In the High Elven calendar, during the 350th year of Sea Lord Finubar's reign, Prince Imrik of Caledor returned to his kingdom.
Each time Imrik returned to Caledor, he was overwhelmed with sadness—a deep, bone-chilling sorrow. In the glorious and radiant history of the Elven Empire, Caledor had always been its backbone, the most important, powerful, and honored kingdom, and also the one that had sacrificed the most (at least, that's how the Caledorians saw it).
Ulthuan, the island of the High Elves, is a hollow ring of land, divided by the Annulii Mountains. The kingdoms situated in the outer ring, beyond the mountains, are referred to as the Outer Kingdoms and are the first to face invasions. The kingdoms within the mountain ring are called the Inner Kingdoms, which seldom experience war and often enjoy peace, prosperity, and better living conditions.
There are only five gates connecting the Inner and Outer Kingdoms, and the peaks of the Annulii Mountains are considered impassable—this has been proven over countless attempts. Only one High Elven archmage, using a lifetime of wisdom, magic, and effort, managed to ascend to the summit of the Annulii Mountains.
When he came back down, all he said was, "The summit is the realm of the gods." After that, the archmage blinded himself, gave up magic, and lived in seclusion for the rest of his life.
Based on his experience, scholars and archmages from Hoeth concluded that the summit of the Annulii connects directly to the Realm of Chaos. Since then, further research has been abandoned.
Among the five great Inner Kingdoms of the High Elves, Caledor has the smallest population, but it has never hidden its formidable strength. Beneath the volcanic mountains of the Dragon Spine range lies the power of the mighty dragons.
Long ago, the great Caledor the Dragontamer was born here. He was the greatest archmage the High Elves had ever known, bar none, and he was the one who created the Great Vortex.
Using the enchanted weapons forged on Vaul's Anvil and his immense magical power, Caledor tamed the dragons. His descendants named their kingdom after this great ancestor, calling it Caledor.
At the height of Caledor's power, there were twenty thousand Dragon Princes—yes, twenty thousand knights riding dragons. Over the centuries, towering fortresses were built in the misty valleys, and from these fortresses, the Dragon Princes soared into battle on the rising currents of air from the dormant volcanoes. No one could match them in combat.
In the final battle of the Great Vortex, the first Phoenix King, Aenarion, withstood the forces of Chaos, allowing Caledor Dragontamer to complete the Vortex. Aenarion himself fell, having single-handedly fought and killed four Chaos Greater Daemons. Barely alive, he returned the Widowmaker—the Sword of Khaine—before dying. The Dragon Princes suffered heavy losses, with almost none surviving.
But the worst came after. In the golden age of the next Phoenix King, Bel-Shanaar, Caledor's volcanic mountains began to cool. After Malekith's betrayal and the subsequent division of the Elven Empire, Caledor's fiery volcanoes gradually cooled, and the once-burning mountains lost their heat. With the cooling of the peaks, the dragons began to lose their vitality, one by one falling into deep slumber, becoming increasingly difficult to awaken.
Without the help of the dragons, and after losing the last Dragontamer's bloodline in the War of the Beard, the power and influence of the Dragon Princes dwindled. Since the reign of Tyrion's father, no prince of Caledor has held the Phoenix Throne. Despite this, Caledor remains the most militant and fearsome of the High Elven kingdoms. Even the few remaining dragons (those still awake) ensure Caledor's pivotal role in the High Elven War Council.
After all, the High Elves' former glory is now in the past, and their ancient enemies have grown stronger. Though the High Elves' once-world-dominating might now barely suffices to combat their current foes—fighting off the Dark Elves' raids, the Chaos marauders to the north, and undead pirates to the south, with occasional greenskin and Skaven assaults—their population is slowly dwindling. They can no longer afford to fight on multiple fronts simultaneously.
Still, the High Elves believe it is their duty to defend the world. Every year, some pick up their weapons and stand against the darkness. Though one day this grand and sorrowful elegy of the High Elves may come to an end, many performances are yet to take place before the final curtain falls.
Prince Imrik returned to his palace in Caledor, gazing sadly at the once-glorious kingdom. The towering stone pillars, several dozen meters high, and the vast halls were once large enough for dragons to roam freely. Now, Caledor was a silent place. The skies were no longer filled with the cries of dragons and their fiery breath. The dragon lairs no longer echoed with their roars, and the earth no longer trembled beneath their heavy footsteps. All that remained was an empty, cold silence, broken only by the hurried footsteps of the few remaining Dragon Princes and guards.
"Your Highness," a Dragon Prince approached as Imrik returned. "Has the council ended?"
"It ended long ago," Imrik replied curtly, his temper clearly sour. "Tyrion had his way again. I couldn't even meet with the Phoenix King."
"It's always like this. We should rename the War Council to the Tyrion Brothers' Council, sponsored by the Tyrion Brothers Trading Company," the Dragon Prince joked. Though Imrik remained serious, he couldn't help but smile faintly at the jest. But soon his thoughts returned to how isolated he had felt in the council.
He could hardly remember the last time Phoenix King Finubar had attended a War Council.
Not that it made a difference—Finubar had always looked dazed, much like a disoriented duck.
"How is Vaul's Anvil?"
"Running smoothly."
"I'm heading to the Temple of Vaul!"
