Rifts of Unithar

Sometimes Mother didn’t want to wake-up. She’d lay catatonic for days atop mounds of heat-twisted, marbleized gold, silver, and gems. An ancient chamber of melted treasures befitting the last dragon of Unithar. Caelyn knew it wasn’t because of him, but it was hard not to feel so. She mourned her youngling whom his species had killed centuries ago, and he was a disappointing replacement. Many times she assured him of no comparison, but on days like these he wondered.

Days like these, Caelyn grabbed his spear, threw on a traveling cloak, slipped on boots with floppy soles, and scrounged up a few unmelted coins at the cavern’s edge.

He approached Mother with a respectful bow. “Mother,” he said and touched his forehead to the ground upon a half encased sapphire, the same color as Mother’s glistening scales. “I am to go hunting. My boots have also worn. With your blessing, I would like to embark for a time. I would like to go to the village and replace my boots. If you would bless me with your fire, I will have better luck hunting while you remain in reverie.”

She stirred. Her great wings and tight, ancient muscles shifted. Her long neck swiveled around until a brilliant amber eye the size of his head half-opened. Her shoulders rippled and two palm-sized scales fell to the ground.

“Thank you, Mother,” Caelyn said and affixed the two scales to either side of his obsidian spearhead. A sharp, black glass tempered by Mother’s fire.

She curled back in and returned to her slumber.

With a journey of solitude ahead, Caelyn left the deep cavern, a long steep climb through narrow pitch-black passages out into frigid but fresh air. He stood near the summit of a tooth-like protrusion. Snow whipped around as a storm coalesced amidst a petrified ocean of granite ridges, peaks, and canyons. The Sorrowfell Mountains, as his species called them. The winds of an eternal storm passed over these striated features and echoed like the howls of the dead. Many feared these “cursed” lands, thus leaving Caelyn and Mother in solitude.

Three days of travel took him from dizzying heights to thick forests fraught with aggressive creatures. He caught small game for his sustenance and scouted among the crystal blue alpine lakes and the dim foliage for a creature Mother would enjoy. He found tracks for one giant red-tailed deer. He’d return after his visit to the market and catch the creature assuming some dire wolf didn’t beat him to it.

Ah, the life of the hunt, and the journey! Caelyn loved it when he embarked from those stuffy caverns. Caelyn wished he was old enough to see more than ice glazed mountains and a cursed, eternal forest. He wished to see the things village storytellers spoke of–jungles humid and green and blooming with colors vibrant neon. Cities of towers of metal, vehicles issuing steam, and windows glowing yellow with energy. Then the desolate deserts hot and orange encapsulating vistas of swirling sandstone. Oh, the world of Unithar. Caelyn was only an ant traveling familiar paths to and from the safety of his home.

Another few days of travel and Caelyn intersected a faint path which turned from game trail to a single track lane until it bisected a wide road merchant caravans traveled. Those were usually a train of carriages with the canvas stretched tight against the frigid highland winds. None such caravans passed today and Caelyn gave a lovable pat to the rickety, faded sign which supposedly read, “Sorrowfell Wilds. Danger Beyond.”

The nearest village was yet another half day’s travel. The road wound through steep forested hills and flattened out to lumber-cleared plains. These once thrived with animal variety, but the industry of Caelyn’s species reduced this luscious home, and now only rodents and small game nested amidst the stumps and thickening shrub. Everytime Caelyn visited the village, the forest, tree-by-tree, shrunk towards the edge of the Sorrowfell.

As he crested a final hill of wild grasses and leveled trees he looked down on the small village of Saxin; a humble, muddy valley slow to adopt the East’s rapid industrialization. Farm houses and cottages surrounded a market center, which connected the hunters and prospectors of the Snakehead River and woodcutters of the taiga to the lower populated lands miles and mountains beyond. Caelyn didn’t often interact with his species. Sometimes he yearned for it despite his awkward social graces and inability to read.

Evening settled drawing long shadows, yet the market still bustled with locals and traveling merchants busy in trade. The long trip had done in his boots and he entered Saxin with flopping soles and numb toes. He stepped in an icy puddle and chills went up his spine from the bite. It didn’t take long to find the cobbler’s store. One of the first establishments along the narrow lane, it was a simple building with warm firelight radiating orange through age-warped glass. The cobbler was a portly man with his wife; they smelled of tanned leathers. They had round, chubby faces with rosy cheeks from the warmth. The woman clicked her tongue as she pulled Caelyn in and evaluated the shoes. “Poor dearie,” she said, “These are well done in. How far did you trek in these?” The villagers all knew Caelyn, but never learned his name as he never shared it. They were always eager for his coin or exotic furs from hunting and therefore treated him well. He liked them.

