Fishermen came out of their mud houses as the rising sun painted the sky of Solana in burning hues of orange and blue. The morning air carried the scent of salt and wet earth, and the cries of seagulls echoed faintly across the shore. With wooden boats creaking and nets slung over their shoulders, the men of Solana made their way south, hoping to bring back enough fish to last them a month or two — enough to survive another turn of the moon.
Ajax, an old fisherman whose face bore the deep lines of wind and time, pushed his boat into the water beside his son, Kree — a young man with shoulders broad and steady like a tree that had weathered many storms. Together, they rowed into the vast Ajana Ocean, their oars slicing through the morning mist. For Ajax, this was not just another day of labor; it was a prayer to the ocean — that she might feed his family of seven once more: his frail wife, his son and daughter-in-law, and the three little ones who waited with empty stomachs back home.
The Ajana Ocean stretched endlessly in every direction, a shimmering expanse that surrounded all of Octarchy like a crown of living blue. Its waters shifted in moods — calm and gentle under a golden dawn, but wild and unforgiving when the tempests rose. The ocean was both a giver and a taker, a breathing god of waves whose depths no man had ever truly known.
They said the Ajana had a heart of its own — a heart that pulsed deep beneath the dark waters, where no sunlight reached. Old tales spoke of glowing creatures that guarded its floor, and of shadows that swallowed ships whole, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a name carried by the wind. Yet, despite its dangers, the ocean was the lifeline of the Octarchy. It filled both the pockets and bellies of the people, sustaining the six kingdoms that depended on its bounty.
Every dawn, thousands of fishermen from distant coasts set sail upon its restless surface, their hopes tied to the pull of the tide. The Kingdom of Durand — seated at the very heart of the Octarchy — was the greatest buyer of their catch, for it was landlocked and barren of fishermen. Its wealth depended on what the Ajana granted to others.
But the ocean demanded a price. For every man it fed, it took another beneath its waves. It was said that the Ajana never forgot a face — once she had seen you, she would remember you. And when your time came, she would call you back to her depths. That was why the six kingdoms had drawn invisible lines upon her surface, allowing fishing only within certain safe regions — though even those "safe" waters had their ghosts.
Kree cast his net wide across the endless blue expanse, the woven ropes spreading like wings before sinking beneath the glimmering surface of the Ajana Ocean. For a few moments, there was only the soft lap of water against the boat's hull, the sigh of waves brushing against wood. Then — a sudden jolt. The net pulled sharply, almost yanking the rope from his calloused hands.
Kree's breath caught. Something massive was caught below.
"Father!" he shouted over the crash of waves. "Help me! It's big — really big!"
Ajax dropped his oar and hurried to his son's side. His old hands gripped the rope, the muscles in his arms straining against the pull. The boat groaned under the pressure, its sides dipping dangerously close to the waterline. Together, they heaved with all the strength their bodies could muster, the net dragging upward inch by inch, heavy and stubborn, as if the sea itself refused to let go.
When it finally broke the surface, the water around them exploded into foam. The net rose glistening under the sun, burdened by something dark and vast. With one final, desperate effort, they threw the catch onto the deck — and immediately, the boat lurched, nearly capsizing under the weight.
"Row! Keep her steady!" Kree yelled, his voice strained.
Ajax gritted his teeth and seized the oars, his frail arms trembling as he fought the waves. Kree held fast to the tangled mass, feeling its unnatural weight pressing against his legs.
The journey back felt endless. The sea, once calm, now seemed to whisper and churn beneath them, as though aware of what they carried.
When their boat finally scraped against the shore, both men collapsed onto the sand, their bodies slick with sweat and salt. Gasping for breath, they dragged the heavy shape from the boat, its soaked weight leaving a trail through the wet earth. The sun had risen higher now, spilling gold over the sea — but there was something strange in its light, something almost too bright, as though the world itself had begun to tremble.
Kree bent to untangle the net. Ajax crouched beside him, his fingers fumbling with the ropes. But as he straightened, wiping his brow, his gaze froze upon the thing they had brought from the ocean's heart.
His eyes widened. His breath faltered. Then came the whisper — hoarse, terrified.