"Understood."
Caledor's ways were marked by pride and efficiency. Imrik immediately made his way to Vaul's Anvil, located in the Dragon Spine Mountains' most active volcano. The Temple of Vaul was situated in a tall blackstone tower, surrounded by steaming molten lava.
The temple's only access to the outside world was a narrow, steel-crafted suspension bridge. Inside, Vaul's followers forged powerful weapons and exquisite armor for the elven lords.
Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't only the dwarves who mastered rune technology; the elves did too. In fact, in some ways, the elves' rune magic was superior, especially in their mastery of the Winds of Magic (save for the Slann Mage-Priests).
However, the cost was immense. While dwarves used the Anvils of Doom to absorb and bind the Winds of Magic, their runecrafting required little more than skill and strength (and dwarf runesmiths lived exceptionally long). Elven rune crafting was different. The smiths of Vaul's Anvil had to gouge out their own eyes. This act of self-mutilation was necessary to avoid being corrupted by Chaos when wielding the Winds of Magic during crafting. Only then could they ensure that the knowledge and techniques passed down from Vaul remained pure. During rune crafting, the life force of the elven smiths was infused into the weapons and armor they forged, often at the cost of their own lives.
These weapons, forged with life itself, were undeniably powerful.
These were weapons forged with the lives of Caledor's sons and daughters. Gripping his Star Lance tightly, Imrik, Prince of Caledor, knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would be ready.
"Imrryyyk," a deep voice suddenly rumbled. From within the molten lava, a massive dragon emerged. The dragon's body was over thirty meters long, with a wingspan of sixty meters. Its dark blue scales resembled the night sky, and its majestic crown and overwhelming presence exuded power.
This was Minathnir, the oldest and mightiest dragon of Caledor, and the last of the ancient Starlight Dragons. As it flew before Imrik, the dragon called his name in the ancient dragon tongue. "Come here. I have something to tell you."
"Yes," Imrik, always proud even among his fellow elves, showed genuine emotion only in the presence of Minathnir. "What is it?"
"Chaos power is gathering in the far north. I can sense it. Another champion, favored by all four Chaos Gods, is amassing his army. Countless Chaos warriors are rallying under his banner," the dragon lowered its massive body and spoke to the Prince of Caledor. "The numbers are beyond reckoning. Prince of Caledor, the End Times are near."
"Let them come!" Imrik gripped his Star Lance tightly. "The sons of Caledor will never bow to darkness."
"That's not how wars are won, child," the dragon's blue eyes locked onto the young elven prince, filled with affection. Minathnir pressed its forepaws into the ground and stretched its massive wings. "But regardless, after the End Times, the dragons will perish. It's an ancient prophecy, destined to unfold."
"The dragons… will perish?" Imrik's usually arrogant expression faltered as disbelief flickered across his face. Yet he didn't question the prophecy's validity. "I don't care! I don't care if the dragons perish. When the End Times come, the sons of Caledor will fight alongside the dragons until
the very last moment. I swear it in the name of Caledor!"
"We have known our fate since the coming of the Old Ones, child," the ancient dragon replied slowly. "I understand your intent. It's part of our pact."
The relationship between Minathnir and Imrik was strange but harmonious. The elves saw the dragons as reliable, intimate partners.
The dragons, in turn, saw the Prince of Caledor as a headstrong, naive child.
"Yes, we have a pact," Imrik nodded slowly, his displeasure evident. "But I have no outlet for my strength. In the War Council, I stand alone. I've told you before—the Tyrion brothers and their lackeys have taken control. They've ruined Ulthuan's republic, and now they're even planning to invite monkeys onto our sacred land!"
"Not monkeys," the Starlight Dragon suddenly opened its eyes wide. "They are the sons of the Old Ones. And there are two of them."
"The sons of the Old Ones?" Imrik was astonished. "Those monkeys? How dare they claim such a title? The lizardmen are the true firstborn of the Old Ones, followed by us Asur!"
"A young Old One has recently begun visiting this world frequently, leaving behind several offspring. My prophecy shows that these two sons of the Old Ones will bring change to the world. Whether this change leads to stability or destruction, I cannot say."
"Whether stability or destruction, Ulthuan will not tolerate their existence!" Imrik declared confidently. "I will make those so-called sons of the Old Ones understand that if they don't obey, they will die!"
The dragon exhaled softly, a breath of sulfur and starlight flame escaping its mouth.
"But rest assured, Minathnir," Imrik added. "Unless all of Caledor's sons fall, we will not allow the dragons to perish. This is the ancestral pact. I will make contact with the sons of the Old Ones. If they cooperate, fine. If not, I'll take the secrets and power they possess. It's all for the sake of Caledor and the dragons!"
"Do as you wish, but beware—the power of the sons of the Old Ones may exceed your imagination," Minathnir spread its wings and took off. "Also, you will need the Dragon Horn if you wish to wake more dragons."
"Got it!" Imrik nodded as he watched his companion fly away.
The sons of the Old Ones?
Hmph! In terms of strength and courage, no one could surpass the Dragon Princes of Caledor, and certainly not the last Prince of Caledor, Imrik!
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! $5 for all!!]
[w w w . p a t r e o n .com / INNIT]
[+50 PowerStones = +1 Chapter] [+5 Reviews = +1 Chapter]