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Artorius awoke to silence. Not the comforting quiet of peace, but the heavy, suffocating stillness that follows after a storm has passed when the world itself seems to be holding its breath.
He lay upon smooth glass. The same black mirror that had once been the pool of his Trial. But it was different now. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, pulsing faintly with dull light like veins beneath skin. His reflection stared back at him pale, hollow-eyed, and unsure.
Then came the soft chime; cold, clinical, inhuman.
[Trial of the Futures — Complete]
Reward: +3 Intellect
He rose slowly. His armor bore fractures of glass and frost. His hands trembled slightly, though whether from exhaustion or disorientation, he couldn't tell. Also in his grasp was a Magician class token, he did not know how he got it, but a new path opened for one of his followers.
Class Token — Magician (Tier 0)
"Ouroboros," he said quietly as the creature floated in. "What happened?" The little dragon slithered from the shadows of the chamber, his eyes narrow slits of cautious interest. "You tell me, Artorius. You went into the pool. You were gone for… some time."
Artorius frowned. "Gone?"
"Two days," Ouroboros replied. "And the Palace changed while you slept. The storm outside ceased."
Artorius turned slowly, surveying the chamber. It was as if the Trial itself had stilled the great pool of crystal-water that had once pulsed with light now lay silent, its surface perfectly smooth, perfectly black. Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly.
Velkra. Sereneth. Tzharun. Their soldiers followed, armor cracked, wings tattered, expressions drawn tight. The survivors. They stopped short when they saw him. "Commander…" Sereneth began, uncertain. "You… you're alive."
"So it seems," he said softly. "Velkra I got you a class," he added, tossing it over the wyvern.
Tzharun tilted his head, his scaled face creasing with suspicion. "What happened inside the pool? What trial did you face?"
Artorius hesitated. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of mana through the chamber walls. "I don't know," he said at last. "I can't remember."
A ripple of unease passed through the ranks. Velkra stepped forward. "You can't remember?"
He shook his head. "Only fragments. Words. Light. Faces that might have been mine. I walked through something… but I can't say what."
That silenced the room. The pool shimmered faintly, as if aware of their attention. The air above it warped not violently, but with quiet malice, like the surface of reality itself was whispering a warning. "That's enough," Artorius said. His voice carried a quiet finality. "We're done here. Whatever trial this was, it's complete. There's nothing left to gain." They made their way out of the chamber.
The halls of the Shard Palace had changed. What had once gleamed with blinding brilliance now glowed dimly, as though the light itself had tired. The mirrored corridors were dull, reflections slow to follow their movement. The storm outside had abated, leaving the dunes still and glass-slick beneath an unmoving sun.
Artorius walked at the front, silent, the diadem's faint glow haloing his head. Ouroboros slithered beside him. "You truly don't recall anything?"
He frowned. "Nothing solid. I remember… paths. Futures. But each time I try to reach for it, it dissolves."
The little dragon hummed, thoughtful. "Then perhaps that was the point. Knowledge costs, Artorius. Some truths aren't carried back only the strength left in their absence."
He glanced down. "Then what strength did I earn?"
Ouroboros smiled faintly. "Enough to climb higher, if you live long enough to use it."
Their journey back to the tower was slow. The army was exhausted, even the air seemed heavy, as though the Expanse itself mourned something unseen. Occasionally, Artorius would feel a faint vibration underfoot the distant hum of mana veins shifting far below. The Crystal Expanse was never truly still.
Yet for now, no enemies came. No storms howled. No illusions whispered. Only silence followed them home. When the tower finally came into view, its crystalline spire catching what little light remained, Artorius exhaled a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Ouroboros lifted his head suddenly from his shoulder which he used to perch. His eyes narrowed as he took a sniff of the air. "Artorius…" he said slowly.
"What is it?"
The little dragon's pupils slit. "Smoke." Far on the horizon, black plumes twisted skyward from the tower. Not the silver mist of the Expanse this was darker. Hotter. "Flame," Ouroboros hissed. "Something is invading us."
