The Catalyst

All that chased Sha-vi, was the sound of his feet softly patting the ground as they rustled through the mulch coated forest floor. His panting breath left his mouth in cloud bursts of vapour, as the chilly morning stole what little warmth it possessed.

Abruptly stopping, he snuggled into the riven root cluster of a grand old oak. Tired; he thought, dropping onto his bottom to catch his breath, his chubby legs folding easily into the lotus position beneath him.

I’m scared!

With one pudgy hand clasping an outstretched branch, steadying himself, he peeked from his niche, looking this way and that: His other hand, smeared away a build-up of liquid from his nose.

Studying his surroundings, he glimpsed no sign of pursuers. Just the gentle sway of agitated trees, leaves whispering as they shivered in the breeze, the Bi-Stars dappled light percolating through the verdant canopy, and the twittering drone of the forest’s denizens going about their daily routine.

“No metal men.” Sha-vi sighed. Sniffing back tears, he realised, I’m hungry. I’m thirsty.

As the thoughts blossomed, Sha-vi’s face twisted, a despairing cry bubbling up in his throat. Alone for the first time, he didn’t know what to do. His outburst quickly subsided, and he looked around to see if his cry had brought help. Gasping, he shrank back, wondering if his cry might signal the metal men?

His fear compounded as he realised trouble could lurk in every shadow. He noticed hundreds of sorrowful eyes watching him from the tree trunks, seemingly crying too; the low curling mists settling on them to drop in silvery streams.

Involuntarily he shivered, then caught his breath; had he heard... Water! Turning in the direction of the sound, he laughed. Pushing to his feet, he eagerly stumbled through the mist toward the sound.

#

Hot springs bubbled and cascading rainwater sizzled from the Quenching Daggers; a chain of active volcanoes thrusting from the spine of the Weeping Woods, dividing the feuding kingdoms of Kordorz & Nasvar with a hellish no-mans-land. Since memory began, steaming waters had snaked their way from the Dagger’s boiling calderas, collecting minerals from the rich black sands as they meandered their way into the jagged cut of the river Fulgur.

Deep red waters bled heat in vaporous clouds, cloaking the Fulgur’s basin in acrid mist, as it carved through the mountains toward the Weeping Woods, and the lowlands of Nasvar. Thrashing and crashing, the waters of the Fulgur raced their craggy route to the edge of the Daggers, eagerly plummeting over towering basalt cliffs into the green lands below. Cooling and vaporising as they fell, the waters shed their bounty onto the cliffs, softening them with greasy accretions of dense minerals, earning them the moniker of the Butter Blood Falls.

Cutting through the billowing steam cloud, the waters of the Fulgur thundered down into the Weeping Woods. Crashing into an expansive lake, the scalding waters exploded in clouds of fog, spreading and seeping through the trees, swaddling the forest in a warm saturating mist. Foaming waves pulsed against the lake shore in steaming eddies, as the waters raced on, edging it in a crusty blanket of jagged minerals.

The Sighing Stone - a geological curiosity and place of pilgrimage - marked the lakes outflow. For thousands of years the elongated coil of iron hard rock had rumbled with tectonic activity. Assumed to be a parasitic cone from one of the Quenching Daggers, the heat infused stone gently heaved and sighed with metronomic regularity; clicking and cracking, as thick mineral deposits from the Fulgur split and reformed on its surface.

Originally named the Fulcrum Stone, for reasons lost to time, the mound traced the ancient symbol for balance on the ground. When viewed from above, natures hand accentuated the form: The riverside sweep, bright with calcification, surrendering to the forests verdant tapestry at the double curved ridge.

As the Eve Eye moon fell below the horizon, and the Bi-Star climbed high, the sounds of battle intruded on the Weeping Wood's borders. As they subsided, and the iron rich scent of blood mingled with the forest mists, the Sighing Stone breathed one last time. Swelling to enormous size, it belched a smoke shrouded column of flame across the lake, befouling the air with the repugnant smell of sulphur and ash.

