Author's note: It might be a good idea to reread the first two chapters, since I rewrote them substantially.

Then, always when he least expected it, no matter how long he waited, a streak of brilliant white streaked across the pitch darkness for a briefest flicker, almost infinitesimal. It burnt across his vision, blindingly glorious in its passage, as it always did. Always when his senses were strained to their utmost and dulled from expectation long denied. It illuminated the roiling belly of the thundering storm clouds, their grey masses churning endlessly. Rain fell from them, like scattered curses that stained him in the dark colours of sin and evil. Flowing down across his face, down through his flattened and matted hair, pulling them into stringy rat-tails, they soaked him. Then the white surged once more, and the raindrops were joined by tears. Black depression rose and swamped him in ever-rising tidal waves.

Almost when the boiling despair threatened to consume him totally, a blaze of orange and red would explode before his eyes, giving light to the shadowed forms that he could now see circling him. As if the first was a signal, more would follow suit, dotted across the various bodies that moved like carrion vultures, endlessly waiting for him to die. Then, when the last burst into life, the shadows fell away. He looked up into their now-visible faces and his heart stopped.

He opened his eyes, feeling the abject terror drain away, fading into the shadowed vertices around him. Sitting up, he buried his face within his hands, willing the hurt throbbing within his heart to go away. It abated, as it always had, but only just enough. Choking back a thick sob that echoed within his heart unheeded, he tossed his head back, opening clear crimson eyes, ice cold and just as hard. No matter how often he had that cyclic dream, it always ended the same way, with those faces cruel and vicious, but unrecognisable and unremembered. Somehow, he knew it was important, but not in the prophetic sense. In this stone-walled fortress, such things were best kept to oneself.

Pulling on plate armour, the steel tonnage weighed next to nothing on his powerful frame. Somewhat shorter than average, his not very broad shoulders and lean wiry physique only served to augment the slight deficiency. His aquatic-toned hair was a spiky affair that formed a crest of sorts at times, leading all the way down to the back of his neck. Contrasting with his dark blue-green skin, it highlighted his emerald underbelly. Soft yet leathery in texture, it hid his muscles well, with barely a hint of the strength beneath. His draconic face, along with the twin horn-like ears was characteristics that set him obviously apart from the rest; being a non-human had that effect.

In his tiny cell, barely more than a few metres length and breadth, it was enough for sleeping and his needs. After all, that was about all it was for. With a deep growl as he woke his vocal chords, he finished buckling on the rest of his armour: chest-plate, shoulder-pads, bracers, shin-guards and the works. The only difference in his attire from the normal outfit that most humans had were the lack of helmet and metal bracers around his feet, supporting his ankles and leaving his claws out. Unlike others, he walked about on the balls of his feet only, not the heel or pad. His balance was maintained by his tail and, partially by his claws. His foot-claws were different from those of his hands. The former were rounded slightly, and more typically those of the dinosaurs. The latter, however, were thinner and more prone towards scything talons, rather than claws. However, they still had the manipulative ability of fingers. A snap of static echoed softly around him as the last piece of armour was in place. A faint smirk ghosted his glacial expression as he left the room, as austere as it had always been. There were no memories anyone wanted to keep here, in this stone-walled fortress.

- - -

Ignoring the pain, he flipped back to his feet, expression coldly feral. The pain had faded as it always did, now it was merely numb, and nothing more. His muscles ached and the phrase bone-weary had proved its accuracy again. Avoiding the rain of blows threatening to down him once more, he was forced to move rapidly, in spite of the leaden weariness lurking within. Half-turning, evading a blade-strike, he struck back. One down, a few thirty left. It was never more than a large group of ten at a time, but the fallen were immediately replaced; sometimes even before they were floored. It did not help that the odds were meant to be stacked up against him. Unarmed and sleep-deprived, his low energy levels and hunger were not helping the situation. However, the scent of a brewing thunderstorm awakened his senses.

Grabbing the forearm of one as they attacked, he broke it in the same action while simultaneously using the still gripped blade to rip apart the faces of two around him. A soft whistle, lost in the noise of battle, gave him barely enough warning before the silent bolt bored through the shocked thug he had been in front of. He fell backwards, dead. However, he had no time for the dead or the dying. His sole purpose was to survive. Suffering no illusions of a respite if he gave in, the only relief he was going to receive was if he survived this rabble. The initial adrenaline rush had faded long ago, leaving only a burnt out sensation. He was used to it.