Artorius's jaw tightened. "Form ranks." The command rippled through the company. Armor snapped into place, wings unfurled, and weapons gleamed beneath the fractured sun. The weary army, forty nine souls now, counting the handful they had gained in the Expanse straightened, fatigue burned away by instinct.
They were now a powerful force not to be taken lightly, looking over the levels that his followers stood at they were mostly 5s and he had a handful of classers some that naturally unlocked it and most who he gave tokens to.
Anxar stepped up beside him, his shield resting against his back. "You think it's scavengers?"
"No," Ouroboros said, his voice quiet, certain. "It's him."
"Who?" Sereneth asked, already notching an arrow.
"The Black Dread," Ouroboros stated. The name rolled across the company like thunder. Even the dunes seemed to hush. Ouroboros's eyes dimmed to slits of cold light. "A noble whelp… black-scaled, cruel, and proud. He ruled a biome next to the Silver Dragon, a want-to-be rival of his. Seems he's come to claim what's left."
Artorius's expression was unreadable. "Then he's chosen the wrong ruin."
They crested the last rise before the valley of the tower. The Crystalline Expanse opened before them, a wasteland of mirrored dunes, glass spires jutting from the earth like the bones of dead titans. At its heart rose their home, the Tower, wreathed now in smoke and shadow.
And between them and it, the enemy. A host of dark-scaled dragons, dozens strong, tearing through the remnants of Artorius's outer wards. Slim, long-necked drakes darted at the corners, in front of them lumbered hulking maulers, beasts of brute strength and claw. And at the center, a presence that dwarfed the rest.
Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/3940718416904745/
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Zoklath, the Black Dread. He was young by dragon standards, yet even so his presence warped the air. Char-black scales gleamed like obsidian oil. Horns curved backward in cruel symmetry, and from his chest burned the faint red glow of a flame held deep within. His wings stretched wide, the edges lined with dark veins and wicked spikes.
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[Noble Black Dragonling — Level 12]
And beside him, a shape that did not belong to any dragonkind Artorius knew. A towering creature with the body of a drake but the head of an owl, eyes like hollow moons and talons that carved furrows through the crystal ground. Its presence radiated a cold, terrible calm. It was not some elite but a champion.
[Black Talon — Level 10]
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"Well, well, well, what do we have here," the black dragon cocky came forth. The dragon's mouth curled in a grin of cruel familiarity. "So this is the upstart who slew the Silver madman," he boomed, voice like molten stone. "A hatchling usurping a crown."
"What do you want?" Artorius asked, also coming to the front.
"Let's see," it pretended to be thinking over his question, rubbing its claw against its chin. "why don't you bow before me, and I might even let you live.I'll even consider letting you serve under me? You can be the flame-keeper for my lesser kin." His grin widened.
"That is not going to happen," Artorius simply stated. As much as he did not want to do this and play underhanded, the forces that the Black Dread had even though it was much reduced by the Silver dragon was still dangerous.
Most of his followers who number 30 in total were level 6s, 7s, and 8s plus he was pretty sure they all had classes. So even though his new burgeoning army had been through the expanse grinding some levels out they would have a difficult time ahead of them and that champion creature looked very dangerous.
"Why don't we do this," he said, lacing his voice with commander and draconic communion to bring it totally under his control. "You BOW before me!"
The black dragonling paused for a moment before its eyes balefully turned to him, "Did you just try to mentally command me?"
Ouroboros landed on his shoulder, "Did I forget to mention he had a Prideful trait."
"Shoot," Artorius swore, "what's his archetype?"
"Leader," the serpent said dryly. "Just like you."
"ATTACK," the black dragon shouted, too incensed to even talk to him anymore. Artorius guessed he would also be if someone tried to mind fuck him, but who told him to be so arrogant.
"HOLD," Artorius uttered, if he couldn't turn the black dragon he figured his followers were fair game. Doing just that as they all froze in place, some even falling to the ground due to the momentum he figured he had them for a moment before the black dragon stepped in.
