The rhythmic groan and shudder of the Landliner's chassis was a sound Flareon had ground into his nerves over three monotonous days. It vibrated up through the worn synth-leather, a dull thrumming counterpoint to the restless energy coiling inside him. Outside the broad, dust-streaked window, the Western territories bled from tired hills into rugged stone, the grass thinning, the sky softening towards late afternoon.
Almost there.
He thought, the sentiment less relief and more raw impatience.
He sighed, a quiet hiss of air ruffling the collar of his impeccably tailored crimson tunic, a stark contrast to the drab utility wear favored out here. Starbreach. The 'City of Light'. Necessary, perhaps, to endure its cold, Aetherium-humming efficiency, its frantic Versari obsession with tinkering. He'd spent months immersed in it, wading through the clumsy theories of Arcane manipulation at the Lyceum. Why? Because his own kin, the Sorcerai, were too damned complacent, resting on the laurels of their birthright. True mastery wasn't just wielding the flame; it was understanding its very soul, pushing it beyond the comfortable limits tradition dictated. And if that meant suffering fools who needed crystals and conduits to mimic a fraction of innate power... so be it. The knowledge gleaned from their rigid physics, their energy flow diagrams, might yet unlock something deeper within his own fire. Still, the city's artificial brilliance felt hollow compared to the living heat in his blood, the resonant power that thrummed beneath the Prismatic Citadel's foundations.
Home.
He craved it like parched earth craved rain.
He shifted, crossing his arms, catching his reflection in the grimy windowpane. Sharp features, dark hair pulled back, and eyes that marked him instantly. Jagged pupils, like obsidian shards flickering with inner heat, Fire Sorcerai. In the Citadel, that look commanded respect, an acknowledgment of inherent power. Out here? Stares. Curiosity. Fear, sometimes. And a thinly veiled resentment from lesser peoples that scraped raw against his pride. He endured it. Barely.
The Landliner jolted over a rough patch, drawing murmurs from the other passengers, a dull collection of merchants and travellers he hadn't bothered to register. His focus was already eastward, picturing the Citadel, feeling the latent elemental energies he yearned for. A small, tight smile touched his lips. The Lyceum's theories were noted. Now, for practice. Real practice, in the Elemental Chambers of Templum Lumen. Time to show them true potential. He leaned his head against the cool glass, the lengthening shadows outside mirroring the impatience darkening his mood. Just a little longer.
The low murmur of conversation, the rustle of clothing, the drone of the engine, it all faded as Flareon retreated into mapping theoretical flame densities. He didn't drift off, merely walled himself within the familiar confines of his mind.
A hesitant cough, almost lost in the engine's thrum, broke the seal. Annoyed, Flareon cracked open an eye.
Standing uncertainly in the narrow aisle was a young girl, clutching a data-slate like a shield. Slender, dressed in practical, layered travelling clothes of muted blue and grey, her deep brown hair pulled back severely, framing a face tight with nervousness. Her Farseer eyes, large, intensely observant, flickered from Flareon's distinctive pupils to the floor, then back up, rarely meeting his gaze directly. Intelligence warred with a profound shyness that made her fidget, fingers tracing patterns on the slate and twisting a thin silver bracelet set with a dull, milky Lumecryst on her wrist.
Flareon raised a questioning eyebrow, impatience hardening his features.
She began, voice barely a whisper.
"E-excuse me... I... I hope I'm not disturbing you."
He tilted his head slightly, a silent, unwelcoming invitation to continue.
She swallowed, gaze darting to his eyes, then away.
"I... I noticed... your eyes. You are Sorcerai, aren't you? Fire element?"
His lips thinned. Obvious. Stated with trembling uncertainty.
"And if I am?"
Clipped. Cold.
The Farseer flinched almost imperceptibly but pressed on, clutching her slate tighter.
"M-my name is Seren. I am... a student. From Spectrahold. Travelling to the Prismatic Citadel for research. For my... thesis."
Another shaky breath.
"I study energy signatures... your elemental power versus Arcane magic."
She met his gaze fleetingly, earnest despite her anxiety.
"I was wondering... if perhaps... you wouldn't mind telling me your name? And... perhaps, later... answer a few basic questions about... how it feels? The energy? Just for academic context."