With a roundhouse kick that cleared a circle around him for a brief second, he was denied the minute reprieve. A hail storm of sickly green orbs splashed where he was; or rather, where he had been. A double back-flip dropped him back into the thick of battle, the acidic burst hurting none of the attackers. It was only to be expected, though it did have an effect: it healed them. With a low growl audible only to himself, he landed in a crouch, tail whipping out the legs around him and in most cases, breaking them. Before he could follow up on that advantage however, a ribbon of flame seared across his back, burning right through his customary light-plate armour. It lasted barely a second, yet it left him gasping for breath amidst a blur of pain. Instinct and blind reflex was all that saved from death on a blade’s edge. It was not enough, however, to allow him to escape unscathed. A bloody gash cut across the side of his head, very narrowly missing his eye.

It would only get worse. His back hampered movement, lancing agony streaking through his spine every time he moved. Still, there was nought he could do, other than fight and survive. Through it all, his rage only built up. Icy frozen fury, it accumulated within his thoughts, lending him strength to carry on. His natural weapon, scything talons, were blunted, not by his own choice. It was the only way to truly render him unarmed. Still, breaking necks and bones were sufficient for his needs, though he had to carry it out with surgical precision and barbaric force. Either that, or risk more injury and court death. A whip snaked out, wrapping itself around his upper arm. Before the owner could pull, he had already done so, dragging the unfortunate wielder out across his comrades and throwing them down to the ground. However, damage was already done. Angry welts joined the list of injuries, and there were more to come.

He had lost count of the number he had killed or incapacitated, but that was a minor issue; whether he kept track or not, he still had to fight on. A calculated near miss with a sledgehammer pincer strike resulted in massive damage to those surrounding him. Further magical attacks resulted in minor burns and at one time, a few strands of his cerulean hair coated in ice. A repeated-splash acid strike added to the list, only because he had been forced into the very periphery of the spell. That, fortunately, was the worst of it, including his back injury.

- - -

He collapsed to the ground, holding himself up only barely on one arm. Bile rose in his throat, threatening to disgorge the empty stomach’s contents. All that emerged was a dry cough flecked by a few spots of blood. All around him, dead or paralyzed, he was not too sure, lay bodies. Some were clothed in robes of magic-workers, others furs and armour. He did not care. His mind was too busy checking on himself for anything life threatening. Finding nothing, he forced himself back up, staggering across the grounds towards the edge of the stone-walled arena. Fully exposed to the elements, this crumbling edifice was his ‘training’ grounds.

As workers emerged from the side passages to dispose of the bodies, a single dark flicker was the only announcement before a demon materialised before him. Its plate-like natural armouring protected it from attacks, but what were impressive were the perpetual dark flames that coated its body. Like all other full demons, they were humanoid shadowy creatures, some heavily built, others lean. Talons that could grow or retract were their natural weapons, making them difficult melee opponents. However, there the similarities between demons, ended. Some sported bat wings, others merely the wing structures and nothing more. Mage-craft depended on the demon itself, though most had enough affinity and natural talent with flames to produce infernos and fireballs.

He leaned against the wall, slowly recovering from the long harrowing battle. Holding his face with one hand, he breathed out heavily, feeling exhaustion slowly ebb. Overhead, a dark storm thundered, threatening to break upon them. Built up during the long battle, now it was in full glory, a billowing giant of grey and black. A peal of thunder warned them of lightning, only seconds after the latter emerged. Surging through the air, leaving the acrid ozone in its wake, it was drawn towards him. Arm upraised, he stared fully into the white, even as it struck, crackling through him and sending sparks emerging from his armour. Channelled through his claws, his head fell backwards, eyes glowing with crimson light. Then, as the lightning abated, it faded, accompanied by a soft sigh. Most of his injuries were healed, energy coursing wildly through him, burning out the fatigue and exhaustion.

