The Journey, Book 3: Chapter 13 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 14, Protection.
The cavern falls silent after Elqiana’s words, the red oval pulsing faintly in the gloom like a living heartbeat. Tara doesn’t hesitate. She shrugs her cloak from her shoulders and wraps it tightly around the dragon egg, muffling its glow and cradling it against her chest. The warmth bleeds through the fabric, alive, aware.
“We’re leaving. Now,” she mutters.
She turns and runs, boots splashing through shallow pools and scattering loose bones and rusted steel as she retraces her path through the troll’s hoard. The hole in the wall looms ahead, jagged stone clawed apart by brute force. Tara ducks through, breath sharp in her lungs.
William is waiting on the other side, eyes wide the moment he sees her. “You found something,” he says, more a statement than a question.
“No time,” Tara snaps. “Guide me back. Quickly.”
The mountain groans faintly around them. William swallows hard but nods, turning on his heel and leading the way through the tunnels. They move fast now, torchlight flickering wildly against the walls, shadows stretching and snapping like grasping hands.
Tara keeps one arm tight around the hidden egg, her other hand brushing the stone for balance as the passages twist and narrow. Every sound feels louder—dripping water, shifting gravel, the distant echo of something heavy moving deep within the mountain.
“Almost there,” William pants, skidding around a bend as cool night air begins to seep into the tunnel.
The exit appears ahead, a jagged mouth opening to starlight. Tara pushes through, lungs burning, boots hitting solid ground outside the mine. She doesn’t stop until she’s clear of the entrance, the mountain looming dark and silent behind them.
Only then does she slow, glancing down at the bundle in her arms.
The dragon’s heart still beats.
Elqiana’s massive head lowers, her opal-white snout hovering just inches from Tara’s chest. She breathes in slowly, carefully, the dragon’s nostrils flaring as she scents the hidden egg beneath the cloak. A low, reverent rumble vibrates through her throat—not hunger, not threat, but recognition.
Tara doesn’t wait. She moves quickly but gently, climbing up Elqiana’s foreleg and into the saddle. The leather creaks as she settles in, fastening the harness straps around her legs with practiced efficiency, one arm never loosening its hold on the bundled egg.
The village elder comes rushing forward, breathless. “Lady Tara—the king’s soldiers are approaching!”
Tara’s head snaps up. She nods once. “Then we need to leave. But what about you? The village—”
The elder waves her away. “We have magicians,” the old woman says firmly. “They will protect us. Illusion enchantments.” Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Go. Go now. Be on your way.”
Tara meets her gaze, then nods again. No time for arguing.
Elqiana moves.
Four powerful strides carry them forward, each one shaking the ground. Her wings spread wide, catching the air, and with a thunderous downward thrust, she launches them skyward. Wind roars past as the ground falls away beneath them.
Tara looks back just in time to see William standing at the edge of the village, frozen in awe as the great opal-white dragon rises into the night sky.
“Thank you, William!” Tara shouts.
He waves back, small against the growing distance.
As they climb higher, Tara glances down at the bundle in her arms, tightening her grip just slightly. Then she looks back once more—and watches as a faint shimmer ripples outward, wrapping the village and the mine entrance in a wavering veil. Buildings blur. Stone bends. The very outline of the place seems to soften and fade, as though it were never there at all.
Tara exhales, a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.
“That,” she murmurs, a hint of awe in her voice, “is some illusion magic right there.”
Elqiana rumbles softly beneath her, wings carrying them onward into the dark, the hidden heartbeat between them pulsing steadily as the mountain disappears below.
On the ground below, the contingent of soldiers rounded the shoulder of the mountain in a tight formation. Rubian lifted his fist, and the line halted at once.
He stared ahead, eyes narrowing. “Where’s the village?” he snarled.
His captain stepped forward cautiously. “The scouts swear it was here, sir. Right here.”
Rubian growled low in his throat and dug into the small pouch at his waist. He withdrew a misshapen orb, its surface slick and putrid, like something grown rather than made. With a sharp motion, he hurled it at the ground.
“Reveal,” he commanded.
The orb shattered. Sickly-coloured smoke poured upward, curling and writhing as if alive—then thinned, dispersed, and vanished. The mountainside remained stubbornly empty.
Rubian’s lip curled. “For fuck’s sake.”
Then he froze.
“Looking glass. Now.”
The captain didn’t hesitate. He thrust a strange conical device into Rubian’s hand, its metal cold and etched with runes, a single lens glinting at its tip. Rubian raised it to his eye.
The illusion peeled away.
High above, cutting across the darkening sky, he saw her—Tarasque astride the great opal-white dragon, wings beating steadily as they fled toward the horizon.
Rubian lowered the glass slowly, his expression twisting into something ugly and satisfied. “The redheaded bitch was here…”
He reached into the pouch again, fingers brushing past vials and charms before closing around a green-blue orb that glimmered like storm-tossed water. He crushed it in his fist. Shards bit into his palm as magic bled out between his fingers.
With venomous delight, he whispered, “Storm.”
The night sky answered.
Clouds churned and thickened, rolling in from every direction, swallowing starlight. The air grew heavy. Thunder rumbled low and distant, like something massive waking up.
Rubian smiled as the first cold wind swept down from the peaks.
