As the twin suns Rah and Rahon dipped beneath the mountains, their dying rays painted a fierce twilight over the forests of Antheria. For a moment, the world held its breath. Here in the western kingdom, silence was the song of the enslaved.
A shadow flickered through the dense trees—a Druid woman, moving swiftly but carefully. She clutched the roots of her cloak and pulled them close, hiding the fear behind her steady gaze. Her heart pounded as she crossed into forbidden territory, praying the Sentinels would overlook her among the thick roots and twisted branches. But fate was merciless.
"Where do you think you are going?" The voice cut through the silence, harsh as iron, halting her mid-step. A Sentinel, with ears long and pointed and skin the color of sand, loomed over her. His bifurcated tongue flicked from his mouth, scenting the air.
"I—I was lost in the forest," she stammered, feigning innocence. Druids didn't get lost in their homeland woods, but the Sentinel didn't seem to notice—or care.
The Sentinel glanced at his partner. "Best to escort her back to her flock. We don't want a border skirmish."
The other Sentinel chuckled, leering at her with eyes that promised cruelty. The Druid woman clenched her fists, helpless to change her fate.
Antheria's forests bordered four vast kingdoms, each ruled by ancient dragons, great beasts adapted to the harsh extremes of their territories. But the Druids, once keepers of the land, had been reduced to slaves. Now they whispered of a time when the freedom of trade brought prosperity—not slavery and exploitation. Their whispers carried little weight, drowned beneath the iron rule of dragon kings and sentinels.
The woman's world faded to black as a sharp blow to her temple struck her down. When her eyes fluttered open, she was chained, far from her forest. Beside her sat a creature in a cage—a Draconian, his scales dulled from captivity, his eyes glassy and lost. She tried to speak, but he only grunted, resigned. Before long, he was dragged from his cell by hulking, blue-skinned guards. His scream echoed, then fell silent.
Hope seemed as scarce as freedom in this fractured world, even as far as the Northern Kingdom, where dragons and Draconians paid homage at the temple of the Ovoid. Beneath the temple's jewel-encrusted dome, a barren platform lay—a constant reminder of an ancient theft. Ages ago, a young dragon prince named Sai Si stole the "God of the Ovoid." In truth, Sai Si hadn't understood what he'd taken. He only knew it was beautiful—an ornate gem, gleaming with promise.
But the gem was more than it seemed; it was an egg. Pursued by furious Draconians and the Green Dragons of the East, Sai Si fled to the Eastern shore. There, he saw his first sunrise—a sight that blinded him instantly. Staggering, he fell into the sea, drifting into a hidden cave beneath the waters, where he would remain for centuries. He named his prize Dan, the silent egg that shared his prison.
Sai Si grew old, his scales turning to stone in the darkness. His voice filled the cave, imparting all his knowledge to the silent Dan, until his words turned to whispers and the centuries wore him down. The volcano by the shore trembled, smoke rising in dark clouds as the earth beneath shuddered.
Antheria itself seemed to shift, the kingdoms and their rulers oblivious to the ancient bond between the dragon and his egg. The world outside changed little, unaware that beneath the surface, the dragon's end was near, and with it, perhaps a new beginning.
***
Lava surged from unseen crevices, flooding the cavern with waves of heat that stung even through the dense humidity of the sea. Sai Si, the ancient dragon, closed his eyes against the burning glow, his sightless world only amplifying the rush of molten rock. Yet the rise of this inferno was unlike anything he'd felt in his millennia of wandering. This heat, fierce and unrelenting, whispered of an end. He could sense his scales cracking, his bones burning—but one duty remained. With a weary nudge, he guided the precious egg, his last companion, Sai Dandan, into the cool depths.
A faint splash marked her descent, the fragile vessel sinking out of harm's way. For a heartbeat, Sai Si wondered if any soul would ever uncover the creature within. He thought of the silent volcanoes of the Eastern Kingdom, lifeless for centuries, and how even the fiery peaks of the Southern Kingdom had always held him at bay. His adventures, his long years of wandering, had drawn to an end, and as the lava reached him, he let out a final exhale, his breath catching fire, bursting into a blaze that devoured him and spread across the cavern in a roaring wave.
Then, within the cooling depths, a crack sounded—a resonance that shivered through the cavern as the egg's shell broke. From within emerged a being no realm had ever seen before: wings vast and scaled like a dragon's, a form neither beast nor mortal, but draconian. Sai Dandan stretched her wings wide, feeling the weight of her own power, her bloodshot eyes gleaming in the dark as her gaze swept over her fiery birthplace. She took to the air with instinctive ease, soaring upward through the ash-filled air, then plunging down, slicing through water that hissed and steamed against her molten form.
Amidst the chaos, she stilled, a figure of raw, unbridled strength surrounded by ruin. She cast one glance back at the cavern, where she'd spent lifetimes listening to the voice that had spoken tales to her, guided her. But Sai Si's presence had faded, leaving her with only silence and memories. Driven by instinct, she dove deeper into the boiling waves, her wings igniting, yet bearing no harm. When at last she surfaced, the searing flames left marks along her snow-pale skin. Wings dripping, she emerged onto the shore, taking in the strange beauty of the Eastern Empire's moss-draped forest and the twin stars, Rah and Rahon, glowing overhead.
As memories of Sai Si's stories surged in her mind, Sai Dandan felt the weight of her own purpose. She remembered the myths whispered through the egg shell, legends of liberation and struggle. Her destiny was to bring justice to the kingdoms—to end the tyranny that had gripped her world. Yet how? She needed knowledge, wisdom—she needed the ancient knowledge of the Grey Dragons of the north. But she had no sense of direction, no guidance to navigate this vast new world.