The whip crack of splitting stone punctuated a cacophony of sound: the squawk and squeak of fleeing wildlife, the rustle and rumble of tumbling undergrowth. Spider web fractures widened to fist sized fissures as the Sighing Stone swelled. With thunderous rapport, a crevasse opened down its centre; expanding further, it triggered a landslide of crystalline and organic growths. The earthen rain continued as two smouldering lights lit up inside the cavernous opening.

With a whump, vast leathery membranes flexed, shedding more debris, as they stretched taught between sinuous fingers of horned scales. Uncurling from beneath, an enormous viper shaped head, rose lazily into the air, shaking free the last of the caked-on accretions like a dog shedding water. Drowsy, the dragon’s awareness slowly sputtered into life, like a cupped ember gently being coaxed to a flame.

I’m Fulcrum; she remembered.

Arching her long neck, Fulcrum stretched, the reflex passing along her spine to the tip of her tale in a rippling wave. Rising, her glowing amber eyes regarded the surrounding forest from her horn studded head. Turning skyward, eyes beyond mortal understanding pierced daylights blue curtain to peer at the stars beyond, calculating the passage of time.

For aeons I have slept; she thought, contriving sweet dreams of soaring through the sky with my kin, kissing the boundary to the stars, and hunting the great beasts of the deep seas.

For four thousand years the songs of the forest had been a lullaby to her slumber. Today the melodies spell had broken. Mouth agape, she drew a deep breath over her tongue; licking her palette she processed the messages on the wind, seeking understanding: The thick musk of man, the sweeter scent of horses, and the metallic tang of fresh blood. The smells roused her appetite, but also resurrected half remembered sounds from her slumber: Swords clashing on shields, shrieking arrows taking flight, weapons thudding into flesh, panicked horses squealing, and the low moans of the dying.

Beneath the smells of battle, subtle and almost hidden, was a much more delicate scent. Still drowsy, she’d almost missed it. Familiar, yet unknown: warm milk, a faint whiff of excrement, with an underlying hint of manling. Tracking the scent, Fulcrum’s sensitive ears picked out shallow but excited breathing, and the rapid lub-dub sound of a single quickly beating heart.

It’s close... Instinctively her lip curled, a low snarl rumbling in her chest.

‘Hi.’

With a whoosh, she drew a deep breath, spinning to face the intruder. Diamond hard scales erect and threatening; separating around her expanded chest, they bled a fearsome heat from within, eager to be unleashed.

Cocking her head left and right, Fulcrum could see nothing. Still alert, she exhaled slowly, trickles of sulphuric smoke curling from her nostrils, as the fire in her heart calmed. A slight movement in the undergrowth caught her eye; nearby on the embankment, it was closing in!

I’m being hunted, how did they find me? She wondered, a low growl burbling in her chest.

A high-pitched shriek split the air as the shaking in the undergrowth intensified; leaves shivered and branches snapped as it rushed to close the remaining distance, approaching directly down the steep embankment.

By the stars it’s fast!

Snarling, she recoiled from the movement! Sweeping her wings wide, Fulcrum reared up to her full height; the gust of movement blasting away the roiling mists and blotting out the Bi-Star’s light. Bushing her scales into a forest of blades, she braced to meet her attacker. As it burst from the undergrowth, her chest blazed with light, and blue flames licked expectantly at her lips: Quickly she doused them, as a small bundle of rags rolled into her fearsome shadow.

Confused and bemused, she folded her wings back with a flutter; inching forward to inspect the little ball resting a wingspan from her claws. Chubby pink arms flopped around as it righted itself. Lolling it sat up, unleashing a wailing cry at the forest; a piercing, ululating caw, like that of sea birds. Knifing into her sensitive hearing, Fulcrum winced and gritted her teeth as sympathetic pain arced through her jaw. After a torturous moment, its cry died down to a whimper.

The creature turned, screw faced, eyes brimming with tears, to regard Fulcrum. Inexplicably, its entire demeanour changed. With a high-pitched giggle, it planted its hands on the ground, thrust its backside in the air, and pushed itself standing. Wobbling, it staggered drunkenly toward Fulcrum. Still uncertain, she dropped into a low crouch, shuffling back a few steps, creating space for a counterattack. Pausing, but undeterred, the small creature clapped its hands in delight, advancing on her again in its slightly off-balance gait.