"I said attack," the creature shouted, its voice breaking the hold he had on them. Artorius wasn't sure what it did but he felt a determined and bullheaded nature tinged in that shout. Most likely that was another skill or trait of it.
Still this was progress he now knew 2 out of 6 or 7 of its skills, mutations and traits. He found that in this world that fights were more like chess trying to figure out what the opponent had in their hand and countering it.
Knowledge was key! He'd already identified nearly a third of the Dread's tricks. Now he just needed to survive them.
Turning to Ouroboros, he asked, "Can you counter that strange one over there?" he pointed to the large taloned creature. He was sure none of his squad leaders could stand a chance against it and was betting all odds on Ouroboros. He still did not know the capabilities of this creature, so hopefully it hadn't been boosting all this time and was weak.
"I'm not built for fighting, but I'll do my best," the small snake-like creature answered.
"Form ranks!" he roared, voice cracking across the chaos.
His army obeyed, well trained instincts overriding trepidation. Velkra's spear-line held their stances, Sereneth's archers took elevated perches, Tzharun's sword-squad formed a pincer around the tower gate. Anxar and his shieldmen braced the inner courtyard, makeshift body sized crystal shields glowing with inner light.
Black drakes howled and broke formation, rushing across the sands with weapons at the ready. Crystal shattered underfoot. Their roars echoed off mirrored cliffs, each one amplified into a dozen ghostly calls.
"Loose!" Sereneth cried. Arrows lanced from the ridge, streaks of shimmering crystal shafts tracing their flight. Several scouts got hit but they still continued and most were able to dodge due to how elusive they were.
Then came the maulers; massive beasts with hides like volcanic glass, slamming through the front line with devastating weight. "Brace!" Velkra shouted. Spears met flesh and scale. The impact was thunderous.
Artorius strode forward, the lance in his hand blazing with light. He raised a hand and the air trembled. Words formed, ancient and sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The Word of Flame ignited on his tongue.
The dunes answered. Fire spiraled outward in a burning arc, washing across the advancing horde. Black glass hissed and split under the heat. Screams tore through the storm. For a moment, the assault faltered. Then came the roar. A sound like a volcano waking.
The Black Dread descended. He struck like a meteor, wings scattering shards and ash, shockwaves rippling across the dunes. His claws sent two soldiers flying outright. His tail lashed, scattering more. And when his gaze found Artorius, his lips curled into something between disdain and amusement. "Come little smooth skinned one," it challenged.
Then he spoke and did the unthinkable letting loose the Word of Flame. "BURN." Fire roared not red, not orange, but black. The kind that ate light. It wasn't just heat; it was annihilation. The tower walls groaned as molten glass dripped down like tears. The first rank screamed as the wave hit, their scales blistering. Shields cracked. The dunes themselves caught fire, turning to liquid amber.
"He bears a Word, Flame as you do!" Ouroboros shouted as he went to fight the large taloned creature.
"I guess it's flame against flame. Let's see who comes out on top," he shouted as he leapt forward, wings flaring then let loose a torrent of fire. The air screamed as they clashed again, light blinding, heat searing. Every impact shattered dunes and turned the world into a storm of molten shards.
All around them, the battle raged. Velkra tore through scouts in duels, his mismatched scales flashing blue and crimson. Tzharun's lance sang through mauler necks and Anxar shields held the line, while Sereneth's arrows rained down.
The Champion, the owl-headed abomination entered the fray with an ear-splitting screech, its talons snatching two drakes clean off the ground. It moved like shadow and lightning both, every motion a blur of deadly precision. "Hey ugly over here," Ouroboros taunted as they played a cat and mouse game.