“Can they be repaired?” Caelyn asked.

The man shook his head. “Sorry lad,” he said. “I’d basically build a new boot. I could if you wanted, but they wouldn't be ready until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”

“I will buy new boots, then,” Caelyn said.

Beaming, the cobbler fitted him with water-proofed leathers and thick soled boots. They were stiff but perfect. He hoped they’d last a lifetime.

“How much?” Caelyn asked.

“How ever much you feel their value is, lad,” the cobbler said. The villagers always played this game, and Caelyn didn’t mind. They seemed to haggle amidst other patrons, but always let Caelyn choose his price.

“A coin for each boot,” Caelyn said and left the cottage two gold coins less with the portly man staring after him with bulging eyes and a too wide smile.

“Please, please come again. I’ll shine those boots for life, my boy”

Onward he passed blacksmiths and tailors and farmers’ produce. Soon ripples passed down the lane and everyone gave eager greetings to Caelyn. None pressed him for business, they knew he was flighty, so he moved from stall to stall and purchased cheeses, root vegetables, flatbreads, and even splurged on a pastry and new cloak. Each purchase he determined the cost and they let him. A gold coin here, a silver there, and a misshapen, half-melted ruby. Each payment left each seller ecstatic.

Yet, compared to the many times he’d been to Saxin, this visit was different. Traveling merchants came and went, yes, and he often ignored them, at the request of the villagers, as they didn’t seem to like the merchants and always warned him saying, “Don’t bother with those carriages, lad. They’ll rob you blind they will.” This time, however, there was one large caravan decorated in violet and crimson canvas, golden embroideries, and it drew him in with wonder.

The technical marvels of his species. On display they had lanterns and strange torchlights which glowed with no flame or magic. Strange metal boxes grumbled and spewed smoke from spouts. One carriage had no horse but idled in place. Above all, a man stood front and center, donned in a metal carapace the color of dull gold. He flexed and turned and moved with ease, even lifted a girl in crimson robes who laughed, uncomfortable.

After gawking for a time, considering the lengthening shadows fading to twilight, Caelyn decided to make his trek back to the Sorrowfell. He did not get far before a man stepped out from the shadows and grabbed Caelyn’s shoulder. “Oi, boy,” he said. He had an oily smile and wore rich violet and crimson clothes tailored and well cut. Caelyn swung around and flashed his spear at the man. Hands went up and the man grinned after regarding the obsidian spear and the two sapphire scales adorning the sides. “Whoa there, I ain’t here ta rob ya if that’s what you’re fearing.” He said. “I only noticed that a small lad like you was carrying around a good piece of wealth and simply wanted to show you my wares. I noticed you spectating my caravan. My name is Parrette Cabrandt of Cabrandt Exports. We’re known for our top goods. I can outfit an expedition type lad such as yourself for comfort. We’ve got electric torches, and for a full silver piece I’ll even throw in some extra riftcells to last you a few months. I could hook you up with a polymer textile cloak that will never let the rain in.”

“Thank you for the offer, sir,” Caelyn said, “But I have already exhausted my coins and must return home.”

“Oh that’s alright, next time then?”

“Perhaps.” Caelyn turned to leave but the man glided around to block his path.

“You travel all this way alone?” he asked.

“I did,” Caelyn replied.

“What of your parents?”

“I live with Mother. But she doesn’t go outside. I’m afraid I must return to her.”

“Where abouts do you live? Is it far? Perhaps I can escort you to your house and address your mother directly?” He gestured to the horseless carriage.

Tempting, but Caelyn shook his head. “I’m sorry. Mother doesn’t like visitors. If you are here in a few months perhaps I will look at your wares. Otherwise, if you’ll excuse me.”

“So polite for a Forest-boy.”

Caelyn glared at him, shifting and fidgeting.

“And those eyes, shocking green.” He said. He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “I’ve only seen one other soul with eyes as vibrant as those. Well, ever since Hollowbrook was destroyed, of course.”

Caelyn shrugged. He’d never heard of Hollowbrook. Sure, among the villagers he’d seen brown, blue, and gray eyes, and never green; he figured it was because, well, he was raised by Mother.

