The seasons of existence can often pass in the blink of an eye, a beat of the heart. Warm summers of love, and memories of new beginnings can run through the mind like honey, only to be frozen solid in the veins by the stark, cold reality of present chaos. The autumnal change, shifting into the death of winter, giving way to rebirth. Time and time again. These experiences coalesce, moulding every soul. Sometimes quicker than they would have liked.
Story, Brother Thorn, whatever he was to be called, had experienced such rapid change. Even for a primordial and preternatural creature such as himself, this rapid metamorphosis had been more than a little disconcerting.
The dragon had been speaking to an old flame only days before, only to learn of her oblivion - consumed by the sudden rising tide of these…vermin.
From beneath Nyella, where he had put his brother to rest, to the perpetual Fall of the betwixt realms, Story now found himself standing midst the icy wastes of Itjivut.
The Judicator of old was dressed in full battle attire, something that he had not donned since his species was a dominant race upon the face of Canelux. Dark cloth reinforced with leather, and a long overcoat with steel pauldrons. This with his dark skin made him easy to spot in the endless white. At his side, the sword he had sworn off from ever touching again, the Lune De Sange, Blood Moon.
Making his way through the camps of the wounded near the front lines, he spoke nary a word to any. His righteous fury gave him a resolve and focus that made him ignore all who warned not to tread past the barriers. He could hear the distant skittering and buzzing as he ventured further and further. His hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword, indigo eyes closing. The blade whispered to his mind, but that was not the sound he focused on. He could feel the insects' rapid approach as he walked alone in the blizzard.
"Je suis là," he spoke aloud.
I am here, was his proclamation. He spoke it not just for Dalanesca, but for the entirety of the world he had hidden himself from for so long. In this moment, he was no longer a relic of the past, but a citizen of the world, here to defend it to his dying breath.
As the first bugs advanced on him, his grip on the Lune tightened. Quickly drawing it from the sheath, the sword drew from him as well, from his very essence, wreathing itself in a black flame that created a dazzling arc as it was slashed outward. The creatures that were touched by this malignant flame writhed in agony, as it seemed to slowly spread and consume them. This gave the horde some pause, their mandibles clicking threateningly as they began to circle around him. Amorphous dark energy swirled around Story, taking shape briefly, hinting at the dragon that lurked within the human frame, and then clung to his form as a sort of aura. It rose as smoke, and continued to contort, threatening to lash out at any insect that dared attack, like an extension of his being.
More and more insects came, both in the air and on the field around Story, threatening to consume him like locusts descending upon a lone chaff of wheat…