Not bad for a half-blood. The low warning snarl was ignored. With a derisive snigger, the demon blithely continued. Considering that pathetic dragon-blood, it’s surprising you even survived. A faint hiss of lightning burning flesh cut the demon off, though the fact that its face was split in two might have had a part in that. Totally unaffected, as if it were perfectly normal circumstances, he allowed the blood on his blade to bubble and burn off. Forged out of lightning itself, it emerged directly from his wrist, above his claws. Within a faint haze of vaporised blood, it constantly wavered, never still as was lightning’s wont, but remained always in the rough shape of one. Drawing a deep breath, he took in the metallic scent of blood.

Retracting the blade, he lifted the much larger and bulkier demon into the air by its head, all the while retaining the same calmness. Bringing its mutilated face close to his own, his jaws snaked forward of their own accord and latched onto its neck. Black thick blood flowed freely from the wound, flowing slick down his throat, a thin thread escaping down the edges of his mouth. None of the workers interfered. They knew better than to deal with someone who had single-handedly decimated a battalion of mages and warriors of high calibre, without weapons or magic. Of course, the smarter ones made themselves scarce, leaving the more foolhardy or simply dumb, to continue on their task.

Burning like hot lead, it flowed down his throat with acidic fervour. Almost reluctantly, after drinking a substantial amount, he released the demon. The damage he had inflicted with his blade would heal in time, but the scar would permanently remain there, same for the neck wound. Wiping away the blood on his mouth with the back of his hand, he watched the greatly weakened demon scrabble sporadically on the ground. Almost pityingly, he went down on a knee beside it, lifting its head level to his.

“Pathetic.”

Dropping it back down onto the hard rock, there was the tiniest fraction of a smile on his face as he heard the hollow thock. It remained still, but twitched spasmodically every now and then, the only sign of life. It would be a mercy to end its existence, but he left it there, just tethering at the edge of death, wishing for it but not enough to fall over. It was almost disappointing how easily demons were dispatched, especially this one. Licking the blood off his hand, he took the time to savour the taste. Demon blood was rare, a shame really. The lust for more now awoke, unrelenting in its grip.

Half-blood.

Two more demons materialised around him, though careful to maintain their distance. A feral grin touched his features, exposing his long fangs. With a half-roar, he was already moving. Leaping towards the closer one, he evaded its talons, easily getting up close and grabbing onto its head with one hand and its shoulder with the other. Twisting the head aside to reveal its neck, he latched on, lost in his frenzy for blood. Totally obsessed, he ignored the other demon, to his own detriment. Talons slashed deeply across his back, distracting the half-demon enough to allow the first demon to bring his talons to bear, raking across his front.

Bounding to one side, blood flowing from deep gashes, he snarled at the two demons, intent only on satisfying his need. Above, the storm broke. Rain fell, coating the demons with a transparent sheen. That which sluiced off the half-dragon, however, was a mess of blood and water. In a blast of steam, twin lightning blades emerged, one on each arm. A flash of lightning crackled, accompanied by rumbling thunder. Hair plastered to his face, the half-demon’s grin widened. With a growl, he was upon them, blades slashing as fast as their namesake. Compared with battling a few hundred, dealing with two demons was almost too easy. Within a few strokes, he had de-taloned the first and rendered it unconscious. The second dematerialised and faded before he could do anything to it. Still, it gave him the chance to satisfy his hunger undisturbed. Long fangs easily penetrated the natural armouring, ripping open a major vein. Unlike the first demon, however, he did not stop to leave enough for survival. He left a desiccated husk.

When the two demons had appeared, the workers had just completed their tasks and, very rapidly, fled the scene. Even the densest were not foolish enough to hang about. Now, the entire stone structure was empty, save him and the two felled demons. One was truly dead, the other, merely at the edge. Glancing around rather tiredly, despite the recent revitalisation of lightning and blood, he stood in the dying rain. Tilting his head back, he allowed the water to wash across him, cleansing away the bloodstains, demons’ and his own. A crack of thunder roared overhead, and he staggered back. How long he had stood there, he did not know. The urge to sleep was growing steadily, overpowering his conscious mind. Sluggishly, he sought out a cleft in the rock-walls for a temporary lair. Curling up into a compact ball, half-buried within the rock debris, he sank into slumber. Around him, rainwater flowed, silent and inscrutable.

- - -

He has hidden himself from us.

