"My king." Varenyl bowed respectively before the High King of the Sylvari elves, a king that was now reduced to a refugee living in a mountain cave.
The elderly king nodded at Varenyl, his pale, dim blue eyes filled with grief and sadness. His gnarled and skeletal like hand rested gently on his thin lap. Everybody knew that the king would not last much longer; already of failing health, the grief and terror of Lyrenbel's destruction had pushed him over the edge.
"You have the eyes of a man wanting revenge, Jorona," said the old king weakly. "Am I correct?"
Varenyl breathed out a nervous breath. "Yes sir. I have come to ask that I be dismissed."
The soldier standing by the king's side meaningfully eyed Varenyl from under his helmet. He ever so slightly shook his head in disapproval. Varenyl saw the guard's gesture, but grimly pretended not to notice.
"You seek the dragon's head," the king stated. His thin, grey eyebrows wrinkled in concern. "Varenyl...I have known you for nearly seventy years. You're a good man with a big heart. But please, do not let yourself be driven mad with grief. You'll be one hundred and sixty eight years old this year, if I am not mistaken. I'd love to see you live to be my age. But if you go out after that creature, you will not be coming back alive."
Varenyl's gaze fell to the floor. When he looked back at the king, he had the eyes of a man who was prepared to accomplish his goal no matter what. "With all due respect, my lord...I really don't have anything to live for at the moment. The only thing keeping me from cutting my throat now is the knowledge that that dragon is still out there, with the blood of my wife and child on its claws."
The king let a soft breath. He gazed at Varenyl with a large amount of pity in his dim eyes. Varenyl's desperation grew. He took a slight step closer.
"Please, King Sebastien," he begged. "I want that dragon's head on a pike! I will make it pay for what it has done to my family, and to our people!"
"Revenge is a man's worst enemy, Varenyl. If I learned anything in the five hundred years I've lived on this planet, that is it." The old man shook his head. "Please do not think that I do not understand your pain. I have unfortunately managed to outlive my wife, who I was married to for nearly four hundred years, and all three of my sons. I laid them all to rest myself. No parent should have to bury their child. I understand what it feels like to want revenge, to watch your loved ones die right before your eyes. But I cannot let you go, Jorona."
Varenyl's hand clenched. He took another step closer to where the king sat. The guard standing next to Sebastien took a step forward as well, his two handed axe held out in front of him. The guard eyed his comrade with a menacing stare, showing that even though they were brothers in arms, he would not hesitate to kill Varenyl if he laid so much as a finger on the king.
"No, you don't understand! I watched my wife and child burn alive! I watched as the flesh slowly melted off their bones, and I heard their cries of agony!" Varenyl hoarsely cried. Tears glistened in his blue eyes, but he was no longer able to weep. "I let them die! Can't you see? They're dead because of me! And my daughter died on a promise that was never kept! Why...why wasn't I there for them?" He sank to his knees, his eyes wide and blank. "Why didn't I listen to her? Kiveria and Evelyn...please forgive me...." He dug his fingers into the dirt covered floor in grief induced rage as his face contorted in agony.
The king slowly stood up. The guard beside him put a gentle hand on Sebastien's shoulder to help him. After a few moments of struggling, the old man found his balance and walked feebly over to Varenyl. He put a hand on the soldier's blond haired head.
"Do not blame yourself for their deaths, young man. There was nothing you could have done. Whatever happened on that night happened because of an otherworldly force," he said, his voice stern yet gentle. "You were not the only one to lose someone special. Look around at our survivors. This cave is filled with only grown men, Varenyl. No women, no children."
Varenyl suddenly staggered to his feet, his eyes wide. He took one more last, horrified look at the king before running out of the closed off section of the cave.
Sebastien remained standing after he had left. He gazed at the swaying curtain with sorrow filled eyes before breathing out a soft sigh.
"Should I go after him, sir?" the guard offered.
The king shook his head. "He is beyond our control, Elyk. That poor, poor man. But I doubt that he is the only one here to be traumatized."
"Wylcher is watching the trail at the moment. He will try and stop him."
"Let us pray that Jorona does not do anything rash, then. But I do not think that Varenyl Jorona is himself any longer." He turned back around. "I just pray that my people can get to Kei Belanora safely. We are running very low on supplies. Let us pray for both Varenyl and ourselves."
~-~-~
Varenyl sat down on the grass alongside the road he was travelling. He had ditched his uniform and was instead wearing a white cloak that hid his weapons and belongings just like his robes had done before. He had, however, kept the helmet. He sat there for a while, gazing at his surroundings.
It had been two weeks since he had left the refugee camp in the mountains. Two weeks since he had lost everything. He had still seen no sign of the dragon, or any dragon for that matter. Sleeping had been extremely hard. Every time he shut his eyes he saw the flames. He didn't think that he could ever have a peaceful night's rest again. He wasn't feeling quite himself recently either, but he no longer cared. He no longer cared about anything, just killing that dragon. He had just enough coin on him to buy food and supplies at towns he passed through, but he always slept outdoors.