"Leave it," he said.
Kree looked up, confused.
Ajax stumbled backward, his old knees giving way as he fell onto the sand. "Kree, leave it this instant!" he shouted, voice cracking like dry wood.
But Kree didn't stop. He tugged at the ropes until the last knot came loose — and the thing within revealed itself.
The sight stole the breath from his lungs. Spread across the sand lay a colossal wing — leathery, thin, and blackened like charred silk. Its veins ran thick beneath the surface, its scales dull with age but glimmering faintly under the sunlight. The edges were torn, frayed like burnt parchment, and from one corner jutted a long, rusted nail driven deep through the bone. A heavy pouch hung near its base, still fastened by a strap hardened with salt and time.
Kree's mouth went dry. He stumbled backward.
"By the god…" Ajax whispered, his voice breaking with awe and fear. "A dragon's wing."
Silence fell. The waves rolled in softly behind them, as though reluctant to disturb what had been unearthed. The air grew heavy. Kree could feel the weight of stories — the ones he'd heard in childhood, whispered around hearth fires about beasts that once ruled the skies — pressing against his chest. Those had always been myths, relics of a forgotten age. But now, the myth lay before them, dead and real.
Kree's hands trembled as he reached out to touch the wing. The skin was cold, rough, and lifeless. It had been in the water for god knew how long. His gaze shifted to the pouch. Hesitation caught him for a heartbeat, but curiosity — or fate — pushed him forward.
He loosened the strap. The pouch opened with a faint crackle of dried leather. Inside, nestled in folds of damp fabric, were five stones — each one large, smooth, and patterned with faint ridges like overlapping scales. He lifted one. It was heavier than it looked, brown in colour, warm to the touch — pulsing faintly, as though something within still lived. The others shimmered faintly in colors of black, crimson, violet, and grey.
And in that moment, understanding struck him like a blade.
These weren't stones. They were eggs. Dragon eggs.
A low hum filled his ears — or perhaps it was the blood rushing through his veins. He barely noticed the world around him until a scream tore through the air. A man's scream — distant but sharp, carried by the wind from somewhere along the coast.
Kree jolted upright, clutching the pouch. "Father!"
Ajax turned toward the sound, his face pale and drawn.
Kree's instincts flared. He quickly placed the egg back inside, cinched the pouch shut, and ran toward a cluster of rocks nearby. He dropped to his knees and began digging with his hands, flinging sand aside in frantic bursts. Ajax watched, silent and trembling, understanding little but knowing better than to stop him.
When the hole was deep enough, Kree carefully lowered the pouch into it, the sand swallowing the last glint of scaled color. He covered it, pressed the earth flat, and stood.
Without a word, father and son turned toward the sound of the scream — and ran, the ocean wind at their backs and the weight of legend buried behind them.
As they sprinted along the jagged shoreline, the wind whipping against their faces, something vast began to take shape in the haze ahead — a dark mound upon the golden sand. At first it seemed like a hill, a trick of the morning light. But with every pounding step, the shape grew, its outline hardening until the truth struck them both like a blow.
Kree slowed, his breath sharp in his throat. Beside him, Ajax staggered to a halt. The monstrous silhouette sprawled across the beach was not earth or stone — it was flesh.
Others had seen it too. The scream that had torn through the dawn had drawn fishermen from every hut, every anchored boat. They came stumbling through the dunes and across the wet sand, their nets forgotten, their faces white with disbelief. A strange hush fell over them as they gathered — a crowd of small, fragile men standing before something ancient and terrible.
A dragon lay before them.
The creature's immense body stretched the length of several boats, its tail coiled like a broken serpent in the surf. The sunlight slid across its scales — vast plates of burnished brown, glinting like beaten copper. Each scale was as large as a man's hand, some cracked and blackened as though scorched by fire. The sand beneath it steamed faintly, the air heavy with the mingled scent of salt and iron.
It was a mountain made of flesh and legend — and it was dead.
Kree stood motionless, unable to breathe. The tales he had grown up with — whispered stories of fire and sky, of kings who once rode dragons into war — all felt like childish dreams compared to the terrible majesty before him. He could feel his father's trembling hand clutch his arm.