“Run,” he murmured. “Let’s see how far you get.”
Tara’s eyes widened as the sky bruised over, clouds boiling in from every direction. Thunder cracked so close it rattled her teeth, lightning tearing the darkness open in blinding white seams.
“This weather changed far too fast!” she shouted, pressing herself low against Elqiana’s back while keeping the egg clutched tight against her chest.
Before Elqiana could answer, a third presence slid into both of their minds—old, sharp, and unmistakably awake.
'The storm is man-made.'
Tara stiffened. Her gaze dropped instinctively to the cloak-wrapped egg in her arms.
Elqiana’s voice followed at once, low and thoughtful. 'That came from the red egg.'
Without thinking, Tara reached out with her mind—
—and immediately slammed into a wall.
'Careful, human,' the voice snapped, offended but amused. 'It’s rude to barge into a dragon’s thoughts uninvited.'
Tara recoiled, heat flooding her face. 'Sorry—! I didn’t mean—'
A pause. Then, unmistakable smugness.
'So humans are still fickle,' the voice continued. 'Figures. My name is Sharkie.'
Tara groaned aloud. Elqiana let out a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest—laughter, unmistakably.
“Stop laughing, Elqi!” Tara snapped, tightening her grip on the egg as another flash of lightning lit the clouds.
She gathered herself and tried again, this time more carefully. 'I’m Tarasque. And this is Elqiana.'
There was no hesitation.
'I know,' Sharkie replied.
“Elqi, we need to get to Caa Alora as fast as possible,” Tara shouted over the rising wind. “Can you fly over the storm?”
Elqiana angled upward, wings beating hard as she climbed toward the roiling cloud ceiling. For a heartbeat it almost worked—then the air turned vicious. The wind howled, slamming into her like a living thing, wrenching at her wings and forcing her back down.
'No,' Elqiana growled, frustration bleeding through the bond. 'The currents up there will tear us apart.'
“I figured,” Tara muttered, teeth clenched as thunder boomed around them. “And going through this looks just as bad.”
Elqiana began to bank, instinct urging her to descend—
'Don’t.'
The voice cut in sharply, coiling through both their minds without warning.
'Do not descend. You are being followed.'
Elqiana froze mid-motion, wings flaring wide as she steadied herself. She angled her gaze downward, peering through sheets of rain and flickering lightning—
—and there it was.
A familiar, sickening presence. A grey aura moving with purpose through the storm below, clinging to the ground like rot that refused to wash away.
Elqiana pushed the image into Tara’s mind.
Tara hissed through her teeth. “Rubian… of course it had to be him. Doesn’t the world ever get bored of that bastard?”
Lightning split the sky again, briefly illuminating the clouds like shattered glass.
“Can you fly through it, Elqi?” Tara asked, already bracing herself.
Elqiana leaned forward, wings snapping wide as she drove into the storm head-on. Her voice came back strained but steady.
'With difficulty, little redhead.'
Wind screamed past them, rain lashed like thrown knives, and the storm closed in
The wind hit them like a wall.
Not a steady push, not a predictable current—this was a sudden, violent surge that slammed into Elqiana’s flank and sent her lurching sideways through the air. One wing dipped hard, the other snapped upward as she fought to keep balance, muscles bunching beneath her opal-white scales.
Tara cried out as the saddle jerked violently. She flattened herself against Elqiana’s neck, fingers digging into the leather straps while the egg was pressed tight between her chest and the dragon’s warmth.
“Elqi—!”
Another gust tore through the storm, shrieking like something alive. Elqiana was wrenched upward and then dropped in the same breath, her massive body rocking so hard Tara felt weightless for a terrifying heartbeat.
'Hold fast!' Elqiana thundered into her mind, focus sharp as steel.
Rain lashed sideways now, driven by the gale, stinging Tara’s face and blinding her. Lightning flared again, close enough that the air cracked, and in that blinding instant the wind shifted—grabbing Elqiana from beneath and flipping her angle nearly vertical.
Elqiana roared, a deep, furious sound swallowed almost instantly by the storm, and beat her wings hard, once, twice—each stroke a brutal effort. The wind shoved back, clawing at her, forcing her to fight for every inch of forward motion.
Her body rocked again, violently this time, scales shuddering as a crosswind slammed into her chest. Tara was thrown sideways in the saddle, the harness biting into her legs as she clung on, heart hammering.
This storm is not natural, Elqiana growled, anger threading through the strain. It’s hunting us.
Another savage gust hit them broadside, spinning them just enough that the horizon vanished entirely—only cloud, rain, and screaming wind in every direction.
Elqiana dug deep, wings pumping in powerful, uneven beats, forcing her massive form back under control inch by inch. She lowered her head and pushed forward, stubborn and unyielding, refusing to be driven down.
Tara pressed her forehead against Elqiana’s neck, breath ragged but steadying. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, whether to the dragon, the egg, or herself she wasn’t sure.
Rubian peered through the looking glass, rain streaking across its warped lens as the storm battered the sky. The dragon above lurched violently, her massive form shoved sideways by savage gusts, wings straining to correct each brutal shove.
Rubian threw his head back and laughed, the sound ugly and delighted. “Yes… dance for it,” he snarled.