“If you will pardon me, I really must go.” Caelyn said again, gritting his teeth.

“There’s a woman who tends to my livestock. Lone survivor of Hollowbrook. Missing an arm, a bit messed in the head. Eyes as green as grass.”

“I have never heard of the place. If you will excuse me.”

“At least,” he said, “I always thought she wasn’t right in the head until I laid my eyes on the Forest-boy with riches. She always went on and on that some monster in the mountains carried her son off to Sorrowfell.”

“I don’t…” but Caelyn’s heart stuttered.

“Course, she never went into much detail. But dark, wild hair, green eyes, olive skin. Hard to miss the resemblance to those west of the Sorrowfell Range. I’m not around the livestock much. But the men laugh about her all the time. The Varish woman from Hollowbrook, always raved about her son getting stolen by a giant monster from the Sorrowfell. Fifteen years ago, she’d always say. Fifteen years ago when Hollowbrook was destroyed. ”

The single, painful heartbeat resonated in Caelyn’s chest. Mother always did say she’d raised him for fifteen years. She had said she found him in woods west of the Sorrowfell. Was his birth mother alive? Did Mother lie?

Cabrandt clicked his tongue and pulled again at his violet cuffs. “That woman, even with an arm missing, works harder than a two-tonne crane lift. I bet if she saw you now, she’d just, just die.”

Frost trickled through Caelyn’s veins. A whirlwind of storms threatened to bolster within him.

“Who is Mother?” Cabrandt asked.

Caelyn’s face paled as a cold northerly wind hummed through the darkening village.

“I, I must be going,” Caelyn said. “I, I will be late.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Cabrandt said. He gave a wide smile with perfect white teeth. “I can’t keep a boy from his mother for too long.”

Caelyn ran, sprinted for home. Cabrandt, of course, stood and watched with a self-satisfied smirk on his face and a cloaked figure stirred in the shadows.

#

The journey home, though comfortable with new boots, was fraught with questions consuming Caelyn’s mind. He hiked in a mental daze or sat each night and brooded, either in the shade of gray pines or under outcroppings of rocks in the Sorrowfell range. His mind went everywhere. Did his birth mother abandon him? Did Mother kidnap him? Did she lie all these years? Did she destroy the village of Hollowbrook and raise him out of spite towards his species for murdering her youngling centuries ago? Did his birth mother, if the man spoke truth, get away with a missing arm, or is that some random woman?

By the time he reached the wind-smoothed granite crags of his home his mind was abuzz with too much speculation. He slipped into his narrow entrance and entered a cave of damp, stale air. He’d grown accustomed to it, but today, with the questions swelling within him, he couldn’t help dread days without natural lighting, seeing via magical orbs pilfered from greedy mages who had invaded Mother’s lair, seeking her riches.

Down, down, down through the dark layers, striations, and tunnels, he descended until he reached the familiar, vast cavern of stalagmites and stalactites all dwarfed by the great mounds of melted metallic and mineral treasures all lit with the soft white-blue glow of orbs. Atop it all was Mother’s slumbering mass of muscle and sinew encased in diamond-hard, sapphire scales.

Still asleep. Always disappointed in her human replacement of a son. Caelyn dropped his heavy load with a harrumph to the marbled gold and silver floor. His fists clenched and he ground his teeth.

Perhaps Mother sensed his consternation for she lifted her head to face him, those amber eyes measuring his person.

“Caelyn, you are upset,” Mother said. Her ancient voice vibrated through his chest. “Was the hunt unsuccessful?”

He didn’t even think to hunt her meal, for he had been so consumed with his inner turmoil. He’d have to go out again, descend the cold mountains, again. But first, he had to know.

“A man, a merchant from the silver city, said something.”

“The silver city?”

“A place where the buildings are taller than pines and made of steel and glass.”

“Ah,” she said. Mother shifted and knocked loose a heat-warped crown. It clattered into oblivion. “The ingenuity of your species, my son, is impressive yet concerning.”

“He said he knows my mother.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“He said my town, Hollowbrook, was destroyed fifteen years ago.” Caelyn let the timeline set in. Mother seemed unfazed. “He said she had the same colored eyes as me, and hair. She had no arm.”

“Curious,” Mother said. “And was she there?”

“No.”

“So we are not sure if this woman is your actual mother. Perhaps a racial resemblance?”

