The Aerie sat high above Astradan, carved into the very peaks of the mountain. The wind howled through the open-air platforms, carrying with it the sharp scent of stone, fresh snow, and something musky, primal—the unmistakable scent of large predators.
Aldric took it all in with a quiet sense of awe. This was a place built for creatures of the sky.
Lysara, standing beside him, tilted her head, watching as shadows moved against the cliffside, wings spreading and folding. A moment later, the Dragles emerged.
They were magnificent.
About three meters long from snout to tail, they had the noble head and feathered neck of an eagle, sharp golden eyes surveying everything around them with a piercing awareness. But their bodies—scaled, muscular, built like a predator of the air—were unmistakably draconic. Their wings stretched broad and powerful, each beat sending small gusts of wind through the Aerie.
Aldric exhaled. He had never seen anything like them.
Two Caelite guides approached from the side, their movements swift and precise, their stone-textured skin seemingly unaffected by the cold mountain air. One of them, a sharp-featured woman, studied them for a long moment before nodding slightly.
"The Lightborn will be fine," she said, gesturing to Lysara. "She has the right presence and size. The Dragles will accept her."
Lysara smirked, glancing at Aldric. "And him?"
The other guide, a thin man with weathered hands and the keen gaze of someone who had spent a lifetime working with the beasts, turned toward Aldric with an appraising look.
Then he pointed to the largest Dragle in the Aerie.
A towering male with deep bronze scales, darker feathers, and an expression that could only be described as unimpressed.
"That one," the man said. "You'll need to take Dralore."
Lysara immediately snorted.
Aldric frowned. "And why's that?"
The female guide crossed her arms. "You're heavier than a Caelite. You need a Dragle that can handle the extra weight."
Lysara grinned. "And he's also grumpy so you match."
Aldric turned toward Dralore, meeting the great beast's piercing golden gaze.
Dralore huffed, flaring his wings once before settling down, utterly unimpressed by everything happening around him.
Lysara clapped a hand on Aldric's shoulder. "You two should get along just fine."
Aldric ignored her, stepping forward.
There was something about the Dragle, something beneath the surface. He could feel it—not just the weight of its presence, but something deeper, something spiritual.
Carefully, he raised his hand.
Dralore tilted his head slightly, watching him, but did not move.
Aldric closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, allowing his mind to settle, to reach out.
Not in words.
Not in force.
Just in understanding.
And Dralore understood him back.
The moment passed. When Aldric opened his eyes again, the great Dragle let out a low, deep rumble—not hostile, not entirely welcoming, but acknowledging.
The male guide nodded once, approving. "Good. He accepts you. Now you will need to learn to fly"
The quick lesson in flying turned out to be less of a lesson and more of a simple, slightly terrifying instruction.
The female Caelite guide stood before them, hands behind her back. "Hold on."
Aldric blinked. "…That's it?"
The male guide nodded. "That's it. They have been trained to follow the leader"
Lysara chuckled. "This is going to be fun."
Aldric wasn't so sure.
But there was no time for doubts.
The Caelites mounted first, their Dragles shifting beneath them, wings flexing as they prepared for flight. Aldric and Lysara followed.
Lysara's Dragle, a sleek female with silver-tinged feathers, adjusted easily beneath her as she settled into the saddle.
Aldric swung himself onto Dralore's back, gripping the rein-like harnesses attached to the base of the Dragle's neck. The beast was warm beneath him, powerful, alive.
Then, without warning—they leaped.
Aldric's breath caught as the ground vanished beneath them.
The Dragles dove, wings tucking in before catching the wind, snapping open with a powerful gust. The sudden force jerked Aldric's stomach up into his ribs, but the instinctive panic faded just as quickly as it came.
Because it wasn't like falling.
It was like being lifted.
The air rushed around him, his cloak whipping violently behind him, but Dralore moved effortlessly, following the lead Dragle with precise, practised motions. The Caelites ahead flew with an almost unnatural grace, their divine gifts of rough skin allowing them to read the wind, to ride the unseen currents as if they were part of the sky itself.
Lysara let out something between a laugh and a victorious whoop.
Aldric focused on not dying.
The wind roared, the mountain spread out beneath them, the world shifting into motion and freedom.
And then they were flying.
The southern side of the mountain was a rugged, untamed stretch of land, the rock face leading into a valley of dense trees and open tundra.
The Dragles landed smoothly, talons scraping against stone as they settled.
Aldric dismounted with more control than he thought he'd have.
Lysara hopped down easily, looking far too smug.
The male Caelite guide walked ahead, gesturing toward the wide, open space. "This is where we collect the meat."
Aldric frowned. "You don't bring it up yourselves?"
The guide shook his head, pointing toward a dark cave entrance at the base of the mountain. "We lift it using the dumbwaiter system inside. The cavern has pulleys, counterweights. It allows us to move supplies up without risking lives."
Lysara's expression went flat.
Aldric felt his own irritation rising.
Lysara turned, her silver eyes sharp. "So you're telling me we could've used that instead of climbing the entire cursed mountain?"
The guide shrugged. "It's too dangerous for people."
Aldric exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
Lysara crossed her arms. "Of course it is."
The Caelite woman smiled faintly. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
Lysara muttered something under her breath, but Aldric was already focusing on the task ahead.
They had agreed to this hunt.
And if the Caelites weren't telling them everything—well.
They'd find out soon enough.
The Caelites were not warriors.
That much was clear the moment Aldric and Lysara descended into the valley. The Caelite guides stayed back, keeping close to the Dragles near the cavern, watching the land with sharp eyes but making no move to follow.
Aldric understood why.
They were masters of the sky, born to the wind, to high places and sheer cliffs. But down here? On the ground, in the thick of it?