"Kree," Ajax breathed, his voice no louder than the waves, "don't go closer."
But Kree's body moved on its own. Something within him — curiosity, destiny, madness — pulled him forward. He slipped from his father's grasp and stepped toward the fallen beast. Each step sank deep into the wet sand, each heartbeat thudding in his ears louder than the surf.
The dragon's body bore the marks of battle. Its neck was half torn apart, a gaping wound that had long since dried, the edges rough and salt-stiffened. No blood spilled now — the ocean had claimed that offering. Deep gouges marred its sides, claw marks as wide as oars, as though another creature of its kind had raked it in a fight to the death. The stumps where its wings should have been jutted from its back, the bones splintered and stripped clean, leaving ragged flesh that told of violent tearing.
He circled slowly, barely noticing the murmurs of the other fishermen behind him. The sea breeze moaned softly through the gaps in the creature's scales, carrying the faintest echo of something — not sound, but presence — as though the dragon's spirit still lingered somewhere just beyond sight.
Kree stopped near the creature's head. Its mouth, half-open, revealed teeth longer than his forearm, sharp even in death. Seaweed clung to its jaws, and tiny crabs scuttled through the hollows of its ribs. He hesitated, then reached out a trembling hand.
The dragon's eye was enormous — dull, glassy, and clouded, the color of molten amber cooled by time. When his fingertips brushed the cold surface, a shiver shot through him. For an instant, he thought he felt something stir behind that lifeless gaze — a faint warmth deep within the glassy orb — but then it was gone, swallowed by silence.
Kree staggered back, his heart racing. Around him, the fishermen whispered prayers under their breath, unable to decide whether they were standing before a miracle or a curse. Ajax's face was ashen, his eyes darting between the dead beast and the restless sea that had carried it ashore.
The dragon did not move.
But the air around it felt alive — as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Everyone turned at once when the thunder of hooves rolled across the shore. It began as a distant rumble — faint, rhythmic — but soon the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The sea birds that had been circling above scattered into the sky, their cries sharp and uneasy.
Atop the low cliff — no higher than a child could climb — the Alight Knights, the royal defenders of Solana, reined their horses to a halt. Their armor caught the light of dawn, flashing in fierce glints of steel. Their crimson capes fluttering in the morning light.
They stood in stunned silence — for before them lay something far older, far greater, than any tale sung in their halls.
A dragon.
Its body stretched across the sand like a toppled mountain. The fishermen below looked no larger than ants beside it.
From the heart of the knights' ranks, a tall figure dismounted.
Alden, Commander of the Alight Knights, dropped to the ground with the heavy grace of a man forged by war. His armor — a blend of steel and burnished copper — was etched with runes of protection, dulled by age and battle. He had the stature of a man carved from stone: broad-shouldered, steady, immovable. A single scar traced down the bridge of his nose — not a mark of vanity, but of valor. His black hair, unyielding to grey, framed a face that had begun to bear the weight of years and decisions. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, took in the sight before him — and for once, there was uncertainty in them.
A knight approached from behind, his voice low and breathless. "Commander," he whispered, leaning close. "They found a wing — further down the shore."
Alden's gaze flicked toward him, the faintest shadow crossing his face. "A wing," he repeated quietly, as though testing the word against reality. Then, without looking away from the carcass, he spoke — calm, steady, commanding.
"Send a raven to the castle. Tell His Majesty that the beast exists… and that it has fallen."
The knight bowed swiftly and hurried off, the clinking of his armor fading into the wind.
Alden turned toward the cliff's edge. His boots ground against the loose gravel, scattering pebbles that tumbled down the slope before him. Then, with slow precision, he began his descent — one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other brushing the rough stone for balance. His eyes never left the dragon.
Below, the air was thick — heavy with salt and something else: the stench of old blood and burned metal. As Alden neared the sand, the sheer enormity of the creature became undeniable. Its head alone could have swallowed a cart whole; its once-mighty wings torn away, leaving ragged stumps where bone jutted through torn flesh.