Behind him, his soldiers stumbled through mud and wind, armour clattering, boots slipping on slick stone. Rubian snapped a glare over his shoulder, eyes blazing.
“Fall back,” he screamed over the storm, “and I will kill you all myself!”
Fear put fresh speed in their legs.
The wind howled around Tara as she clung to Elqiana’s neck. Rain blurred her vision, clouds tearing past in churning grey walls.
“There!” Tara shouted, pointing through the chaos. “That forest—what about that forest? Could we hide in there?”
Elqiana followed Tara’s gaze, assessing through instinct and experience. 'Only if we can mask our descent, she replied grimly. There are eyes on us.'
Tara’s mind raced. Wind. Clouds. Cover.
“What if I use the storm?” she said, more to herself than anyone. “What if I make the clouds hide us?”
Before doubt could take root, Tara focused. She found a smaller, drifting cloud and reached for the ancient language—words that tasted like breath and pressure and motion. Wind answered her call, not obedient but curious, tugged and coaxed into shape.
The cloud thickened, stretched, and wrapped around them like a living veil.
Then others followed.
Grey masses rolled inward, closing ranks, swallowing Elqiana whole as the sky folded in on itself.
"Now!" Tara said.
She angled sharply downward and dropped.
Rubian snarled as the dragon vanished from sight, the clouds sealing shut like a clenched fist.
“Cowards,” he spat, shaking the looking glass uselessly. “Run if you must.”
He lowered it slowly, eyes cold and calculating. “They’ll come down somewhere.”
He turned and pressed forward along the road, storm or no storm.
The forest rushed up to meet them.
Elqiana burst through the canopy in a storm of snapping branches and shredded leaves, landing hard in the heart of the woods. The impact sent a shock through her body, thorns scraping against her scales as she skidded and finally came to a stop among twisted roots and brambles.
Silence followed—thick, sudden, broken only by rain dripping from leaves.
Tara released the ancient words with a shaky breath, the wind slipping from her grasp as exhaustion hit all at once.
“Are you okay, Elqi?” she asked urgently, sliding down as best she could. “Sharkie—are you okay?”
The forest loomed close around them, dark and watchful.
Elqiana’s great body shuddered once, then again, the effort of the flight finally catching up with her. Mud, rain, and torn leaves clung to her scales as she lowered her head, breathing slow and heavy.
'I’m alright, little redhead,' she said at last, her voice tired but steady.
Tara nodded and pulled the cloak back just enough to check the egg. The red oval throbbed faintly beneath her hands, a slow, living pulse—calm, uncracked, whole.
“Okay,” Tara breathed, relief loosening her shoulders. “The egg’s fine.” She glanced around, taking in the dense trees, the choking undergrowth, the way thorny brambles twisted unnaturally up trunks and branches. “But… where are we?”
Elqiana lifted her head and studied the forest, eyes narrowing. Fangthorn, she replied. 'I recognize the growth. The brambles here are… aggressive.'
Tara walked a few steps away, carefully pushing aside a curtain of thorns to peer deeper between the trees. The forest felt wrong—too tight, too alive. Brambles crawled over roots and climbed trunks in spirals, as if trying to swallow the trees whole.
“This place looks dangerous all by itself,” Tara said quietly. “Be careful with your wings, Elqi.”
Elqiana snorted softly and folded them in close, every movement deliberate. Already tucked. 'I have no desire to be tangled by carnivorous shrubbery.'
Tara managed a tired huff of a laugh, then exhaled slowly. “Alright,” she said, rubbing her arms against the chill. “We rest until the storm passes.”
She looked up through the canopy, where distant thunder still muttered and rain pattered through the leaves.
“It can’t last much longer,” she added, more hopeful than certain.
Rubian’s patience finally snapped.
“Fucking find them,” he hissed, voice low and poisonous.
The soldiers scattered at once, fear lending speed to aching legs. They searched everywhere—forcing their way into shallow caves that smelled of damp stone and bats, pushing through copses of trees slick with rain, circling gullies and ravines where the storm water pooled. Every false lead earned them another hour under the blackened sky.
They found nothing.
Rubian drove them onward regardless. Mile after mile. The storm eased, but exhaustion crept in where terror had once ruled. Boots dragged. Helmets sat crooked. Men stopped checking shadows properly.
Rubian noticed all of it.
He slowed near a rise and looked out across the land. In the distance, dark and unmistakable, lay the ragged edge of Fangthorn Forest—its canopy jagged, its borders choked with bramble so dense they looked like a wall of thorns from afar.
He stared at it longer than the others dared.
For a moment, something like consideration flickered behind his eyes.
Then he scoffed and shook his head.
“No,” he muttered. “There’s no way a pretty, pristine princess dragon would tear her wings to ribbons landing in there.”
He turned sharply, cloak snapping in the wind, and fixed his soldiers with a glare that promised pain.
“Move out,” he snarled.
They obeyed at once, marching past Fangthorn and deeper into the open lands—unaware that the forest behind them seemed to lean inward, thorns shifting softly, as if amused by their mistake.
The rain softened to a whisper, thunder retreating into distant mutters.
'The storm is calming,' came Sharkie’s voice, quieter now, almost… satisfied.
Tara let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Good. Then we’ll let Elqi rest a little longer.”