This isn’t right. Marvelled Fulcrum, jaw skimming the floor as she backed into the forest; This creature should fear me!

Growling threateningly, she swept her furled wings over her fore-claws like shields; coiling, she crouched behind, only the fearsome slits of her glowing amber eyes peeking above, as her tail thrashed angrily.

Pausing, the little creature leaned forward, looking first into one eye, then the other. Clapping its hands again, it plonked onto its bottom and covered its eyes, waiting.

After a moment Fulcrum raised her head, curious and perplexed by the creature’s odd behaviour; She could see it studying her through gaps in its fingers. Head low, extending her neck, she approached as close as she dared, sniffing inquisitively.

“Peekaboo!” It cried, flinging its hands out wide.

Shocked at the sudden movement, Fulcrum reared up defensively, bellowing a bowel loosening, “ROAR!”

Following Fulcrums rise, the creature ended up rolling over backwards. Standing, it waddled away, before spinning round and clapping. Raising its arms high it mimicked “Roar!” In its threatless voice, before merrily trotting back toward her. Looking up, it laughed, jiggling its arms up and down excitedly, repeating; ‘Hi!’ With an enthusiastic wave.

Cocking her head confusedly, sensing neither a threat nor means of attack, Fulcrum relaxed, lowering herself into a crouch next to the small creature, pleasing it immensely. She remained still as it crept up and reached out to touch her talons with its tiny pink hands.

As it continued its investigations – poking, pawing, and patting her claws, before climbing to sit on her knuckle - Fulcrum was reminded of the behaviour of hatchlings; curious, incautious, the world filled with new experiences to be tasted and touched. With little experience of danger, they required constant protection and supervision. Fulcrum wondered where this manling’s protectors were?

There’s only one way to find out. For the first time in thousands of years she gave voice to the words of men:

“Who are you?” Her voice rumbled like the steady roar of a furnace. Each annunciation slow and precise, as her mouth remembered how to articulate their primitive words.

Looking up, he answered “Sha-vi.’ Pointing at her he stated, ‘Da-gon!”

Dialogue established, she lowered her head to address Sha-vi directly, answering, “Yes, I’m a dragon. My name is Fulcrum.”

Beaming, he parroted, “Full-crum.” Leaning forward, he hugged her snout, saying, “My da-gon.”

Fulcrum instinctively flinched away, wondering at his curious expression, she asked, “How did you get here?”

Sha-vi’s smile fell away, replaced by a blank expression Fulcrum couldn’t read, as ghosts of experienced horrors rushed up in his mind.

“Metal men.” He whispered, climbing from her claw, and walking away.

Guessing his meaning, Fulcrum persevered, “Are you lost?”

Teary eyed, Sha-vi nodded. Exclaiming; “Thirsty.” He waddled towards the lake.

Deducing his intent, Fulcrum snaked her tail protectively in front of him, blocking his path, explaining, “This is bad water.”

“Thirsty!” he complained, adding; “Hungry.”

“As am I Sha-vi. I will take you to water, and then back to your people.”

“Metal men!” Sha-vi whispered fearfully.

Leaning in close, Fulcrum reassured him, “I will protect you.”

Seemingly placated, Sha-vi plonked onto his bottom adding, ‘I’m tired.’

Sighing, Fulcrum lowered her head. Sha-vi laughed delightedly, without further encouragement he hurried to clamber onto her claw, then up behind her head.

“Hold on.”

Moving slowly, keeping her head low, in case he should fall, Fulcrum began to walk. Weaving through the trees with a dexterity that belied her size, she followed the scent of blood and battle; eager to return the man-child to its people, hungering to feast on fresh horse flesh.

For his part, Sha-vi delightedly giggled and kicked on her back, excitedly pointing and calling out the names of everything he recognised.

There’s little chance of sneaking up unannounced. Mused Fulcrum. That’s probably for the best!