Her cheeks flushed as the words tumbled out. She looked down, bracing for refusal.
Flareon regarded her. A shy Farseer, driven by academic curiosity? Unusual. The interruption rankled, but the comparison, his innate power versus clumsy Arcane, resonated with his own ambition. Perhaps not a total waste of time.
He unfolded his arms slowly.
"Flareon."
His voice softened fractionally, though still laced with hauteur.
"And yes, Fire."
Relief washed over Seren.
"Th-thank you, Flareon. Truly."
"Spectrahold breeds scholars."
He observed, contemplative now.
"But this comparison... innate versus conducted. Why? Most accept elemental superiority. Arcane is... laborious. A crutch."
A flicker of Sorcerai pride surfaced.
"Precisely! That's what's fascinating!"
Seren's voice gained confidence on familiar ground.
"The Archive holds countless records on Arcane theory, Lumecryst properties... but experiential data on innate power? From a Sorcerai perspective? Scarce. Based on observation, not direct accounts."
She looked up, earnest.
"We measure output, analyze residual signatures, but understanding the origin... the subjective reality of wielding an element that is part of you, not drawn through a focus... that knowledge is largely confined to the Citadel. My thesis aims to bridge that gap."
"Confined, perhaps, because it cannot be truly understood by those who do not live it."
Flareon countered, though without malice.
"It is not 'drawn' or 'shaped'. It is. From the moment a child's pupils form, the element is there. Templum Lumen teaches control, refinement... but the fire... it was always mine."
His eyes seemed to smolder. He leaned forward slightly.
"I've just spent months at the Lyceum. Surrounded by Versari tinkerers and Farseers mapping energy flows. They codify power, break it down. Useful, perhaps, but they miss the soul of it. That's what I seek. To understand the soul of my fire, push it beyond limits even my own people accept."
Seren listened intently.
"Push the limits... using principles from other disciplines? That's... ambitious. Potentially dangerous."
"Mastery requires ambition."
Flareon stated.
"And understanding requires exploring all facets. Even answering basic questions."
"If... if you don't mind, then..."
Seren seized the opening.
"Just one simple thing? You said the element is always there. Can you recall the very first time you consciously... felt it? Not just knew, but felt the fire respond?"
She held her breath, slate poised.
Flareon leaned back, accessing a deep memory.
"It wasn't a command."
He said slowly, voice softer.
"More like... warmth. A sudden, fierce warmth in my chest during a moment of childhood frustration. The air shimmered before my hands. It felt... like recognizing a part of myself I hadn't known was missing."
He fell silent, composure returning.
"A simple answer. Perhaps more later. The journey is long."
Seren nodded, processing.
"Thank you, Flareon. That's... insightful."
She retreated slightly, the shared spark of curiosity momentarily bridging the gap as the Landliner rumbled on.
...
The fragile accord hung in the air. Flareon contemplated the memory, while Seren discreetly tapped notes onto her slate. Passengers settled into weary silence.
Suddenly, without warning, the Landliner lurched.
The engine's groan escalated into a high-pitched whine of pure mechanical agony, the chassis vibrating violently. Passengers jolted awake, thrown about. Luggage rattled. Seren gasped, shielding her slate.
Flareon snapped alert, gripping the armrests. His gaze shot forward, then whipped to the side window.
What-?
The grizzled Versari driver was hunched, knuckles white, face a mask of disbelief and sheer terror, pushing the vehicle with suicidal desperation. The terrain outside blurred.
Then Flareon saw it. And his blood ran cold.
Emerging from behind a rust-coloured butte, rapidly closing – figures. Unmistakable silhouettes. Taller than humans, powerfully built, reptilian grace. Leathery wings folded against some backs. Dravokh. At least a dozen, mounted on aggressive beasts, bristling with crude weaponry.
Dravokh? Here?
The thought slammed into him. Impossible. Unthinkable. Not this far south. Not since the Uprising crushed their last major incursion centuries ago. The treaties, the fragile peace... shattered.
"Ancestors preserve us... Dravokh!"
Someone screamed from the back, choked with historical terror.
"They can't be here!"
