Spirit's Rising

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

The Valley of Drin’Divol once held great promise, on the rise to be the most powerful of the Terrelier nations. Its people thrived under the hand of Lord Rholin Gunvald. The warlord left a trail of fearful whispers in his wake, equated to the striking power of lightning and the thunder’s ferocity. Despite this, he charmed ally and enemy alike with a smooth elegance akin to gentle rains.

He never had to charm Lady Eleane Landry. If anything, she’d caught his eye, a playful glance across a ballroom floor all she needed to reel in the tough-as-nails Lord. Lady Eleane had traveled from Ochelle, in a gown glittering with the stars her homeland had taken its name from. Ochelle- “the eyes of the stars”. Their skies were the clearest in the land, and were known for an abundance of shooting stars. Ochelle had also gained a name for its mines, and hence the “Eyes of Ochelle” had been discovered. Beautiful, glistening gemstones buried deep within a mine blessed by the first ray of the rising moon’s light each night, according to legend. Within a year of Lord Rholin’s ascension to power were the two married, two fearsome kingdoms becoming a dominating force, formally under Drin’Divol’s more recognized and respected name.

Their son, Laine, was nothing short of an enigma. While his father raised terror from the hearts of the world, his heir’s heart was too big for his body. He snuck off from his guard to play tag with the children, broke free of the castle in the dead of night to give food to the sweet elder lady in town whose son and caretaker had been killed in battle and had rekindled her seamstress skills to get by.

Most notably, and to the chagrin of his father, the Young Master Laine refused any sort of courtship. No royal Lady seemed to be capable of holding his attention for long, and the kind future-ruler seemed to grow more and more detached from the world around him, head buried in the clouds.

None, however, expected Lord Laine Gunvald to be the downfall of Drin’Divol.

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“Master Laine, get down from there this instant!”

If Laine wanted to get away from any one guard more on any given day, that guard was Dorian. He assumed that his father’s awareness of his feelings on the matter had some say as to the reason he assigned Dorian to the young Lord personally. Dorian kept a good enough eye on the boy, kept him out of trouble, but Laine surely refused to make such a job simple.

He peered down at Dorian, gloved hands wrapped tightly around a rope previously “borrowed” from the stables, now knotted around the handle of the heavy wardrobe in his bedroom. With an eye roll and a playful smirk, Laine let go of the rope, knowing the face of pure shock he’d be met with when he landed on his feet and met Dorian’s eyes. He would not have pulled such a move if he’d been any higher up, and his guard knew that no true danger was present, but that did not stop his breath from catching in his throat as his charge dropped to the ground.

“I was planning on coming down, you know,” Laine scoffed, straightening his tunic out and brushing kicked-up dirt from his trousers. “That was sort of the idea, Boreian.”

He’d come up with that particular nickname as soon as he heard the word and his far-younger brain had matched it with the name, and he happened to know that it angered the older man to no end- hence his continued use of his creation.

“Well, now we can go back through the doors, wake your father and show him your…marvelous handiwork,” Dorian challenged, gesturing with a pointed stare to the rope dangling from his window.

“I just want to go for a ride. You’re welcome to come with me, but-”

“But I know very well that your father would catch you lurking about in the halls and does not approve of you being out at this hour, let alone in the woods where you very much prefer to ride. If you’re going to sneak out, at least ask my accompaniment before you attempt to do so, Master Laine. It truly would cut down on these little cat-and-mouse situations. Come along, we’d better hurry if you wish to be back before sunrise.”

He didn’t entirely hate being around Dorian.

The two made their way to the stables, fetching their individual horses and heading out on the familiar dirt-path of the Northern Forest. That particular forest had a waterfall just over 2 miles from the castle, and Laine could nearly always be caught running off to take a swim in its cool, shimmering waters. He particularly enjoyed going when Dorian was willing to indulge him in such late night escapades as these, for the guard was willing to stand at the edge of the pool’s clearing instead of as close to his side as he could, as normal. He’d agreed to give the younger his space, but remained in enough proximity to hear the slightest change in the familiar sounds of Laine swimming, and react in enough time to ensure his continued safety.