Meanwhile his collision with the Black dragon was cataclysmic. Lance met claw, fire met fire. The dunes around them disintegrated under the shockwave. Each impact cracked the air like thunder. The Black Dread's tail whipped around, slamming into Artorius's side. His ribs screamed; the Crystal Harness on his chest flared, absorbing the blow and bleeding the pain into energy. He kept the power stored for now as he planned to surprise it with a very devastating counterstrike.
Still he kept fighting as his lance thrust forward, flaming tip driving for the Dread's eye. The Black Dragon twisted, the blow scraping scales instead of piercing. He grinned. "You hit harder than you look, little prince. Let's see how you handle despair."
The Zoklath's wings snapped outward. A pulse rolled across the battlefield an invisible wave that struck like cold water poured directly into the soul. A feeling of fear spread like wildfire. The effect was instant. His army froze. Velkra's spear-line wavered; Sereneth's archers missed volleys entirely. Several draconic soldiers dropped weapons, pupils dilating with primal terror.
Worse of all those that were able to keep standing seem to be doing less damage. Artorius felt it brush against him, a whisper in the back of his skull: kneel. But his trait flared instead, Stoic. His breath steadied and he rained in himself.
And then his second trait answered. "STAND!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the panic like a blade.
The world seemed to ripple; his aura expanded, burning away the fog of fear. "You are my legion! You are Draconis Reborn! The Dread's fire cannot touch what's already been tempered!"
Velkra roared, rallying the spearmen. Sereneth raised her bow, mana flashing like lightning between her fingers. "For the Commander!" Tzharun's sword-squad surged with renewed fury, carving through a pack of marauders. The terror broke like glass under sunlight.
"Archers! Support the commander!" Sereneth shouted from the flank. "Hold the Maulers down, spearmen! Focus fire on the Dread!"
Bolts of light streaked toward the black dragon, but his wings swept them aside, scattering them into sparks. His laughter boomed across the expanse. "Pathetic."
It surged forward, claws outstretched and Artorius met him head-on. Flame roared, word against word. When they struck, the dunes beneath their feet shattered into dust. For a moment, the two dragons — one born of golden flame, one of black inferno — locked eyes, and the world itself seemed to bend around their clash.
The Champion losing interest with Ouroboros moved like death itself across the battlefield. The owl-faced dragon descended with a shriek that warped the air. Its talons ripped through crystal like parchment; it caught one of Sereneth's archers mid-flight and tore them in half.
Sereneth screamed, firing a volley that peppered its wings. The creature folded impossibly, eyes multiplying across its body, and dove again. "It's breaking the line!"
Artorius disengaged from the Dread and shouted, "Cannon! NOW!" Anxar's Shieldbearers rotated, bracing the Prism Cannon scavenged from the Shard Palace. Its lens flared with refracted light as runes ignited. The shot fired, a beam of condensed radiance screaming across the valley. It hit the Talon mid-lunge.
The explosion painted the dunes white. When the smoke cleared, the creature was missing half its torso. It staggered, still alive, shrieking in pain until Ouroboros slammed into its head, golden fangs finding purchase. "Stay down!" the little dragon hissed, and drove it into the sand.
"Commander!" Velkra cried below. "The Dread's charging!" The creature seemed to have used that chance he disengaged with it to build up a powerful attack. It soared higher, wings blotting out the sun. The air stank of ozone and molten glass. "You can't win!" he thundered. "You're a thief playing at the power of dragons!"
His wings folded inward. The veins along its chest flared bright crimson. The air ignited. The sky cracked open. Black meteors not stone, but condensed flame began to fall. Dozens each trailing shadows like screaming comets. They hammered the battlefield in waves, each impact birthing a crater of molten ruin.
"Cover!" Artorius roared. Anxar raised his shield, runes glowing as he formed a barrier, deflecting one strike but the shockwave hurled him clear.
Artorius staggered, every muscle screaming. Last Stand, he thought desperately. The system's cold text flashed behind his eyes. [Skill on Cooldown!]
"Damn it," he growled.
The Dread's shadow fell over him. "What's wrong, hero? Praying to your system?"