#

‘Horse!’ Captain Krix bellowed at the gatehouse. Kicking his spurs deep into the flanks of his dying steed he drove it on; blood poured from its sides at his encouragements, bloody foam frothed from its nose as it gave everything to escape his lash. Pulling the exhausted beast up at the portcullis, an attendant handed him new reins as it collapsed beneath him.

Quickly mounting his fresh horse, he spurred it into a gallop. Crossing the outer gateway, Krix weaved a zig-zagging route through staggered gateways in three further defensive walls, before emerging into the Kingdom of Kordorz. Kicking his horse again, he raced toward the grand procession – a vast viaduct linking the siege walls to the palace.

Slackening the reins, he gave the horse its head and they rapidly devoured the distance. At five miles long, and 150 paces wide, hewn from the mountain as labourers burrowed down, in any other context the viaduct would be an impressive monument. In Kordorz, it was a gossamer strand bridging the narrowest point of a vast quarry, cut into an active volcano at the south-eastern edge of the Quenching Daggers.

From the mountains above, the quarry resembled a great black snowflake that had fallen into a bed of fine ash. Arranged in a 5-pointed star, furred with exploratory offshoots, and enveloped by concentric lines of defensive curtain wall, it exuded a brutal majesty as its terraces plunged precipitously into the earth.

Snaking ladders, bridges, and earthworks criss-crossed the cliff faces, ferrying tens of thousands of indentured slaves from their residences, in the siege wall narrows, to the quarry below. By the Bi-Star or torch light, work never ceased. Deeper, and deeper, they burrowed, till the depth of the wound rivalled the height of the overlooking volcanos. Chasing veins of precious stones and ores, oblivious to the true purpose of their industry: it was jokingly wondered if the Kordorzi would pause when they reached the gates of hell, or just carry on digging?

Looming, neck achingly high, over Krix, the Iron Fortress marked the seat of power for the ruler of this hellish landscape, Diavellion: The Faceless Queen. Founded around a parasitic cone; the Iron Fortress resembled three spears thrusting at the heavens. A deep cut moat at its base channelled a sluggish river of lava into the quarry basin, raining iron rich ores into still cooling pools of magma far below.

Arriving at the fortress, Krix rode inside, recognised, and unchallenged by the guards. Surging from the saddle, in battered and bloodied armour, he discarded his mount. Sprinting through the palace, he took the steps to Diavellion’s throne room three at a time, urgent to report to his queen.

Clanging: The Queens Guard’s pikes descended across the door, barring his path. Without pause, Krix moved his helmet from his head to his fist and lashed out, driving it into the face of the nearest guard; as his legs crumpled beneath him, Krix stuck again, and again, before allowing him to slump to the floor.

Glaring at the second guard, he received a smart salute as he stepped aside. Pathetic! Sneering in disgust at his easy capitulation, Krix glanced at his prone partner. You’re not worth the spit! He fumed. Bracing against the scarlet lacquered doors, with a silent prayer on his lips, he pushed.

The doors opened to a cackle of laughter, cruel and devoid of warmth, delighting in the mewling cries of the room’s other occupants. Diavellion’s crowing abruptly ceased at Krix’s intrusion. Languishing in the plush embrace of the dragon throne, she regarded the captain’s approach with a predatory glare.

Krix’s breath caught in his throat as he advanced, nauseated by the stench of fear and faeces coming from the Nasvari emissaries; bound, gagged, and bloodied, they whimpered their horror at Diavellion’s attentions. Marching past the banqueting table, Krix averted his gaze as pleading eyes sought his own; all bar one, whose freshly plucked eyes stared blindly from her soup. Bowing low before her throne, Krix dropped to his knee, clenching his slackening bowels as he looked up to his Liege, awaiting permission to speak.

Cruel green eyes set in a beautiful alabaster visage, scowled down at him through frayed curtains of glossy ebon hair. Wrapped in shimmering silks of scarlet and gold, Diavellion reclined, cat like, within the velvet cushioned maw of the embellished dragon skull encompassing her throne. Coiling symbols, forbidden knowledge, and litanies in dead languages, smouldered in the carved bone. Krix was careful not to linger on them. It was told that if one stared too long, the writing began whispering its dark secrets, breaking minds, and propagating madness in all who heard.