Panic erupted. Not bandits; a violation. A child wailed. People scrambled, faces paling as they confirmed the impossible sighting through rear windows.
"Hold on!"
The driver roared, wrestling the protesting vehicle.
"They shouldn't be here, but they ARE!"
Flareon's breath hitched. His mind blanked for a terrifying second. Dravokh! Here! A useless surge of heat flooded his chest, not controlled power, just raw, animal fear trying to lash out. His hands clenched, empty.
What do I do? Trapped!
The ingrained Sorcerai instinct screamed for fire, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive against the wave of shock.
The Dravokh were gaining. Cruel barbs on spears, camouflaged hides rippling unsettlingly. Seren pressed back, face ashen, Farseer eyes wide with analytical terror, tracking vectors.
Then, a new sound ripped the air, a piercing, guttural roar resonating deep in their bones, from nightmare and legend. Not the riders.
One Dravokh gestured back towards the butte. A monstrous shape launched into the sky, blotting out the sun. Immense, dwarfing the Landliner, wings like scorched sails, scales like cooling magma, head a terrifying wedge of jagged bone and teeth. A Pyremaw. Unleashed south of the peaks. Open warfare.
It circled once, shadow a fleeting doom, roared again, shaking the air. Then, it dove.
Time warped. Flareon saw the beast plummeting, maw cracking open, revealing not just teeth but a swirling, incandescent maelstrom building within. The driver screamed a curse, wrenched the wheel. The Landliner skidded sickeningly.
Futile.
A blazing wave engulfed the rear. Metal shrieked, vaporized, buckled. The world became a roaring inferno. An explosion tore through the back, blasting flaming debris, twisted metal, charred fragments outwards. The Landliner spun violently, axles snapping. Flareon thrown forward, breath stolen. Seren cried out, swallowed by chaos.
Windows imploded. The vehicle scraped, bounced, slammed onto its side with a deafening shriek, skidding across unforgiving ground before shuddering to a halt amidst a roaring pyre.
Silence, broken by the crackle of flames and the distant, triumphant bellows of Dravokh. Then, moans and screams from the twisted metal coffin. Flareon coughed violently, smoke searing his eyes, ears ringing. He pushed himself up, vision swimming. Beside him, Seren slumped against the buckled wall, eyes wide with shock, blood trickling from a gash on her temple.
...
The world tilted upright with agonizing slowness. Flareon coughed, smoke clawing his throat. Pain flared along his ribs. Panicked cries and moans echoed within the mangled husk. He pushed aside debris, blinking through the haze. Seren was conscious, pushing herself away from the buckled wall, pale beneath grime and blood, eyes wide but already scanning with desperate intensity.
"Flareon... are you...?"
Raspy, choked.
"Alive..."
He grunted, testing limbs. Bruised, battered. He grabbed her arm.
"You?"
"Head... hit hard."
She touched the gash gingerly.
"But... functioning."
The roar of the fire consuming the rear was terrifyingly close. Outside, triumphant bellows faded, replaced by the crunch of heavy boots and harsh, guttural commands. Dravokh.
Heavy impacts against the exterior. A section of roof ripped open with a screech, revealing dusty sky and two brutal Dravokh faces peering down, predatory satisfaction twisting their features.
One of the Dravokh pointed directly at Flareon, its gaze fixed momentarily on his distinctive Sorcerai eyes before barking another order.
Hands, strong and clawed, reached in. Survivors grabbed. Some dragged out roughly. Screams turned sharper, then cut off. Flareon watched, fury battling pain and exhaustion. He tried to summon heat, reaching for that familiar wellspring... Nothing. Impact, shock, cold dread, his power felt drowned, unresponsive. He was utterly drained.
Seren tensed beside him, eyes darting, calculating nonexistent escape routes.
Then, the Dravokh outside changed. Calls faltered. An unnatural stillness fell, punctuated only by fire and whimpers. Flareon felt his skin prickle. A bizarre, acrid stench, sharp, chemical, pungent, cut through the smoke.
A shadow fell.