Scowling, he sank deeper into his throne. Darkness clung to every corner of the fortress, clothing it in shadows. Bone-thin fingers drummed haphazardly on the armrests, always just at the edge of a rhythm, but not quite. Deep in thought, he ignored the hovering demons in the hall. The only sounds were of their harsh breathing, and his irregular drumming. Weak sunlight filtered in, only to be consumed by the ever present darkness. Like obsidian statues, they lined the hall. Some were gargoyle grotesque, others more comely in appearance, but no less fearsome. No two were alike, though many were similar in certain features. However, all were silent and still, save for the occasional wing or tail twitch.

A rustle of cloth, and he was standing. The demons remained where they were, detached watchers and nothing more. His hand rose slowly in the air, as the shadows stretched and began to move, the already weak light fading even further. Darkness gathered together, forming a thick knot before him. Sharply, he plunged his hands into it, pulling out a long thin thread. A barked word banished the darkness, save for the thread he had drawn. The light returned to its normal, if rather diminished, strength. In his hands, a staff of blackest night gleamed. An orb of swirling shadows shimmered at its tip, glowing with an inner light. Caressing it almost lovingly with a corpse-pale finger, it glimmered strongly for a second before fading. Holding it steady before him, he began an Invocation. An aura of gloom and despair spiralled around him, but affected none of the assembled demons.

“ANIMA – QUAESTIO!” (Soul – Seeking)

The invocational energy flooded out of the staff, sweeping up all of those present.

Old crumbling rock eroded and worn with the passage of time; Water rushed along its joints, burrowing deep into its core, leaving no trace of its passage. Rain splashed against the unyielding rock, shattering into droplets, fragments scattering everywhere. Sunlight warmed the rock despite the raindrops, illumination showing through despite the heavy storm. Yet there was darkness, a small notch in the rock face. A glint of metal, and a touch of cerulean.

A smile of satisfaction touches his thin lips.

“Yes. Show me where.”

He breathed out the words almost silently, none hearing it save himself. Yet the scene responded and changed, zooming out to show the surroundings, to allow them to pinpoint the area. However, scarcely had it begun to adjust itself, did a sudden splash of brilliant white blast across the eyes of those caught up in the spell. The staff clattered to the ground, the orb sending out sparks that hissed as they faded. Its inner glow was all but lost, so faint that it was barely present. With a muffled curse, he was on his knees, groping about for the staff as his hastily cast spell of protection began to rapidly dissipate the sudden brightness that rarely, if ever, visited this hall. Recovering almost immediately, the demons wisely kept silent. His groping hands found the smooth ebony of the staff and he stood, his face a mask of great anger, yet triumph.

“He attempts to remain hidden, and yet I have found him.”

Looking at his staff, he scowled at the lifeless orb. With a silent curse, he tossed it aside. It evaporated into black shadows before disappearing totally, its energies totally spent in countering the light. The fact that it had taken up so much to dispel irked him no end, but satisfaction overrode it, for now.

“The stone fortress of Albenia, hidden before our very eyes.”

- - -

With a hastily bitten back growl, he came awake, his heart beating fast. The unfamiliar surroundings only served to heighten the disorientation and paranoia. Peaked senses easily absorbed the surroundings, all of them unrecognisable as belonging to anyone he knew. Sitting upright, he surveyed the well-utilised quarters. Open windows on his right faced out onto the training fields, allowing a light breeze to blow in. Before it, a desk with stacks of waiting paperwork held vigil, its dark wood surface holding old ink stains. To his left, the door, a heavy oaken affair, stood slightly ajar, revealing little of the world outside. Lining the wall opposite him, aside from the tall cupboards, bookcases held well-thumbed medical treatises, the occasional, very well-annotated scroll and many notes of various ages and stages of yellowing. Stuffed into every conceivable crevice, including the spaces between books, he had no doubt that of he looked through any of the tomes, he would find it crammed with notes on every page. Light, yet wearied footfalls intruded onto his quiet inspection only a split-second before the white dragon entered. Noticing the awake Ascendant on the bed, he smiled tiredly at Raidan. The initial surge of alarm faded, replaced by a sea of calm.

“Sorry for waking you.”

Giving him an apologetic look, he strode over towards the desk, seating himself and starting on the paperwork. Taking all this in silently, Raidan looked the white dragon over appraisingly. Lean and not very impressively built, the first impression one got of him was of a hard, worn seriousness and concern, definitely suited for one of his position: Commander of the Silver Tones, a division of battle-healers, crusaders as some called them. Leafing through the papers, scribbling across some of them and placing them in different piles, Alethen spoke, his tenor voice carrying quietly through the room.