Elqiana shifted slightly, settling her weight more comfortably against the earth, eyes half-lidded but alert.
Tara glanced down at the egg tucked securely in her cloak. “So, Sharkie,” she said after a moment, “why were you inside a cavern with a mountain troll?”
There was a pause. A long one.
'A mountain troll?' Sharkie replied at last, sounding genuinely puzzled. 'I don’t know. I just called him Moo-Moo.'
Tara blinked. Slowly, she looked up at Elqiana. “You called it Moo-Moo?”
Elqiana huffed, a low, rumbling sound of amusement. 'Stinky would have been more accurate.'
The egg’s shell pulsed faintly, a warm, rhythmic thrum—contentment, perhaps, or smugness.
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Tara muttered, easing herself down to sit against Elqiana’s side. The dragon’s warmth seeped through her cloak, grounding her.
Another pause. Then curiosity crept into Sharkie’s thoughts, sharper now.
'You mentioned Caa Alora,' she said. 'What is that?'
Tara smiled faintly. “Caa Alora is home to the elves. Queen Gabija of Clan Panther rules there.”
She felt it then—an unmistakable shift. Sharkie’s presence leaned in, thoughts suddenly alert, intent.
'Does Braiden still live there?' Sharkie asked. 'And Zeindaryss?'
Elqiana answered before Tara could, her voice gentle but firm. 'Braiden and my ancestor are no longer with us, I’m afraid.'
Silence followed.
Elqiana lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she tested the wind. 'It’s time, little redhead,' she rumbled.
Tara rose slowly, clutching the dragon egg to her chest. “What if Rubian is still in the area?” she asked, unease threading her voice.
Elqiana stretched her long, sinewy body with deliberate care, muscles rippling beneath glistening scales. 'We’ll have to make do. We aren’t safe here either way.'
Tara exhaled, tightened her grip on the egg, and settled into the saddle, strapping her legs into the harness. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go as fast as you can. Straight for Caa Alora.”
The dragon shifted, her massive claws scraping along the treetops. The trunks groaned under her weight, snapping and bending as if in protest. Then, with a sudden flare of wings, she thrust into the sky, breaking through the storm clouds in a surge of raw power, heading unerringly toward the elven woods.
On the ground, Rubian’s eyes widened as he realised what was happening. “You… you fucking bitch!” he roared. His soldiers froze, unsure how to respond as he spun on the nearest man—his captain—and with terrifying strength crushed the soldier’s head between his hands. The screams were cut short, leaving silence heavy as the dead captain's body dropped to the ground with a thud.
Above, Elqiana tucked into the wind currents, gliding just above the clouds, letting the air lift her and propel them forward. Tara leaned into her dragon’s neck, pulse steady, eyes fixed on the horizon. Hours passed, the storm behind them slowly fading, replaced by the golden glow of the setting sun.
Finally, the forests of the elves appeared—vast, green, and welcoming in contrast to Fangthorn’s thorn-choked darkness. Tara reached out with her mind to the guardian of Caa Alora, projecting calm and respect.
'Permission to land,' she asked silently.
A gentle, melodic voice replied within her mind: 'Granted, Lady Tarasque.'
Tara exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips as Elqiana angled downward, wings folding slightly for the descent.
Elqiana lowered herself to the training grounds with painstaking care, each motion deliberate despite the exhaustion radiating through her massive body. Her great opal-white form curled into the center, wings folding tightly, and she let out a soft, rumbling sigh that shook the earth just slightly.
Tara slid from the saddle, brushing a hand over Elqiana’s foreleg. “Rest now, Elqi,” she whispered.
The elves training nearby paused, some groaning in frustration, others frozen mid-motion. The sheer presence of the dragon commanded both awe and respect.
Queen Gabija strode into the courtyard, her expression taut with urgency. The other elves immediately halted, bowing silently, sensing the intensity emanating from their queen.
“Tarasque, Elqiana… are you both unharmed?” the queen demanded, eyes scanning the dragon and then Tara.
Tara inclined her head in the traditional elvish greeting. “We are fine, Your Majesty,” she replied steadily. “But I have something you need to see. Something important.”
The queen’s eyes sharpened, her curiosity piqued, and she nodded once. “Let’s go.”
They moved quickly and silently, leaving the training grounds and Elqiana behind to rest.
Such a weighty curiosity in elves… Sharkie’s voice threaded through Tara’s mind, amused but tense. This one is going to be most… delicate.
Inside the palace, the queen walked them briskly to her private quarters, once there the queen’s maids and guards were dismissed without a word, leaving the room cloaked in an almost tangible silence. Tara stepped forward, and carefully unwrapped her cloak from around the dragon egg.
The blood-red dragon egg rested in her hands, pulsing faintly as if alive, the soft glow illuminating the room’s shadows.
Queen Gabija froze, breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she stepped closer, drawn irresistibly toward the egg. The air between them seemed to thrum, heavy with unspoken power and history.
Tara could feel the queen’s awe, her careful control slipping as she reached out almost instinctively, as if to touch something sacred. The room held its quiet, every heartbeat amplified.
Sharkie’s presence pressed into Tara’s mind, sharp and amused. Ah… yes. This one will be very interesting indeed.
“Sharkie thinks you are very interesting Gabija…” Tara says softly, making the Queen look up at her with curiosity.