“You said she died,” Caelyn said. “You, you said the town was destroyed.”

“I did.”

“Did you,” Caelyn hesitated. Mother was a fierce creature of great stature. “Did you destroy the town? Angry at my species because… because they killed your real son? Did you kill…”

Mother snapped her jaws and a static energy filled the room. “Do not speak such words, Caelyn. Before your young human mind utters something you will regret.”

Caelyn glared at her. Human? Not truly her youngling. “Did you lie?”

With a speed Caelyn could never anticipate, Mother was up and had her massive head loomed over his small body. “Have I ever deceived you?” she roared.

Caelyn bit his lip and looked down.

“Have I?”

He shook his head.

“I confess, indeed, I hate your species. After my centuries long sleep of sorrows I awoke to a world, to forests and rivers and lakes, desecrated by human ingenuity. I sought, for the death of my son and the death of the forest, vengeance. I did fly to this town with the intent to burn and destroy.” She growled then huffed and softened as Caelyn trembled. “But it was already gone. The buildings were intact, every human slain; except for you and your mother. You were alone, lost in the woods and regarded me with no fear. I watched her, yes, bleeding as she searched for you. She collapsed and sunk into a mire, slain by a creature I had never before seen.”

“What creature?” Caelyn asked.

Mother almost answered but stopped and her amber eyes narrowed. She raised her head and sniffed the stale air. Her piercing vision stared into the shadows.

“Someone is in the cave,” she said and began to unfurl her wings. Caelyn’s nerves prickled and he raised his spear. He was followed? By who? How?

Not far from Caelyn the air crackled, not unlike when Mother summoned her fire. Crimson red sparks flitted into the air and Mother stooped low and released a guttural growl.

“An infernal rift,” she said.

The space before Caelyn split open, creating a pitch black hole ringed with arcs of deep ruby electricity. Before Caelyn could right his senses to the phenomenon a black cloaked figure materialized from the shadows nearby and leaped upon Caelyn and threw him to the hard golden floor. Caelyn’s spear slipped from his hand, out of reach. Mother bellowed her rage and reared back as three people jumped through the rift. It was the same man at the caravan with the mechanical armor bearing a behemoth sword. Steam hissed as he moved, encumbered but unnaturally limber, towards the dragon. The next was a stocky woman in strange metallic boots wielding a massive warhammer. Last was a crimson robed girl like the mages Mother always spoke of. As soon as she entered, the rift snapped shut and the air sizzled.

“Talledain, Laniae, take the dragon.” The cloaked man atop Caelyn ordered.

Mother bellowed towards the intruders. “How dare you trespass my lair!” She thrashed her massive claws at the two forward warriors who both dived to the side. She whipped her tail so fast it left a heated crack where the warhammer woman, Laniae, stood. But she saw it coming, tapped her boots together, and skittered off to the side leaving a whispering trail of the same red electric arcs.

The man, Talledain, in the massive mechanical armor rushed in with speed that didn’t equate with the mass of the suit. He arched the large blade and his arms quivered as red electric sinews traveled up into the sword. He cleaved forward faster than Mother could anticipate.

Caelyn howled, thrashed beneath the cloaked figure as Mother reared back and hot, violet blood sprouted from her chest where the blade bit. She swung her mighty arm and centuries of fighting humans, dragonslayers, and vain princes all alike allowed her the strength and speed. She batted Talledain to the side and he, mechanical suit and all, crashed into a stalagmite.

Laniae moved in brandishing her warhammer. Mother puffed up her chest, it glowed with white hot energy. The cloaked man atop Caelyn, pressing him down with incredible strength, shouted, “Theyla! Rift! It’s going to blow its fire!”

“On it, Rowan,” the red robed girl said. Theyla swung towards the dragon, and her red hood fell back revealing dark skin, narrow face, and fierce eyes. She waved her arms and broke a small red crystal between her fingers.

Mother fired. Laniae sped forward, red lightning again sprouted from her boots, but the great beam of lightning which fired from Mother’s maw was unlike anything they anticipated. The white and blue streak of nature’s ionizing fury blasted towards the woman, mid swing with her warhammer. But before she was consumed a rift, again, sprouted before her and the lightning passed into black oblivion.

“Mother!” Caelyn howled, thrashing harder forcing the cloaked figure, Rowan, to struggle to contain him.