“Elleinara was here this morning. She was very surprised to find you in my care, but I was surprised at how unperturbed she was when she saw you, differently scaled and winged.”

Glancing up to look directly at Raidan, the blue-scaled Ascendant was momentarily taken aback when he saw the thin delicate glasses Alethen wore. Finding himself gaping silently, he quickly replied, hoping that Alethen did not notice. Ironic, how he found a simple accessory so startling as compared to what he had been through before.

“I’ve done quite a few transmutation experiments on myself, resulting in quite a few… bizarre forms at times.”

The memory of how Drelfinya and Elleinara looked when he confronted them as a half-gryphon meld sent a brief smile to his face. After that, even when an experiment fizzled and turned him into a shambling zombie for an hour, nothing fazed them. Now, it’s probably permanent. The thought sobered him, enough to banish the warmth of the memory. Looking down on his arms, the strangely shaped scales looked back at him, a reminder of the dangers of unknown artefacts from their forgotten past. Remembering the silver rod, his claws immediately went to his side and he found, to his relief, the artefact.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked up in mild confusion, having only just narrowly avoided panic, to find Alethen regarding him with a concerned and apologetic look.

“You looked sad when you talked about it. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

He lapsed into silence, returning his attention back to the papers. A sense of guilt washed through Raidan, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, he found that no words would come out. He just did not know what to say. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave up trying to formulate his words properly and remained silent, irregardless of his conscience nudging him otherwise. Rising to his feet, he stretched out his wings and arms, revelling in the motion. Turning to Alethen, he found the battle-healer bundling up a few stacks of paper, dumping them into folder-cabinets stacked to one side of the desk.

“Wait a moment. A last check before I let you go.”

Removing his glasses, Alethen looked Raidan over, specifically at the healed wounds before nodding. Moving back to his desk, he sorted through one of the paper stacks, cursing silently to himself as he had to bring them close to make out the words. Replacing his glasses, he found Raidan staring at him with a barely-hidden curiosity. Annoyance quickly made itself apparent, but with ease of practice, he shoved it aside. Ever since the incident, he had to contend with curious looks every time someone saw his glasses.

“A head wound affected my sight permanently. Most of the time, I can do without them, expect for close work.”

Turning away from Raidan, so that he would not have to deal with a sympathetic and feeble attempt to comfort about the loss, his claws tightened ever so slightly, with his expression remained in perpetual calmness He heard the door close behind Raidan, through the haze of memory. Pain ran through his hands, but he ignored them. They would just join the ranks of countless other scars there.

- - -

The demon horde stretched across the plains, their wasteland tribal allies spread out across the soon-to-be battlefield. Thick-set and born for war, the warriors were silent, moving quietly and swiftly. Black steel armouring made them almost invisible in the night, the moonlight barely strong enough to illuminate the way before them and nothing more. The prosperous city of Northaven, north, and first, capital of the Ascendants lay before them. One of the four main bastions of the Ascendant-Linthon Alliance on the continent of Ki-Landor, it was the closest to the northern wastes; making it the most susceptible to attack.

The founders knew this fact well, especially after their legendary home had been breeched, and the memory raw in their minds. Born out of purely defensive architecture, it still held the unsurpassed beauty of Ascendant masonry. Rivalled only by nature’s intrinsic and unique touch, it was still a far cry from their lost city. High city walls, while serving their primary purpose, were topped by guardhouses at regular intervals, soldiers and wardens patrolling its boundaries. Every block was shaped to fit just so, leaving little more than a paper-thin gap in between. Arrow gaps marked its surface, the cross-shaped clefts designed with both decorative purpose and defence in mind. Inside was even more breathtaking. The Academy, located in the very centre, sprawled across the grounds, natural forestry lining its edges. The building itself, looming like a castle forged directly out of a mountain, was both forbidding and awe-inspiring at the same time. The dark granite stone gleamed like black onyx in the day, and in the darkness of night, held the faint glow of starlight. It served the dual purpose it did in all of the Haven cities: administrative centre for the city, and educational institution, attended mainly by Ascendants and humans, if they chose. There were not many in the latter category; they found the apprenticeship system more convenient.

