.𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘴𝘩.

FENRIR

As they passed through the streets of Avanting, Fenrir felt the tension that had haunted him for the past week or so begin to ease away. The familiar sounds and scents of the city brought him some measure of comfort, though he was under no illusions the peace would last long. Not with Bellinor and Kaiva in his traveling party. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t strangled either one of them over the last four days. He’d had to take a long flight every night and early morning just to vent his frustrations. High in the sky, where no one could see him, he’d scream and yell and shout words so vulgar even a pirate would be shocked. He’d tell himself he’d be more patient, tell himself he’d let the anger go, but every day he was faced with two individuals doing their damn best to get under his skin and he was unable to keep the fire from burning within. He knew his temper was sometimes poor, knew that his patience could often be short at the best of times. He’d learned over the years how to push the anger down, learned how to bury his hurt and pain so that it festered like a gangrenous wound.

But the sights and sounds of his city – his home – let a bit of peace trickle in, soothing the burning within his chest. It wouldn’t last long, but he clung to it, holding it close as they moved through the winding streets towards the castle, which sat at the highest point of the city. Too soon they’d reached the castle, and Fenrir dismounted his horse, as did the others. The royal stable-hands came forward to lead their mounts away, where they’d be well taken care of. Fenrir had ensured that there was plenty of room in the stables for the horses, since he knew they’d be stabled there for at least a few months. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red, and turned to see his father, King Rolnar, descending the grand castle steps towards them.

“My son,” Rolnar greeting, voice carrying as it always did, “you have returned. How are things on the frontlines?” The king didn’t even wait for an answer before turning to the phoenixes that stood near him. Fenrir bit back the hurt, swallowed it down and shoved it as far back in his mind as he could, to that little box that was near to bursting. His father couldn’t even be bothered to greet him properly. Couldn’t even be bothered to offer his eldest son a genuine smile. Fenrir bowed before his father, mantling his wings slightly as he did so, as was expected of him. He did not respond to his father’s question and watched as the red king moved to greet Kaiva and Bellinor.

“Bellinor, welcome, friend. You are a fellow king here, though I know you prefer the role of warrior. And is that Lexar’s protégé? I can see there is a young woman under the dirt and grime.” Fenrir gritted his teeth. “You are the image of your mother,” the king told Kaiva.

“Come! All of you, there is much to discuss and knowing my son, he will be anxious to get back on the road.”

You don’t know me, Fenrir thought to himself. The words were spoken softly in his mind, like the scared, scratchy tone of a child. “Perhaps this discussion is best held in the war room, Your Grace,” he told his father. He moved to lead the way, but his path was stopped by Nelmia.

“Took you long enough to get back, brother,” the princess teased. Fenrir noted the bitter air to her tone, however, and he frowned. “Welcome back, good to see you are in one piece.”

“Indeed,” Fenrir drawled in response. “It is good to see you as well, sister.”

Nelmia turned away to greet Bellinor and Kaiva. As usual, she couldn’t resist poking at Fenrir’s pride. A spark of hurt danced through his eyes, but he buried it quickly again. That was what Fenrir was best at – suppressing emotion.

Instead, he entered the castle and led the way to the war room. When he entered, a genuine smile flickered across his face. His youngest sibling, Alistair, was stood by the window, peering down at the city below. “Brother,” Fenrir greeted; for the first time in days, there was a true gentleness to his tone. He loved both his siblings, but his relationship with Nelmia had always been strained. Alistair… Alistair was different. Oh, there were times he poked fun at Fenrir, but those were few and far between. Alistair was a jovial individual who could bring out the best in those around him, even his elder brother.

Alistair turned and smiled. The two brothers embraced for a moment. They were quite the pair, startingly opposite in appearance. Where Fenrir was kissed by shadows and cloaked in darkness, Alistair had been blessed by the moon and seemed to exude radiance. His hair was a stark silver-white, as though all color had been leeched from it. A pair of backwards sloping horns could be seen through the locks; they were a pearlescent white, seeming to capture the fire-light and cast it in all directions. Like his father and brother, Alistair had wings. His were as pale as the moon. There was a time that Alistair had seemed to be Fenrir’s spitting image, but the transfusion with dragon blood had seemed to infuse him with the moon's coloring. His skin was as pale as his wings and hair, and his eyes were a bright silver blue.