He raised his spear as the dragon dove. The meteors rained closer, black trails cutting the horizon. Artorius reached deeper past fear, past fatigue and called the Word of Crystal. Not as a whisper this time, but as a command. The ground answered.
The earth beneath his feet lit up, veins of white-blue light pulsing outward. The Tower's buried conduits responded, channeling ancient energy through the crystal plains. Shards rose in spirals, forming a cage of crystal around him and his followers.
Artorius raised his spear, voice like thunder. "CRYSTAL!"
The desert sang. The dunes solidified, transforming into mirrored plateaus. The incoming meteors struck the ground and shattered into harmless slag against growing spires of crystal. The resonance rippled through the battlefield, each note harmonizing into a single, blinding chord. Even he wasn't expecting this response.
The Dread hit the ground, claws carving trenches, fury twisting his face. "Enough tricks!" He lunged. Artorius met him, spear forward, flame meeting flame, crystal meeting scale. The harness on his chest pulsed, converting every hit, every wound, every ounce of pain into pure kinetic power.
It was time to unleash it all in one strike. "This ends now," he called out to the dragon. "Heroic Blow!"
He sprinted forward, wings flaring, spear dragging light across the ground. The Dread swung claws wreathed in black flame but the world slowed. Artorius felt the rhythm of the crystal beneath him, the heartbeat of the tower in sync with his own. He sidestepped the strike and thrust upward.
The spear pierced the dragon's heart. The world erupted in light. The shockwave flattened dunes for feets all around. Flames turned to glass mid-air. When the brilliance faded, the Black Dread lay motionless, thrown hundreds of feet away. His form lay half-buried in the dunes, scales now glinting with crystalline sheen. His wings sagged, his mouth hung open in a silent roar.
Silence, the battlefield smoldered however he did not get the prompt he was looking for. Swearing under his breath, Artorius wondered why he could never get an easy win. Suddenly the opposing side started dropping, the slim drakes and the big brutish ones fell dead with a wound on their chest.
Turning to the Black Dread he saw it stir, getting up and trying to fly away in panic. "Stop," he commanded like a thunderclap. The Dread's body froze mid-flight, limbs locking, wings stiffening as if encased in invisible chains. It dropped like a stone, shattering the ground in a cloud of dust and shards.
He approached slowly, spear leveled, eyes never leaving the creature's heaving chest. Ouroboros slithered down from a ridge, landing beside him. "I see that was its last trick."
Artorius glanced at him. "Damage transfer?"
"Precisely," Ouroboros replied, coiling lazily. "A little tricky mutation, Dragon Tyrant. Transfers fatal wounds to subordinates. Clever. Cruel. Typical of his kind."
Artorius's jaw tightened as he surveyed the field. The Dread's forces lay strewn about dead, dying, or crippled. Over half lay wounded and a third dead out right since it shifted the damage to them. But his own legion fared little better. Dozens wounded, several dead. The battlefield was quiet save for labored breathing and the hiss of cooling glass.
Velkra limped to his side, one wing torn. "Commander… it's over."
"Yes, patch up our men. Round up the prisoners will see what will do with them," he commanded as he stood before zoklath which helplessly tried to claw away.
"Let's finish this," he said as he powered up a final strike.
"Maybe you should let it live," Ouroboros remarked. "There really isn't that much benefit of killing it. You already know its word and eating it doesn't have much use to you besides some extra stats. You'd waste a potential asset."
"Then what would you recommend?" he asked, still keeping the shot ready. "And its flame, it was different and seemed to have an annihilating force behind it."
"Everyone's understanding of words even if they are the same one is different. I believe this is most likely a flame variant, an advance form which you won't be mastering sometime soon.
In regards to what to do with it, I would make use of the Silver dragon facility to make it into a mindless killing machine. You don't have that many powerful individuals following you and you can't expect yourself to do all the fighting if you want to take on the bigger dragons. You need power, Artorius. Not trophies."