Another rift opened above Mother and her massive bolt lost in the black abyss exited and collided with her form. Talledain, who finally broke free from the cavern wall, roared with thrill. “Take that you oversized lizard!”

But the lightning simply pushed Mother to the ground and the plasma diffused amidst her saphire scales and crackled with energy. Arcs of blue sutures spread across the gash Talledain had created and seconds later fresh flesh and soft scales healed over the wound.

“It’s a storm dragon. Lightning heals the beast,” Rowan said. The great feat distracted him enough that Caelyn finally snapped free and palmed the man in the chin. Blood sprouted from Rowan’s mouth and he cursed. Caelyn twisted and closed his hand around his spear. Mother howled again and he only caught a glance of her shouldering a blow from the warhammer. Rowan cursed and dug his knee into Caelyn’s spine pushing air from his lungs. Caelyn gasped.

A knife scraped against scabbard and a curved blade bit against Caelyn’s throat. “Stay still ’til the monster is dead. Then we can have another audience with Cabrandt.”

Caelyn gritted his teeth, risked a slit throat. “I use your blessing, Mother.” He smacked the obsidian spearhead and the two attached blue scales against Rowan’s shoulder. Lightning, blue like Mother’s, shot from the spearhead and conducted through the man. It passed through Caelyn, too, but living around Mother’s fury, her charged presence, he was all too used to the feeling.

Rowan stiffened, stunned. Caeyln pushed the knife away, grabbed Rowan, and rolled on top and slammed his head against the marbled metal.

Theyla gasped. “Rowan!”

Caelyn was up in a flash and charged towards her. She procured another red crystal and smashed it in her finger. Mother roared again as she suffered another bite from Talledain’s massive blade. Caelyn thrust his spear forward and it only met black space as Theyla summed a rift in front of his face.

The redirection rift! Caelyn remembered and ducked milliseconds before his obsidian spearhead skewered his face. It grazed the top of his hair. He breathed. Too close.

Judging by the expression on Theyla’s face, she, too, felt that was too close. “Help!” she cried out and Laniae disengaged from Mother and charged towards Caelyn with the lightning boots, too fast. Caelyn withdrew the spear from the rift. As he did he saw a flash of emerald light in the black beyond. An attack from Theyla? Behind him Rowan rolled to his knees shaking off the stun and vomiting away the electric surge.

Caelyn breathed, thinking of the time he fended off dire wolves, and crouched into his offensive stance. Laniae appeared too fast, the warhammer raised to crush his skull. But before the strike came down on Caelyn’s sluggish defense, a raspy screech pierced from beyond the rift’s void. Again the emerald flash and Laniae froze in place. Eyes wide, the stocky woman gasped and sputtered blood. The warhammer clattered to the golden floor. Caelyn froze in shock as Laniae toppled over and a slender, pitchblack blade retracted from her neck.

Standing in her place was a sight Caelyn could never have imagined in his darkest nightmares. A skeletal figure towered over him in a tight black suit. Its skull had skin stretched too tight across half its lower jaw towards the nasal holes, stapled in place. One eye was lidless and as red as the harvest moon while the other skull socket had a glimmering emerald as deep and green as Caelyn’s eyes.

“Rift fiend!” Rowan shouted from behind. “Flee!”

Theyla’s eyes widened, “They’re real?”

The creature’s eye flashed and bore towards Caelyn. “Mother, your blessing!” Caelyn raised his spear with the second scale. And to his luck, the lightning sprouted from his spear faster than the flash from the rift fiend. It stiffened as the shock coursed through its otherworldly flesh, the long black blade millimeters from Caelyn’s eye. Caelyn blinked, astonished, then ran. He passed Theyla who was paralyzed with fear.

“Theyla! Run! Run for your life! Run through a rift! Leave!” Rowan screamed and ran forward as the fiend regained its senses. The emerald flash. Theyla gasped as the black blade raked across her chest. She stumbled back but before the creature could finish her off Rowan parried with his knife. For a moment, too brief, it looked as though they were evenly matched until the fiend's free hand, a mere blur, burst through Rowan’s chest tearing through flesh, bone, and cloth alike.

Theyla fell backwards, her breath hitched and grasped at her soaking robes. The crimson hue darkened. Talledain in the mechanical suit, eyes wide turned too distracted to pay attention to Mother. She bled from multiple lacerations and her amber eyes seethed with vehemence. Her chest expanded again, Caelyn knew the man was finished, but she didn’t fire at him. Instead she blasted the lightning towards the fiend. Expecting the attack, the creature dashed aside in a blur, but the speed of Mother’s bolt was faster and struck the creature, causing it to careen out of control and crash sideways against a solid lump of ancient treasure.

