Nearly ten minutes had passed since the stranger had appeared before Aedhira, and yet, nothing substantial had transpired in all that time. Except for the fact that the figure had reluctantly donned some barely decent robes made of flower petals, the standoff between them remained unchanged. The stranger shot him a sickly sweet smile, the kind that only made Aedhira feel increasingly uncomfortable. Not a word was exchanged.
Aedhira felt his earlier relief wither away like the flowers in the fields around him. The fleeting peace he had managed to salvage after his tense encounter with Astiron was eroding rapidly, being replaced by a familiar, gnawing frustration. His hand instinctively moved to the bridge of his nose, rubbing it, a habit he didn't even realize he'd developed whenever he grew tense or stressed. He sighed, letting the wind carry it away, but even the wind, though gentle now, felt conspiratorial.
As he sat, trying to gather his thoughts, the sky above and all around them began to stir once more. The clouds rolled in waves, not quite forming thunderclaps but producing a strange, low rumbling that sounded more like...mumbling? Aedhira's eyes flicked upwards in confusion, only to realize the sound wasn't coming from the storm. His gaze snapped back to the figure in front of him, whose expression had changed from that overly sweet smile to a look of deep concentration—almost as if they were struggling to figure something out.
The stranger was squinting, mouth moving in silent attempts to form words, but no sound emerged except for the odd resonances within the storm. It was unsettling, watching this person—a being that seemed so otherworldly—stumble through the basic act of speech, as though they were learning how for the first time.
Aedhira waited, his patience thinning by the second as the stranger kept mouthing what looked like words. But there was no clarity. The clouds above swirled in synchrony with their attempts, and Aedhira began to feel an odd sort of tension building in the atmosphere, a pressure that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
Finally, a noise escaped the figure's lips—a noise that, while still not a word, at least felt like the beginning of one. It was akin to hearing a child figure out how to speak, each syllable tentative, strained. Aedhira shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around, hoping for anything that would signal an end to this strange dance of incomplete thoughts. Then, suddenly, the figure before him straightened, and, with alarming clarity, they formed a full sentence, the words falling out of their mouth with surprising fluidity.
"You are too similar to your father," they said, smiling once again, but this time it was less sweet and more knowing. "Astiron would do the same when he's stressed."
The mention of Astiron sent a jolt of surprise through Aedhira, and he instinctively dropped his hand from his face, now fully alert. His heart skipped a beat. The stranger's tone was casual, too casual, as if they were speaking about a longtime acquaintance rather than the mysterious figure who had upended Aedhira's entire understanding of himself just hours ago.
Aedhira's mind raced. 'Too similar to your father.' The words echoed in his head. The figure's familiarity with Astiron was no mere coincidence. They knew him. Possibly deeply. But something about the situation nagged at him. Aedhira had read enough fiction in the archives to know better than to make assumptions without proper confirmation. He wouldn't let himself jump to conclusions—not without being sure.
There was only one way to confirm it.
"Who are you?" he asked, voice low, but there was an edge to it. His sapphire eyes bore into the stranger's own, searching for any sign of deception. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"
For a moment, the figure didn't respond. Instead, their smile widened, not in an unsettling way, but with the kind of amusement one gets from an old joke finally being understood. The sapphire slits in their eyes glowed faintly as they regarded Aedhira, and the air between them seemed to hum with a subtle energy.
Then, the figure spoke again, this time in a voice that seemed to carry more weight, as if their words were laced with significance far beyond mere conversation.
"My name," they said, their sapphire eyes gleaming with an unnatural light, "is Nornesh."
As they uttered the name, the very air around them seemed to pulse, as if reality itself had acknowledged the importance of that word. Aedhira blinked, feeling the world tremble—not physically, but in a way he couldn't fully describe. It wasn't the land or the sky that had shifted, but something deeper, something far beneath the surface of his consciousness. It was as if the name itself carried a resonance, an ancient authority.
Or perhaps it was just him. He couldn't tell.
The figure—Nornesh—stood there, eyes locked onto Aedhira's. There was something knowing in that gaze, a depth of understanding that made Aedhira feel both small and significant at the same time. The weight of Nornesh's presence now hung heavy in the air between them.
And still, Aedhira couldn't shake the feeling that he was only scratching the surface of something much larger, much more dangerous than he had initially thought.
