A New Beginning

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A dragon, not like that of other ongoers of the Stormcaller's, approached the Twilight Palace, gawking at the scenery above him. Knowing not how easy it was to find their home. Of course, stories and legends pointed out the obvious storm cloud sheltering the denizens from most of the barren desert he reluctantly traversed. It was however, curiosity, and fate that had eventually tugged his attention to the only place he knew would be of any asylum, or help.

That being the grand library the Stormcallers had protected over the course of their existence, which was behind the storm he just conquered.

Ever weary and worn from the frantic combat the violent wall gave him, the western dragon finally set down on one of the lower platforms of the mountainous Palace. His wings nearly were drooped to the ground with a hanged head and tail, all signs pointing to tiredness. His scales were still drenched wet from whatever section of the clouds he fought, as with the scarf that covered his chest, appearing heavier and darker than it should appear.

He eyed the wound bandage of plant materia surrounding the majority of his forward right paw, before starting into a limp towards the corridor that would bring him further into the Palace, paying no mind to those whom gave the black dragon estranged glances.

Savan hesitated, before eating the rest of the food without worry. He listened to her words and what she had to offer. He nodded with a smile finishing the rest of the platter, his entire form seemed to stop as she lent an offer to him, of joining the Tribe. Her words brought back those old memories, lowering his head to the meat he had half-eaten.

"I... I don't know... I'll need more t-time to think about it."

She'd been expecting this response, for Savan, so far, seemed a timid one. Nodding obligingly with no traces of disappointment on her face, she said as cheerfully as she could without sounding fake, "That's perfectly fine. Take all the time you need, Savan. I won't rush you." With this said, she reached for the book and opened it, the pages producing a quiet crinkling sound as she did so. Lifting herself back onto the armchair, for the food had been laid across the floor (and so was where she sat), she let her wings spread out, comfortably, around her. "Shall we?"

If Savan followed, she would return her gaze to the book, her eyes scanning the lines eagerly. After the mysterious (and admittedly short) introduction came the description of an arena, surrounded by a silent shadowy crowd watching two fighters in the ring. One was a black-and-white female, the other a grey male, their colours dull as if both had been leached of any real vibrancy, life, and watched by the shadowy crowd, who were wisps of shadows with blazing red or gold eyes, possessing shapes that vaguely remembered a dragon's, but without any real details. The fighters, meanwhile, were evenly matched, though written from a neutral perspective - that was to say, not from either of the fighters nor the crowd, but simply narrated.

The black-and-white one had pale, misty eyes that seemed blank and unfocused, but her deadly motions were the opposite. The grey one responded in kind, dodging and evading, both exchanging blows. Smacks and hisses as claws tore through flesh were the only disruptions in the heavy silence that hung over the entire place.

It was apparent from their motions that this was a fight to the death; neither were holding back. The female was not as swift as the grey one, but her blows landed hard whenever they could, and the grey one staggered back after a particularly brutal blow, and she leaped forward, and drove her spiked tail through the grey one's neck. The reason for doing so was apparent when she stepped back and the entire crowd floated forward, surrounding the grey one, and she walked away, her dead eyes only following her master as greedy sucking sounds followed her.


"Well," Cara remarked once. "Well, that was... Interesting. Though ... What do you think those creatures are? They're definitely feeding on the loser's blood, but they seem to be simply shadows. Spirits, of sorts?" she suggested. "What do you think?"

There was a respiteful smile and nod to her respect of his decision, though shortlived. In the end however, a sort of, panging of his heart began, as he felt guilty for rejecting her offer, but he too wasn't sure of such a decision.

Not yet, at least.

Indeed he turned back to the book, nodding quietly again at her invitation to read once more. While Caramina's body was relaxed, Savan's was stiff, a Rook atop a board, not knowing that the game had ended, and peace would no longer be a luxury.