Not a Pyremaw's wing. Vast, suffocating darkness blotted out the sky. Passing slowly, majestically overhead, a creature of impossible scale and nightmarish anatomy. Colossal. Head immensely long, narrow, featureless save for a vast toothless maw. No discernible forelimbs; two enormous multi-jointed limbs sprouted midsection, ending in vast, leathery membranes functioning as wings and legs, propelling it with slow deliberate beats. Studded along its pale segmented underbelly – rows of glowing violet orbs, pulsing faintly, radiating cold alien light. It drifted past, seemingly oblivious, trailing that pungent odor. No sound recognized, just a whisper of displaced air.
Flareon's breath hitched, his mind scrambling for purchase and finding none. This wasn't merely unknown; it was impossible. No legend whispered of such a shape, no Sorcerai text described its silent glide, no Lyceum lecture on exotic fauna or even theoretical extradimensional entities came close. It felt fundamentally wrong, an intrusion, a tear in the fabric of known reality. Alien wasn't strong enough; it felt like a violation. Like watching gravity suddenly decide to work sideways.
Below, the Dravokh were frozen, their predatory confidence shattered into brittle shards. Jaws hung slack, weapons forgotten. Their yellow eyes, usually burning with conquest, were wide with a terror far deeper than the fear of death, it was the terror of seeing the un-real made real. This was superstitious dread made manifest, a primal horror clawing up from racial memory, silencing their harsh cries, replacing bloodlust with the chilling certainty that the rules of the world itself had just broken before their very eyes.
And inside the smoking wreck, the few conscious survivors who glimpsed the impossible silhouette through torn metal or shattered windows reacted not just with the panic of the doomed, but with a soul-deep cognitive dissonance. A grizzled Versari trader, moments before praying for a swift end, now mumbled incoherently, not about escape, but about flight dynamics that could not exist, his adaptable mind snapping under the strain of the utterly inexplicable. A young one sobbed, not just from pain, but from the sheer wrongness of the creature's anatomy, an affront to the very principles of function and form they embodied, it was like seeing flesh mock physics. Even Seren, despite her shock and pain, felt her Farseer mind buckle, flooded with sensory input that defied every known law of energy signatures, physics, and biology she had ever studied. It wasn't data; it was noise, chaos made manifest.
Screams died in throats, replaced by choked whimpers or the terrifying, vacant silence of minds utterly overwhelmed, unable to categorize or comprehend. Eyes stared, unblinking, not just seeing a monster, but witnessing the fundamental laws of their reality fraying at the edges. It was worse than seeing a ghost; it was like watching the sky break open to reveal not gods or demons, but the terrifying, indifferent, and utterly illogical void beyond existence itself.
Repeated by others, a panicked ripple.
Chaos erupted anew, driven by fear. Their mission priorities didn't change, but the urgency became frantic.
No more careful selection. A brutal cull. Dravokh warriors moved with terrifying speed, silencing the remaining injured Versari swiftly, mercilessly. A quick glance seemed enough to identify them, perhaps their clothing, perhaps just a dismissive assessment, followed by a blade flash, a dull thud. The stench of fresh blood mingled with smoke and the creature's lingering miasma.
Flareon watched in horror as nearby injured Versari were dispatched without hesitation. Then, rough hands seized him, hauling him bodily through the jagged opening. Another pair grabbed Seren. Her bracelet, the one with the Lumecryst, was ripped savagely from her wrist by a Dravokh stuffing it into a pouch along with other pilfered valuables. She cried out, more from the violation than the pain, as they were thrown onto the dusty ground amidst the carnage.
The Dravokh leader barked orders, pointing. Soldiers scrambled, grabbing the small, terrified Morphai girl, her form flickering uncontrollably in panic, from a less damaged section.
No looting beyond valuables already snatched, no trophies. Abandoning the kill site with panicked haste. Ropes produced, binding their hands with brutal efficiency. Yanked to their feet, shoved forward.
Glancing back, Flareon saw the burning Landliner, a pyre surrounded by fresh dead. Looking up, the sky was empty, save for smoke. But the chilling memory of the silent, violet-eyed horror, and the Dravokh's utter terror, lingered like the pungent smell. Prisoners, not of conquerors, but of terrified fanatics fleeing something incomprehensible. Their journey had taken a dark, bewildering turn into utter nightmare.