The years had been kind to Drakaryn. The once-slender youngling had grown into a towering adolescent, his opalescent scales gleaming with a vitality that seemed almost otherworldly. His size had tripled since the days of his exile's beginning, and his comprehension of the Dragontongue had deepened with each passing season. No longer did he strip entire landscapes bare in his pursuit of vitality. Instead, he had learned to refine his abilities, selectively drawing life force from individual creatures and plants.
Through trial and error, Drakaryn discovered that some living things carried a greater reservoir of mana and vitality than others. Certain plants thrived with an inner brilliance, their essence teeming with energy, while others were hollow and nearly lifeless. The why of it eluded him, but he suspected the Dragontongue held the answers. For now, he contented himself with experimentation, his days spent expanding his mastery and his nights basking in the cool glow of the moonlight.
It was during one of these peaceful afternoons, as Drakaryn rested in his den tucked into the base of a rocky hill, that his past came crashing into the present.
---
An Unwanted Visitor
"So this is where you've been hiding," a voice called out, breaking the tranquility of the clearing. It was sharp, laced with arrogance, and all too familiar.
Drakaryn stirred lazily, his golden eyes blinking open as he lifted his massive head. Standing at the edge of the clearing was Tazerith, his crimson scales catching the afternoon sunlight. The scar Drakaryn had left on his rival's face was still visible, running from his eye to the corner of his maw, a permanent reminder of their last encounter.
Tazerith stepped forward with exaggerated confidence, his wings partially flared as he surveyed the area. "I should have known you'd be skulking away from the rest of us," he continued. "No doubt hiding, hoping the real competition would forget about you."
Drakaryn exhaled a long, slow breath, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. He rose to his feet, his massive frame unfurling as he stepped out of the shadows of his den. His opalescent scales shimmered faintly, the mana pulsing beneath them giving him an ethereal glow. Tazerith's words faltered as Drakaryn emerged fully into the light.
The confidence drained from Tazerith's face as he took an involuntary step back. Drakaryn's sheer size dwarfed him—his rival was easily three times larger than he had been during their last encounter, his form radiating power and presence. The sight was enough to shatter Tazerith's bravado, leaving him visibly shaken.
"I—" Tazerith stammered, his voice cracking. He tried to compose himself, but the sheer magnitude of Drakaryn's growth was overwhelming. A faint, acrid smell filled the air as Tazerith lost control of his bladder. His wings flared, and without another word, he launched himself into the sky, fleeing as fast as his wings could carry him.
Drakaryn watched him go, his expression unreadable. The effort of chasing him down felt like a waste of energy, and Drakaryn had no interest in Tazerith's petty games. With a faint shrug, he turned and lumbered back into his den, curling up in the cool shade to continue his contemplation.
---
Whispers of Envy
Far to the east, several hundred leagues from Drakaryn's territory, Tazerith landed at the mouth of another dragon's den. He was greeted by three others, their scales shimmering in hues of green, bronze, and blue. Together, they had formed a tenuous alliance, pooling their resources to consolidate power and protect their territories. Yet, despite their combined efforts, Tazerith's arrival carried an air of unease.
"He's a monster," Tazerith growled, pacing back and forth as the others watched him. "There's no way he's achieved that kind of growth naturally. No dragon our age should be that size."
The green-scaled dragon, a slender female named Sylra, tilted her head. "Then how? What could have possibly given him such an advantage?"
Tazerith stopped pacing, his claws scraping against the stone. "A mana spring," he said with certainty. "It has to be. He's found one, and he's been hoarding its energy all this time. That's the only explanation."
The bronze dragon, a stocky male named Grathor, frowned. "If that's true, then we need to take it. A mana spring could change everything for us."
Sylra nodded, her emerald eyes narrowing. "If he's already that strong, he'll only grow stronger if we don't act."
The blue-scaled dragon, younger and more nervous than the others, hesitated. "But how do we even approach him? If he's as powerful as you say—"
"We don't face him head-on," Tazerith interrupted, his voice sharp. "We find the spring. If we can control it, he loses his advantage. He's just one dragon—we're four."
The others murmured their agreement, but the blue dragon shifted uncomfortably. "What if it's not enough? What if we can't handle him even with the spring? Should we… ask for help?"
The group fell silent, the question hanging heavily in the air. They all knew who the blue dragon was referring to. There was another, an older dragon who had been consolidating power quietly but efficiently. He was ruthless and cunning, with a reputation for using others to achieve his goals. Aligning with him would be dangerous, but it might be their only chance.
Sylra was the first to speak. "If we bring him in, he'll demand more than his share."
Grathor grunted. "He'll take everything if we're not careful."
Tazerith's eyes narrowed, his scar twisting as he considered the suggestion. "We don't need him," he said firmly, though the hesitation in his voice was clear. "Not yet."
The group exchanged uncertain glances but didn't press the issue. For now, they would follow Tazerith's lead. But the unspoken truth lingered: if Drakaryn's power continued to grow, they might have no choice but to turn to the one dragon even Tazerith feared.