feet to the rising. [talon]

[Dhruv]

A difficult life is not less
worth living than a gentle one.
Joy is simply easier to carry
than sorrow. And your heart
could lift a city from how long
you’ve spent holding what’s been
nearly impossible to hold.
This world needs those
who know how to do that.
Those who could find a tunnel
that has no light at the end of it,
and hold it up like a telescope
to know the darkness
also contains truths that could
bring the light to its knees.

Grief astronomer, adjust the lens,
look close, tell us what you see.

-- Gibson.

37 Searing 123, Age of Steel

Time was in the habit of leaking free of the wayfarer as though his flesh were a sieve. Thin slices of seconds were pungent where they flattened in his footfalls and the hours were too busy hooting in the spikes of sentinel trees to remember themselves in the long yawn of afternoon. He loitered too long on the road where it opened, the valley of vanished Illuminarcus beyond, and weighed all of his shadows against the pure light thrown off by the citadel. With his breath fogging the air, weathered, dark clothing only almost warm enough for the unseasonable chill, he listened to the snow in the high mountain peaks melt into new streams and felt very small. Tall, proud ancestry strung up his bones, but yet this haunter-son slouched, chin down and in need of a shave. He slouched, and he stalled.

Dhruv’s memories had not returned so much as they rioted. He knew all of them and understood as well they meant very little. Nothing, or next to it, in this place that was not Ailos, that could not house any who knew him. Fragments of the Dawnmartyr story, their fall and this return, had reached him with no real effort. He’d sat, night after night, in a garden, in a bar or cafe, by the water, anywhere in Kalzalsi at all and with no effort heard a hundred stories of the the order that caught him when he’d fallen, that he had half raised when all creation was chaos and darkness. A wind caught him like the past, vivid as the pounding of his heart with loneliness. It was, by now, a very old and familiar feeling. The sun had returned to the world the same day he had, he’d discovered. The thought caught a sharp smile to his mouth before he turned from the glow of white stone and golden trees, careful for all his lingering illness, slow healing injuries, and hauled himself back into the saddle.

The reins were gripped in one hand, fingerless gloves not warm enough in the languishing light. The moons were visible though the sky still cupped light, even the odd third the sight of which had caused him to feel painfully alien. There was time for him to take the road back down to Kalzalsi, straight through the city to the Black Road and beyond. This borrowed mount would not do for too long, but he could see her cared for until he found another. Stronger. Faster. More resilient. Anything living that traveled with him had to be, else it might last but it would never stay. They just became ghosts in his corners. There were plains and forests, seas of opportunity brimming with a thousand ways to his end and all he’d ever needed was one. He could find it, or he would find someone who needed him again.

This was one of many times he’d waited in this pass, watching the lights, interrogating the shade. Too many times since the curse had ripped him from the last home and dropped him into a Kalzalsi sewer. Not once had the stranger come any closer to the citadel nor send any message or word to its gates. What was he supposed to say? His name had long since outrun their ever saying it clearly.

It meant there wasn’t anyone left to be surprised when Dhruv turned towards Dawnhold this time instead of away, the worst of his shadows lightening in the soft growing glow of dangerous hope. There was at least one thing he needed to collect first.

[Talon]

T A L O N

The frigid north and its harsh cold were never a problem for the Avialae. Born as they were with a touch of the cold winter winds, they were a people that were uniquely situated to be resilient in the face of chilly conditions. The prolonged winter season however, was one that was taking a toll on even them. Talon could feel it. He could feel a longing in the undercurrent of his people’s mood. A craving for the feeling of warmth upon feathered wings. As the sunlight had returned to the world, that had lightened some moods. People’s spirits had raised but as the season of winter still clung to the world, it had hampered a great many things. Crops were not as bountiful, trade was not as plentiful, and travel was not as easy, food was becoming scarcer. With that scarcity, came its own problems.

He heard the horn before he saw the citadel. He heard the musical caw of the great bird that he had been seeking before he saw it. The music however, was off. The tone sounded dissonant and cacophonous where it should have otherwise been clear and symphonic.

