"Those aligned with the sky wish only for freedom,
"We wish only to fly, to be free and touch the clouds,
"He spoke so lovingly, so sweetly, so awed, the dragon of the sky
"'Behold as the heavens expand, ere before it disappears into the endless nothing,
"How the colours dance in the void,
"True freedom lies not in the flight, but the fall,
"I watch those stars get farther away, and believe,
"Believe that one day, I could reach those stars with my lowly wings."
~ Heretic Text: Dragon Soul of the Sky.
Falora
Temple
If only I had all the time in the world, I would spend days here. All the things I could chronicle with my pen. Every precious shard of history. The stories this place can tell me. It sent her heart alight with the promise of adventure. Vines shielded the walls of ancient history, left behind from the Age of Dragons. What I wouldn't give to have more time.
There was no time, what with the silence of the aethergines. It meant they were no longer alone on the island. Celestial Templars would swarm the temple, hunting for proof of cult activity. Falora rushed through the long tunnel with a piece of history on her heels, but she slid to a stop at a beam of light rushing through the Inner Sanctum behind them. Torchlight. Heavy, armoured footfalls echoed through the hallowed halls of an evil god's story. Of course.
Thirty seconds at the most. Falora motioned down the dark corridor. Orilion took a cautious step forward, and she rushed their pace when he faltered at the spiraling doorways into the eye of the hurricane. Maybe in one of these rooms we can wait out the Celestials templars and make a break for it. Falora tapped the wall as she went past, and when she pressed into air, she tugged Orilion forward. On her knees in the small room, she peered at the tiny pedestal which overtook the center. Her hand reached for its crystalline surface, and it hummed against her fingertips.
Echoes of the lost haunted her as she straightened herself out to peer into the heart of the storm. "What is this?" she whispered and eyed Orilion, who frowned then flicked his gaze back to the open piece of doorway they stumbled through.
Torchlight sent a shockwave through her spine as she withdrew her hand and swung her arm at Orilion, who closed the door behind him. A pulse of wind hushed through the lock mechanism and stretched to the hinges of the stone. It fell quiet as the footsteps drew closer. It fell silent right outside the door, but not a single voice thundered through the sanctum. The Templars footsteps continued on after one scuffled movement, and faded away deeper into the temple.
Shadows preserve us... Falora dared to breathe and returned her attention to the crystal orb. In the corner, Orilion hid in the shadows, pressed against the wall as he had in her closet. Falora waited for the tell-tale stomping of Celestial Templar armor, but frowned when the silence reigned instead of the storm. I'll never get another chance like this, will I? I'd be branded a heretic if I'm caught, but... Sketchbook in hand, she knelt closer to the orb to peer into the crystalline clouds. I wonder if this is some sort of scrying orb for the Gods — how priests commune with them. Every line traced with its movement in the world, she smiled down at the piece of history.
"What are you doing?" Orilion questioned.
"I'm drawing," she whispered. "It's not like I get the chance to explore an ancient temple."
Orilion slid down the wall and said nothing else. Falora frowned at him, no more a dragon than she. Sketchbook placed back into her traveling bag, she reached out to grasp the scrying orb.
In a gentle breeze, she almost gasped out a scream when the small dome shifted. Every rock fell apart to the wind and the hush of the sky. Her breath caught in her chest as mountains towered over her head, a seat for a dragon god. Lightning towers pierced the peaks of snow. Cascades of clouds, frozen in time along the gradient of monochrome colors. Flowers, stuck in a shard of the past as wind spices danced along their petals. Massive colonnades raised to create a beautiful monument in the clouds. Pictures told along the rocky crevices, where the eye of the hurricane shone in every piece as she tucked the orb closer to her heart.
Where is the colour? The life? It's like I can see the wind, but it doesn't move...
Massive tapestries hung between the colonnades which led up the mountain steps into the massive temple, which put the Crackjaw island to shame with its grandeur. Edges serrated by frozen ember flames, it left all the greenery untouched.
Falora gazed into the orb, and saw her own hazel eyes, and wind brushed through her dark locks and revealed the truth. Dark stone, trapped behind all the heretical walls.
'But you want to know what I see?' Father asked her when she first picked up a brush. 'I see beauty — it can't hide, though it will try. You must paint your own picture.' She remembered his smile. 'My secret is this, Firelily. Though the physical world changes, one thing will show the truth. Though our bodies will change, one thing never will.' He pointed at the hazel eyes they shared. 'These are windows into your soul. From mortals to the gods themselves. Everyone has this second sight within them.'
Falora twisted in the direction of Orilion.
In a sweeping wave, sparkled cyan shone off the hurricane clouds as his pupils tightened into the dragon beads.