The rhythmic click of the Queens drumming fingers arrested Krix’s musings; Bloodstained fingers tipped with golden claws, scratching against the polished bone. Diavellion’s classical beauty, twisted by barely disguised rage at his intrusion, presented a more honest reflection of the darkness nesting in her soul.

Lips curling into a venomous smile, reminiscent of a coiled viper waiting to strike, Diavellion purred: “My dear Captain. Pray tell the grave matter that forced such rude intrusion. As you can see...” beckoning the room; “I’m having guests for lunch.”

Clearing his throat, more shrilly than he’d hoped, he explained, “My Queen, I bring news of your great armies’ victory...”

“I care nothing for armies or victories!” She interjected; “Only that what I seek is mine.”

His pre-prepared oratory disrupted, Krix stammered; “O-Of course...”

“Good. Where is it?”

“N-No, your Majesty. W-What I...”

“Speak plainly or speak no more!” Diavellion yelled, losing patience. Leaning forward, voice dripping venom, she hissed; “Where is my treasure?”

“The carriage was damaged while fleeing…” Krix blurted out. Blood throbbing in his ears, he added. “We broke inside, but there was no treasure.”

Krix gulped as Diavellion’s gaze hardened. “You, broke inside.” She repeated, inspecting her claws as he nodded affirmation.

Tracing a pattern on her throne's sword length canines, she inquired; “So, the carriage was empty?” Krix nodded again.

Smiling, sweetly as a cat cornering a rat, Diavellion rose and sauntered toward him, checking; “Nothing at all inside?”

“No, your majesty.” Krix affirmed, finding his voice; “Just a child…”

“Oh, there was a child!”

“Yes, your majesty. He ran off while we...”

“IDIOT!” Diavellion screamed, lunging quick as a viper, snaring his throat in her talon; Krix grunted as the razor tips bit into his yielding flesh. Not so deep as to kill; deep enough that, if he pulled away, he would kill himself. Entirely at her mercy, a currency she rarely spent, Diavellion leaned in close growling, “The child was the treasure you imbecile!”

Revelling in Krix’s panic, she studied his escaping blood as it dripped from her wrist, sighing delightedly as warm trickles danced up her sleeve, titillating her flesh. Boring quickly, she released him, muttering, “I’ll take care of this myself.”

“SUMMON THE GUARDS!” She called, smiling cruelly as she sashayed toward the banqueting table, eager to finish her guests before leaving.

#

After slaking their thirst in a nearby spring, Fulcrum carried Sha-vi back to the battlefield. Having animatedly exhausted himself, he’d settled between her dorsal spines to sleep; snoring softly as they arrived at the small clearing where his world had been turned upside down.

Skirting its edge, staying hidden within the trees, Fulcrum studied the scene. The armoured knights – Sha-vi’s “metal men” – had waited in ambush at the forests edge. The caravan, comprised mostly of unarmed civilians, had been easy prey in the open clearing.

Pilgrims? Wondered Fulcrum; Perhaps the ones who sing to me while I sleep?

“Metal men?” Asked Sha-vi groggily.

“No.” Reassured Fulcrum; “Nothing but carrion crows.”

Feeling Sha-vi shuffling to dismount, she lowered herself to the ground; watching as he scampered off towards a wrecked carriage. Spying the train of dead horses, she followed hungrily.

As Sha-vi disappeared inside, stomach gurgling insistently, Fulcrum tore away the horse’s tack. Taking the first in her jaws, she flipped her head back; gravity, and quick economic chomps, easing the meat into her gullet. In seconds it was gone, and she’d moved onto the next. As she finished her second course, a muffled squeak echoed from the carriage. Looking round, she saw Sha-vi staring at her, agog.

“Are you hungry?”

Sha-vi nodded, glancing at the remaining horses.

Misunderstanding, Fulcrum asked; “Would you like some?”