The storm overhead quieted, but the silence that followed felt far more ominous.
Aedhira chuckled slightly, his lips curving as if at some private joke. The chuckle turned into a weak laugh, one that carried just a touch too long. His hand found its way to his face, his fingers pressing into his temples. His mind churned with thoughts far from humorous, but something about the absurdity of it all—standing under a tree with a dragon, possibly in his body, while storm clouds hummed overhead—finally broke the dam.
"I think I may have a hijacker in my body," he mused internally, stifling his amusement as he mentally began to brace himself for the worst. His inner thoughts quieted as he straightened up, focusing his gaze back on Nornesh.
He still couldn't shake his wariness, though fiction from the Archive had taught him one valuable lesson: don't assume until you're certain. Clearing his throat, Aedhira's voice carried a careful, measured tone as he addressed the being before him.
"So... not to make you feel unwelcome or anything," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, "but aren't you supposed to be dead?"
The silence that followed was immediate, filled only by the wind rustling the leaves overhead. Nornesh's sapphire-slit eyes gleamed as if they had been waiting for this moment. Their lips parted, and instead of words, laughter erupted—sharp, melodic, and unsettlingly long. Nornesh's laughter echoed across the landscape, lingering far longer than it should have. Aedhira's entire frame tensed as the sound wore on, wondering if he'd said something completely wrong, or worse, something 'right'.
Finally, the laughter faded, leaving the air heavy once again. Nornesh wiped at their eyes with a delicate gesture, a look of amusement still playing on their lips.
"That," they said, voice like honey and embers, "was a good one."
Aedhira, stone-faced, didn't find it nearly as amusing. He stared, blankly, waiting for something more useful. Perhaps his expression was too severe, because Nornesh's amusement softened into something almost concerned.
"Has Astiron told you anything yet?" Nornesh asked, tilting their head ever so slightly, their long, pale fingers brushing a stray lock of ethereal hair from their eyes.
Aedhira hesitated, his mind tracing over the fragmented, cryptic words of the man who claimed to be his father. "Astiron told me enough to give me an idea as to how you're inside of me," Aedhira said slowly, eyes sharpening as the words left his mouth. But as he spoke, Nornesh's expression shifted, a cheeky smirk curling at the edges of their lips, as if Aedhira had just unknowingly admitted something embarrassing.
Aedhira, confused by the reaction, quickly added, "Though he didn't tell me—or maybe didn't know—why you're here."
Nornesh's eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and something else, something deeper. A small silence settled over them as the being closed their eyes in contemplation, leaving Aedhira to brood over his own thoughts. His gaze wandered, studying the enigmatic figure before him more closely.
Nornesh's androgynous features unsettled Aedhira, though he couldn't exactly place why. There was an ethereal quality about them that made it hard for him to categorize what they truly were. Their frame was lithe, almost too slender, and their voice—while deep and melodic—still held a feminine resonance. It made him wonder, though perhaps unkindly, if dragons required more maintenance than most. Their facial contours, sharply defined yet oddly natural, reminded him of the statues he had once seen carved in reverence to forgotten gods. And then there were their robes, an odd assortment of petal-like fabric that seemed to appear from nowhere—robes that seemed more like an afterthought than anything truly protective.
Aedhira shifted slightly, his eyes tracing the intricate designs on Nornesh's scant attire, noticing how similar they were to the engravings on his own armored gauntlet of the Arstra. The realization struck him as odd. He hadn't really considered the details of Nornesh's appearance before this. Their form—slim, statuesque, and oddly frail—seemed to carry no weight at all, as if they could be swept away by the slightest gust of wind. It was hard not to notice their collarbones, nearly too sharp to belong to any living creature.
'Maybe a dragon's diet is... high maintenance?' he thought idly, wondering if they simply hadn't eaten in centuries. The idea of dragons needing meals was almost laughable to him, but it didn't stop his curiosity from wandering.
His gaze lingered a moment too long on Nornesh's face, and before he could stop himself, he was studying the contours of their jawline, the way the light caught against their cheekbones, their lips.
And then Nornesh's eyes opened again, locking onto Aedhira's. Their gaze was soft, almost teasing, and the corner of their mouth curled up in a knowing smile, as if they had caught him staring at something he shouldn't have.