An ice-wing phoenix descended upon the gate of Dawnhold. A magnificent bird of winter and fury, one that was sacred to the Synnekar Avialae and a predator of the skies that Talon had spent much of his life learning how to tend to. The mighty phoenix unleashed a torrent of winter winds and ice upon the gates of the citadel but that holy gate was protected against such incursion. He heard the commands of the gate guards as they shouted to jump into cover. The mighty bird assaulted the gates but it would be to no avail. The gates of Dawnhold would stand firm against all intrusion so long as he willed it to be so.

But there was one who was not protected by the divinity of the gates. There was one upon the road who was not sheltered by the sanctity of his holy citadel. A single rider upon a steadfast horse that was making his way toward the gates. Talon was not alone in spotting this rider. Icewing phoenixes were carnivorous birds and in these uncertain times where this prolonged winter had caused many of its prey to go into hiding, it had forced the great avian hunter to forage for food in places well outside its normal hunting range. That alone was not what drove this great icy phoenix. A touch of shadowy corruption was burnt into its feathers. Much like many of the creatures that had encountered the dark voidspawn that had erupted into this world as a result of the Eclipse, this winter phoenix had been infected and a great beast that would have otherwise left them alone had been driven to madness.

That madness saw the rider on the road. It saw an unsheltered. It saw prey.

Talon dove down from his place in the skies, tucking his wings so that he could freefall from his aerial position much faster. The Icewing phoenix reared back, releasing a discordant call as it drew in a dry and scratching breath. Its chest puffed out. Its wings spread. Its eyes glowed with a pale blue-black light. And then it exhaled with a shriek that was accompanied by a blast of wintery magic that would freeze a man down to his bones.

Talon dove down, landing solidly on his feet, his armored boots smashing into the frozen soil as he made a heavy impact. He wasted no time in summoning the fury and heat of both his elemental fire and the holy silver-white of his Dawnfire. It wreathed his form, spreading across his body, shining brightly as he used himself as a shield against the frozen blast that was aimed at the rider on the road. Holy fire met corrupted ice and where the two forces mixed, the flames of a demigod won. Talon flapped his wings, banishing the cold and furious winds. The silver-white of his flames died down but did not dissipate entirely.

He cast a glance back to see if the rider was safe, once certain, he shouted a command.

“Get to the gate! You will be safe there!” Command given, Talon sprinted forward, leaping into the air as he conjured a compressed blast of kinetic force around himself. The Icewing phoenix cawed, again that discordant melody making Talon’s heart clench in pity. He spun in midair, delivering a roundhouse kick to the side of the bird’s head as it met him. The phoenix was sent careening through the air, slamming into the ground where it slid across the dirt and snow. It lay there, dazed.

Talon landed upon the ground. He let the veil of his mortality fall away as the Eminence of His nimbus manifested. A divine crown of symbols that bespoke of his dominion over Justice, Light and Hope shone upon the area, bathing it in the silver-white light of dawn.

He walked up to the great bird. It was struggling to its feet. Talon gathered his sacred dawnfire but instead of burning, he directed them to purify. He walked forward, reaching out to the still-dazed phoenix. Touching his hands upon the phoenix chest, the bird reared back but Talon kept himself anchored to the bird. He sent his purifying flames into the bird, burning away the corruption that had embedded itself into the great bird’s veins. After a feat beats, the Icewing phoenix sagged. Talon ran his hands over the plumage of its head.

Whispering in Synskrit, he spoke words of soothing calm. Slowly he watched the phoenix close its eyes, labored breathing eased. Tension softened.

“Lightbringer!” The thud of heavy boots on snow covered ground reached his ears. Talon did not look up as part of the Gatewatch ran forward.

“Send for House Dahshida. This phoenix needs care.” He looked up then to the knights who rendered a salute.

“At once, Lightbringer!” Talon stepped back as the knights stepped forward to care for the weary bird. He lingered only to ensure that there was no threat of it panicking then turned to regard the rider from the road.