The ache of solitude cut deep. She longed for the deep rumble of Sai Si's voice, the presence she'd known her entire existence. The northern mountains, the distant tales of Seth's cold homeland—memories replayed in her mind, weaving tales of his adventures, of the lives of the ordinary creatures of Antheria, of the freedoms and secrets denied to them. Through him, she had glimpsed the creativity of her kind, the Draconians, the whispered wonders of the Druids, the medicines brewed in the hidden forests.
Sai Dandan gazed toward the dense woods before her, knowing she had no choice but to forge ahead alone. She recalled the weight of Sai Si's belief in her, the words echoing like prophecy. She, a creature born of flame and fury, was meant to be a beacon, a hope to end oppression across Antheria. But her heart clenched in fear at the prospect. To venture forward alone—she had never known such terror.
In the bloody light of Rah, she allowed herself to mourn, to feel every sharp edge of her fear and sorrow. She cried like the orphaned child she was, a creature torn from one life and thrust into a destiny not of her own making. The wail of her grief echoed along the shore until her tears ran dry. Finally, silence fell, and Sai Dandan rose, facing the forest, knowing that her journey had only just begun. Her destiny lay beyond.
***
Night had fallen, casting a deep indigo cloak over the forest as Sai Dandan slipped quietly through the undergrowth, her senses sharpened by hours of meditation. But the clang of metal against wood shattered the silence, a disturbance that pulled her from her thoughts. She froze, eyes narrowing, and instinctively ducked into the dense blue-green foliage. A warrior strikes only after understanding her prey. Sai Si had drilled this into her over and over again.
Voices emerged, harsh and heated, drifting through the jungle shadows. Sai Dandan crept forward, careful to keep hidden as she neared the source of the commotion. Green-clad figures stood in a tense circle, their eyes fixed on a young woman bound before them. The Sentinels. The Empire's enforcers, soulless as the iron they wore.
"Why is loving someone from another tribe a crime worthy of death?" a young man's voice rose in anger, trembling yet fierce. Sai Dandan could see him now, approaching the gathering with clenched fists.
"Silence!" snapped a voice as cold and unfeeling as stone. One of the Sentinels, its face hidden behind a gleaming mask, turned toward him. "There is no room for dissent. The Empire's laws are absolute."
An elder from the tribe, eyes downcast, bowed low. "Forgive the young one's insolence," he murmured. "We will correct his behavior ourselves."
The Sentinel's cold voice hummed, as if machinery clicked behind the mask. "Our investigation is complete. Compensation will follow."
Sai Dandan held her breath, watching as the Sentinels dispersed, leaving behind a tense silence. Her gaze shifted to the tribal group that remained. She saw Du Si Bo, the young man with a fire in his eyes, meeting his father's gaze in desperation.
"You must abandon him here," another elder sneered. "He lost his third eye—a druid without balance is no warrior but a burden."
"But he's my son," the chief murmured, voice heavy with sorrow.
"Your duty is to the tribe. He is dead weight. He has led his cousin to death and dishonored us all."
Sai Dandan felt her chest tighten as the chief stepped forward. "For the tribe… I choose to leave him."
Du Si Bo's face twisted with betrayal, his cry cutting through the forest like a wounded beast's. The others turned and walked away, leaving him collapsed on the forest floor, his forehead bruised and his third eye—a sacred appendage—hanging limp and bloodied.
Unable to ignore the ache that tugged at her heart, Sai Dandan stepped forward, her bare feet snapping a twig. Du Si Bo lifted his head, and for a moment his eyes widened with shock as he took in her wild appearance, her skin bare and her wings, a vibrant orange, pulsing faintly in the darkness.
"You're... naked," he managed, confusion breaking through his grief.
Sai Dandan frowned, realizing her state, though she cared little for modesty. Her voice, rough from disuse, rasped as she explained her journey through the wilds, leaving out the details of her exile.
Du Si Bo nodded, glancing toward the tribal village. "I can't take you there, but… there are clothes."
Sai Dandan gave him a small nod and slunk to the village's edge, pulling herself up among the trees. She grabbed a few garments drying on vines when a woman's scream echoed through the forest. Sai Dandan turned to see a cluster of villagers, eyes wide with terror, pointing at her wings as though she were a demon.
Sai Dandan fled, her wings flashing in the moonlight, until Du Si Bo caught her wrist and pulled her into hiding. They crouched together, breathing in sync as the villagers combed the area before leaving.
"Now you're clothed," Du Si Bo whispered with a small smile.
"Now I'm clothed," Sai Dandan agreed, a faint smirk pulling at her lips.
"So… you're a druid," Du Si Bo noted, tilting his head as he examined her wings, the embers at their edges still glimmering. "But… not a druid of any kind I've seen."
"They glow," she said quietly, glancing away, "sometimes."
He blinked, his voice softening. "Who… what are you?"
Sai Dandan's gaze returned to him, a flicker of something haunted behind her eyes. "I'm still searching for that answer."
Du Si Bo fell silent, and for a while, only the murmur of the forest surrounded them. "I've been given a week," he said at last, a hollow note in his voice. "With my third eye destroyed, my balance is gone. Without it, I'll weaken until…" He swallowed, looking away. "My nerves won't survive."
"Close your other eyes," she suggested quietly, leaning closer.
"And what, let the forest swallow me whole?" He gave a mirthless chuckle. "The predators would feast on me in minutes."
Sai Dandan's eyes burned with defiance. "No. The Grey Dragons of the North—they know ancient cures. They could heal you."
"A journey of six days, if I could walk," he replied bitterly. "And the Dragons would never aid a broken druid like me. Their kingdom is walled with talons and fire."
Sai Dandan shook her head, her decision already firm. "They won't turn away the heir of the Fire Throne," she declared, her tone steely. "They'll help me—and I'm bringing you with me."