"Thalarion—the Place of the First Flame. At least, that is what my ancestors called the world. But there are a dozen different names, carried by the dozen languages of the land.
My ancestor, Veythos Darklyn—or, as he was known then, Veythos Draklynor—was an outlander, an explorer, the continent's first dragonlord, and its first High King. Valendros… the home of dragons and of my ancestors. Massive, beautiful, and teeming with creatures of every kind. It was the heart of the Valendrosi Empire, the greatest and most sophisticated realm in the known world—at least, until my ancestors carved their name into history.
The Valendrosi ruled with an iron fist over half the continent. Its first emperor, Aerundros Vun, forged the empire through fear and flame. He was one of the eleven high noble families granted the right to claim patronage over dragons. My ancestors' house, House Draklynor, was among those eleven—tapped for greatness. Veythos was heir to the house, destined to serve as the right hand of the next emperor. But he had other plans. He did not wish to serve. He wished to claim land of his own, to seize the tools that would forge his crown.
On the day he departed, he stood in the nesting cave of his dragon—Kaeron (Eternal)—a beast larger than most, its purple scales shimmering with a gray hue. It was regarded as a regal dragon. Veythos readied the saddle, securing supplies for his journey of conquest and discovery.
That was when his father's herald arrived.
"Orael veylan elenor ora. Haeris tharanai venai ornak orenai ilven." (Your father wishes to see you. He forbids you from flight until then.)
Veythos scoffed.
"Aen esiran torais. Se—orenai daranais silvenai aen, ornak esirnor sharenai veiren ora haeris." (I am done with Father. And if you attempt to stop me, then you shall remember who you speak to.)
The steward froze beneath Veythos's glare. Behind him, Kaeron growled, the dragon's pale gray eyes piercing with menace. The steward sighed and gestured. Two soldiers stepped forward, clad in dark purple-stained armor, reaching to seize Veythos.
But the heir moved faster. He whistled. Kaeron rumbled deep in his chest before unleashing a plume of purple flame. The fire engulfed the steward and the soldiers in an instant. Veythos spat in contempt as their screams were drowned by the roar of fire.
He climbed Kaeron's wing, settling into the saddle and clipping himself in. Another sharp whistle, and Kaeron ceased his fire, shifting instead to launch himself from the cliffside cave. The dragon's wings beat, and together they surged into the skies.
Below, the capital spread vast and gleaming. Beyond it, Veythos beheld the Three Sisters of Myth—the great volcanoes Mythra, Mythana, and Mytha, the largest mountains in the empire's world. At the center loomed Mythana, the greatest of the three. Within its fiery heart lay the forges: a smithy carved into one of its magma chambers. Anything forged in its flame bore an orange-red sheen, glinting with fire when caught by the sun.
Veythos leaned back in the saddle as Kaeron soared away from Velgad Imperia, the capital of the empire. The ocean stretched vast and endless before him, its surface dotted with islands and archipelagos that passed beneath his gaze.
Flying had always been his greatest joy. As a boy, he would spend hours in the skies, and now, it seemed, he would fly forever. He had heard tales of a distant continent—said to be as large as, or even larger than, Valendros itself. The stories spoke of a two-year voyage by sail, yet no one had ever attempted the crossing by dragonback. The legends claimed the continent teemed with countless races and creatures, though strangely, no dragons dwelled there.
As he drifted in thought, a sound broke his focus. He turned and caught sight of another dragon flying alongside him. Its scales shimmered silver, its eyes burned red. Smaller than Kaeron, yet still formidable. Upon its back rode a woman with long, flowing blonde hair. She wore grey riding attire, a sharp contrast to the blackened leather he bore.
Their eyes met. The woman raised her hand and pointed toward an island below. Veythos considered her gesture before giving a sharp whistle. Kaeron angled downward and descended. The landing upon the grassy field was rough—the wet ground slick from ocean mist—causing Kaeron to slide slightly before steadying.
Across the field, the woman and her dragon landed gracefully. Veythos dismounted slowly, his eyes fixed upon her. He called out in his tongue:
"Veiren esiris, venai ilenaras orenai hailis." (Who are you, and by whose name do you hail?)