Scales dripping rot. Red eyes full of bloodlust.
It reflected off the orb, but never unfroze time around her.
Orilion tensed up and held himself light on his feet, ready to take flight while the cyan revealed the window into his soul. Any further, and wings would sprout from his back.
Claws yellowed from his feast.
"What is it?" he asked under his breath.
Falora put the scrying orb down, and the cyan sparkles skittered out of view and took with it the haunting sight before her. Her heart pounded with the unseen thunder, but she gasped when the walls trembled and shifted. In the distance, a Celestial Templar called out a warning as the tiles underneath her feet sent tremors up her legs. Falora lunged for the orb while Orilion rushed for her.
Falora bit down on her tongue to stop a scream leaving her throat as the floor disappeared from underneath her. Cracks of lightning smashed down the chute as she fumbled with the orb, and it bounced out of her hands. Flashes of light whisked through the stone and static coursed through her ears at the charge. She flailed to grab hold of something as rock continued to smash behind their fall. One more tumble, and she held onto something squishy as their plummet slowed.
Ow...
Something underneath her trembled, and she readied herself for another fall into the abyss.
Blue storm clouds peered up at her.
Orilion clutched onto a loose stone and hung onto her to stop her own fall with the strength of a god. Falora tried to scramble off him, but her back hit the stone. In the dark, his eyes gave off the same lightning glow. He squirmed underneath her, no longer meeting her in the eye as the seconds passed into long minutes.
Falora crawled off him to latch onto the other wall. In such a tight space, trapped arm to arm with an evil tyrant dragon god. "Hells," she hissed, heart pounding.
Hushes of wind embraced him as he curled up and his breathing came out in shortened pants. She lunged forward when his grip on the loose stone faltered, stopping the descent further down the stone chute. "You weren't kidding," she mumbled, then glanced back where they tumbled. And you're still not well...
After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again. Falora released him and pointed down the chute. After a slow crawl down the slant, they tumbled out into the open and the chirps of birds. Vines covered the chute when they left it behind, and the whisper of cascades echoed through the breeze. Ocean waves crashed against a distant beach, and hope rushed through her heart at the light.
Marble pathways twirled back up into the temple on the tallest point of the island. Orilion squeezed past her to cling onto the railing, doubling over it. Falora joined him, and gazed into the garden. Willow trees protected the outside communion groves. Fountains dripped and fed into the roots of the moats. Small braziers sat atop pillars, unlit and cracked. Falora nodded. "We have to leave."
Orilion followed her without complaint as she tread into the groves. Runes and pictures laid at her feet and told a different story. Wind rose up from the push of the waves against the cliffs. Falora came to a stop at the statue of the man beside her, though with tapered horns akin to an Azarian. Falora stopped him as he went to stumble into the undergrowth. "Is this you?"
He grimaced and peered up at the statue. "I..." He held the side of his head then shrugged. "If this is my temple... I do not see why it wouldn't be, though it's strange."
"Strange how?" Falora studied the inscription and wrote it down in her sketchbook.
"How would you feel if you stumbled upon a statue of yourself?"
Falora sighed at his quip, then huffed. "I only ask... because you don't have horns."
His eyes widened into large cyan moons. "I don't?"
"... no."
Orilion switched his head back to the head of the statue, then shuffled over to the pool in the center of the grove. He stared into his reflection, and Falora tried not to imagine the sparkled dance of wind and the sky within his gaze as he stiffened, then placed his hands flat against his head with another horrified grimace. He muttered something in Celestial Draconic as he brushed his hands through his hair, and then took in a deep breath and groaned, and the clouds thundered above their heads.
"Is your other form supposed to be Azarian?"
"What?"
Falora huffed. "You know — the people of the sky islands? Those people? Closest known descendants to the dragons? Something that you're supposed to be but aren't?"
He continued to ruffle his hands through his hair then sent his foot into the stone. It cracked and he withdrew with a wince and shook his head. "I do not know. I have... different forms, but it is no wonder I feel so... stifled."
It fell quiet save for the distant shouts of the Celestial Templars. Falora sighed and tugged him along the path, away from the grove and farther away from danger. She hid behind a pillar at an armoured shadow as they crawled up the main steps to the temple's heart. Out of sight, Falora rushed for the dock, while Orilion sauntered behind her. She untied the rope to her old cloudsweeper as Orilion climbed into the back. She threw her bag into the holding spot and hopped into the pilot's seat. Emergency oar in the water, she pushed off the dock.
