The Dragon of Destiny

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There weren’t any of my kin either. Not since we were banished a myria ago. Not until the curse was lifted in the recent past. There were, however, legends of a chimera that roamed the Earth in search of its mother land. Auguries that hinted at the Beast of destiny. Myths of the first fire that birthed the universe. Prophecies of Bony humanoid scales that weaved the strings of fate. But no Dragons or Etherens existed in the blood memory of the living that walked Cetea.

|| अस्थिनकार छेतेअ इव पेर थे इच्छा थे वैहयस ||

|| निर्मित फ़्रोम् तेसं स्वकीय अङ्गुली अस्थीनि ||

|| विक्रोशन सत् पुरनिय सह क्षमता ||

- न कदाचित प्रति शक्यते रचित | केवलं गेय 14:22

After the end of the tragic holy war, after the gods were brought to their knees, the bonesmiths, fashioned from their own finger bones, the mercenaries of Gods — Mythical Creatures brimming with power that return in vengeance, to roam the ends of the world with every turn of the wheel.

- Never to be written, only to be sung 14:22

This is a story I never intended to tell. I thought, When I finally burned to a wisp all those years ago, I was taking the tale with me. I thought, because it was my failure, because I was the cause and effect, because I seemed to stand at the center of everything, it was my story — but that’s not how stories work. That’s not how history works. History is cyclical and a tale belongs only partly to the narrator - even the wildest fabrication needs a listener, and this is no fabrication. It is the truth, or as close to the truth as I can utter — I traveled back to Cetea, the land of the greatest Ribhus, the first Astronomers of the world, to whisper the fate of humanity.

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As it often did only in Cetea, a fortuitous wind moaned, crawling a cold shiver down my spine. Agasha’s stone unwittingly clutched in my palm, the cry of the wind brought back memories of the dreadful war horn. Hadn’t I done everything to save my brothers? Wasn’t I bound by the sacred duty of the SapthaVadhu to carry on? What more might a sage have done to save his kind but step over the bones of his dead brethren?

Only decades ago, as the Total solar eclipse in the new Tripura period emerged, the air grew thicker. That, dear human, would be the first time in 432000 years in the old tongue, that our sun passed through the constellation Pushya.

The Earth rang for several minutes resulting in 2000 earthquakes across the globe. This awoke the sacred beasts off their slumber, the Asuras were forewarned of the impending shift in time, the gods grew nervous and lifted the curse on their sacred ground.

The Cetean men, unaware of the power that promptly returned in the Ether they breathed were overjoyed. For several years, this resulted in a fortuitous abundance of food, of monsoons, of fertile women. Their fortunes seemed to flip on their heads and there was a sudden emergence of a guarded elation. They wrote songs, transformed their legends to myths and kissed their children to sleep and sang new tunes the next morning. They were happier times.

Sometimes they wonder,

The Sylphs of the delphi…I mean

What it’d be like to step into the Mazy…

No, no - Mazy’s ours, cried the Dwarves

Step into the grottos if you dare…

Sometimes they wonder,

The Etherens of nay…I mean

What it’d be like to stray into Ashkelon…

No, no — Ashkelon’s ours, cried the Hybreas…

Step into Cetea if you dare…

Sometimes they wonder,

The Oreaids of olly…I mean…

The rhymes of men rang like an omen in my ears while I studied the cave. The place was old. I am old, but the place was older. But I’d committed the history of Mt Idi to memory — The cavern emerged in a rhyolitic eruption when this earth was young. I was also aware that the ancient calendar at the supposed center of the altar was just as old.

The Ribhus were the first scientists, the primitive astronomers of the world. I need to see this calendar, I thought, bringing myself down to the cold dewy floor and crossing my legs to channel the undiluted aura in the pristine labyrinth. Since the global shift, cycling aura has been a progressively herculean task. Something was draining the power from the world.

Focussing my mind on the fissures that erupted from an Ancient Catastrophe, I drew in a shaky breath. Then another. I closed my brain to every stimulus; My skin and bones became foreign to me and didn’t stop until I could finally feel a flame at the base of my core. A flicker of hope. A tiny ball of light that seemed to bring with it a sense of comfort and warmth.

With a slow twirl of my wrist I opened my palm. But to no effect; even in the dark, It remained pale and empty. I suppose I shouldn’t have been too crestfallen because it had been a few moons until I'd been able to draw power.

Carrying only a slight disappointment, I nudged Agasha’s stone deep in my pocket and rose to my feet. Brushing off the greasy black linen pants sticking to the back of my thighs, I tried again — With a small prayer to the delphi and an enormous amount of focus, I twisted my hand and unbolted my palm — there it was; a dancing ball of light.

With it the cavern came to life — Fissures in dark purple volcanic glass covered every wall around and as though reminded of its childhood, mischievously bounced the light off of my hand.

Here and there, I glimpsed the blue eyes of curious little happy Oreaids blinked in the luminescence. These nymphs, with their power to heal even the deadliest of wounds, grew only in the most unadulterated corners of nature – In hot springs, under newborn volcanoes, in the bellies of Labyrinths, in graveyards of ruin. They say the gods made fresh apples around the dead so Oreaids could forever sing dirges to their kin.

Guided by the orb, I carefully strode towards the center of the cavity. A circular slab of pale grayish green with a tint of yellow, like that of lichen. The glyphs carved on the edges of the altar were from a society older than the first races of men — The original settlers of Mt Idi, the Hematophagic cult of the pre-god era. Our gods were either unborn or still young during that time. The period during which Chaos reigned the cosmos.