Talon stood heads and shoulders above most who were assembled around them. Broad and muscular, he was a figure well suited for the wintery environment around them. Silver-white hair matched eyes of mercury and argent feathered wings brushed with flakes of platinum and gold. He wore vestments adorned with the symbols of his Great House and the iconography of the Dawnmartyrs. At a glance, it would have been easy to believe he was a paladin of the Warforged Dawnmartyrs but the divine nimbus that crowned him revealed that he was very much not a mortal knight.

“Are you alright, rider?”

[Dhruv]

The pathfinder had been cold since a combination of time and fate had dropped him into a Kalzasi sewer, so much so that the corruption pulling the phoenix’s call out of tune felt more like a memory, played only in his mind until the horse beneath him released a violent shiver. Dhruv shifted naturally in the saddle to maintain balance as hooves stamped the snow and his spine straightened with a roll of strong shoulders. Air froze in his chest as he watched the blizzarding spiral of the ice eagle in its assault on the gate. He dropped low over the aging mare’s neck to murmur a caution as she danced back in a crack of ice that had Dhruv firming the grip of his knees to her sides.

The gates of the citadel held beneath the mad bird’s screams, deflecting spears of ice in a roll of freezing wind back over the road. The hytori had just managed to pull the horse’s head around, heels down as they prepared to run – the gate guards were well protected by their god’s manifest of miracles, and he their only threat as they might feel propelled to leave that safety to aid him – when as second set of wings threw their shadow over them. In the screaming cold that frosted even the stubble on his jaw, his mount dangerously restless in her fear beneath him, and with the leeching of health and power the Clock of Aeturnus had charged him with this time, Dhruv Val’Esdraelon wondered if he had arrived at the end.

In the Sundering, Dhruv had envisioned death like leaving the fires early, when full dark was only just settling itself about the stars and friends and lovers laughter carried you down in heavy arms. He’d done so quite on purpose, an old trick to convert fear into courage hard-learned centuries before the world had even heard the name Kaitos Diraegon. The vision was painted atop the memory of a future he’d never gotten to have.

The crash of armor hammering down onto rock was his only warning before the world exploded in a wash of silver-white fire. He clung to the horse’s back as she bucked and reared, blinded by the light bursting around them and the haunting cry of the icewing phoenix being thwarted by another winged being.

Lightbringer. It moved through him like a weary sigh, leaving the half-moon of a funny smile on his face. He had only moments to take the man – no, the demigod – in, black stars winking in and out of his vision and as he finally wrestled the frightened horse into some semblance of control. A nudge of a knee and she leaped, eager, for the gates and little swarm of guards whose calls sounded like the distant whistle of the wind to Dhruv’s blasted senses. Timing was everything in this life, perhaps especially his, and so he waited until the shadow of the gates cut across the snow before slowing the horse and pushing down a knee to the saddle in order to twist around, free hand reaching sideways and low for something that was not yet there.

The reaving rune sizzled against the skin of his forearm, hidden by weathered, dark wool, as Dhruv twisted tendrils of aether that sparked towards forming the glowing shape of a truly ancient longsword. The hour was timeless and, for the first instance since being so unceremoniously dumped in this here and now, he felt almost like himself. Dark rider on a lonely road. An unnamed guard at a holy gate. A stranger who, while watching the icewing phoenix be felled by a single blow, was slowly but steadily realizing whatever all was left of the Order of the Dawnmartyr had absolutely no need of his help.

The sword was just a scent, old blood and older dreams, a gleam of a razor-sharp blade in its half formed state when it dematerialized in a crumbling cloud of strange-colored sand. The old horse huffed out a hard snort and stomped the sand into the snow while Dhruv lifted his chin and turned haunted gold eyes to meet the regard of his rescuer.