Aedhira flushed crimson, quickly averting his eyes, uncertain if what he had just done was rude or merely awkward. But either way, he felt exposed.
Nornesh let out a small, amused breath. "Astiron really didn't tell you much at all, did he?"
Nornesh's sapphire eyes grew colder as they spoke, their tone now devoid of the playfulness that had lingered earlier. "When I achieved Eminence status, I was left with a predicament," they began, their words slow, deliberate. "I could either continue in this... elemental husk I conjured to contain my soul, or pass on beyond the horizon."
Aedhira's brow furrowed at the mention of "beyond the horizon." The phrase carried an air of finality, of mystery, but there was something in Nornesh's voice that told him to file that thought away for later. He had learned enough by now to trust that some things were better uncovered with time, rather than demanded on the spot.
Nornesh continued, their gaze hardening. "I refused to pass on, but I also refused to stay bound in a husk—a poor substitute for the form I once held. It didn't fit me. Not as a dragon. And certainly not as an Eminence." They paused, their expression darkening further. "But at the time, the power I had was too great, too chaotic. I could not simply seek out a body."
Aedhira swallowed audibly, the sound breaking the weighty silence between them. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of what was being said and what wasn't. This was the part in the Archive stories where things took a grim turn—the part where powerful beings decided that mortal vessels were better suited for their goals. Nornesh must have noticed his reaction, for they sighed, their cold demeanor softening just a touch.
"Contrary to what you're thinking, I have no interest in hijacking your body," Nornesh said, almost wearily. "It doesn't interest me. I have no desire to live through your eyes, your skin. It's simply not... my way."
Aedhira blinked, caught off guard. He had been steeling himself for something far worse. There was a pause, as if his expectations had been dimmed considerably, leaving only confusion in their wake. He nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. Perhaps those old stories he read from the Archive had been right after all. Maybe he needed to heed their warnings and teachings a little more seriously.
But now, something else gnawed at him—a question that he couldn't ignore any longer. His thoughts swirled, and almost reflexively, he wondered how Nornesh could so easily discern his concerns. Was it just his facial expressions giving him away?
Nornesh's response came before Aedhira could even voice the question. "Because this space," they said with a nonchalant wave of their hand, "is technically conjured by your mind... and a bit of mine. I can pick out some of your surface thoughts."
Aedhira froze, a look of horror crossing his face as the implications hit him. His mind was suddenly racing, trying to recall everything he'd thought, everything he'd felt since this encounter started. The idea that his thoughts weren't his own here—that they were visible, laid bare—made his skin crawl.
Nornesh chuckled softly, almost as if they found his distress endearing. "Don't worry," they said with a sly smile. "Your facial expressions are unbelievably easy to read too."
Aedhira groaned, feeling his face heat up again, unsure whether to be embarrassed or annoyed.
Nornesh's expression returned to something resembling casual indifference as they refocused on the topic at hand. "I sought a different option," they said, tone light but precise, as if explaining a simple procedure. "At some point, I heard about the plans to make *you*." They gestured at Aedhira, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "The nature of your being—how you were to be constructed."
Aedhira felt a pang of curiosity stir within him, but before he could even fully process the question forming in his mind, Nornesh waved it away, as if they had plucked the thought right out of the air. "Not for me to discuss," they said firmly, quashing his intrigue with a dismissive flick of their hand. Aedhira blinked, a little taken aback at how easily his curiosity had been deflected.
"In any case," Nornesh continued, "I came up with a plan. More like a gamble, really." They paused, letting the weight of their words settle before elaborating. "I made a rune. A piece of me—soul, mind, and all. A small part of myself that could be implanted into you. If things went according to plan, and your conception went smoothly, then the rune would stabilize into a real one."
They spoke about crafting a rune as though it were something as simple as carving a statue—deliberate, yet intricate. Aedhira tried to process the enormity of what was being said, his mind struggling to keep pace.
"And once that rune stabilized," Nornesh continued, "I could pour the rest of me—whatever remained—into it. I'd recuperate, hidden inside you, until the time was right for me to come out again."
Aedhira stared, trying to wrap his head around the scope of such a plan. He hesitated, then asked carefully, "Conception? What exactly do you mean by that?"