They reached the waterfall in record time after Laine challenged a begrudging Dorian to a race, and Laine wasted no time in diving into the cool waters, swimming through to the surface in a graceful spiral. With a chuckle, he sent a splash of water into Dorian’s back, dipping down as he turned with his ever-familiar scowl, ready to berate the young leader. Through the gently swirling lens of the water, Laine could see him turn back, eyes scanning the surrounding perimeter for any intruders.

Something brushed against the back of Laine’s shoulder.

He whipped around, hoping the water thrown about at the sudden move would not alert Dorian. Nothing but the shadows of the water not peppered in flakes of moonlight stood out, but upon glaring further into the depths, did two gentle swatches of green catch that flicker. It came, like bottled lightning, in a quick flash, before the scene in front of him erupted into that of a person.

A person that, in an instant, seemed to freeze time itself.

Sky-colored eyes drew out dark hair, and in turn a slightly low cut V-neck styled tunic, sapphire blue with white ripples. Matching trousers hugged muscular legs, and the sleeveless tunic revealed blue ink swirled around thin wrists in the likeness of a stream, which turned into a raindrop at the back of the stranger’s hands.

The eyes stared into his, unwavering, and only then did Laine realize that the stranger’s hair had not faltered from its gelled-back state. His own done up locks had fallen into disarray the moment he entered the water, floating around his face with the occasional strand bobbing before his eyes. Despite their present circumstances, the man in front of him appeared as though he stood on the surface, in his own bubble completely untouched by the water.

Ogami…

A quiet voice, and yet it seemed to boom within the confines of Laine’s mind, echoing within the walls of his skull and causing him to, upon impact, take in a shocking breathful of air. Noticing quickly the stark reaction of his body, no matter the unfortunate locale, his body tensed in panic, awaiting the rush of pain as his lungs took in water instead of air, and yet nothing seemed to happen. He drew a second, more experimental breath, and felt the sweet sting of fresh air in his throat.

How?

As quickly as he came did the figure turn and vanish into the depths of the water, but not before pausing to press tender lips to his forehead. Upon that moment of contact, Laine’s mind slipped into a haze, pictures playing out before his eyes:

A mighty battle.

Three scaled creatures soaring above the clouds, tunneling through the dirt, racing through blazing infernos, and cutting through chopped, churning waters with ease.

A fourth, however, stunned him and held his focus longer than the others. Pristine, white scales reflected sunlight and fire alike. The fur around its face and tail bristled gently in the cool breeze, and Laine realized he could feel the wind on his own face as though it were an extension of his soul.

Surue.

Spoken by the voice invading his mind like a name, but one that held a semblance of familiarity, of longing, if the mournful tone were anything to go by.

Surue.

And suddenly, something within Laine seemed to bubble to the surface, a second presence within his heart, mind, and body. He was not alone in himself; No, he had become something more than himself. Something greater.

Or perhaps he had been all along.

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“Master Laine!”

Water gushed from his lungs onto dying, flattened grass with one final strike against his back from Dorian’s palm. With a moment filled with sputtered intake of breath, Laine settled, taking note of the fact that he’d been pulled out of the water and set down on the surface beside the pond.

“What happened?”

“Three and a half minutes, Master Laine, and did you not think at all to come up for air? What in all the lands were you doing down there, if not attempting to become a fish?!” Dorian ranted.

“Not fish…Dragon, I believe,” he mumbled, trying to recollect fragments of the pictures just beyond his reach.

“Master Laine, you know very well there is no such thing. Now, if you’ve gotten your fill of life-threatening stunts for the day, I believe it best we get a move on. Would you like for me to tie your horse to mine and escort us both back, or have you regained your land legs?”

Laine huffed, pushing himself to his feet with an eye roll as he stalked towards his own steed. “I am fine, Dorian.”

Dorian seemed to have relented the battle as he shrugged, mounting his horse and waited for Laine to step up to his side. The young lord hesitated, turning back to scan the surface of the water. To his disappointment, he found no sign of the enchanting intruder.

“Did you forget something, Master Laine?”

He responded with a hum, a warmth spreading through his heart at the feeling of the wind bristling through the surrounding trees and tickling his chin. It did not feel like a raging force of nature, but an old friend. “No. On the contrary, I remembered something.”

“Oh, lovely. Well, you can tell me all about that if you choose to on our return trip home. Onwards!”

Next time he snuck out, he would be sure to sneak out alone.