“Eh.” A grimace and he shook his head, silent laughter shaking through the cold in his bones. Talon was thrown a wry and reckless smile, forcing frozen limbs to relax a little in the saddle. The golden white heights of Dawnhold were framed behind him. “It’s the bird I’d worry for –” A beat and he offered the demigod an elegant head and shoulders bow that was as impossible as the rest of him. “ – Morning Lord. You have my thanks and my debt.”

A thought occurred to him, a rustling memory from the age before this, and he craned his neck to get a good look at the mountainscapes beyond, trying to spot any signs of one of the macabre storms, in the event the cursed phoenix had flown through one windward.

[Talon]

T A L O N

Talon opened his senses to the flow of the aether. He brought the rider’s aura to the forefront of his vision and brushed his power over the surface, inspecting it with a gentle touch. He caught hints of wry humor and a deep melancholy that hinted at some deeper hurts that would take much more than a cursory glance of his aura to uncover. Curiously, there was a flickering at the edges of the man’s aura that seemed…familiar. Frayed and unwound, like strips of cloth that were fluttering in a breeze continually weaving and unweaving themselves. It was a phenomenon that he had only ever witnessed once before but at the moment, he could not quite put his finger on where he had seen it.

“You are welcome.” He caught a taste of the bitter chill that was clinging to the man. As was often the case, Talon forgot that most people were affected by the cold. He gave the rider one more once over just to be sure that there were no immediate injuries save the stress of a rather stressful situation then looked to the phoenix. The bird was still out cold. When he felt the man’s attention shift, jumping from relative calm to a higher state of alert, Talon looked to where the man’s attention was drawn. Still primed as he was through the use of Semblance, Talon got a sense of wariness mixed with a touch of dread dusted with the echo of far-flung chaos as a sharp memory impressed upon the aura. Semblance was not Mesmer, but Talon was skilled enough in its use to be able to pluck the impression of things left behind within the fabric of any aura, especially when it was so heavily focused upon.

“You are right to be alert. The phoenix will be tended to. House Dahshida has been summoned and the citadel has a few who can see to it until they arrive.” Talon focused, eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. Normally, his Light-blessed vision was able to travel for miles well beyond anything he could physically see but something was off.

“Captain!” One of the knights nearby immediately came to attention and turn to regard him. “Dispatch the Spellforged to Light’s Reach. Specifically, those adept at Negation. We may yet have a more pressing concern on our hands.”

“Yes, Lightbringer! If I may, what should they be on alert for?” Talon narrowed his eyes, willing his Light-blessed vision to focus. He was met with a mixture of shadows and chaos.

“Mist and shadow.” The knight rendered a salute before marching off to execute his orders. Talon turned his attention back to the rider.

“What say you, rider? Care to shake off the cold by the hearth fire or by sweat and steel?” There was no judgement in his eyes as he posed this question. Either way, he would see to the mists.

[Dhruv]

There were weary shadows beneath the brass in the rider’s eyes as they turned from the yawn of mountains to resume their study of the winged demigod. That smile of his possessed a certain charm, hard though it was. In the right circumstances, it could be downright disarming.

“Sweat and steel, if it will suffice. But I won’t turn down a fire. Any fire.” He relented with an inclination of his head even as he slouched further in the saddle. His cloak was weathered, greying wool, gifted to him by another unlikely rescuer. He was the sort of man who would have rather earned it, the idea of charity a sting to a thoroughly abused sense of pride.

Dhruv glanced at the gatekeepers and the glow of the citadel and wondered at moths and flames. The borrowed mount stomped again, restless, and with a shake of his head Dhruv dismounted in a single, fluid movement and tilted his head toward the gates in a hopeful manner.

“But first, my lord, can I take a look about your library?” Gods, he hoped there was a library. A study, at least, with enough books to aspire to the title of library. Surely this revitalized knighthood could not have strayed so far from its origins to not have appropriate respect for knowledge and learning. All he had heard and his own findings so far were encouraging. “It’s why I’m here,” he confessed. Afterall, the Spellforged had just been dispatched so there was time.

Wasn’t there always? Or never.