Chapter 14, Protection.
The cavern falls silent after Elqiana’s words, the red oval pulsing faintly in the gloom like a living heartbeat. Tara doesn’t hesitate. She shrugs her cloak from her shoulders and wraps it tightly around the dragon egg, muffling its glow and cradling it against her chest. The warmth bleeds through the fabric, alive, aware.
“We’re leaving. Now,” she mutters.
She turns and runs, boots splashing through shallow pools and scattering loose bones and rusted steel as she retraces her path through the troll’s hoard. The hole in the wall looms ahead, jagged stone clawed apart by brute force. Tara ducks through, breath sharp in her lungs.
William is waiting on the other side, eyes wide the moment he sees her. “You found something,” he says, more a statement than a question.
“No time,” Tara snaps. “Guide me back. Quickly.”
The mountain groans faintly around them. William swallows hard but nods, turning on his heel and leading the way through the tunnels. They move fast now, torchlight flickering wildly against the walls, shadows stretching and snapping like grasping hands.
Tara keeps one arm tight around the hidden egg, her other hand brushing the stone for balance as the passages twist and narrow. Every sound feels louder—dripping water, shifting gravel, the distant echo of something heavy moving deep within the mountain.
“Almost there,” William pants, skidding around a bend as cool night air begins to seep into the tunnel.
The exit appears ahead, a jagged mouth opening to starlight. Tara pushes through, lungs burning, boots hitting solid ground outside the mine. She doesn’t stop until she’s clear of the entrance, the mountain looming dark and silent behind them.
Only then does she slow, glancing down at the bundle in her arms.
The dragon’s heart still beats.
Elqiana’s massive head lowers, her opal-white snout hovering just inches from Tara’s chest. She breathes in slowly, carefully, the dragon’s nostrils flaring as she scents the hidden egg beneath the cloak. A low, reverent rumble vibrates through her throat—not hunger, not threat, but recognition.
Tara doesn’t wait. She moves quickly but gently, climbing up Elqiana’s foreleg and into the saddle. The leather creaks as she settles in, fastening the harness straps around her legs with practiced efficiency, one arm never loosening its hold on the bundled egg.
The village elder comes rushing forward, breathless. “Lady Tara—the king’s soldiers are approaching!”
Tara’s head snaps up. She nods once. “Then we need to leave. But what about you? The village—”
The elder waves her away. “We have magicians,” the old woman says firmly. “They will protect us. Illusion enchantments.” Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Go. Go now. Be on your way.”
Tara meets her gaze, then nods again. No time for arguing.
Elqiana moves.
Four powerful strides carry them forward, each one shaking the ground. Her wings spread wide, catching the air, and with a thunderous downward thrust, she launches them skyward. Wind roars past as the ground falls away beneath them.
Tara looks back just in time to see William standing at the edge of the village, frozen in awe as the great opal-white dragon rises into the night sky.
“Thank you, William!” Tara shouts.
He waves back, small against the growing distance.
As they climb higher, Tara glances down at the bundle in her arms, tightening her grip just slightly. Then she looks back once more—and watches as a faint shimmer ripples outward, wrapping the village and the mine entrance in a wavering veil. Buildings blur. Stone bends. The very outline of the place seems to soften and fade, as though it were never there at all.
Tara exhales, a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.
“That,” she murmurs, a hint of awe in her voice, “is some illusion magic right there.”
Elqiana rumbles softly beneath her, wings carrying them onward into the dark, the hidden heartbeat between them pulsing steadily as the mountain disappears below.
On the ground below, the contingent of soldiers rounded the shoulder of the mountain in a tight formation. Rubian lifted his fist, and the line halted at once.
He stared ahead, eyes narrowing. “Where’s the village?” he snarled.
His captain stepped forward cautiously. “The scouts swear it was here, sir. Right here.”
Rubian growled low in his throat and dug into the small pouch at his waist. He withdrew a misshapen orb, its surface slick and putrid, like something grown rather than made. With a sharp motion, he hurled it at the ground.
“Reveal,” he commanded.
The orb shattered. Sickly-coloured smoke poured upward, curling and writhing as if alive—then thinned, dispersed, and vanished. The mountainside remained stubbornly empty.
Rubian’s lip curled. “For fuck’s sake.”
Then he froze.
“Looking glass. Now.”
The captain didn’t hesitate. He thrust a strange conical device into Rubian’s hand, its metal cold and etched with runes, a single lens glinting at its tip. Rubian raised it to his eye.
The illusion peeled away.
High above, cutting across the darkening sky, he saw her—Tarasque astride the great opal-white dragon, wings beating steadily as they fled toward the horizon.
Rubian lowered the glass slowly, his expression twisting into something ugly and satisfied. “The redheaded bitch was here…”
He reached into the pouch again, fingers brushing past vials and charms before closing around a green-blue orb that glimmered like storm-tossed water. He crushed it in his fist. Shards bit into his palm as magic bled out between his fingers.
With venomous delight, he whispered, “Storm.”
The night sky answered.
Clouds churned and thickened, rolling in from every direction, swallowing starlight. The air grew heavy. Thunder rumbled low and distant, like something massive waking up.
Rubian smiled as the first cold wind swept down from the peaks.