It let out another blood chilling screech as it righted itself for another assault.

“Flee, child!” Mother cried to Caelyn.

Caelyn balked. Flee? But what about her?

“Theyla! The rift! Open the rift again.” Talledain shouted racing towards her.

Theyla shifted, half conscious, coughing in her agony. She withdrew another crystal with blood slicked hands. The fiend's eye flashed emerald again and dashed towards Theyla. Talledain reached her first and shielded her. The black blade scraped along his metallic carapace until it found a gap. Talledain groaned. Then he grinned and spat blood in the creature’s face.

The fiend clenched the armored man’s hair. Wide eyed and with gasping breaths Talledain cried out, “Help the girl, boy. If you want to live.”

“Caelyn! Son! Flee!” Mother cried. She roared, a panic Caelyn could only wonder was the same anxiety she suffered when knights and mages slayed her youngling centuries ago.

“Flee!”

Her recharge was low, but she still gathered another blast, feeble, but hopefully enough. Caelyn swallowed his fear and slid next to the girl. He grabbed her slick hands as she gasped. “Cr-crush the crystal.”

Caelyn did so and Theyla drew a ragged line in the air. Another rift opened as the fiend pulled Talledain’s head back too far with a wet crack. Moments before his eyes bulged then faded he clicked his suit off and it locked in place. The fiend, one hand a thin black blade, the other a bone white claw, struggled to free its weapon.

Mother fired and the fiend screeched again as the weak blast of electricity hit the mechanical suit. It was enough and the two teetered back and fell into the rift. Theyla, half-conscious, closed the rift before the fiend freed itself and rebounded.

Electricity, both the crimson rift and the sapphire dragon’s fire, charged the air. Sizzling and tense. As sudden as the fight had begun the vast cavern fell silent. Exhausted and bleeding from lacerations and bludgeonings, Mother collapsed to the floor. She exhaled and azure sparks winnowed and fizzled out. Caelyn, too, slouched with the girl in his arms.

Mother growled. “Kill her, quickly.”

“Why?” Caelyn asked. Theyla’s eyes fluttered and she coughed, groaned, and blood soaked Caelyn’s lap. “She’s helpless.”

Mother flicked her head towards the two dead corpses pooling blood over the marbled gold and silver floor. “Why spare someone who tried to kill you?”

“I,” Caelyn didn’t know. Why would he? Her skin was smooth, paling, and she was perhaps his same age. “We need to know how they found this place. Can they return?”

Mother considered Caelyn for a moment then huffed. “Fine. But she is dangerous. We get the information then kill her.”

Numb, Caelyn nodded. The girl fell unconscious. Afraid she’d die, he took another scale from Mother and used its blessing to cauterize her wound. Then he tore a clean shirt and bandaged the long laceration drawn from her rib to collarbone.

“What was that?” Caelyn asked as he worked.

Mother sighed, ancient and weary. “I do not know what that creature is. And this is only the second time I have encountered it. It seems to relish in death and dwells in these voids humans discovered as a source of power and energy.”

“What was the first time?” Caelyn asked.

Mother didn’t respond right away. He almost thought she wouldn’t answer until she said, “That, my son, was the same creature that killed your mother and her entire town. Before it reached you I blasted it away and escaped with you.”

Caelyn’s blood froze. It became hard to breathe as he looked from Rowan’s and Laniae’s bodies to the empty air where the rift had once been. Questions seethed through his mind. These people, this girl, the rifts, the fiend, the supposed one-armed woman. Caelyn looked to Mother whose amber eyes softened.

“I have to take this girl,” Caelyn said. “I have to find that woman. She can help me find her.”

Mother was quiet a long time.

“But I will not leave without your blessing, Mother,” Caelyn said.

Finally, she answered. “Go, my son. I know nothing I say will console you. You have matured, and it is time you grow in your own way.”

A warmth came into Caelyn’s heart. He nodded, and too eager, prepared to leave.

If his birth mother was truly alive, he’d find her. He’d also find the people this girl worked with, and if they knew where Mother lived, he’d make sure no one would find her. She was, after all, his true mother and the last dragon of Unithar.