He didn’t look like much of a warrior, though everything about him tightened at the words mist and shadow. It sang old pain through his bones, his joints, regardless of his youthful appearance. Then he didn’t look much of a scholar either. Dhruv was content to look like nothing. It had supported him in the spycraft aspirations of his lost youth, but it had never been meant to become him.

“Mist and shadow, some old things just won’t die,” he muttered, more to himself than Talon.

There was something unbalanced about him, something at once here and not, neither now nor then. One hand was always reaching back, the other forward, and memory sifted through his fingers like sand. His smile was gone, the corner of his mouth turning down before he nodded to himself and refocused on Talon. He had not been expecting to meet the famous and powerful avilae, but rather to do his dealings with stablehands and chamber maids and the like to get what he was after and be gone again. He rather didn’t expect the Morning Lord to stick around much longer, not when there were more important matters to attend now that the phoenix had been dealt with.

So he stood before the gates of Dawnhold, empty handed yet determined, waiting to be let in. Hoping to locate a library and, within it, an old book with an even older ring tucked into the hollow carved out of the pages.

[Talon]

T A L O N

There was something altogether odd and charming about this rider. He could not yet settle on which was more prevalent.

“The matter is not so urgent that it cannot wait. Preparations take time and while a luxury, it is one I think we can afford here.” He walked forward to the gates of Dawnhold, the great portcullis making not a sound as it opened for him. Already there were two gryphon riders descending down from the skies in order to meet with the downed phoenix. Absent the corruption that had been coursing through its veins, Icewing phoenixes were proud but intelligent birds that seldom attacked unless provoked. He trusted that the knights knew what they were doing, at least well enough to be able to care for it until the experts from Kalzasi city arrived.

“Talon.” He offered naught but his name, no titles, no preamble. Clearly the man already knew who he was so anything further was unnecessary. He waited a beat to hear what the man wished to be called before gesturing for him to accompany him into the citadel.

“We have several. There is the Athenaeum of the Silver Tower, if you are seeking more arcane theory. The library of the Hall of Justice is directed more toward battle strategy, training, tactics and the like. The Hall of Records at the Temple of Light is for both the recovered archives of the Order and religious scripture.” Within the field of Dhruv’s vision, a few trails of silver dust shimmered into existence. They followed the roads of the citadel grounds, each one leading to one of the aforementioned destinations.

“If you need a place to stable your horse, the quartermasters are not far and if you need food and rest, any of the places I mentioned have the means to provide such or can guide you to where you may receive both.” With a smile and a slight bow, Talon stepped back, letting his wings unfurl.

“I will be setting out at sundown. Seek me at the Temple of Light if you wish to accompany me. Until then.” Talon spread his wings, the silvered feathers shimmering slightly in the light. He leapt into the air, angled his body and set out for the temple. Through his connection to those who bore his Emblem, he summoned those who would need to bolster the protections around the nearby town of Light’s Reach.

[Dhruv]

“Dhruv.” The rider offered, equally divested of its trappings. For a few moments, he forgot about the cold while watching the gates swing open for Talon without so much as a whisper. It reminded him of something, though without the ring he was searching for, he was hard placed to say what. Head echoing, he cast a final glance in the direction of Light’s Reach and followed Talon into Dawnhold.

Silver trails of light revealed the path to the Hall of Records and Dhruv’s chin went down, strong, long fingered hands gripping either elbow. After a few moments of thought, he turned to his host.

“It’s an honor, Talon. Thank you for your hospitality.” The slight bow Talon offered before launching skyward surprised Dhruv into a blink, face tilting back so he could watch the avialae fly through the soft, energizing light emanating throughout the air since he’d passed through the gates.

He did not say whether he would join at sunset, a fact that might go unnoticed; however, it was in display of habit that had become part of his very character. Dhruv did not make promises he wasn’t prepared to keep, the result being that he rarely made them at all. Even statements of future acts without the heft of promise were often avoided. It was not for lack of wanting to be tied down, to feel beholden and be relied upon.

