Far from the shimmering golden dome protecting the dragon kingdom, a battered ship emerges from the depths. Its hull bears the marks of the Abyss—clawed gashes and faint leaks of light that flicker ominously. The vessel drifts toward the kingdom's outer wards, its movement sluggish, as if the sea itself resists its approach.
The patrol, dragons in their half-shifted forms, moves swiftly through the waters, golden scales glinting faintly in the ward's glow. The leader, a bronze-scaled figure with a spear of enchanted coral, halts the group. "Hold. Identify yourselves!"
From the deck, Vaelora steps forward, her presence commanding despite the exhaustion evident in her tone. Her voice carries through the currents, resolute and firm. "I am Vaelora, returning from the Abyss. We bear urgent news for the king."
The guards hesitate, their sharp gazes scanning the battered ship and its ragged crew. "Lady Vaelora," the commander says cautiously, "your presence is unexpected. Protocol demands verification—"
"Protocol can wait," Vaelora interjects, a flicker of irritation in her tone. "The kingdom faces a danger beyond your imagination. Escort us to the palace or bear the burden of delaying news that could save us all."
The leader stiffens but signals the patrol to fall into formation. As the ship inches toward the golden dome, Vaelora casts a glance at the weary crew. Her lips press into a thin line, her mind heavy with the burden of their message—and the lives lost to deliver it.
As they reach the gates, two towering dragons stand, guarding the entrance. Their role is to protect the kingdom from invasion, and their senses are honed to assess the intentions of all that pass. None have ever been able to hide their true motives from the gatekeepers' watchful gaze. The dragons glance at the approaching party, their eyes immediately locking onto Vaelora and Cualen. With a deep bow, they recognize their royal lineage. The crew, though, remains in the background, respectful of the monarchy's authority.
Without a word, the gates open, passing through a thin, shimmering barrier. The crew proceeds into the kingdom, the air growing warmer with each step.
The Council Chamber
The council chamber, nestled deep within the kingdom's capital, radiates an eerie stillness. Mosaics of draconic legends glow softly along the walls, their golden light casting shadows over the gathered council. At its center sits King Arman, his golden antlers gleaming faintly. Beside him stands Queen Daenerys, her serene expression betraying none of the turmoil in her heart.
The heavy pearl doors creak open, and Vaelora steps into the chamber. The weight of the journey clings to her like the saltwater on her armor. She approaches the throne, followed closely by Cualen, pale and silent. The rest of the crew lingers outside, silent and respectful of the monarchy's authority.
Vaelora bows deeply, her gaze fixed on the polished floor. "Your Majesty," she begins, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, "we reached the Abyss. What we encountered... was far worse than the seer foresaw."
Arman's golden eyes narrow, his bond with Theros faint but still there, the connection stretching thin and strained. "Speak," he commands, his voice low but firm.
Vaelora recounts the horrors—the endless Shadowborne, the Abyss's sentience, and the overwhelming presence of the Devourer. Her voice wavers only when she speaks of Theros's sacrifice. "He stayed behind to hold them off, giving us the chance to escape. Without him..." She swallows hard, her composure breaking momentarily. "We would not be here. He has a scroll with details of what we saw."
A heavy silence falls over the room. Arman's gaze hardens, but his clenched fists betray the depth of his turmoil. Queen Daenerys steps forward, her tone sharp yet steady. "The Abyss is no longer a distant threat. If it has awoken, we must prepare for war. Kaelen, double the patrols and fortify the wards. Lysander, gather the weavers to assess the Abyss's influence." She then looks at Arman worriedly, her concern evident despite her calm exterior.
Arman closes his eyes, his senses stretching far beyond the chamber. He senses Theros's life force. His son is alive, though in a strange, distant state. "Azarios, go get your brother. He is a few realms beneath," Arman commands, his voice tight with concern.
Azarios freezes, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Vaelora. She, in turn, avoids his gaze, a flicker of shame crossing her features. She clenches her jaw, unable to meet his gaze.
"No need for that, Your Majesty," Lysander interjects, her golden pupils glazing over as she reaches out with her senses. "He will be back in a few days. His will is strong." The seer's voice is calm, though the faint unease in her expression does not escape the room's attention as she contacts the weavers through their deep network.
Daenerys exhales, her relief palpable as she hears Lysander's confirmation. "My child is well," she murmurs softly to herself.
Arman, now in a deep focus, turns to Partok. "Partok, call in the defense forces and their respective commanders. Lock down the cities in the kingdom. I want guards on patrol at all times. Activate the Seekers. We need to know whatever goes on in the kingdom and beyond." His voice is commanding, and the weight of his position settles fully upon him, his imposing figure solidified in the massive throne. His eyes flicker now and then, a distant look marking his contemplative thoughts.
Theros's Return
Days later, as preparations intensify, a disturbance near the outer wards sends the guards into a frenzy. A flickering light, accompanied by erratic currents, approaches through the murky waters. The guards ready their weapons, bracing for an attack.
The figure that emerges silences their fears.
Theros swims into view, his movements labored but determined. His armor is blackened and cracked, his golden antlers chipped, and a deep scar runs across his shoulder. He looks up, his golden eyes weary but alive.
The patrol rushes to him, but Theros waves them off with a weak smile. "Still standing," he rasps, his voice hoarse. "Barely."