The Dragon Princes of Caledor were known for their extreme pride and detachment. In the days of the Elven Empire, Caledor's Dragon Princes were the fiercest warriors in all of Ulthuan. Even after Aenarion was crowned Phoenix King following his resurrection through the sacred flames of Asuryan, he and Caledor the Dragon Tamer remained allies and friends rather than ruler and vassal. This perception shaped Caledor's view of their standing in Ulthuan.
Since that time, the Dragon Princes considered themselves allies of the Phoenix Court, not subjects. They held a similar mindset to the Mechanicum's alliance with the Emperor—recognizing only the Emperor himself, while seeing themselves as equals rather than a subordinate part of the human empire.
For Caledor, the notion of independence reached its height when Phoenix King Caledor I drove out the traitor Malekith and butcher king Tethlis decisively defeated the Dark Elves. From then on, regardless of the Phoenix King's command, the Dragon Princes only ever flew Caledor's banner—the flame-winged dragon—when they marched into battle.
In short, the people of Caledor held themselves in contempt of all others (dragons excluded). Even fellow High Elves were often met with disdain.
Now, however, their volcanoes were dormant, the number of Dragon Princes was dwindling, and Caledor's noble bloodline hadn't produced a Phoenix King since Tethlis. The few remaining Caledor nobles cast an even more disdainful and distant gaze upon the troubled world around them, withdrawing from orders, preferring solitude, and seeking out only the most dangerous battles. Many believed that the once-glorious Dragon Princes had devolved into arrogant fools.
Phoenix King Finubar, however, disagreed. He believed he'd witnessed something real in them.
During the Battle of Finul Plains, where a young Finubar faced a Chaos and Dark Elf siege on Lothern, he personally saw a Dragon Prince step in front of an allied militiaman to shield him from enemy bolts. In that moment, Finubar saw a light in the Dragon Prince's eyes—a glimmer of the resilience that had kept the Elves standing tall across millennia.
Though the light faded quickly, and the Dragon Prince soon rebuked the militiaman for poor combat skills, Finubar held on to his belief in that inner spark. And so, he looked to Imrik, hoping he still held that Caledorian pride.
At last, Imrik broke his silence. "Your Majesty, if I go to aid Tyrion and Aisling, am I then entrusted with command of the entire Star Dragon Fleet?"
"For this engagement, yes," Finubar replied, signaling to his advisor to bring forth the Phoenix banner. "Hold this banner, and not even Tyrion can override your authority, but only this time. I'm afraid that's all I can offer."
This was less than Imrik had hoped for, but he knew it was the greatest concession Finubar could give, and that there would be consequences from Tyrion and Teclis afterward.
Seeing Imrik hesitate, a wave of cold uncertainty washed over Finubar. He knew enough of naval tactics to see that while the High Elf fleet had indeed inflicted heavy losses on the undead, the arrival of the Dark Elves could easily reverse their gains. Their Star Dragon fleet lacked dragons, Enterprise was out of ammunition, and defeat here would leave Lothern defenseless.
Desperate, Finubar pressed on. "Imrik, the outcome of this war now rests on you and the Dragon Princes. I am not a famed warrior, but I know the weight of the crown and the responsibilities of my throne. Can you understand that?"
Imrik felt himself moved by Finubar's words. For the first time, he could sense that the Phoenix King bore his title with some honor. He remembered the ancient myths of Aenarion and Caledor the Dragon Tamer.
Finally, Caledor's legacy and his duty overcame his pride. Imrik nodded with determination. "I understand, Your Majesty. When Caledor the Dragon Tamer sought Aenarion's aid at the most desperate moment, the cursed Phoenix King rallied his armies to fight until the end. We, Caledor, vowed never to forget that debt. Today, it is Caledor's turn to repay our ancient debt to the line of the Phoenix Kings."
Finubar's relief was palpable as Imrik proclaimed, "Caledor will stand as Ulthuan's final shield. The Dragon Princes will fight to the last breath until the heavens close upon us and dragonfire fills the skies!"
With a battle cry, Imrik mounted his ancient star dragon Minahtnir and vanished over the Dragonspine Mountains.
Three minutes later, Imrik descended into the Dragonfire Volcano, where he dismounted and was surprised to find a figure awaiting him on the long bridge of Val Ironwatch.
Not just any figure, but a true goddess in the mortal world.
Dressed in a shimmering court dress of white elven silk, her sleeves flowing gracefully to the floor, she wore layers of gold and silver chains, her silvery white hair crowned by a lunar tiara. Her emerald eyes shone with the light of the moon. She was the Lady of the Moon, Lilith, whose presence graced him with a gentle smile. "You have chosen well, Prince of Caledor."