Edging around the circular structure, I hesitated a moment before running my free hand over the altar. Cold and Slimy to the touch, It was covered in years of grime and mold. Quickly pulling myself free of the robe on my back, I gently brushed the cloth over the mantle to reveal entirely unexpected; The Unspoken sacred geometry of lore.

It took me a few long minutes and a couple of rounds around the altar but I dissected it. It was undoubtedly the fivefold pattern that Ishtar traces around Gaia every eight years. As I brought my light bearing hand closer to the shrine, it displayed the whole carving. Twelve points within the circle forming…Four triangles, three squares and two hexagons. Twelve ancient sacred beasts arranged around a central solar hero depicting the native twelve tribes of the elemental world.

If there’s ever been a good sign…This is not it! When you’ve walked the Earth for as long as I have, you come across every mystery, demon, beast and human. There wasn’t much that could have worried or surprised me but that, The Xmanderian Chartis sure could tremble even an Etheren.

If I’d known the events that would ensue, I would never have stepped foot into the labyrinth. I only went in there to reunite Agasha’s stone with his remains. And if I'm being sincere, there was a tiny flicker of hope that in doing so, I’d regain my original power.

But My power died. I should have come to terms with that long before I stepped foot in the maze. Or anywhere in Cetea.

My almost empty core pulling my attention back to the cave, the finicky flame, as though in challenge, drew every ounce of energy out of me, growing heavier on my palm with every second, forcing me to lean on the altar for a breath.

As my hand pressed onto the table for support, covering the image of the lamenting-phoenix, my eyes followed the Zodiacs and the elementals tracing Gaia around the universe, creating musical notes. In that moment I grasped the truth; I understood it was only a calendar to the uninitiated and maladroit. And the table suddenly glowed in response as though lit on fire from underneath. It knew of my deceit.

It couldn’t. I bent farther down to level my eyes with the sacred structure — It wasn’t stone. It wasn’t a meteorite either. With a delicate finger, I drew over the dragon…the naga…It didn’t belong to this world. There was only one possibility…It could only have come from a sphere that was only ever spoken about once in history. There was no account of this rite ever being traced on mortal land. Who were these creatures that brought the Xmanderian Map to the territory of gods?

With newfound interest, I gingerly rounded down on my knees. Balanced by one hand, when I inched a few paces away from the Xmanderian Map, my attention was drawn to the crude palm-leaf shelves erected along the back of the altars base. Each lined with Incantation bowls, delicately carved glasses of herbs and attars; A perfectly preserved Caladrius chick, nettle, Hart’s clover, lily of the valley and Yerba. There were some I couldn’t identify but new species, new life persistently evolved that often escaped my focus.

I was excited, nervous. Also a little terrified for even I had only chanced upon such things in lore. At least in the centuries past.

I am not a coward. A yip and chitter rose in my throat, but I swallowed them down. I cannot fail, I told myself.

As I rose up and eyed around, I realized that the reliquaries and artifacts were all standard wares of Sages and Priests. But the customary objects used by the Etheren Magi were missing. No obsidian, no wing bone of a serpent or the tooth of a dragon. What perplexed me more, however, was singular runes carved into the corners of each Palm-leaf. And I didn’t recognize the symbols. That should have been my cue to leave. To exit the cavern untouched, when I still had the chance.

Instead, I stood resolutely in thought, stroking the silver amulet on my goatee. I did that when I was nervous, a habit I acquired from my father. I felt the eyes of Oreaids closing in on me. Stop it! You’re better than this…But I couldn’t help the chill I felt rise up my back. I was about to spin around and leave when I heard a faint scraping from deep within the crevice nearest the exit.

In a trice, with instincts honed over an eon kicking in, I leapt back to the top of the steps, the fire burning brighter in my palm, my clutch the hilt of my longsword in the other.

Through millennia I have been accused of Arson, of driving mass extinctions of empires. Of drinking the blood of innocent children. Of performing cannibalism in strange graveyards under the mountains. Let me assure you, I never tire, I do not scare, neither do I drink the blood of children – guilty or innocent. And I am vegetarian. Once, while on an arduous pilgrimage across Ashkelon, stranded on a deserted plateau for a week, I had to survive on a meager piece of rabbit meat (And it was cooked)

I am Angira, one of the seven Assassins of the Rudrashael and the pre-eminent of the Agni-devas, protectors of the Apam Napat, the divine cosmic fire. The fire that burns while simultaneously birthing time. It was my duty to ensure the eternal wheel turned. Every Nimisha, Kashta, Kala, Muhurta, Ahoratra, Masa, Ayana, Varsa, Kalpa and Yuga passed through me. I have lived through cycles of birth and death of stars and stones alike.

I only returned to Cetea to save the last human faction from their impending doom. And yes, for the sacrifice of the Pushya child, sure, but I wasn’t worried about the killing.

As one of the last surviving immortals, I can assure you the Killing of a child wasn’t what worried me. Although it had been a kalpa since I last made an offering to my god, I had to butcher several to keep a beast alive for he carried the sacred fire in his belly.

I was also, once, the mediator between Gods and Demons. And I Failed.

Brushing thoughts of my failure aside, I peered intently into the darkness. The scraping continued, and deep in the fissure I saw a light. A dim, reddish glow. Slowly, the light moved closer, spreading from the depths, and I realized it’s the walls of volcanic rocks themselves that emitted the soft luminescence. I squinted and at that moment, I thought I saw a hand curl around the edges of the fissure - thin, dark, clawed — gliding along the wall of the tunnel. Then I heard something else. A low murmur in conjunction with grunts and snarls.

What is it?

Light blazed from the crevice and the entire cavern emitted a blinding flash like a thunderbolt reflecting off of the surfaces…A violent lightning…