The woman regarded him with open curiosity before replying:
"Aen esiris Faeyther, ilenaras Vaeldrassis. Lorenai orian venai Valendrosur." (I am Faeyther of the family of Vaeldrass. Why do you fly away from Valendros?)
Veythos held her gaze for a moment. "I fly away because I no longer wish to live under another's thumb. Why do you fly away?"
She smirked. "I fly for the same reason you do. Now tell me—what family do you hail from?"
"House Draklynor. I am called Veythos."
At his words, she stilled, then replied, "It seems fate would have it we both have our reasons. Would you be open to traveling together? It would be good to have company for the flight ahead."
Veythos considered her, then gave a single nod. She smiled. Both mounted their dragons once more. As they took to the air, she called across the wind: "This is Thal (Flame). And yours?"
"Kaeron," Veythos answered.
She nodded, and the two dragons rose in tandem, their wings cutting through the sky together.
Days bled into nights as they traveled. Sometimes they flew without rest, other times they allowed their mounts to sleep upon the islands. In those hours, they spoke. Faeyther told him of her training under the emperor's own archmage, learning to wield her aura for magic and sorcery. Veythos, in turn, shared that he had been taught to command men and wage war. In time, their friendship grew. Both bore burdens. Both carried strengths and weaknesses.
Two months after their meeting, they flew low over the sea when they spotted it—a ship cutting across the waves. Its design was unlike the vessels of Valendros. At its bow sat great ballistae, its sails dyed a deep crimson.
Suddenly, a massive projectile shot through the air between them. It clipped Thal's wing. The silver dragon roared in pain, spiraling downward toward the nearest island.
Veythos spoke no words. He pulled hard upon Kaeron's reins, his mind and the dragon's bound as one through their psychic link. With a thunderous roar, Kaeron opened his maw and unleashed a torrent of purple fire, engulfing the crimson-sailed ship in flames.
As Kaeron turned toward the island where Faeyther and Thal had landed, Veythos could still hear the screams of the men aboard the burning ship. The vessel cracked and split as the flames devoured it. Then, from the depths, a massive sea serpent erupted, jaws wide, and clamped down upon the ruined ship, dragging it beneath the waves.
Kaeron touched down on the isle. Veythos unclipped himself, sliding down the dragon's scales before landing firmly on his boots. He strode quickly to Faeyther.
"Are you harmed?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
She shook her head, though her attention was fixed on Thal's wounded wing. The she-dragon bore a deep gash across its tip. Veythos inspected it briefly, then said, "There is nothing we can do. This must heal with time."
Faeyther only nodded, her eyes brimming with tears as she stroked her dragon's scales in worry.
Once they had ensured both dragons—and one another—were well enough, they took back to the skies. Veythos knew that, given the ship's presence, land must be near. No vessel carrying such armaments would linger in the open sea without reason. Yet he shook the thought from his mind. The pair flew for some time before setting down on another small island to rest themselves and their mounts.
That night, they sat together in silence while the dragons slept. Veythos methodically sharpened his black volcanic steel saber—the very weapon his father had gifted him on his day of coming of age. The rasp of steel on whetstone was steady, until Faeyther broke the silence.
"Why did they attack us?"
The sound stopped. Veythos paused a long moment before replying, "I do not know. Perhaps they had never seen dragons before and were afraid. But we can only make assumptions. It is far too late to ask them now."
He returned to his work. Faeyther sat quietly, contemplating his words.
Hours passed. They slept in turns, though Veythos kept most of the night's watch. He listened to the waves crash against the rocks, until, faintly, he heard it: singing.
"Oren ai veyla silmar ar venai." (O you beloved dream by the wind.)
The voice was low, haunting, and beautiful. Veythos rose in a daze, drawn to it. Step by step, he neared the island's jagged edge, the song growing louder with the crash of the surf. His mind clouded, his will faltered. He leaned forward, one step from falling—
Faeyther's hands seized him and shoved him back from the precipice.