Caught in the headwind, the sails refused to move. Falora reached for the ancient aethergine engine, but froze at the sounds of powerful, working ones. Two airship sails peeked from the other side of the temple. "Guess we're doing this the old fashioned way," Falora grumbled and shoved the oar into the water.
The wind changed from head to tail.
Falora pulled the oar out of the water when the sudden burst almost sent her face first into the cloudsweeper. The sails expanded and fluttered with the night sky above her head.
Soft trails of blue rose from Orilion's outstretched hand. Windy swirls whispered off his fingertips. In reflection, his eyes glowed into a hurricane, focused on the sails. Falora rested the oar in the holder, unable to drag away from the hypnotizing sight.
Orilion rested his hand back on his lap, though the wind persisted. He sank deeper into the seat with a soft sigh. Waves and the breeze carried them closer to safety, farther away from the Celestial Airships as they dominated the sky. Falora turned on her own aethergine for the extra push, but it sputtered.
I can't risk flying... it's easier to look over a fishing boat. Falora tugged on the sails to adjust with the wind without Orilion's interference, who had fallen asleep from his use of power. Her own exhaustion tugged at her bones. After all that... I need a nap. Morning flames stretched through the sky and into her sails. "Orilion?"
"Yes?" he asked, slowly opening his eyes.
Falora considered him. "Thank you."
"For?"
"I didn't get that tailwind by sheer coincidence," she said and folded her arms.
Orilion closed his eyes, but there was no denying the pleased smile crawling on his lips. Genuineness, for an evil tyrant god of history. "Thank the wind if you must, I simply guided it."
Relief swept into her heart at the lack of movement from the island. Orilion laced his hands as they came closer to the shore. By the time they slipped into the inlet, the sun ascended into the sky, and her heart pounded with the adventure she left behind. One small taste, and she longed for more.
To see all of it — all the world and its painted truth.
"Are you well enough to move?" she asked.
Orilion grabbed the sides of the boat as they landed on the beach. Over the island, the airships rose higher into the sky with their massive sails of clouds, and moved across the ocean at a different angle. Falora tried to map out their direction. They're heading for Notolsald to report whatever they found, or didn't find. Her attention drew back to Orilion when he hauled himself out of the boat, then sank knee deep into the waves when his legs gave out. Falora reached out to help, but he hauled himself back to his feet and trudged closer to shore.
Before she could follow, she jumped when he grabbed the front of the boat as he passed, pulling it along with ease.
"Maybe you shouldn't push yourself?" she asked.
Orilion's gave her a puzzled expression. "This doesn't weigh anything."
Right... he may be a weakened god... but he still is one. Falora sighed and jumped out to help. They settled the cloudsweeper into the sand.
Orilion rubbed his brow as she gripped her knees and caught herself.
"I need a nap," she grunted, then glared at him. He took a small step back. "We'll leave as soon as I'm ready. We'll head for the township of Tulcai, catch a train to Notalsald and find someone with an airship who can take us through the cloudlands without attracting attention." Falora took the lead back to her cottage by the sea. Mossy cobbled paths guided her through the forest of willows. "We'll need to go around Crackjaw." I'll need to delve into the money I saved up for emergencies...
Hesitation crawled through her bones as they entered back into the cottage. Orilion hovered by the front door, and she twisted back to him and forced a smile back on her face. "Can I trust you to stay put and wake me up if armoured individuals come knocking?"
"Where am I going to go?" Orilion said, a flash of annoyance creasing his brow, and she flinched. He blinked, then shuffled into the living room. "I don't even know where I am, Miss Tyv—Falora. If you're worried I will do something, you need not be."
"Are you sure you won't—?"
"I will not," he repeated, then took a seat in the rocking chair.
Falora pointed at the bookshelves. "Maybe take this time to catch up. You've been gone for a millennia... a lot has changed."
His nose crinkled. "Readings of how I murdered mortals or otherwise feasted on their flesh in blood sacrifice?"
Falora bit on her tongue. "Eh... some of them."
He sniffed. "I am not going to feast on your flesh. If I get the sudden urge, I will be sure to wake you up and warn you first."
His voice came out solemn, and she couldn't contain her fit of giggles. "Well, in that case, there's some bread in the pantry if you do get hungry," she joked. "If that can sate a dragon's appetite."
Her laughter died in her throat when Orilion frowned. "Bread will do fine," he mumbled and reached for a book. "Believe what you will, Miss Tyvlon. I cannot disprove what your texts say." He tucked into the cushions. "I cannot remember any of it."
Falora studied him. "You... haven't smote me with lightning, so we're off to a good start." She forced herself to smile. "You have to look at the silver linings in the clouds, after all."
He gave her another hard to read expression, and she left him to have a nap.