generation are beginning to believe that you are nothing but legends." The man explained calmly. As much disgust Matt held toward the man for his subservience to the dragon, he could only admire the composure he possessed as he did not give any outward signs of fear at the dragon's rage.
"Then we must press while we still have ignorance in our favor, if that brute Aundin does not reveal our presence to the humans when he kills the false Stormcrier that is. Go after him and your other two men, tell them to come meet us in Catûn," the purple dragon instructed icily. She stretched out her long wings, flexing them gingerly as if testing to see if they were still held strong after a hundred years as stone. Seemingly satisfied with their durability, she dug her claws into the ground, her powerful knees flexing before springing up into the air and flapping her gigantic wings, rising out of the clearing with each thunderous flap. Stiff wind from her wings buffeted her man in waves, extinguishing his torch and whipping his cloak around his body as he stood in the center of the gale. He stood as still as a statue, as his master had done for so long, craning his neck to admire her magnificence until she could no longer be seen in the visible ring of the night, disappearing over the miles of treetop that was the Schwarzvald Forest. The moment she was out of sight the man turned on his heels, facing directly towards where Matt had been concealed for the last several minutes. Matthew tensed as the man drew closer, holding his breath and willing himself to keep calm, his eyes locked upon the approaching figure. Slowly, he began to shift around the tree, still pressed against it, so that it was still positioned between himself and the man. The cloaked man pushed his way through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing no more than ten feet from where Matt had concealed himself, appearing lost in thought as he traipsed into the forest, wholly unaware that his master's quarry lay so near at hand. Matt offered a silent prayer that the man would not offer any trouble to Vincent in his search for the red dragon. Should he attempt to race the man back to Clearfield and warn his friend? Only the image of the merchant pleading for him to not look back kept him in place as he watched the man fade into the trees and out of sight.
Matt waited in silence for several long moments until he could no longer hear the rustling of the man's footsteps before he stepped back into the clearing. The hairs on his neck stood on end and his blood ran cold as soon as his body crossed into the empty swath of forest before him. This was an evil place, he could feel it in every bone in his body. Some, primal instinct, perhaps the same one that had warned him against the approaching dragon, was reacting with fear and loathing to this place. His body felt as if it were at war with itself, his subconscious torn between freezing in place and bolting off into the surrounding forest and leaving this foul place far behind. With effort, he did neither, channeling his sharpened sense of awareness into investigating the area around himself. There had to be a tangible cause of his fright, something physically malevolent that had set his nerves alight. Casting his vision towards the darkened tree line, he was certain he would find a pair of large, dragon eyes starring back at him from the shadows, but not only was the clearing void of any living dragons, it also held next to no evidence that a stone dragon had stood watch in this very spot for the last hundred years.
His confidence growing he stepped farther into the clearing, towards the deep claw marks that scored the earth where Kvandi had dug in before launching herself into the sky. The toe of his boot caught on something hard as he crossed the center of the ring, causing him to stumble, barely catching himself before he landed on his face. Grumbling, he searched the growth for whatever he had just kicked, it had given a faint metallic ring when his boot struck it and he was positive it was not a root or a rock. His hand scrounged through the dirt and needles until his fingers connected with something protruding from the earth. He wrapped his grip around what felt like a handle and with a firm pull he withdrew it from the ground.
A beautiful iridescent blue dagger, wholly untarnished by the passage of time. By the way plants had grown over and around it, the dagger had clearly been in this exact spot for ages; perhaps since the dragons had first come to this place a hundred years ago. Matt could not imagine what material it could have been crafted from to look so new and polished after all the time in the dirt and elements, any normal iron or steel would have rusted after the first few days of rain. He held the blade closer to his face, admiring the strange metal. Upon his inspection, the dagger had not been dyed or painted blue, nor was it a ceremonial blade hewn from a gem; the material itself was a deep blue metal that he could not identify. Swirls of color, in all different shades of blue covered the surface of the blade, almost appearing to move and whirl along the length of the strange metal. The edges of the dagger came to fine lines, still razor sharp, and the point that had been forcibly stabbed into the ground was not rounded in the slightest. If he had not known better he would have believed it had been sharpened earlier that very day.
Wishing to leave the clearing, its malevolent energy having never fully faded from his mind, Matt tucked the dagger into the inside of his cloak. Yet another thing to add to his list of things to look into after he got out of this forest. His hand brushed against a hard, cold, tiny object in his pocket as he hid away the dagger. Fishing the unfamiliar object from his pocket, he held it up to the moonlight to get a good look at it. The silver leaf pendant glistened in the night. Matt cursed, he had completely forgotten that he had taken the pendant from Andrew's body. There was something evil about the way the pendant shimmered in the clearing, and he did not much care if it was just in his imagination, born out of the connections he had drawn between it and the dragons. He hated it. Just as he had felt when he had first held the small symbol next to the burning wreckage of his home, the overwhelming urge to throw it into the depth of the forest where he would never see it again, swept over him in a rush. But something deep inside Matt told him that this necklace could be the key to understanding all of the insanity of this long, horrific night. If he was lucky, it may even give a clue to where he could find his real family.
How did I forget to ask Vincent about the pendant! He berated himself. Every bad event of the last day had happened after Vincent had given the necklace to Andrew. He could only assume that the necklace signified something to do with the return of the dragons, the man he had seen speaking to Kvandi, and the man that Vincent had mentioned back at the inn. But why would Vincent and his father know anything about such awful business? They were just two merchants, decades removed from so much as traveling to the next town over, let alone being caught up in some grand conspiracy. Yet, somehow they had known things that no one in their positions should have known. When Vincent came to find him he resolved to press the man into spilling all of their secrets. There would be no rush for time and he would not be satisfied until he knew every answer. What did the men with the necklace want? Was the necklace even related to the dragons at all or was it a mere coincidence. Who was the council of Sîl-Vestôro, and where was Catûn? Why had he not asked Vincent about what the dragon had said to him? He had so many questions and not a soul around to answer them.
Clasping the pendant around his neck so that he would not misplace it, he ran from the clearing as fast as his tired legs could carry him, plunging back into the depths of the endless dark forest around him.