Savan read the book along with her, sentence by sentence, word by word, engaged, and engrossed in the book's scene, and sense of the dueler's battle. His head leaned in, eyes leaping to each word as the fight went on, it was obvious he was excited, drawn, focused on the battle.

And when the blow was struck, reality came back to him, as the final blow reminded himself of the ways he had done similarly, albeit leaving their body, rather than becoming feral. When Caramina's words snapped him back to reality, he thought for a moment, recalling the dark creatures devouring the corpse.

"Some form of creature, perhaps beyond our realm? I... I-I can't say. One thing is for sure the book described the crowd being numerous. I just hope I don't have to face them in my lifetime." Savan let out a suppressed burp as his stomach readily began to feast upon the overwhelming nutrients of his recent banquet.

Politely, Cara pretended not to have heard Savan's burp, and reached for a cookie, nibbling it thoughtfully.

"I believe that these creatures mentioned here are fictitious ... no more than a product of someone's imagination. So don't worry about encountering them; it is not possible." She flashed a reassuring smile. "However, they are undeniably intriguing; they seem to share the same liking for blood, like vampires, yet their physical forms seem intangible. How did they manage to draw blood with nothing but shadow and mists?"

She ate the last of the cookie, and sighed, answering her own question, "But we do not have enough information currently, so we have no choice but to continue in hopes that the book will reveal more. But!" She held up a claw to catch Savan's question. "Do you think the female is the very child who was kidnapped at the start?" She raised another claw, then another, as she listed out discussion questions. "If so, why? And how do you think the creatures managed to organise this arena? Do you think they have a boss?"

The off-black dragon sat there for a moment in thought at her waving of the fictitious monsters. He read back through the lines a few more times.

"I think she is... Perhaps she has a valuable talent or power to her that someone else finds useful, at least that's my thought." He mused, before continuing. "Maybe the creatures do have a leader, maybe a hive mentality?"

"That someone finds useful, huh," she echoed. "That explains why she hasn't fled - not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't. Though, from 'misty eyes, blank and unfocused', it's possible that her willpower, or something similar, has been removed from her, so she doesn't rebel or try to run. It's easier to do that, than to constantly keep what you don't want to lose under surveillance."

"And as for the leader, well, I wonder if he's one of the spectators. Though, I think for someone in his position, he should be seated somewhere fancy. Is it possible that he's her master?"

One more answering her own question, Caramina went back to reading.

-

She asked, as soon as the sounds of feasting faded behind her, whether she had done well, looking up at the towering shadow.

It fixed her with its flaming auburn gaze, and did not respond immediately - or at least, not until she asked again, less confidently now, edging near fearful.

Seeing her squirm made him smile, a crescent slash of gleaming white teeth like razors, and he was pleased enough to spare her a verbal response -

"Passable," it said in a low, rough voice, each syllable drawn out with an intent to mock, to insinuate that he meant the very opposite - and she knew it.

She seemed to shrink, then, tucking her wings close to herself, her head held low. She was tugged along by an ebony leash, which was linked to a collar sitting right above her shoulders, at the base of her neck. All around it, the flesh was a faded gray, as if the collar had squeezed the very life out of it - or perhaps blood.

-

The scene cut to what she presumed was the next day, but she spoke up, pointing out, "They didn't elaborate on the collar - but what if it drew blood from her, and there was a tube in the leash that somehow gave blood to her 'Master'?"

“Maybe, or maybe there’s something that isn’t explained about the collar.” He mused, reading over the lines a few more times. “Secrets are revealed with the passing of time, my mother said.” He tilted his head back, popping a few bones here and there as he stretched a bit, before looking back down with remewed interest.

"Indeed, that is true. Yet here I am, asking questions when the answers lie within these pages, waiting to be discovered." She shook her head ruefully, but quickly returned to the book.

—

From the path they were taking, she guessed that they would not be heading outside today. A testament to her poor performance—her master would allow her a glimpse of the sunshine if she had appeased it.