He was somewhere near the middle of Dalyntarth now. It was beautiful there. In the far northeast, he could see the Dalrum Mountains. They were not like the ones back home; these were green with the trees that covered them. The chirping of birds in the nearby trees filled his ears and made him feel at ease. A spring morning's sun shined in the pale blue sky. But as Varenyl looked, he thought that he could see a black cloud rising into the heavens, not far from where he was.
Smoke.
A city was on fire.
Without another thought, he rolled up his thin sleeping mat and set off towards it.
~-~-~
Isendir sat heavily down upon the ash covered ground, feeling extremely light headed and woozy. His soot covered hand gripped his knee as a coughing spasm abruptly racked his body. He gasped for air as his vision began blacking out.
When the spasm passed, he leaned back against the stone wall, wheezing, and clutching at his chest. He let his eyes shut.
This place was like a damn maze. Not all of the city had been destroyed, but Isendir had yet to see another living soul after about an hour of running around. The skeletal remains of the houses burned a faint orange as the flames slowly died out. The sun shined bright in the sky, and a gentle breeze blew. But the air was still stuffy with death and the memory of what had happened. It was hard to breathe and not want to gag.
The Highlander was still in shock. It had happened so fast. Dragon attacks were rare as it was in that day and age. Their kind tended to stay out of the way of humans and other races unless provoked. For three to attack at once and with such ferocity was unimaginable.
Isendir felt like there was something very wrong with the whole situation. Those dragons were massive, far larger than any other one that he had ever seen or heard of. And only one actually attacked the populace; the others just seemed to watch after they had set fire to the outskirts of the town.
He breathed out a soft sigh and shook his head. He needed to find Ragnus. He opened his eyes and stood up.
It was then that he saw the elf.
He moved like a ghost through the desolate street, looking around at the destruction with no emotion whatsoever. Isendir watched him with a wary eye. He was slowly coming towards him, but he showed no signs of noticing the Highlander.
He was dressed in a dirty, ash and soot stained white cloak that hid his entire front, and underneath the pulled cowl was a steel helmet of obvious elven make. A beautiful two handed battle axe rested in his hand as he walked, as if it were only a mere walking stick.
Eventually he caught sight of Isendir. He stopped dead in his tracks, the wind gently blowing the folds of his cloak. He stood there, unmoving.
"Um, hello?" Isendir hesitantly called out. From this distance, he could not tell if the man was a Sylvari or Sylvanaar. He wasn't even entirely sure he was elven; he had no idea elves wielded such heavy weapons. Isendir slowly began to approach him, his hand off but near the hilt of his sword.
At this, the man reached up with his free hand to pull his hood down and remove his helmet. Isendir could see that he had shoulder length blond hair with two braids that came to his shoulders in the front. Two elongated pointed ears peeked out from underneath his hair, proving that he was a Sylvari and not a Sylvanaar. He looked to be around thirty years of age in human years, and had hollow cheekbones. He gazed at Isendir with almost bored blue eyes.
"You look lost," Isendir said when he was close enough. The elf stood a lot taller than the Highlander. "Who are you? I am Isendir Shatterstorm, of the Highland Peninsula."
"Varenyl Jorona. I come from Sheeth Dorei," the man replied coolly. His blue eyes flashed in the light of the sun. "I saw the smoke from the road. A dragon did this." He looked up at the sky. "I am searching for a large black dragon myself...perhaps you have seen it?"
"It and two more of its ilk." Isendir grimly nodded. "Although I cannot tell you which way it flew."
Varenyl returned his gaze to Isendir. He ever so slightly smiled. "You seem like an honest man, Shatterstorm, otherwise I would not believe you. Are there other survivors? This city was spared, for the most part anyway. Yet I have not seen anyone else since I have entered this place...."
"My guess is that the survivors are in hiding. Either that, or there are much fewer than we know." Isendir cast a glance over his shoulder. "I am looking for my companion at the moment. Old dwarf, long grey beard, green eyes."
"How are you so certain that he still lives?" Varenyl asked with the lift of an eyebrow.
Isendir smiled. "Believe me, I would know if that grumbling fool finally kicked the bucket. He's around here somewhere. If you'd like, you can come with me. He might be able to help you."
"Truly?" Varenyl slightly bowed his head in appreciation. "Thank you, Isendir. Perhaps the gods meant for us to meet here, hmm?"
***🐉***
This chapter is dedicated to AuthorJMColes, who has helped me grow as an author a great deal. She has given me advice and taught me things that have definitely helped me improve, and I am eternally grateful for that xD I am also a very big fan of her Guardians series, which I definitely recommend❤️
I feel this chapter could use a lot of work, so if you have any suggestions or critiques please tell me! Thank you so much for reading! I've been a roll with these long chapters recently and I'm sorry for that xD
Until next time~