Dhruv released a small shiver, arms unbraiding, and shoved handfuls of gold-streaked hair back from his face took around. A short whistle to his horse to signal that she ought follow, and he led her to the quartermasters to see her stabled. He addressed her care himself, effectively smiling his way around the stablehands until they let him do as he wished. The familiar motions gave him an opportunity to think, to allow the strange grace of Dawnhold to turn his blood from exhaustion to restlessness again, and to thaw his own bones. He briefly considered a bath to finish warming all that was yet frozen inside him, but thought better of it once he realized the line of his shoulders had relaxed and his jaw unclenched – this place was already working its magic on him, and he could not afford to let it.

It was the Athenaeum he ransacked first.

A mental map was made of the library within the Silver Tower and details were added as he explored. There was not an aisle he did not wander down or a corner he failed to poke his patrician nose in. Topics listed in his head as he followed the path of riddles from archaic texts to lovingly maintained almanacs, pulling books of all titles and sizes from the shelves to fan their pages in the holy light. Nobody appeared to pay him much attention, but then going not undetected so much as unremarkable was a special talent of his. Or, it had been. Those who did look might have been taken aback by the juxtaposition of someone so clearly out of place who at once could have been any well weathered Pathfinder, earnestly seeking answers to another horde of secrets.

He talked to himself. Mostly it was under his breath, the language he used musical and deep. The wise might recognize it as the ancient Vallenor it was, probably by the clever turn of phrase he spat out when slamming a book shut involving a rat catcher and a dog’s ass. At one point, he almost pitched a volume of rune poetry out of a window before remembering where he was and, very carefully, slipping it back between its leather bound neighbors with a loud clearing of his throat. That was about when he decided to try the Hall of Records. On his way out of the Silver Tower, he swiped no less than three sausage rolls and consumed them in small, steady bites all the way to the Temple of Light.

Time dripped. After several hours he thoroughly lost track of it, as was his curse, while crawling under a table stacked high with books some loyal archivist was sorting through to tug a small, nondescript journal out from a stack of what appeared to be discards. Somewhere to his left, there was low chatter regarding resourcing and research, and Dhruv settled to a seat on the floor right where he crouched – still under the damn table – to open the book. The sheer sight of the penmanship on the age-stained pages caught his heart in a vise and he was immersed. Footsteps and conversations flowed around and over him, the light outside the Temple of Light grew shadows long as memory as he sat frozen except the occasional turning of a page. One hand was folded over his mouth, elbow to the bend of a knee. The temple required no lamps to be lit against the darkness, so it took the loud closing of the records hall door to force him to surface through several centuries of heartbreak.

He reached a hand out to grip the edge of the table and stick his neck out, squinting about for a minute. Finding his little corner of the records hall largely empty, he stuck the journal into an interior pocket of his overshirt, snatching his cloak from where he’d forgotten it over the back of a chair, and turned his feet to the setting sun. Disappointment mingled with determination. He had been foolish to imagine that the very ring he need to be whole in this new hour would be located so easily.

“What percent of the texts in Dawnhold were of those evacuated from Ailos?” He greeted Talon a short while later in the foyer. “Do you know?” Bright, sharp eyes caught up the grandmaster, eyebrows arching as he turned. “Are they well recorded? Is there a master archivist you think I could convince to lend their expertise for a few hours?” A beat and a mouth meant for smiling skewed with self-deprecation. “If I stop asking you questions, will you let me come back?”

[Talon]

T A L O N

Upon leaving Dhruv to his machinations, Talon became mired in various tasks that required his attention across the citadel. He conferred with the Knight-Marshals concerning both the status of recruitment to the Order. The makings of new knights was well underway. Talon was not surprised to hear that there had been a surge in petitions to join the Order from the ranks of the Sky Guard considering his family’s long history of being the patrons of Kalzasi’s militant sectors. Currently, the spellforged magisters were weighing what would be necessary to induct those already in possession of Reaving and what tests they would need to face in order to measure up to the knighthood’s standards. Much of an aspirant’s training went into preparing them for their Reaving initiation and understanding the burdens that came with bearing such power in relation to being a Dawnmartyr.