Outside the city, the defenders awaited the attack. Knights on horseback and foot soldiers, these made up the main bulk of the army, with ranged fighters making up the flanks. Hard faced and grim in determination, they waited. It did not take long to start. A hailstorm of screaming meteors began delivering their deadly payload, only to phase through a null barrier. After that, the battle began in earnest, black armoured soldiers of the wastes against Linthonian knights and troops. The sounds of steel against steel rang out, forming a haze of noise and battle-cries. Overhead, exchanges of mage fire and elemental bolts flashed, many crashing to the ground and sending soldiers of both sides flying.

Rapidly healing one of the fallen knights, Alethen wiped the sweat away from his eyes, his side hurting from a minor wound he did not have time to heal. As the armoured soldier quickly clambered to his feet, the white dragon was already tending to another, ignoring all else. Working silently and as swiftly as he could, heavy wounds were rapidly repaired, allowing another soldier to rejoin the front lines. Taking a rare moment to pause and recover, he spotted another knot of invaders beginning to break through. Speeding off in a blur, he joined in the fray, long sword slicing through armour and deflecting blows. Working dual time, healing fellow soldiers while engaged in close combat, he heard a guttural cry before attention turned towards him, the black soldiers aiming to cut down the healer before dealing with the rest. Soldiers rallied around him, trying to prevent that from happening. However, it proved ineffective. A thick wedge of invaders pushed through around him, forcing him onto total defensive. Concentrating solely on deflecting blows and trying to break out, he leaned too far to one side counter-parrying a strike, allowing a soldier to score across his exposed flank. Though gritted fangs against the pain, he managed to cut down that unfortunate soul, but the damage was done.

No longer as agile as before, he was nevertheless to move faster as the blows rained in ever increasing amounts. Coming in too fast for combat magic, he relied solely on his arms training as a Crusader, a battle-healer. A deflective stroke against the sides left him in precarious balance, and before he could recover from it, a thrown blade scratched his back plating, tearing across his lightly armoured wings. Registering only as a bitten-back grunt, Alethen dropped to one knee, using the momentum to swing his blade in an arc across their knees, ripping across the tendons and severing the joints. The manoeuvre cost him however, a few more strikes leaving bloody furrows across his body. Despite the price, it bought him a measure of freedom, enough to unleash a rapid-cast streak-field. Weak arcs of scorching lightning zapped outwards in a nova, rapidly fading over the short distance.

Staggering away from the just-ended skirmish, he slumped to the ground, hanging onto his blood-coated blade for support. However, there was not enough time to recover as the main battle still raged. Forcing himself up, he prepared a few trigger-healing spells, ready to use instantly, though their effectiveness was lowered somewhat. Repairing as much of the injuries as he could without expanding too much energy, Alethen charged back to the frontline, doing what he was trained for: simultaneous healing and battle. The sheer carnage barely fazed him as a healer; the clinical detachment served him well in this respect. As the old saying went: The most dangerous fighter is a healer, Alethen certainly proved that. He knew where to attack for the least effort and greatest disabling effect. Rapidly using up his trigger-set spells, he was back to his usual healing spells.

“FULGURALIS – ERUPTIO AGELLUS!” (Lightning – Burst Field)

The lightning cleared a minor section, enough for those around him to take a moment’s breather before the battle continued. Looking around, his exhaustion left in favour of a second wind, he took in the fatigued faces of his human allies. The human endurance was usually no more than half an hour. Keeping his thoughts to himself, the gratefulness that he was not human with all its fragilities arose nonetheless. Shoving it aside with a mental admonition to himself about prejudice, he turned his attention outwards, towards the battlefield, scanning for areas that needed help. Hence he did not notice the falling meteor till was too late.

“Crusader!”

He had only a split-second before it exploded on him. The billowing flames licked outwards in a nova of destruction. They washed over him, coating his armour with an unbearable heat like that of an inferno. Like a lancing acidic blaze, pain touched every nerve afire. Rocky debris burst out as flying shrapnel, tearing his armour and scales effortlessly, ripping deep gashes across his body. An intense nova of agony blasted across the side of his head, filling his mind with the heat of blood before he blacked out, into welcome coolness and oblivion.

- - -

Back in his office, Raidan found the entire room to be as it usually was: an organised mess. Walking in, touching a few files and papers, he wondered whether the entire incident had actually happened.