“I trust your journey was not too trying,” Alistair chuckled as the brothers stepped apart.

“You could say that.”

Fenrir turned to watch everyone else trickle in, and then gestured to the various scrolls and documents that had been spread across the massive oak table. There were various depictions of dragons and diagrams of their eggs. He waited until everyone had settled in the seats around the table, although he himself remained standing.

“The nature of this mission,” he began, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn, “is to travel into the heart of the mountains and find the dragons.”

KAIVA

Kaiva had to suppress the confusion that dared to cross her face as the king walked away. He had known her mother? She supposed he must have. Her real parents had been members of his court, though she scarcely remembered them. When she had shown signs of some talent in combat at a young age, they pawned her off to Lexar like a prized pony to be shown off. She had always resented them, even though Lexar became the father she wanted and needed.

She could feel the phantom touch of the king’s fingers on her jaw.

"There is a sight for sore eyes. I haven't seen you since. Well I can't even remember. I'm surprised you agreed to join this quest with grumpy wings over there." The voice belonged to another young woman. Recognition passed over Kaiva’s face as she identified the lovely creature as Fenrir’s sister, Nelmia. They had met a few times as children, not only at sparring matches, but at various parties and gatherings. The girls of the court were often shepherded together, and Kaiva remembered Nelmia well from when they were children. Perhaps if things had been different, they might have grown up as friends.

“I think I make him grumpier than anyone,” she responded with a smile, glancing toward the crowned prince in the corner of her eye. His expression was guarded. She wondered why he was not happier to see his family, but suspected there must be a good reason below the surface.

The entire party, royals, attendants, and soldiers, were led into the castle in a bustle of chatter. Up ahead, Kaiva spotted Fenrir talking to a bright-faced man with white hair and pearlescent wings. His younger brother Alistair, she guessed. She had never spoken to him before, so she could not guess what he said to make Fenrir smile as they spoke.

She walked beside Bellinor. As they passed the rich ornamentation and spectacle of the entryway, she nudged him to gesture at a displayed set of golden armor. She arched her eyebrow as if to say, “Would ya look at that? Fancy.”

They were led to what must have been the war room. A large table was the central feature, and its oaken surface was carved with depictions of dragons and their precious eggs. The king took his place at the head of the table, and everyone else filled into the nearest chair. Kaiva ended up between Fenrir and Alistair, who she shot a friendly glance to.

“The nature of this mission,” the crowned prince began. He was standing as he addressed the room, “Is to travel into the heart of the mountains and find the dragons.”

Kaiva felt a surge of excitement in her chest. The dragons? They were creatures of legend, said to be the wisest and most powerful of all beings. They lived in her mind as representations of all that was mystical and beautiful.

Her face fell slightly, however, when she remembered that they were supposed to be long gone.

And then her mind returned to the battlefield. She knew her friends were all there now, risking their lives each day amid the frost and flame. She had never expected to leave them. In many ways, she had envisioned herself on the battlefield until nothing of her remained. What of the war? She questioned internally. The two sides began to battle in her brain: the desire to fulfill a childhood fantasy and the need to fight as she had been shaped to do.

King Rolnar remained seated as he spoke: “My son knows that I am wary of this mission. I fear the consequences of depriving our frontlines of our best warriors, but he has assured me that Traeterra will benefit in the long run.”

Kaiva could see the reservation in the eyes of many around the table. It was certainly a bold move, especially given there was no guarantee that they would succeed. The dragons were little more than myth. The only remnants of them lived on the backs and brows of the royal family.

“Where will we look for them?” Kaiva found herself asking. “I thought the last dragons died many centuries ago.”