As the day had gone on, he eventually received a report from the pathfinders that what he had suspected was true; that there was a gathering storm of mist and shadow brewing in the woodlands of the Wildking’s Forge. He was glad for Dhruv’s attentiveness in that regard, it had given them ample time to fortify the town of Light’s Reach. While simply being within purview of the citadel afforded the town some protections, that only extended so far. The addition of wards built by the mages and bolstered by the grace of his emblem helped to serve as a bulwark against many threats. So it was that when Dhruv made his way out of the temple archives, Talon was finishing up giving orders to a few of the patrol leaders that were being dispatched to deal with various areas where the mists were brewing.

Talon blinked for a moment as he processed Dhruv’s abrupt question.

“I do not know, I am afraid. There is an archivist but I believe she has likely retired for the evening with her family in Light’s Reach. She will return to the temple in the morning.” The sun was already low on the horizon and the velvet black of nightfall was creeping across the skies.

“Scouts report that there’s a Veil tear near the Icefalls. That’s where the hub of the gathering storm is forming.” A voice laced with the warmth of molten fire, deep and smooth came from the entrance of the temple. In the growing shadows of the night, a looming figure entered the light of the foyer. Fiery red hair tied back into a ponytail framed a handsome face. Eyes that burned with scarlet witchfires made his imposing stature project an air of almost menace. He was solidly built, standing taller and broader than even Talon himself. Two black raven feathered wings, tipped with ruby streaks extended from his back. He wore the armor of a paladin, with a black half-cloak draped over his shoulders.

Talon smiled at his husband as Aoren strode forward.

“Are you ready, beloved?” Aoren came to stand directly beside him, one hand coming up to rest upon the small of Talon’s back. Warmth flowed across their Core Bond but also curiosity.

“Dhruv? Allow me to introduce my husband and Bondmate, Auravacis, called the Hellbreaker. Elder of the Red Dragonflight.” Talon gestured to the towering figure beside him. Aoren leaned forward, the literal fire in his eyes burning hotter for just a moment. He sniffed and narrowed his eyes, prompting Talon to arch an eyebrow.

“You smell…different.” Aoren shook his head. “You may call me Aoren. Everybody else does. And yes. If you stop asking questions, you can.”

Talon frowned. Aoren grinned, showing off his fangs. Not a hint of shame in his expression.

“Do not mind him. Ask what questions you need. Dawnhold is open to all.”

[Dhruv]

One of the patrol leaders who had been conversing with Talon delivered Dhruv an admirably sharp side-eye as he passed. The hytori’s grim smile did not so much as flicker, but he did tip the man a wink while folding the cloak over his arm. The notice amused Dhruv far more than it shamed him for all his nosy ransacking and taking advantage. For all his grief and humor, he still possessed a fierce pride and it demanded its share of founder rights in this seat of the Dawnmartyr.

“In the morning?” Dhruv echoed before remembering it was night. Dark had crawled up out of the trees while he had been haunting the libraries of Dawnhold. The gold in his eyes wanted to shine brighter for it, and he started to smile his understanding when the red dragon appeared and all of those rote and easy words blistered in his mouth.

A hip sank out in an ignoble slump, chin going down even as his eyes stayed up. Thoughtful. Watching. It tended to take some while of observation, but eventually it would grow clear there were secrets in legion trapped behind white teeth. Most people who got that far assumed this made him untrustworthy. Most people were intellectually stunted hell puppies.

“Aoren.” He bowed. Simple, direct, but somehow more eloquent and pure than anything else about him. After all, nobody offered deference quite the same way a revolutionary son of Sol’Valen could – nobody’s loyalty was so hard won.

It was the moment when the red dragon leaned toward Dhruv, looming over him with a possessive hand at his demigod lover’s back, and surprising him into silence that he gave himself away. Not that he had been hiding – not exactly at least – but he was certainly uneager to fully introduce himself like some arrogant beggar at his descendent’s door. There was no blood between them, or if there was it was so great many generations removed as to mean nothing, be nothing. Like everything. Like him.