“Run,” he murmured. “Let’s see how far you get.”
Tara’s eyes widened as the sky bruised over, clouds boiling in from every direction. Thunder cracked so close it rattled her teeth, lightning tearing the darkness open in blinding white seams.
“This weather changed far too fast!” she shouted, pressing herself low against Elqiana’s back while keeping the egg clutched tight against her chest.
Before Elqiana could answer, a third presence slid into both of their minds—old, sharp, and unmistakably awake.
'The storm is man-made.'
Tara stiffened. Her gaze dropped instinctively to the cloak-wrapped egg in her arms.
Elqiana’s voice followed at once, low and thoughtful. 'That came from the red egg.'
Without thinking, Tara reached out with her mind—
—and immediately slammed into a wall.
'Careful, human,' the voice snapped, offended but amused. 'It’s rude to barge into a dragon’s thoughts uninvited.'
Tara recoiled, heat flooding her face. 'Sorry—! I didn’t mean—'
A pause. Then, unmistakable smugness.
'So humans are still fickle,' the voice continued. 'Figures. My name is Sharkie.'
Tara groaned aloud. Elqiana let out a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest—laughter, unmistakably.
“Stop laughing, Elqi!” Tara snapped, tightening her grip on the egg as another flash of lightning lit the clouds.
She gathered herself and tried again, this time more carefully. 'I’m Tarasque. And this is Elqiana.'
There was no hesitation.
'I know,' Sharkie replied.
“Elqi, we need to get to Caa Alora as fast as possible,” Tara shouted over the rising wind. “Can you fly over the storm?”
Elqiana angled upward, wings beating hard as she climbed toward the roiling cloud ceiling. For a heartbeat it almost worked—then the air turned vicious. The wind howled, slamming into her like a living thing, wrenching at her wings and forcing her back down.
'No,' Elqiana growled, frustration bleeding through the bond. 'The currents up there will tear us apart.'
“I figured,” Tara muttered, teeth clenched as thunder boomed around them. “And going through this looks just as bad.”
Elqiana began to bank, instinct urging her to descend—
'Don’t.'
The voice cut in sharply, coiling through both their minds without warning.
'Do not descend. You are being followed.'
Elqiana froze mid-motion, wings flaring wide as she steadied herself. She angled her gaze downward, peering through sheets of rain and flickering lightning—
—and there it was.
A familiar, sickening presence. A grey aura moving with purpose through the storm below, clinging to the ground like rot that refused to wash away.
Elqiana pushed the image into Tara’s mind.
Tara hissed through her teeth. “Rubian… of course it had to be him. Doesn’t the world ever get bored of that bastard?”
Lightning split the sky again, briefly illuminating the clouds like shattered glass.
“Can you fly through it, Elqi?” Tara asked, already bracing herself.
Elqiana leaned forward, wings snapping wide as she drove into the storm head-on. Her voice came back strained but steady.
'With difficulty, little redhead.'
Wind screamed past them, rain lashed like thrown knives, and the storm closed in
The wind hit them like a wall.
Not a steady push, not a predictable current—this was a sudden, violent surge that slammed into Elqiana’s flank and sent her lurching sideways through the air. One wing dipped hard, the other snapped upward as she fought to keep balance, muscles bunching beneath her opal-white scales.
Tara cried out as the saddle jerked violently. She flattened herself against Elqiana’s neck, fingers digging into the leather straps while the egg was pressed tight between her chest and the dragon’s warmth.
“Elqi—!”
Another gust tore through the storm, shrieking like something alive. Elqiana was wrenched upward and then dropped in the same breath, her massive body rocking so hard Tara felt weightless for a terrifying heartbeat.
'Hold fast!' Elqiana thundered into her mind, focus sharp as steel.
Rain lashed sideways now, driven by the gale, stinging Tara’s face and blinding her. Lightning flared again, close enough that the air cracked, and in that blinding instant the wind shifted—grabbing Elqiana from beneath and flipping her angle nearly vertical.
Elqiana roared, a deep, furious sound swallowed almost instantly by the storm, and beat her wings hard, once, twice—each stroke a brutal effort. The wind shoved back, clawing at her, forcing her to fight for every inch of forward motion.
Her body rocked again, violently this time, scales shuddering as a crosswind slammed into her chest. Tara was thrown sideways in the saddle, the harness biting into her legs as she clung on, heart hammering.
This storm is not natural, Elqiana growled, anger threading through the strain. It’s hunting us.
Another savage gust hit them broadside, spinning them just enough that the horizon vanished entirely—only cloud, rain, and screaming wind in every direction.
Elqiana dug deep, wings pumping in powerful, uneven beats, forcing her massive form back under control inch by inch. She lowered her head and pushed forward, stubborn and unyielding, refusing to be driven down.
Tara pressed her forehead against Elqiana’s neck, breath ragged but steadying. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, whether to the dragon, the egg, or herself she wasn’t sure.
Rubian peered through the looking glass, rain streaking across its warped lens as the storm battered the sky. The dragon above lurched violently, her massive form shoved sideways by savage gusts, wings straining to correct each brutal shove.
Rubian threw his head back and laughed, the sound ugly and delighted. “Yes… dance for it,” he snarled.