From a distance, Ajax stood frozen. The sight of royal knights — the King's own men — filled him with both awe and dread. His heart pounded as he saw Alden approach the body. He reached for his son's arm. "Kree," he hissed, voice trembling, "come. We should not be here."
But Kree did not move. His gaze was fixed on the dragon. There was something in his eyes — a pull, a spark — something that made him resist.
Ajax's grip tightened. "Kree," he whispered again, harsher this time, "now."
At last, Kree tore his gaze away. Together, they backed away through the throng of murmuring fishermen, slipping quietly through the dunes toward their modest mud-brick home at the edge of the village.
Behind them, the knights gathered around the fallen beast, their voices low, uncertain, reverent.
And as Kree walked, he felt the world tilt — as though something vast and ancient had awakened the moment that dragon fell.
The sea roared against the shore, as if to hide a secret too great for mortal tongues to tell.
The wooden door crashed shut behind Ajax, rattling the loose frame and stirring dust from the thatched roof. The echo of his rage filled the cramped house like thunder trapped in a bottle.
His wife froze where she stood by the hearth, her hands still covered in ash from the morning fire. The faint smell of smoked fish clung to the air, mingling with the damp scent of salt that always drifted in from the sea.
"What do you think you're doing," Ajax shouted, his voice sharp and shaking, "hiding those eggs from the knights?"
His breath came fast, anger and fear twisting in his chest.
Kree, standing near the wooden table, turned toward him. His tone was low, steady — but his eyes burned. "Father, do you not know what kind of eggs they are?"
Ajax's answer came like the snap of a whip. "I know exactly what they are!" His fist struck the edge of the doorframe. "And that's why it's dangerous to keep them hidden. Those things are cursed!"
The sound had drawn Kree's wife from the back room. She hurried in, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair was tied into a tight bun, though stray strands clung to her sweat-damp forehead. Dirt streaked her cheeks, and her eyes darted anxiously between the two men.
"If we sell them," Kree said suddenly, breaking the tense silence, "we could be rich. We wouldn't have to live like this anymore."
The words hit Ajax like a blade. His face hardened, the wrinkles on his brow deepening.
"You fool," he hissed. "Do you even hear yourself? If we try to sell those eggs, the knights will find out. They'll hang us — all of us — in the square before sundown!"
The two women stared, confused, frightened. To them, this was madness — fighting over eggs while the shadow of the dead dragon still loomed over the village.
Kree drew in a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.
"No, Father… you're not listening," he said, lowering his voice. He sat on the wooden bed in the corner — the old one that creaked beneath his weight — and stared at the floor. "We won't sell them here. We'll take them somewhere far from Solana. To another kingdom. Somewhere the Alight Knights hold no power."
Ajax blinked, his disbelief turning to fury. "Do you think another kingdom would welcome you?" he said bitterly. "Boy, they'll kill you for even carrying those things! Men go mad chasing dragon relics, and you want to parade them across borders?"
"They might kill me," Kree admitted quietly. "But at least there's a chance — a chance to make a life worth living. Better than starving and bowing to the knights' mercy."
Ajax took one step forward, then another. The floor groaned beneath his boots. His hand shot out, gripping Kree by the collar, dragging him to his feet.
"You would risk all our lives for greed?" he growled, his face inches away, his breath heavy with salt and age.
Kree didn't flinch. His voice came steady, calm, resolute.
"No, Father. I'll risk mine."
He pried his father's hand from his shirt, gently but firmly. "You'll stay here — all of you. I'll go. I'll sell the eggs. When I come back, we'll never have to scrape for food again." His gaze softened as he turned toward his wife and mother. "You'll wear silk. You'll eat until you're full every night. The children will never go hungry."
Ajax stood still, his hand frozen midair. The anger in his eyes faltered, giving way to something deeper — fear, sorrow, the ache of a father who knew the world better than his son did.
"Kree," he said, his voice breaking, "you don't know what you're playing with."
But Kree had already turned away.
He paused by the door, his shadow stretching long across the packed-earth floor. "I just want to ease our lives," he said quietly — almost to himself.
Then he stepped out into the fading light, the door creaking shut behind him.
The house fell silent, save for the distant crash of waves and the slow, uneven rhythm of Ajax's breath.