Sha-vi shook his head vigorously, face twisting like it had when he’d first tumbled from the trees. Whimpering, he lifted a small bag. Leaning in, Fulcrum sniffed: cooked meat, vegetables, and dried fruits.

“Delicious.” Fulcrum announced, understanding. “I’m too big for your food, but I like horses.”

Sha-vi looked at his bag, then the horses, pondering, before sitting down to eat.

“I will eat over here.” Fulcrum said, moving out of sight, to the other side of the clearing. Adding; “If you’re scared, call. I will come straight back.”

“Okay.” Shavi smiled, merrily munching on dried fruit.

The remaining horse cadavers were few. Fulcrum gathered them all, carefully avoiding the manling corpses as she did. Contrary to popular belief, dragons seldom ate manlings, only doing so in defence or annoyance. As she greedily scoffed three more equines, her acute senses detected changes in the forest’s symphony and perfume: clanking metal, oiled leather, stale sweat, and marching feet. A warband approached; they would arrive soon.

Finishing her feast, Fulcrum settled behind the carriage, watching Sha-vi eating for a moment, reflecting on dragons and manlings.

So many of my kin, needlessly lost to their blades!

Deciding caution would be prudent, she flattened herself to the ground. The new arrivals might be friend or foe to Sha-vi; they were certainly the latter to Fulcrum. Closing her eyes to further mask her presence, her sensitive hearing tracked the movement of every approaching heartbeat.

Entering the clearing within the hour, carriage in tow, the platoon fanned out in pairs. Back-to-back, the soldiers lined an approach to the wrecked carriage. If Sha-vi had noticed them, he gave no sign, as the carriage opened and Diavellion marched imperiously toward him.

Diavellion caught Fulcrums attention. Her heartbeat, different to the others, but familiar. Her lip curled instinctively into a silent snarl as its palsied timbre stirred long-forgotten emotions; twin hearts thumping, blood chilling in her veins, a buzz nagging in her mind. A primal fear plagued her, screaming: RUN!

Flexing her claws into the earth, Fulcrum held herself in check, as Sha-vi, finally noticing the furore, peeked out of the carriage. His heart spiked dramatically, but he did not move.

Is it fear or excitement? Uncertain, Fulcrum waited, twitching muscles primed to strike.

Foolish child! Diavellion mused, spying Sha-vi peeking from the carriage door, she screamed; “Seize it!”

Watching from the rear guard, Krix spurred his mount and charged as the front ranks began to move.

“Full-crum!”

Before Sha-vi’s cry rang out, she was already moving. Coiled muscles released, wings unfurled, she pounced with a bellowing roar! Crushing the nearest soldiers beneath her claws, she landed protectively astride the carriage. Head darting, she snatched a fleeing soldier, using him to batter another, before flinging him to unhorse the charging Krix. Rearing up with a snarl she flexed her wings, the thunderclap of displaced air sent soldiers sprawling as they formed up around their Queen.

Sweeping her wings down like a shield, Fulcrum crouched over Sha-vi and whispered, “Climb up and hold on tight!”

“IMPOSSIBLE!” Yelled Diavellion, swatting aside her guards and marching fearlessly towards Fulcrum. “We killed you. We killed you all!”

Shock and recognition coursed through Fulcrum; she knew the entity standing before her. A shrivelled husk of necrotising flesh wrapped in some poor victim’s skin. A soulless parasite that artificially extended its life by leeching the blood of Dragons. Part of the reason Fulcrum, and the other remnants, had hibernated, was to deny it the fuel to prolong its existence.

It must have found another way.

Fulcrum felt Sha-vi’s grip on her tighten, as her fear drowned in a tidal wave of anger. With a guttural roar, she let loose her rage in a purifying column of flame. Diavellion and her front ranks disappeared, vaporised in the searing firestorm. The surrounding ranks, caught in the backwash while trying to flee, turned to ash inside their armour. Those furthest away were scalded and scarred by the chasing blaze as they turned and ran.