Behind him, his soldiers stumbled through mud and wind, armour clattering, boots slipping on slick stone. Rubian snapped a glare over his shoulder, eyes blazing.
“Fall back,” he screamed over the storm, “and I will kill you all myself!”
Fear put fresh speed in their legs.
The wind howled around Tara as she clung to Elqiana’s neck. Rain blurred her vision, clouds tearing past in churning grey walls.
“There!” Tara shouted, pointing through the chaos. “That forest—what about that forest? Could we hide in there?”
Elqiana followed Tara’s gaze, assessing through instinct and experience. 'Only if we can mask our descent, she replied grimly. There are eyes on us.'
Tara’s mind raced. Wind. Clouds. Cover.
“What if I use the storm?” she said, more to herself than anyone. “What if I make the clouds hide us?”
Before doubt could take root, Tara focused. She found a smaller, drifting cloud and reached for the ancient language—words that tasted like breath and pressure and motion. Wind answered her call, not obedient but curious, tugged and coaxed into shape.
The cloud thickened, stretched, and wrapped around them like a living veil.
Then others followed.
Grey masses rolled inward, closing ranks, swallowing Elqiana whole as the sky folded in on itself.
"Now!" Tara said.
She angled sharply downward and dropped.
Rubian snarled as the dragon vanished from sight, the clouds sealing shut like a clenched fist.
“Cowards,” he spat, shaking the looking glass uselessly. “Run if you must.”
He lowered it slowly, eyes cold and calculating. “They’ll come down somewhere.”
He turned and pressed forward along the road, storm or no storm.
The forest rushed up to meet them.
Elqiana burst through the canopy in a storm of snapping branches and shredded leaves, landing hard in the heart of the woods. The impact sent a shock through her body, thorns scraping against her scales as she skidded and finally came to a stop among twisted roots and brambles.
Silence followed—thick, sudden, broken only by rain dripping from leaves.
Tara released the ancient words with a shaky breath, the wind slipping from her grasp as exhaustion hit all at once.
“Are you okay, Elqi?” she asked urgently, sliding down as best she could. “Sharkie—are you okay?”
The forest loomed close around them, dark and watchful.
Elqiana’s great body shuddered once, then again, the effort of the flight finally catching up with her. Mud, rain, and torn leaves clung to her scales as she lowered her head, breathing slow and heavy.
'I’m alright, little redhead,' she said at last, her voice tired but steady.
Tara nodded and pulled the cloak back just enough to check the egg. The red oval throbbed faintly beneath her hands, a slow, living pulse—calm, uncracked, whole.
“Okay,” Tara breathed, relief loosening her shoulders. “The egg’s fine.” She glanced around, taking in the dense trees, the choking undergrowth, the way thorny brambles twisted unnaturally up trunks and branches. “But… where are we?”
Elqiana lifted her head and studied the forest, eyes narrowing. Fangthorn, she replied. 'I recognize the growth. The brambles here are… aggressive.'
Tara walked a few steps away, carefully pushing aside a curtain of thorns to peer deeper between the trees. The forest felt wrong—too tight, too alive. Brambles crawled over roots and climbed trunks in spirals, as if trying to swallow the trees whole.
“This place looks dangerous all by itself,” Tara said quietly. “Be careful with your wings, Elqi.”
Elqiana snorted softly and folded them in close, every movement deliberate. Already tucked. 'I have no desire to be tangled by carnivorous shrubbery.'
Tara managed a tired huff of a laugh, then exhaled slowly. “Alright,” she said, rubbing her arms against the chill. “We rest until the storm passes.”
She looked up through the canopy, where distant thunder still muttered and rain pattered through the leaves.
“It can’t last much longer,” she added, more hopeful than certain.
Rubian’s patience finally snapped.
“Fucking find them,” he hissed, voice low and poisonous.
The soldiers scattered at once, fear lending speed to aching legs. They searched everywhere—forcing their way into shallow caves that smelled of damp stone and bats, pushing through copses of trees slick with rain, circling gullies and ravines where the storm water pooled. Every false lead earned them another hour under the blackened sky.
They found nothing.
Rubian drove them onward regardless. Mile after mile. The storm eased, but exhaustion crept in where terror had once ruled. Boots dragged. Helmets sat crooked. Men stopped checking shadows properly.
Rubian noticed all of it.
He slowed near a rise and looked out across the land. In the distance, dark and unmistakable, lay the ragged edge of Fangthorn Forest—its canopy jagged, its borders choked with bramble so dense they looked like a wall of thorns from afar.
He stared at it longer than the others dared.
For a moment, something like consideration flickered behind his eyes.
Then he scoffed and shook his head.
“No,” he muttered. “There’s no way a pretty, pristine princess dragon would tear her wings to ribbons landing in there.”
He turned sharply, cloak snapping in the wind, and fixed his soldiers with a glare that promised pain.
“Move out,” he snarled.
They obeyed at once, marching past Fangthorn and deeper into the open lands—unaware that the forest behind them seemed to lean inward, thorns shifting softly, as if amused by their mistake.
The rain softened to a whisper, thunder retreating into distant mutters.
'The storm is calming,' came Sharkie’s voice, quieter now, almost… satisfied.
Tara let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Good. Then we’ll let Elqi rest a little longer.”
Elqiana shifted slightly, settling her weight more comfortably against the earth, eyes half-lidded but alert.