His smile didn’t falter; it hardened. He stood his ground, visibly weaponless, in old, borrowed clothes, obviously still recovering from some grave injury and illness by the manner in which he comported himself, and gave not so much as an inch.

“You smell like Vicis,” Dhruv informed that flash of fang, smile finally softening as though just to be difficult.

His eyes ticked to Talon, weighing, and after a moment he nodded and gathered up the threads of facts and rumors he had tugged along with him throughout the day to offer his observations. It was delivered matter of factly. “If there are multiple incident reports scattered within reasonable distance of the Icefalls, then it stands that the dread mists have already achieved level two threat. You’ll have more on your hands than a corrupted icewing phoenix. If the people of Light’s Reach are shielded by the Spellforger’s wards, then…” He hesitated, eyes somewhere – no, somewhen – else. “How far from the village are the Icefalls?”

Abruptly, he bit back an oath and shot Aoren a look. “That doesn’t count.” He began to unfold his cloak, resigned to returning to the cold, and turned slightly toward Talon. “I’ll need to borrow a mount. Little Willow has known better, and faster, days.”

There was no helping it now. He was going. There were people involved. Families.

[Talon]

T A L O N

Talon watched as his husband blinked at Dhruv. There was a pause before he felt genuine delight at the comment spring up from the wellspring of his partner’s soul and flow over his mind. Talon smiled softly. Aoren gave a hearty chuckle. The rich laughter rolling out of him. He grinned, the fires in his eyes dancing with amused delight.

“Dieser hier hat feuer in sich, liebes.” Aoren spoke in Kathalan directed at him. Talon simply continued to smile softly as he regarded Dhruv. Again, he felt as though he could see the edges of his aura touched by something that was vaguely familiar. He still could not quite place it but it did not alarm him. It intrigued him.

“Unter anderem vermute ich.” He replied to his husband quietly. When Dhruv began giving his estimations, he nodded. That aligned with the reports he had received. Again, he was glad that they had received an early warning so that the proper fortifications could be made. Even so, any step up from the first tier of dread mists was cause for alarm. Dread mists at all were nothing to scoff at but with each tier of them, the danger associated with them grew exponentially. When Dhruv explained that his question did not count, Aoren simply grinned.

“Close enough to be an eminent threat.” Talon thought on the relatively short distance from the town to the Icefalls. It was a frequent destination for the villagers because the mountain water there had the unique property of remaining cool for preternaturally long periods of time. The water was often used at the blacksmith forges or used to keep food storage areas cool in place of frost dragonshards.

“There are ice elementals that inhabit the area. Normally they are quite docile, playful even. If the mists are manifesting there…” Talon frowned. Undoubtedly the elementals had either fled or had been affected by them. He hoped they had chosen to flee. He did not enjoy the idea of having to destroy them. Elementals were of great benefit to any area they chose to inhabit.

“No mount will be necessary.” Talon gave a nod to Aoren. Aoren pressed their brows together briefly before he stepped back. As he stepped outside the arch of the temple, the shadows gathered around him, wrapping around his form until the only thing visible were the scarlet fires of his eyes. Soon even those vanished into the darkness and his form dispersed. As he felt his husband pass into the Plane of Nyxus, the Shadowlands, Talon felt another dimply acknowledge both him and his bondmate. He knew who that other was and though he felt a momentary clenching or nerves, he trusted that his partner would be allowed safe passage…at least this time.

“Aoren will see to the elementals. If there are any to be found.” Talon looked at Dhruv. He did an obvious head to toe once over of the elf. “Would you care to change? I would not want you to travel with me ill-equipped.”

Few things in the wilds posed a true threat to him. Such was not the case for his mortal followers, friends and companions. Talon often had to go out of his way to remind himself of that fact. Taking in Dhruv’s travel worn clothing, he had no qualms about outfitting him with protective gear before they went into what could possibly be a terribly dangerous situation.