The last Tanaan prince is now lost. Many claim he is long dead, for wouldn’t he have returned to his people and rallied them by now, even in their reptilian forms? Yet I saw his transformation and witnessed his escape within the confusion of the aftermath of the great battle. I believe with all of my heart, though I may not live out my immortal existence as I had once hoped, that a day will come when the Tyrant’s curse is lifted and the Tanaan humans will return to rule in Oescienne once again.
The elf halted his hand, staring down at the stark black marks he’d sketched upon the paper. He was writing in his native language, the language of the Dhonoaran elves, descendents of the Aellheians. He should have felt pride for their development of such a beautiful language, but instead he felt a bitter taste of disgust rise in his throat. So much sorrow, so much pain, destruction and avaricious betrayal had come from his people that it brought him some shame, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.
The Magehn drew a sharp breath as a sudden stab of pain ripped down his arm. He had been about to continue his notation but instead he paused, his jaw clenched, willing the ache to pass. As he waited in agony, he returned his thoughts to the ugly circumstances of his world. Instead of thinking of his ancient elfin ancestors, however, he recalled his own loved ones harmed or corrupted by the Tyrant King. He thought especially of the one whose trust he’d lost, someone who was still dear to him. Soon he felt another pain, a pain that would never heal. The ache in his shoulder and the ache in his heart mingled, combining to form one great pang of anguish.
The elf took a deep breath, suppressing the distracting memories that were now surfacing in his mind. I don’t have time to tell my own story. I have time only for this . . . He forced his screaming thoughts to the back of his mind and continued on with what he had started. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but he wrote on:
I have spent long years mourning my king and my people, but I could not hide from the terrors of this world forever. I came out of my hiding no more than six months ago, and it took the blessed words of hope to make me finally face my fears. I knew the Tyrant searched for me, that he seeks vengeance, even now. He is aware that I hold the secrets of the Tanaan and believes that I know the location of their prince. But I braved his wrath and went forth into the world despite the great danger, for I had received word of something amazing, something extraordinary.
Before I was tracked down and wounded by the Tyrant’s minions, I had been riding throughout all of Ethoes, spreading this great news, news of an answer to our plight. The Oracles, those that still remain with us, spoke of a miracle promised by Ethoes herself, one that could mean the salvation of our world.
Pain beyond description flared through the elf’s fevered body. He cried out in anguish as his pen dragged across the bottom of the white paper leaving a long, jagged black line. This ache was worse than the ones before, and it struck fear into the Magehn’s heart. His eyes watered and his vision became fuzzy as he wondered about the origin of the arrow that had caused this wound. Perhaps it had been poisoned. He felt lightheaded and sensed his mind being pulled in and out of consciousness. Furiously, and with fresh determination, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king began writing as fast as he could, able to produce one more sentence before he knew no more:
I have done what I can to spread this new prophecy throughout the land, a prophecy about the return of a lasting peace, a prophecy about a lost prince, and a prophecy about a young, pure-blooded human girl born to save us all.
-Chapter One-
A Very Surprising Discovery
Jaax wrinkled his nose as the sound of a chattering bird pulled him from his slumber, but he kept his eyes shut and remained motionless nonetheless. Not that he could’ve moved much anyway, for the small, fern-laced hollow he’d tucked himself into the night before was just big enough to accommodate his large size, wings and all. He sighed softly, releasing a hot, smoke-tinged breath that forced the damp leaves plastered to the forest floor to peel and curl in protest.
After a few heartbeats he risked a peek, opening one silvery-green dragon’s eye to catch a glimpse of the damp, grey morning that congested the forest like a heavy cold. Most dragons had eyes of yellow, orange or red, dominated by a wild intelligence. It was only the Tanaan dragons whose eyes were shaded in the blues, greens and browns of their human ancestors. Jaax shivered at the recollection. A terrible curse had meant the end of the humans in Ethoes, the same curse that had brought about the existence of his particular race of dragons nearly five centuries ago.
Jaax blinked several times as if doing so would remove these dark thoughts from his mind the way tears dislodged grains of sand from one’s eyes. And his eyes were quite unique, even for a Tanaan dragon. They shone with a fierce obscurity, as if they’d been tame at one time but had since returned to being wild. Why they had become this way, however, was a mystery known entirely to the soul buried behind them. It was only during this first waking moment that Jaax revealed any clues as to what sorrows and secrets he kept locked away, but that small amount of time was never long enough for anyone to discern the dragon’s troubles.
Jaax sighed and continued to listen to the singing bird from earlier. It was a heartsong sparrow, a harbinger of luck, hope and love. The tiny creature trilled on before it was frightened away by something larger foraging for food. Well, the dragon thought with an amused smile, at least it wasn’t me this time.
With his fine musician flown, the dragon lifted his triangular head and gazed more thoroughly at his surroundings. The feathery ferns that brushed against his face acted as a fragile screen between his tiny vale and the outside world and the great, gnarled oaks stretching overhead resembled giant, arthritic hands reaching up out of the earth to grasp at the insubstantial fog. Despite its early morning lethargy, the forest was alive with a variety of scents: cold fog, decaying leaves and the distant tang of a fresh fire being the most prominent. Jaax tilted his head to listen for possible intruders, but all he heard was the drip of condensation gathering and slapping against the leaf-litter below.
The Tanaan dragon smiled softly, his eyelids drooping lazily as the cool silence weighed heavily upon him. His initial instincts told him there was no threat here. The instincts that ran deeper, however, told him something else. As the heartsong sparrow had announced earlier, there was change in the air, and not just any change, but a good change, one that had led him to this secluded corner of Ethoes to begin with.
Yawning widely, Jaax stretched himself out of his forest bed, snapping twigs and cracking joints as he stood to his full height. The strong scent of earthworms and wild mushrooms filled the space around him as he pressed his weight into the dark, rich soil, and the taste of damp, mossy air filled his mouth and throat as he breathed. Jaax smiled despite himself. He loved the absolute quiet and heavy scents the fog evoked.
The foraging animal from earlier, a towhee, noticed him immediately and twittered energetically as it fled the scene. The dragon grinned again as the bird’s distress calls disappeared into the mist. He was used to being feared but he never took it personally. As he shook the cold and sleep from his body his irony scales, rough and glimmering like polished granite, gradually changed from the bland colors of his surroundings to shades of copper, rusty bronze, deep-green and turquoise.