Tara glanced down at the egg tucked securely in her cloak. “So, Sharkie,” she said after a moment, “why were you inside a cavern with a mountain troll?”
There was a pause. A long one.
'A mountain troll?' Sharkie replied at last, sounding genuinely puzzled. 'I don’t know. I just called him Moo-Moo.'
Tara blinked. Slowly, she looked up at Elqiana. “You called it Moo-Moo?”
Elqiana huffed, a low, rumbling sound of amusement. 'Stinky would have been more accurate.'
The egg’s shell pulsed faintly, a warm, rhythmic thrum—contentment, perhaps, or smugness.
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Tara muttered, easing herself down to sit against Elqiana’s side. The dragon’s warmth seeped through her cloak, grounding her.
Another pause. Then curiosity crept into Sharkie’s thoughts, sharper now.
'You mentioned Caa Alora,' she said. 'What is that?'
Tara smiled faintly. “Caa Alora is home to the elves. Queen Gabija of Clan Panther rules there.”
She felt it then—an unmistakable shift. Sharkie’s presence leaned in, thoughts suddenly alert, intent.
'Does Braiden still live there?' Sharkie asked. 'And Zeindaryss?'
Elqiana answered before Tara could, her voice gentle but firm. 'Braiden and my ancestor are no longer with us, I’m afraid.'
Silence followed.
Elqiana lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she tested the wind. 'It’s time, little redhead,' she rumbled.
Tara rose slowly, clutching the dragon egg to her chest. “What if Rubian is still in the area?” she asked, unease threading her voice.
Elqiana stretched her long, sinewy body with deliberate care, muscles rippling beneath glistening scales. 'We’ll have to make do. We aren’t safe here either way.'
Tara exhaled, tightened her grip on the egg, and settled into the saddle, strapping her legs into the harness. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go as fast as you can. Straight for Caa Alora.”
The dragon shifted, her massive claws scraping along the treetops. The trunks groaned under her weight, snapping and bending as if in protest. Then, with a sudden flare of wings, she thrust into the sky, breaking through the storm clouds in a surge of raw power, heading unerringly toward the elven woods.
On the ground, Rubian’s eyes widened as he realised what was happening. “You… you fucking bitch!” he roared. His soldiers froze, unsure how to respond as he spun on the nearest man—his captain—and with terrifying strength crushed the soldier’s head between his hands. The screams were cut short, leaving silence heavy as the dead captain's body dropped to the ground with a thud.
Above, Elqiana tucked into the wind currents, gliding just above the clouds, letting the air lift her and propel them forward. Tara leaned into her dragon’s neck, pulse steady, eyes fixed on the horizon. Hours passed, the storm behind them slowly fading, replaced by the golden glow of the setting sun.
Finally, the forests of the elves appeared—vast, green, and welcoming in contrast to Fangthorn’s thorn-choked darkness. Tara reached out with her mind to the guardian of Caa Alora, projecting calm and respect.
'Permission to land,' she asked silently.
A gentle, melodic voice replied within her mind: 'Granted, Lady Tarasque.'
Tara exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips as Elqiana angled downward, wings folding slightly for the descent.
Elqiana lowered herself to the training grounds with painstaking care, each motion deliberate despite the exhaustion radiating through her massive body. Her great opal-white form curled into the center, wings folding tightly, and she let out a soft, rumbling sigh that shook the earth just slightly.
Tara slid from the saddle, brushing a hand over Elqiana’s foreleg. “Rest now, Elqi,” she whispered.
The elves training nearby paused, some groaning in frustration, others frozen mid-motion. The sheer presence of the dragon commanded both awe and respect.
Queen Gabija strode into the courtyard, her expression taut with urgency. The other elves immediately halted, bowing silently, sensing the intensity emanating from their queen.
“Tarasque, Elqiana… are you both unharmed?” the queen demanded, eyes scanning the dragon and then Tara.
Tara inclined her head in the traditional elvish greeting. “We are fine, Your Majesty,” she replied steadily. “But I have something you need to see. Something important.”
The queen’s eyes sharpened, her curiosity piqued, and she nodded once. “Let’s go.”
They moved quickly and silently, leaving the training grounds and Elqiana behind to rest.
Such a weighty curiosity in elves… Sharkie’s voice threaded through Tara’s mind, amused but tense. This one is going to be most… delicate.
Inside the palace, the queen walked them briskly to her private quarters, once there the queen’s maids and guards were dismissed without a word, leaving the room cloaked in an almost tangible silence. Tara stepped forward, and carefully unwrapped her cloak from around the dragon egg.
The blood-red dragon egg rested in her hands, pulsing faintly as if alive, the soft glow illuminating the room’s shadows.
Queen Gabija froze, breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as she stepped closer, drawn irresistibly toward the egg. The air between them seemed to thrum, heavy with unspoken power and history.
Tara could feel the queen’s awe, her careful control slipping as she reached out almost instinctively, as if to touch something sacred. The room held its quiet, every heartbeat amplified.
Sharkie’s presence pressed into Tara’s mind, sharp and amused. Ah… yes. This one will be very interesting indeed.
“Sharkie thinks you are very interesting Gabija…” Tara says softly, making the Queen look up at her with curiosity.