Nornesh's expression twisted into something halfway between amusement and annoyance. "You," they said, poking Aedhira's chest lightly, "were a bit rushed. Haphazard, really. Much like the rune I created."
The comment made Aedhira's chest tighten. He wasn't sure how he felt about being described as a "rushed" creation.
"So," Nornesh continued, their voice taking on a sharper edge, "Veria—" They made a face at the name, as if it left a bad taste in their mouth. "She made an appeal to the 'universe,' and then it was a waiting game. A gamble, to see if the universe would interfere and ensure things didn't fall apart."
Aedhira frowned, trying to keep his tone formal despite the stress building up inside him. "The same 'universe' that granted you your Eminence status?" He paused, gauging Nornesh's reaction. "The same one whose existence is... unconfirmed?"
Nornesh chuckled at that, a soft, throaty sound. "The very same."
Aedhira let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the stress clawed back. "I can see why you called it a gamble," he muttered under his breath, trying to find some comfort in the absurdity of the situation.
Nornesh simply shrugged, their casual demeanor never wavering. "Well, sometimes the universe likes to roll the dice." They smiled again, a little too sweetly, watching as Aedhira processed it all.
"So… what now?" Aedhira asked, his voice tentative, still trying to sift through the massive dump of information Nornesh had unloaded onto him.
Nornesh tapped a finger against their cheek, eyes wandering upward as if searching for the answer in the ether. "Well, if you *are* in the right place—Lokir—then whatever remains of me, buried deep in this place, will be absorbed into the rune without much of a hitch."
Aedhira nodded slowly. "And if I'm not?"
A mischievous smile played on Nornesh's lips, though there was an undertone of grimness. "If you *aren't* in the right place, then the rune will still absorb what's left of me. There would just be a bit of… collateral damage."
Aedhira's eyes narrowed. "Collateral damage?"
Nornesh's finger moved from their cheek to their chin, as if they were discussing the weather. "If you're not in the tomb Astiron built for me, then my dead husk will… well… come back to life. Temporarily, of course."
Aedhira's chest tightened, trying to picture it: a massive, coiled dragon husk, undead, tearing through Lokir—whatever ruins were left of it—in pursuit of the rune lodged inside his chest. The thought sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
"How—how would it even come to life if I never arrived here?" Aedhira questioned, his voice slightly strained. He tried to keep calm, but the idea of Nornesh's corpse hunting him down through sheer instinct wasn't helping his nerves.
Nornesh shrugged, like it wasn't even that big of a deal. "There's a time-gated protocol, of course. If you hadn't reached here within two months of your 'wake,' then… let's just say, things would've gotten much messier."
Aedhira's mind spiraled, trying to wrap itself around all the contingencies that had been built around him, without his knowledge. "You really are something else," he muttered, more to himself than Nornesh.
The ever-present smile on Nornesh's face dimmed, their eyes losing a bit of their earlier luster. "Death," they began, their tone unexpectedly solemn, "no matter how temporary… it's terrifying, even for someone like me."
Aedhira looked at them, surprised by the sudden shift in demeanor.
"I remember pieces of that place… *beyond the horizon*," Nornesh continued, their voice softer now, haunted almost. "Time moves differently on the other side. I didn't truly die—the universe didn't accept me as dead, apparently. So, I was punished." They paused, fingers curling as if grasping something just out of reach. "I spent a long time out there. Felt like hundreds of lifetimes, with my awareness fully intact."
Aedhira's brow furrowed as he tried to imagine what that must've been like—existing for eons, unable to rest, unable to die properly. "But… you endured it because you're a dragon," Aedhira reasoned aloud, trying to make sense of the horror Nornesh had casually described.
Nornesh nodded, eyes glinting faintly. "Dragons—Eminence or not—are built to endure time like that. If I hadn't been… I would've gone mad."
There was a long, quiet pause before Aedhira cleared his throat. "You're… surprisingly mellow," he said cautiously, "compared to the stories Astiron fed me. Not too long ago, you were made out to be this… volatile, larger-than-life being."
Nornesh chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with something darker. "Astiron always did have a flair for the dramatic. I suppose death humbles even the best of us." They smiled again, though it was more subdued, eyes distant as if still lingering on memories of a place beyond the horizon. "But, maybe I've just grown tired of playing the part."