This was not their domain.
Which meant the fight ahead belonged to him and Lysara alone.
They moved without speaking, falling into an unspoken rhythm. Their movements sharpened, their focus narrowed—their usual banter gone.
Mistakes out here would cost lives.
The first sign that something was wrong wasn't the lack of game.
It was the silence.
The mountain had been alive with sound when they landed—the sharp whistle of the wind, the distant cry of birds, the rustle of underbrush. But as they moved deeper into the hunting grounds, all of it vanished.
No birds.
No insects.
Not even the wind.
Aldric tightened his grip on his sword. He had been in places like this before.
It meant something was waiting.
Then, Lysara froze.
Aldric's eyes flicked to her immediately.
Her scales had turned white.
Not pale, not silver—pure, bone-white, her iridescent shimmer swallowed by the starkness of it.
And then she whispered it.
"Corruption."
Aldric drew steel without hesitation.
Lysara took a long breath, her nostrils flaring. She turned, eyes narrowing. "It's close. And it's thick."
They pressed forward.
The land itself seemed to rot as they walked, the undergrowth withered, the ground cracked and uneven. Lysara moved faster now, her silver eyes sharp, her breath measured.
And then they saw them.
Aldric's grip tightened on his sword.
The first to emerge were Arlocs—small, twisted creatures, their fur mottled with diseased patches, their bodies riddled with pock-filled lesions that oozed a thick, black rot.
Dog-like in form, but their legs were too long, their eyes too sunken, their movements wrong—staggering, twitching, unnatural.
They let out a sickly, wet snarl, black foam dripping from their teeth.
They weren't alone.
More shapes lurked beyond them, shifting in the shadows of the dead forest—some hunched, some massive, their eyes glinting in the dim light.
Borlocs.
Shadow Bears.
Aldric exhaled slowly.
And then—
Trelocs.
He saw them in the back, their towering forms unmistakable—hulking beasts with armored plating like fused bone, their eyes burning with sickly yellow hunger.
They were bigger than the last one he had fought.
And yet, Aldric felt no fear.
His heartbeat didn't quicken. His breath didn't hitch.
Instead—he felt something else.
Excitement.
This was a chance.
A chance to grow.
Lysara moved first.
She stepped forward, raising a hand, her lips moving in quiet, sharp prayer. Golden light surged from her palms, her divine energy expanding outward in a pulse that made the corrupted beasts hesitate—just for a breath, just for a moment.
Aldric didn't hesitate. He shouded his sword in holy light.
He moved, fast, his sword flashing as he struck the first Arloc through the skull, the sickly creature letting out a strangled yelp before collapsing into the dirt.
The others snarled and rushed.
Lysara's voice rose, her next prayer laced with sheer authority—a wall of radiant force slammed into the first wave of Arlocs, sending them tumbling backward, whimpering as their diseased flesh burned where the light touched them.
Aldric pressed forward, cutting through their ranks.
He was effortless now, his sword moving with deadly precision, his footwork steady, unshakable. One Arloc lunged at his side—he twisted, slashing upward—the creature's body split, black ichor splattering across the ground.
A Borloc roared, the massive, bear-like beast barreling toward him.
Aldric braced.
The moment the creature lunged, he moved low, bringing his shield up at the last second—redirecting the beast's full weight, sending it crashing into the dirt.
Lysara's hands burned with Holy light. She raised them high, her voice ringing out in a fierce, unshaken command—the Borloc shrieked, its body wracked with divine energy as the corruption tried to resist and failed.
Aldric didn't waste the moment.
His sword drove into its chest, piercing straight through its ribs.
The beast let out a final gurgled breath—then went still.
The Trelocs Charge
The ground trembled.
Aldric barely had time to turn before the first Treloc rushed him.
It was massive, its armored hide shifting like stone, its limbs unnatural, jagged, its maw splitting open in a deep, rumbling growl.
Aldric met its charge head-on.
The impact was a thunderous clash, his new shield absorbing the bulk of the force—but the beast was relentless, pushing, trying to drive him back.
But Aldric was immovable. His Oath was sworn, he could not be moved while in range of Lysara. He felt his body being reinforced with holy power.
His boots dug into the dirt, his arms locked, his body holding firm as if the very mountain itself anchored him.
Then he shoved back.
The Treloc stumbled—
Lysara struck.
Her staff flared with golden radiance, and pure divine light slammed into the beast's side, searing its flesh, forcing it to recoil, its growl turning into a shriek of agony.
Aldric moved in an instant, sword flashing, cutting deep into its throat.
The beast fell.
The second Treloc charged for Lysara.
She activated the lightbearer and the Treloc slowed
It lunged. It's speed to slow to have any momentum
Aldric was easily able to intercept it.
His shield collided with the Treloc's face, knocking its head sideways mid-leap, sending it crashing into the ground.
Lysara didn't hesitate.
She raised her staff, a final prayer spilling from her lips, golden fire spiralling around her staff before surging forward in a searing strike of holy wrath.
The Treloc howled—and then it was gone.
Aldric exhaled, his breath steady, his pulse even.
They stood among the broken remnants of the corrupted creatures, black ichor soaking the dirt, divine light still lingering in the air like the echo of a battle hymn.
Lysara let out a slow breath, running a hand down her face. "Well. That was a workout."
Aldric smirked, shaking the black ichor from his blade. "Not bad."
Lysara snorted. "Not bad? We just fought through a pack of corrupted freaks, two shadow bears, and two Trelocs, and all you have to say is 'not bad'?"
Aldric grinned, rolling his shoulders.
"Well," he said. "It was easier than last time."
Lysara stared at him—then laughed.
Lysara then got serious. "You know an outbreak like this must have a cause, we need to find it."