"Lady of the Moon?" Imrik gasped, with Minahtnir looking at her in awe. Even the star dragon was stunned—gods had been barred from entering the mortal realm since ancient times.
"Yes, my dear Imrik, it is I," Lilith replied, presenting him with a gleaming artifact, the fabled Silver Dragon Horn of Iseramar, its engravings of dragon runes and Caledorian symbols shining brightly. "Take this horn, and in my name, bring destruction upon your enemies."
Imrik's usual stoicism cracked as he accepted the long-lost horn. His hands clutched it tightly, and he whispered his thanks, pressing his face to the artifact in reverence.
"Do not thank me, Imrik," Lilith smiled warmly, opening her fan and speaking softly. "Thank Ryan. During the Great Expedition to Eight Peaks Mountain, he requested this horn from the dwarves, forfeiting much in exchange so that it might return to Caledor."
"Then… why not present it earlier?" Imrik asked, unable to hide his admiration for her beauty. He hesitated, his heart pounding, "And why pass it through you?"
"If he'd offered it himself, would you not have challenged him?" Lilith replied, a sly smile on her lips as she reached out to caress his cheek but stopped, remembering her own betrothal. "Go now, Imrik. I will watch over you from the heavens."
With her blessing, Imrik raised the Silver Dragon Horn to his lips and blew.
The mountains rang with its call. Dragons across the range roared in response.
Within moments, Caledor's Dragon Princes gathered, their gleaming armor donned and runes blazing. Servants secured saddles and harnesses upon the dragons as cheers spread through Caledor. Once more, Caledor would stand mighty!
Mounted atop Minahtnir, Imrik led over a hundred dragons into the sky, their massive wings slicing through the clouds.
"Forward! For Caledor, and for Ulthuan!"
The battlefield below was chaotic, with the High Elf fleet fighting fiercely. Admiral Aisling, leveraging his strategic insight, seized a brief lull as the undead forces faltered and the Dark Elves closed in. He ordered the fleet to turn fully, catching the wind to pull away from the undead and gain distance from the Dark Elves.
But then, from afar, the thunderous roars of dragons echoed. Lord Kraken, Lokh'shia, ready to deliver a final blow to the High Elf fleet, paled at the sight above. "Impossible! It can't be!"
Yet it was real. Dragons filled the sky, eclipsing the sun. Imrik led his Dragon Princes in a majestic descent, unleashing fiery breath across the undead and Dark Elf fleets below.
Fires erupted across the decks of the Dark Elf fleet, the ships aflame like oil-doused ants. In moments, the enemy lines were torn asunder. Lord Kraken tried to rally his forces, but the dragons swept down, ripping through ships with scorching breaths and powerful tail strikes. Explosions tore through the undead and Dark Elf vessels, sending ship fragments and bodies tumbling into the sea.
This was the moment Aisling had awaited. The Star Dragon fleet swiftly reformed, each ship closing ranks with precision as they prepared to launch a devastating counterattack.
The undead and Dark Elf ships were left in ruins, unable to withstand the dragons' onslaught or the High Elf fleet's rapid, coordinated strikes. One by one, the enemy ships sank or were abandoned.
"Curse it all! Where did they get so many dragons?" Lokh'shia cursed bitterly, realizing that another failed invasion of Ulthuan meant years, if not centuries, of delay.
As he attempted to call for a retreat, he turned to find that his flagship, Bloody Marauder, was already engulfed in explosions, breaking apart under dragonfire and High Elf magic. Count Noctelas's own forces had been decimated; he signaled Lokh'shia to retreat.
"Retreat! Full retreat!" cried the defeated Lord Kraken.
An hour after Imrik and the Dragon Knights entered the battle, the vast undead-Dark Elf armada had been reduced to wreckage. Only a few ships managed to escape the fjord's devastation, with the rest sinking to the depths.
The Great Sea Battle of Dragon Fjord concluded in a resounding victory for the High Elf and human alliance.
As Imrik descended upon Math
rillon aboard Minahtnir, he prepared to receive cheers and accolades for his victory. But Warlord Tyrion strode forward, grabbing Imrik by the collar.
"Imrik! Do you know how many soldiers we lost because of you?!"
"Shut up, Tyrion, you pigheaded fool!" Imrik shot back. "If it weren't for your failed tactics and my support, Asur would have lost far more today. Now, offer your thanks to me and Caledor!"
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