She did not know where she had gone wrong: Had the battle ended too swiftly, or too slowly? Had her strikes been too light, had she not wounded her opponent enough, had she not shed sufficient blood? She, however, did not ask, knowing her master would respond only if it would make her squirm, and silence would achieve the same results.

The stone beneath her paws had been worn down to smoothness, but still some ridges remained, telltale signs of her destination. She walked as slowly as she dared, but her master noticed, and gave a quick impatient tug on her collar; helplessly, she stumbled forward, gaze cast dully to the ground, resigned to her fate.

She practically fell into her room, its darkness closing around her, and her master slammed the door shut without a word. It was too dim to do anything but sleep, but she could not sleep either, trapped in a perpetual state of wakefulness.

——————

In truth, it was not mad at her.

"They want more?" it demanded of its fellow Shadower, who simply shook its head despairingly. "They are not satiated. They say that the blood of the prey today was far too watery." The other Shadower hissed, disgusted. "As if we had a choice. Good prey's scarce around here, and it's not our fault. We have been living on far worse besides, and we do not complain—but they can?"

"Indeed they can, but we are in no position to refuse. They can and will strike us down should we ever displease them," it said grimly, and the Shadower scoffed. "Unfortunate, or we would have overthrown those pricks a long time ago."

"Careful. They have eyes and ears everywhere," it cautioned.

"And what will they do to me even if they hear? For all their lording over us, we make up the numbers they require, even if in the end, we'll be discarded."

"One less Shadower won't make a difference to them."

"And I'm not the only one who's unhappy. If I'm killed, the others will have more reason to rebel, and even if we will be easily dealt with, they don't have the time. Besides, I'm far too valuable to be killed this early on."

"Still. Try not to do anything that will get you killed."

"Is that concern I hear?"

"Shut up. We all need you, and you know it."

"That's true. I'll head out now; hopefully I can find something to appease our kings." The last word was filled with a bitter vehemence.

—

They spent a few more hours reading—during which it was revealed that they were the Shadowers from another continent; they were far stronger due to the fresh, healthy blood that had been available from where they hailed from, and they had come as their land had been destroyed by a foreign entity in an effort to snuff them out.

For years, the Shadowers had coexisted peacefully with the Sunsingers, each keeping to their own territory, but the the latter got the idea that they were far superior than their cousins, for the Shadowers lived 'disgracefully, in the dark, stealing life from others', and thus had invaded.

Yet the Sunsingers inevitably found their new headquarters, and the Shadowers had taken on a less corporeal form and escaped, while the female was still locked in the room. She was freed by the Sunsingers, who took one look at her and scoffed and closed the door.

The next time she saw them was another three weeks, where they offered she spy for them or die. She chose the former, of course, and attempted to escape, but the bird that would be their messenger took control of her limbs and forced her in the direction of the Shadowers. She went back to the Shadowers with the excuse that one of their kind had spared a thought to open her door, but fled before she could see its face, and she had spent those three weeks trying to find them.

They used her as entertainment, while she spoke to the bird that accompanied her. Eventually the Sunsingers successfully captured the Shadowers and imprisoned them. She was free to go, then, for Sunsingers and their radiant beauty did not mix with the boring mortalness of dragons. Her very presence made them sick, and so she left, seeking her family, only to find that they had long passed on, and the three centuries she thought she lived was actually three thousand years, for time worked differently in the land of the Shadowers.

She returned, with difficulty, to the only place that she knew, only to be thrown into the dungeons alongside the Shadowers who sneered and taunted her endlessly.


"That's all?" she asked finally at midnight, her eyes tracing the words on the last page. It seemed to be a set of instructions, though was unsurprisingly enigmatic:

To find the realm of shadows,
Tread the unclaimed path,
Until you find eight claws full of snow
that await in a red bloodbath.
Conquer the tallest one,
and outrun the crow's jewels,
by falling so far down,
Into a black whirlpool.