The clearing still buzzed faintly with the residual hum of mana, a ghostly echo of the experiment that had left Drakaryn's mind in turmoil. He stood at the edge of the scorched earth, his claws gripping the cracked stone beneath him as his gaze swept across the disrupted landscape. The threads of Dragontongue had unraveled something vast and incomprehensible, and he could still feel their vibrations lingering in the air.
His opalescent scales shimmered in the afternoon light, their usual luster dimmed by the weariness that clung to him like a heavy shroud. He shook his head, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he turned away from the site. Whatever he had unleashed, whatever he had glimpsed—it was too much to process now. The weight of the unknown pressed against his thoughts like distant thunder, relentless and unyielding.
Drakaryn's wings unfurled with a slow, deliberate rustle. The thin membranes stretched wide, catching the light like stained glass, before he gave a single, powerful beat that propelled him into the air. The ground beneath him trembled slightly from the force, a few loose stones tumbling into the hollowed earth below.
Yet his ascent lacked its usual vigor. His body, though massive and strong, moved with the deliberate lethargy of exhaustion. There was no urgency in his flight—only a quiet resignation as he let the wind carry him toward the solace of familiarity.
The short flight brought him to his favorite retreat: a sunlit rock perched high above the rolling hills of the Valtheris Expanse. It jutted from the hillside like a sentinel, its surface worn smooth by years of his presence. The warmth of the mid-afternoon sun radiated from its surface, inviting and comforting. Here, he could forget the chaos of his thoughts, if only for a while.
Drakaryn landed with a muted thud, his claws scraping faintly against the stone as he folded his wings carefully against his sides. The expansive view stretched before him, a tapestry of lush greens and shimmering mana flows, but he barely noticed. His focus was inward now, his mind too tangled with unanswered questions.
He stretched his massive body across the rock, claiming every inch of its warmth. His tail coiled loosely beside him, its restless flicks gradually slowing as the heat seeped into his scales. He rested his head on his foreclaws, exhaling a deep, rumbling sigh.
"Perhaps a nap," he muttered, his voice rough and low. "A long one. A week, maybe."
The warmth was soothing, pulling at his frayed nerves like the gentle pull of a tide. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut, and for a fleeting moment, the world was still.
But the stillness was short-lived.
Behind his closed eyelids, the images returned. At first, they were faint—a flicker of light, a shadow of motion, the ghostly outline of those strange, fleshy hands. He shifted uncomfortably, willing them away, but they grew sharper with every passing moment.
Drakaryn's brow furrowed. The vision was clearer now than it had been before, each detail etched into his mind with startling precision. The tiny, clumsy fingers wiggled before him, their soft skin catching the light. He could see the faint lines of the larger creatures' faces, their expressions filled with an emotion he didn't understand but felt profoundly. Their voices murmured faintly, a melody of sounds he couldn't comprehend but somehow knew were gentle.
He opened his eyes abruptly, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. The vision vanished, replaced by the expansive blue sky and the rolling hills stretching endlessly before him. His claws scraped against the stone as he shifted, frustration prickling at the edges of his thoughts.
"What is this?" he growled, his tail lashing against the rock with a sharp crack.
He closed his eyes again, determined to rest, but the images returned immediately. They were not memories. They were not echoes. They were real—alive. He wasn't recalling what he had seen; he was seeing through those tiny, unfamiliar eyes. He could feel the softness of the fabric beneath the small body, the warmth of the larger creatures' touch, the strange, enclosed space that felt both secure and suffocating.
"This isn't like before," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. "I'm not just remembering. I'm… connected."
The realization unsettled him deeply. He was a dragon, a creature of power and control, an apex predator. To be tethered in such a way, to experience the world through another's eyes—especially one so alien and fragile—was disconcerting in a way he couldn't describe.
Drakaryn shifted on the rock, his claws leaving faint grooves in its surface. The warmth that had soothed him moments ago now felt oppressive, heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. What had his experiment done? Had he accidentally tied himself to this creature? And if so, why? What was the purpose of this strange connection?
The questions swirled like a storm in his mind, each one colliding with the next. Yet, no matter how hard he thought, no answers came. The Dragontongue was powerful, yes, but this… this was something beyond his understanding. Something that felt vast and ancient, as though it reached into the very roots of existence.
And yet, there was no immediate danger. The creature was harmless, a tiny thing barely capable of movement. It wasn't a threat, and Drakaryn's instincts told him it wasn't an enemy. It was just… there, its world so distant and alien that he couldn't even begin to comprehend it.
"Nothing to do about it," he muttered, his voice rough and resigned. "Not now."
The sun hung low in the sky, its warm light softening the edges of the horizon. Drakaryn exhaled another deep sigh, his massive frame sinking further into the rock. The questions could wait. The answers, if they came, would come later. For now, he was alive. He was safe. And the sun was warm.
His tail slowed its restless flicking, and his breathing grew deeper, steadier. As the afternoon stretched on, Drakaryn allowed himself to drift, his mind floating between the warmth of the present and the strange visions that lingered whenever his eyes closed.
He studied them idly, his curiosity tempered by exhaustion. The creature's world was so small, so fragile. The faint murmur of its existence tugged at his thoughts, pulling him toward a deeper understanding that he wasn't yet ready to confront.
For now, it was enough to rest. To let the warmth of the sun and the steady hum of mana soothe his frayed nerves. The world—the strange, unknowable world—could wait.
And so, with a final rumble deep in his chest, Drakaryn closed his eyes. The visions followed him into a restless, uneasy slumber.