“Raidan.”

He stiffened at the voice, recognising it instantly. Without turning around, he shut his eyes, willing the rage to disappear.

“Reith.”

The grey Ascendant shifted uneasily behind him, running his gauntleted claws through his hair. After a moment he spoke again.

“I hope everything’s in order. I tried to put it back the way it was.”

It was the closest Reith would approach an apology. With that said, he lapsed back into silence, fading halfway into the shadows.

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

He felt a slight guilt creep into his conscience, but he ignored it. If Reith would not apologise outright, he was not going to forgive him outright either. Sorting through his papers to give his hands something to do and his mind something else to concentrate on, he found a note detailing his excusal from lecturing and training till further notice. He read through it twice more before placing it back down. You got what you wished for, enough time for research. Pity it was not the way you wanted it to be. Nothing ever was.

The rod felt cool in his hands, a heavy thrum of power echoing in his mind. Almost immediately, the power within the rod awoke from its temporary dormancy. Accept me. No. Accept me. No. Accept me! His will faltered only for a second, and he lost the battle. Power, surging like raging waters, slammed into him, swamping his every fibre with overflowing energy. Suspended in the flow, Raidan felt his thoughts slowly fade, replaced only by power. Then, like a dam crashing shut, the flow vaporised, leaving him to fall the distance. Alone.

- - -

He woke, only to find Alethen’s back to him, the faint glow of healing light around his claws. Glancing back at the sound of the Ascendant awakening, Raidan saw the fatigue on the crusader’s face.

“Don’t move.”

The light faded and Alethen sighed to himself before rising to his feet and moving over to Raidan. He was not sure what had happened to Raidan, but he could guess.

“You tried to access too much power, didn’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Alethen continued.

“Reith told me, before he passed out.”

Turning to Raidan, he growled softly, almost as if in disappointment. Holding the silver rod in his claws, he looked at it carefully before, very deliberately, clipping it to his belt. Regarding Raidan with a hard gaze, he sighed.

“I can’t let you keep this, if it is the cause.”

Looking at the unconscious Reith, he continued.

“Reith sealed the rod, somehow. However, in sealing such a huge flood, Reith was hit by repeated energy fluxes. You know how dangerous even one is.”

Energy fluxes were just as their name implied: fluxes in the energy flow, stray streams of energy that had the same effect of a high level psychic and elemental bolt merged into one. Spell-breakers, as their names implied, were magically-resistant, almost to the point of immunity. However, against fluxes, resistance meant almost nothing. They were simply raw energy that burnt through anything.

Lowering his head and looking away, Raidan could only feel a numb sense of detachment. He knew he was supposed to be feeling suitably contrite and sorry, but there was nothing. Just emptiness.

“Alethen….”

The Crusader merely growled softly.

“Look. There is no way I’m going to let you endanger yourself, or those around you, with this.”

Indicating the artefact, the commander got up wearily.

“Get some rest. I need to tend to Reith. As well, I suggest you learn how to put out a fire before starting one.”

Shouldering the Spell-breaker onto his back, Alethen muttered a teleportation invocation and disappeared from view. Alone, Raidan looked around his office, noting how unaffected it was. So many events had taken place here; the demon attack, the awakening of an artefact, the site of energy fluxes. It was strange how little things could seemingly be unaffected by change.

Pulling himself upright, Raidan wrapped his membranous wings around himself, hugging the warmth close. Wings. Jerked into realisation, he looked himself over and sighed softly in relief. He was back to normal, no feathered wings, and no spiky scales. His build was similar as before everything had happened, leaving him with a hope that perhaps, things could be back to normal. Reflexively, he felt for the rod, only belatedly realising that Alethen had taken it with him.

Sighing softly, he shook his head. It was better this way; that he learnt how to deal with the consequences of artefact-tampering first, then how to activate it. As it was, he had experienced a taste of the unbridled power that it held. Better it be left in Alethen’s hands. He’s mature enough to deal with it. The Commander was at least a few decades older than himself; definitely more disciplined to deal with temptations.

Coming to a resolution, Raidan looked around his office one last time before leaving, a notebook in hand. He would find out as much as he could about these artefacts. At least, then, no one else would be in the same situation he was in earlier. As it stood, he might have lost a friend already. Nobody else was going to lose anyone. I’m sorry, Reith.