"Sirens!" she cried, anguish sharp in her tone.
The haze lifted. Veythos blinked and followed her pointing hand. There, perched upon a rock just beyond the waterline, was a figure. At first glance, she looked like a woman, but her face was half-deformed, hidden by a curtain of pitch-black hair that fell across her shoulders and chest. Her lower half ended in a long tail of dark blue and green scales.
Veythos shook his head, regaining himself. "Thank you," he said quietly to Faeyther.
Both Kaeron and Thal were awake now, their eyes locked on the creature. The siren slid from her stone perch and vanished beneath the waves once she realized her prey had escaped her lure.
The two riders returned to their small fire. Above, the stars burned across the night sky. Veythos closed his eyes at last, surrendering to sleep.
By morning, he awoke to find Faeyther standing over him, hand outstretched. She helped him to his feet, and he rolled his neck and shoulders to ease the ache of sleeping on stone. Without words, they mounted their dragons and once more took to the skies.
Finally, after their second month of travel, they came upon a land of wonder unlike anything they had seen. Far inland, mountain ranges rose in vast chains across the horizon. Along the coast, sheer cliffs stretched endlessly, their tops crowned with forests that seemed without end.
Veythos pointed to an island below. Faeyther nodded, and together they descended. When their feet touched the soil, they approached one another.
"What should we do?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I don't know. If that ship gave us anything, it was the lesson of caution—never to make ourselves too known to the people of this land."
She nodded silently. They stood in thought until Veythos spoke again. "We could attempt to hide Kaeron and Thal somewhere safe, then make our way to a settlement. We could learn of this land before we reveal ourselves."
Faeyther agreed, then turned to him with a sharper gaze. "What is your plan for this land? To my knowledge, we are the only Valendrosi to cross the sea in over a millennium. So tell me—what is your true reason for coming here?"
Veythos met her eyes. "I wish to forge a kingdom for myself."
She squinted at him, weighing his words, before nodding slowly. "Then what will our plan be?"
They spent hours discussing their course. At last, a decision was made. They would fly westward until they reached the ocean, then descend into whatever forest lay along the coast. There, they would search for a village and decide their next move.
Mounting their dragons, they soared into the sky once more, climbing above the clouds to remain unseen. For hours they flew, until the western coast revealed itself in the distance. They descended into a wide clearing within a strange forest. The trees were tall and black, their leaves as dark as the bark.
Dismounting, they gathered what they would need for their journey on foot. When he was ready, Veythos approached Kaeron. The dragon lowered his great head, pressing his maw against his master's chest. Veythos laid a hand upon the beast's snout and whispered:
"Hareth, dorielis aen. Elenis il ashrenar, ar haeris aenar velirnai ornak hailor." (Stay, my friend. Watch these woods and heed my call when it is made.)
Kaeron rumbled, a low, chirping growl that seemed an acknowledgment. Veythos stepped back and looked to Faeyther. She nodded. Together, they walked into the black forest.
The air was different here, unlike the sulfur-tainted winds of their homeland near the Sisters of Myth. It was sweet, thick with scents foreign to them. All around, the forest stirred with creatures unseen yet ever present, their calls and movements filling the silence.
They walked for what felt like hours before stumbling upon a dirt road. Pausing at its edge, they exchanged glances just as the sound of wheels reached their ears.
A carriage rolled past, drawn by two horses and escorted by a dozen armored riders bearing spears and shields. The men spoke to one another in a tongue unknown to Veythos and Faeyther:
"Mine lady, a storm draweth nigh. Shall we take haven for the eve? Stonereche lieth near—'tis held by a bannerman of thy lord-uncle."
The words carried no meaning for them. It was clear that if they were to fulfill their plans, they would need to learn the tongues of this land.
Faeyther leaned close and whispered, "Velari morvenor sharenth aena hailir ilenaras venin. Aen elenor dorienar ornak tharnis il noxen." (There should be a spell to grant us the ability to speak their tongue. I will search for it when we stop for the night.)
Veythos simply nodded, silent but resolved.