Rearing up to her full height, Fulcrum spread her wings wide and stoked the inferno; revelling, as the fire in her chest and soul ignited together in furious purpose. Rapidly rising eddies filled her wings, lifting her from the ground to soar as she maintained the flow of fire, pouring out aeons of pain and loss in the apocalyptic outburst. Eventually, Fulcrum ceased her outpouring. Beating her mighty wings harder she climbed, removing Sha-vi from the blighted scene.

“WAIT!” A shrill voice cried from below. “Wait…”

Looking down, Fulcrum smelled the rank whiff of witch-light on the cooling breeze. To her horror she saw Diavellion, kneeling, cowed but undefeated, on a small island of grass in a pool of molten rock. Shrivelled and haggard, her true face revealed by fire; blood flowing from her eyes, she raised withered claws skyward, imploring:

“The boy is as vital to your survival as he is to my own. If you take him from this place his potential will never be realised. The Catalyst must remain in Kordorz.”

Can it be true? Wondered Fulcrum, continuing to climb, Is this hatchling the heir to the Dragon Throne?

As Diavellion watched Fulcrum disappear into the clouds, taking with it her chance for rebirth, she shook a blackened claw defiantly at the empty sky, screaming:

“Fool! You think you can hide from me! I will chase you to the worlds end… no gate of heaven, no door of hell is locked to me. I will find you; I will find you!”

“Your flayed skull will adorn my wall while I bathe in your blood! Do you hear me…”

#

Diavellion’s invective chased Fulcrum into the sky as she whisked Sha-vi away on the wind. As they climbed, she noticed his slowing heartbeat and shallow breathing: Hunger sated, he’d drifted off to sleep, splayed out like a star between her dorsal spines. With a gruntled purr she flexed her follicles, raising the scales around him; a cradle of blades to keep him safe and secure.

Spiralling higher, she rode the rising thermals like an eagle. When high enough to avoid detection by mortal eyes, she soared over the Kingdom of Kordorz. Looking down at the dark stain on the landscape, Fulcrum recalled the prophecy of the Catalyst. Deducing the Kordorzi’s objective in the roots of the mountain, she was comforted that they were digging in the wrong place.

The breeding grounds of dragons must be continuously bathed in fire!

Satisfied, Fulcrum turned South, following the Fulger, across the Weeping Woods, and beyond into the Nasvar. As Sha-vi snored softly, she wished him peaceful dreams, untainted by the day’s events. Questions about his destiny, safety, and her role in it, tumbled through Fulcrums mind as she flew:

It matters not. She realised; I am bound to this hatchling’s protection; his truth will reveal itself in time.

As the Blood moon faded with the Bi-Star, and the Eve Eye moon claimed the night sky, Fulcrum and Sha-vi circled the southernmost plains of Nasvar. Spying a solitary farmstead at the foot of a mountainous forest, Fulcrum landed nearby.

With Sha-vi still fast asleep, Fulcrum was uncertain how to proceed. Creeping up to the farmhouse, ignoring the delicious smell of the farmers panicking livestock, Fulcrum scratched gently on the door. Creaking, the door cracked open; widening with a crash, as the lady within staggered back, protective pan clattering on the floor.

“Please, don’t be afraid.” Beseeched Fulcrum , “I carry a sleeping child on my back.”

Twisting, she carefully lowered Sha-vi within arms-reach; Gasping, the lady reached up, lifting him gently into her arms, shushing and rocking him soothingly.

“His name is Sha-vi.” Fulcrum explained, “I will watch over and protect you, but he must grow among his kind.”

As the wide-eyed lady mutely nodded her understanding, Fulcrum turned and retreated to the nearby forest to begin her vigil.

#

Scraping and shuffling, Fulcrum shifted the earth, snuggling down into the ground while kicking a layer of soil and debris over herself; a rudimentary camouflage, but it would grow more sophisticated with time.

Coiling beneath her wings, she listened, allowing the forest’s melody to lull her to sleep once more. As darkness descended, she carried a newfound lightness of soul to the dance with her dream kin. This time, she dreamed of more than survival; this time, she dreamed with hope.