Several years had passed since Drakaryn left Myrdrak Vale. The once-slender youngling had grown, his frame now bearing the strength and presence of a dragon on the cusp of adolescence. Though still far from the size of a full-grown male, his body reflected the results of years of relentless hunting, battle, and survival. He stood nearly 1/10th the size of the titanic elders he had once looked up to, but even at this size, his presence was formidable. His opalescent scales shimmered with vitality, and his wings stretched wide, glinting in the midday sun as he basked on a rocky outcropping.
Dragons never stopped growing, though their rate slowed dramatically as they aged. By 10,000 years, most dragons reached the peak of their practical growth, where maintaining their immense vitality consumed the majority of their resources. Alpha Dragons—those few who could sustain growth beyond this threshold—commanded vast territories and family units. Power within dragonkind wasn't just about individual strength but the ability to gather resources, control land, and attract others to your banner.
The exile period wasn't just survival; it was a test of one's ability to claim and defend a territory. Each dragon's success over the next thousand years would determine their position during the migration back home. For males, a larger domain meant higher status and better mating rights, as their territory absorbed those of the females they brought into their families. For females, a strong showing would make them desirable to powerful males, elevating their standing and ensuring their survival in the fiercely competitive hierarchy of dragon society.
While the initial fear of being hunted had diminished for Drakaryn from his early days, the knowledge that other dragons posed a significant threat kept him wary. Encounters with peers had always been tense, and skirmishes over hunting grounds were becoming more frequent as the years wore on.
It was during one such rare moment of peace—a mid-day bask on a sun-drenched cliff—that Drakaryn heard it.
A whisper. Faint and layered, it drifted through the still air, intertwining with the rustle of leaves and the hum of distant mana flows. It wasn't natural, and it certainly wasn't the wind. Drakaryn's eyes snapped open, his head lifting as his muscles tensed. His claws scraped the stone beneath him as he rose, his wings half-spread in readiness.
The sound wasn't external; it resonated within him, like an ancient melody buried in the depths of his mind. It wasn't just a sound—it was a feeling, a pull. The symphony of the Ancient Dragontongue, though faint, was unmistakable.
Drakaryn scanned the horizon, his senses sharpening. The whispers were too far away to pinpoint, yet they carried a deliberate rhythm, as if calling to him. He growled low in his throat, his tail lashing. The Tongue was not something to take lightly. Its power had already altered him, marking him as different. This whisper could be a trap—a lure from another dragon or some unknown force seeking to exploit his growing mastery.
But it could also be an opportunity. Knowledge of the Tongue was rare, guarded fiercely by the elders of Aurindral Dominion. For whispers to surface here, far from dragon lands, suggested something ancient and significant. Curiosity and caution warred within him, but the pull was undeniable.
Drakaryn launched himself into the air, his wings beating powerfully as he climbed higher. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the faint vibration of the whispers, letting them guide him. They grew stronger as he flew east, toward a region of the Valtheris Expanse he rarely visited—a dense and foreboding jungle where the air hung thick with mana and danger lurked in every shadow.
The jungle loomed below, its canopy a patchwork of vivid greens and purples, glowing faintly from the mana-infused plants. Drakaryn landed lightly on a massive branch, the wood groaning under his weight but holding firm. The whispers were louder now, weaving through the jungle like an unseen current. He followed them deeper, his senses on high alert.
As he moved, the jungle's dangers revealed themselves. Massive venomous snakes slithered through the trees, their scales shimmering like polished jade. Spiders the size of his torso clung to the canopy, their webs glowing with an eerie light. Once, he paused as a Treant—a towering, animate tree—stirred nearby, its wooden limbs cracking as it moved. The jungle was alive, every inch of it a potential threat.
Drakaryn kept moving, his claws finding silent purchase on the thick branches. The whispers grew louder, their rhythm more distinct. It was no longer just a faint melody—it was a voice, layered and complex, speaking words he couldn't yet decipher. His scales prickled as he felt the power in those words, their resonance vibrating through his very core.
He reached a clearing, the jungle opening to reveal a massive stone structure. It was ancient, its surface covered in glowing runes that pulsed faintly with mana. The architecture was unlike anything he had seen before, its design flowing and organic, as if the stones had grown naturally rather than being shaped by claws. At its center was a large archway, its interior shimmering with an ethereal light. A naturally formed dragon portal, he thought, the name coming to mind almost like an ancestral memory.
The whispers emanated from the archway, their intensity almost overwhelming. Drakaryn approached cautiously, his claws unintentionally leaving shallow grooves in the stone. He reached out with his senses, trying to discern the nature of the strangeness before him. The whispers seemed to beckon him, their layered tones forming a harmony that tugged at his mind.
He hesitated. The Tongue was dangerous, its power unpredictable. But this wasn't just a chance encounter. The call felt deliberate, as though it had been waiting for him.
Drakaryn stepped closer, his glowing eyes reflecting the light of the archway. As he crossed the threshold, the whispers grew deafening, their symphony reverberating through his body. The world around him blurred, the jungle fading into a swirling vortex of light and sound.
Then, silence.
Drakaryn stood in a vast chamber, its walls covered in intricate carvings that seemed to shift and change as he looked at them. The air was thick with mana, each breath filling him with energy. At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, and atop it rested a crystalline orb that pulsed with a familiar rhythm.
The whispers emanated from the orb, their melody softening as Drakaryn approached. He reached out, his claws hovering over its surface. The Tongue flowed through him, the symphony of sounds resonating in harmony with his very being.
The orb's light flared, and Drakaryn felt a rush of knowledge—fragmented, ancient, and incomprehensible. Images flashed through his mind: towering Titans, celestial Gods, and dragons wreathed in light and shadow. The visions left him breathless, his mind spinning with their implications.
When the light dimmed, the whispers faded, leaving only silence. Drakaryn stood motionless, his claws still resting where the orb had been. Whatever he had just experienced was far beyond his understanding, but one thing was clear: the Ancient Dragon Tongue held secrets that went far deeper than he had ever imagined.