"I see," he said, as he watched the black dragon shiver in fear. It seemed like it knew what the silver dragon used to do in its labs. "Sounds like a plan," he rested his spear against his shoulder.
Artorius looked down at the Dread, who trembled under his gaze. "A puppet made from a noble's corpse… poetic."
Somehow the black dragon seemed to break out of his command a little bit and it wheezed out, "You… wouldn't…"
"Wouldn't I?" Artorius replied coolly. "You killed my soldiers, burned my tower, mocked me. Why should I grant mercy? Also do you notice something," Artorius then added as he looked up into the skies. "No one is paying attention. Looks like none of the Great Dragons above care if you live or die!"
"True," Ouroboros chuckled, "I did hear the ancestor he descended from that reached the rank of Dragon Lord died long ago and his line is just hanging on to the status of nobility."
The dragon's pride cracked further. "I—" It choked, breath shallow. "I will swear allegiance."
"Really now," Ouroboros piped up in interest.
"What's that?"
The Dread's voice was hoarse, but resolute. "I'll swear the Oath of Flame. To serve you or burn."
Ouroboros coiled upright, golden eyes narrowing. "Careful, boy. Dragon oaths aren't metaphors. They're covenants. The Great Ones hear. If he breaks it, his soul will be torn apart."
Artorius studied the trembling beast. "Then let him swear." He planted his spear tip into the ground, the flames dimming to embers.
The Dread lowered his head, breath coming in shallow bursts. His voice, when he spoke, was low and shaking, but the words vibrated through the dunes.
"By the Flame That Devours, by the Ash That Remembers, by the Shadow Between Wings — I, the Black Dread, swear fealty to you. Should I break this oath, let my soul burn hollow and my name fade from the Flame Eternal."
The air rippled. The dunes sang a single note — sharp and final. The bond sealed. Artorius exhaled slowly. "It's done."
Ouroboros remarked. "You realize what that means?"
Artorius didn't answer. He gazed at the tower, its veins pulsing faintly the crystal still alive, still loyal.
"It means," Ouroboros continued, "the others will come. The Lords will take notice. You've slain one noble, enslaved another. "
Artorius rested his spear against his shoulder. "Then let them. I'll carve my place in their world one corpse at a time."
The serpent chuckled, smoke curling from his fangs. "You're starting to sound like a dragon."
"Maybe I'm learning," Artorius said, turning toward the tower.
The battlefield was a graveyard of corpses and destruction. The surviving soldiers moved among them, collecting weapons, dragging the wounded to safety. Every movement echoed with the hollow sound of victory won too dearly.
Artorius stood at the edge of the ruin, staring down at the Black Dread, now bound by oath. "Tell me something."
It seemed like the thing's personality switched as it replied with a sycophant smile, "Yes boss?"
Ouroboros drifted closer, amusement flickering in his tone. "You've already tamed it. Remarkable."
Artorius ignored him. "One question, Dread. How did you know we killed the Silver?"
The dragon's pupils narrowed to slits, hatred flashing across its face. Its voice turned venomous. "It was her."
Artorius's grip tightened on the spear. "Who?"
The dragon's answer came as a hiss, low and full of bile. "The White Lady."
Artorius straightened slowly. "Who is she?"
Ouroboros's golden eyes gleamed, unreadable. "A dragon older than both Silver and Dread combined. The Lady of Frost and Bone. They say she commands the Pale snowfields where light itself freezes." He looked back at the wounded noble. "If she told him, then she's watching."
Artorius's jaw set. "Good. Let her watch." He turned, surveying his broken tower and battered army, his people, his future. "Because when I'm done rebuilding, I'll bring the fire to her doorstep."
The serpent chuckled, quiet and cold. "And so begins your war with the skies."
Artorius didn't answer. His gaze fixed on the rising dawn where the White Lady's domain waited, far beyond the burning horizon. The day began with silence, broken only by the crackling of molten glass cooling underfoot. But deep beneath that silence, the Tower pulsed once more alive and listening to its new master.
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