- - -

At least, his condition is stable now. Exhaustion and fatigue coloured his emotions and thoughts, leaving Alethen barely able to think straight. After dealing with Raidan’s overloading, a process which many would describe as harrowing, he had to literally pull Reith back from the precipice. It was tiring, to say the least. Now though, with the critical period past, and Reith starting to recover on his own, he could finally take a breather.

Dropping tiredly into his chair, he leaned back, but not daring to close his eyes. Sleep would definitely hit him if he did. Unclipping and looking the rod over, he sighed softly to himself.

“You’re a load of trouble, artefact.”

Reflectively, Alethen felt a sense of relief that Raidan was physically back to normal. Reith had definitely done something right in sealing it. How he had done so, Alethen was not sure, but he was a crusader, not a spell-breaker. Shrugging tiredly to himself, he replaced it onto his belt and shut his eyes involuntarily.

- - -

“Let’s see…. It dated back to at least the Planar age, but there’s nothing on it in the records…”

Growling irritably to himself, he quickly scanned through a few pages of the history tomes and documents but they proved to be dry streams. Mentally cursing when he dismissed the last of his sources as useless, Raidan looked around the library and sighed. We lost a lot when the Capital fell. There were not many books earlier than the time of the Fall, as the Ascendants then, had no time to salvage lore and knowledge. What they had now, were simply from memories.

Thumping his head onto the table, he whined a little, feeling totally bereft of any direction. The library was empty, so were his previous research-sources. That left nothing to look for. Everything he had was from first-person experience, and a lot of that was not easy to recall objectively, let alone use conclusively.

“Excuse me, but could I use this…?”

Looking up, a suitably contrite expression on his face, Raidan found himself confronted with a white dragon, silver hair flowing down her back. In her arms were a few slim books, and her gaze was directed towards one of those he had beside him.

“Yeah, sure. Be my guest.”

Nodding gratefully, she put her selection down and flipped through her recent acquisition.

“I won’t take long…”

Rapidly flipping from page to page, she sighed softly after a while and put it down.

“Thank you.”

Raidan, however, was distracted by the books she had been carrying. They had titles he had not seen before, and authors he had not encountered previously.

“Planar Age: the Glorious Era; Pre-Fall, Post Fall; Planesmaster: Myth or Reality?”

Precisely what he was looking for; his claws itched to get a hold onto them, but courtesy damned that notion.

“May I…?”

He indicated the books she had, and the dragon nodded with a faint smile.

“Sure. You might not find them much use though.”

Pausing, he sent her a confused glance.

“What do you mean?”

She selected one at random and showed it to him.

“Pre-Fall. Post Fall. A very detailed book, but ultimately, it’s just a comparison between two eras. Totally useless for what I’m looking for: Calcifer Rauth.”

Tossing that aside, she picked up another and sighed.

“Planar Age. This one’s just about how the people prospered and the achievements of that age. It just lacks substance and detail though.”

Sighing, she pushed them towards Raidan.

“Go ahead and see if they’ll be of any use. To me, they’re useless.”

Nodding, he scanned through them quickly and found barely any references to the artefacts. However, they did provide him with an idea of the Planar Age, though it always seemed to be referred to as utopian and the pinnacle. All too soon, he found himself agreeing with her assessment of them. Sighing, he put them aside.

“Where’d you find these, anyway? Not even the library has them.”

She smiled and sidestepped the question partially.

“They were rumoured to have come from the ruins of the capital.”

That statement made Raidan sit up slightly.

“The ruins…? I thought after the Fall, it’s location was lost. No one recalls where it was.”

With a laugh, she stacked up her books into a neat pile.

“It’s quite obvious where it is, Raidan. The Histories always say that it was on a mountain that was cleft into two. That shouldn’t be too hard to find, shouldn’t it? Besides, these say where.”

With a wave at the books she had tidied, she turned about, as if to walk away. Quickly rising, Raidan hurried after her.

“How’d you know my name?”

She smiled faintly, the storm grey of her eyes carrying light amusement.

“The Lyan-Rei family is quite famous.”

Growling rather irritably, he snorted.

“You’re not answering my question. Plus, I don’t know your name.”

She merely shrugged slightly.

“You may call me Aria, Aria Windtraveller.”