The Unholy War

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

Some say a Roven Princess summoned the first dragon to escape the wrath of the First Gods. Others say the First Gods sent a dragon to kill her.

Throughout the history of Avencia, the true origins of these heavenly draconian beings had remained a well-kept secret.

Until Gazel met the Prophetess.

Lord Gazel. King of the Tri-Lands of Men.

Once a fierce conqueror who had united the four lands through both love and war. A genius innovator, and most recently, keeper of an ancient truth which threatened the very Kingdom he had fought so gallantly to create.

Yet he would watch it burn to the ground if it meant saving his daughter.

These days the only title he dared to honour was Father. But even this he felt was slipping from his grasp. Sleepless nights had gifted Gazel a fair amount of silver hair peppered through otherwise dark curls. Aged lines pulled at tired almond eyes.

In his youth, he was beautiful. He was tremendous. Even now in fatherhood he was handsome. Not in the way powerful men are handsome, but truly blessed by the Quin Gods, Ly – Goddess of Love and Beauty. Blessed also by Thya, the purest Goddess, righteous in her wisdom.

It was Thya who had gifted him with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.

In only fifteen short years as King, Gazel had pioneered a world of advanced engineering; machinery that enhanced the magic of the land far beyond anything his Roven ancestors had dared to dream.

Yet none of it mattered. He was still no closer to finding the answer he so desperately sought. And it kept him up at night. Aged him. Drained his life force.

Time.

Time was all he needed.

He needed more of it. Less of it. Why didn’t time move as he willed it?

It was maddening to see Lord Gazel in his frenzy. Even madder to see him in his calm, as he was now.



She will die to save us.



Nothing had haunted him quite so much as those words. Not even as the Prophetess warned him of the ferocity of the Ancient First Gods. His Gods. Nor was he surprised to hear of their part in summoning the Dragons countless millennia ago.

It was what he had learnt of his daughter’s role in the coming war that had him deceivingly tranquil tonight.

Two moons had passed since the Prophetess appeared to him. A fractured girl, neither present nor gone. Ethereal yet entirely human. He had pitied her. He understood the reality of her ageless curse had destroyed the girls mind over and over. She had succumbed to madness eons before, but Gazel knew every word she spoke that night was unrelenting truth.

She will die to save us.

As the Roven Princess had before Her.

The Dragon King will awaken at Her call. And once more, She will die to save us all.

Whiskey tumbled as he swirled his crystal glass absently. Watching flames dance across the fireplace in his study. In a room filled to the rooftops with priceless scrolls and books, artifacts of the old world, creations of his own making, he had never felt so hopeless. Isolated in his despair.

The door creaked open, footsteps followed.

“My King – “, the messenger was met with a scornful glance from Gazel. “my Lord. A letter arrived from the Southlands. It’s not good news.”

It never was.

Most of his servants knew not to address him as King if he was not in the company of aristocracy. But this messenger was new. Gazel had only come to recognise the young boy. A Vihan. His long fleecy tail a dead giveaway despite his mundane face and build.

Luckily for the Vihan boy, his Lord was understanding.

“What did it say?” Gazel's voice did not betray his demeanour. Calm in face of peril.

The Vihan boy paused before answering. “There was an accident at Icel Castle. The Scholars laboratory exploded.”

Gazel, almost hypnotized by the brown liqueur swirling in his hand, nodded for the boy to continue.

Bright Vihan eyes shadowed as he answered, “A Scholar - Thoriel Ort, was killed in the explosion.”

The whiskey stilled.

It was a cruel God indeed who had orchestrated today’s events.

News of his friend’s death would not go unacknowledged. But for now, he had to focus on the task at hand. After what he’d learnt about the dragon’s origins, he would be a fool to think what happened at Icel Castle was coincidence.

Gazel rose from his seat making his way to a desk. Scrolls of paper strewn across the surface, he reached for an empty one and began to write.

The messenger tried not to stare at the King before him.

This man, who had chosen him as a personal messenger out of a thousand others. The man who had inspired his favourite childhood stories. Who had fought, conquered, loved and lost. This man before him, was nothing he had ever expected him to be, yet everything the young Vihan-boy admired.

Lord Gazel sealed the letter before handing it to the messenger.

“Get this to General Xanteff at once,” he said as he handed the boy the sealed scroll. “And Dovos-” the Vihan turned back to his King, “be discreet. Shake off any shadows.”

Dovos nodded his understanding, leaving Gazel to his isolation.

Accident or no, his friend was dead.

Gazel hadn’t heard from Thoriel in years, nor had he tried to reach out after the Scholar left for the South. Like so many others who had followed Queen Helena back to her Southern homelands, Gazel had carried the hurt and betrayal deep within and locked it away in a place where he didn’t have to acknowledge it. The same way he had done so now with the news of the death of his friends.

The final truth he couldn’t ignore was the threat in the South. It was the last piece to the puzzle. The nail in the coffin. Thoriel’s coffin.

Time was already against him. News that the Southern Queen had begun building her armies reached Gazel weeks ago. Through his own weakness he chose to ignore it.

Queen Helena. The mother of his child. The love of his life.

She was gone. In her place was an Ice Witch, hellbent on serving the God responsible for Gazel’s nightmare reality. Although Helena’s role in their daughter’s demise remained to be seen, the Prophetess’ warning to Gazel was unrefutably clear;

The Imposter Queen will summon death to all corners of Avencia.

Sinking back into his armchair, his thoughts slurred as he drifted back into ponder. Meeting with the Prophetess again would bring nothing but more questions. How many hours had he wasted in that chair, thinking of ways to save his daughter from a sacrifice she didn't deserve?

Precious hours. Each one mattered.

Now, in the blink of an eye, a plan was set in motion. Whether by the Gods or by a King, only time would tell.

By now the Young Vihan should have cleared passed the city gates. Riding fast into the night Dovos was completely unaware the scroll he possessed had sealed the fate of Avencia.

Along the horizon, war had dawned.