Revaramek the Resplendent - Missing Chapter F (Patreon)

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Chapter F

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Emptiness surrounded Revaramek. There was no light, no sound. The dragon drifted through the silent darkness, only half aware of himself. Time passed in unknown quantities. Whether minutes or hours, it all seemed the same. Gradually, sound pierced through the void. Tiny, distant voices, all singing together. Revaramek swiveled his ears, trying to focus on the melodies. Yet he could not discern their source. They were above him, they were below him, they were everywhere. The sounds rolled against him like waves atop an ocean, rocking him back and forth, pushing and pulling, gradually steering him wherever they chose.

Then, in the far distance, a singular voice rose above the others. The voice and its song were both strangely familiar, and yet Revaramek could not place them. The other voices grew louder, as if agitated by the dissenter. Their pulsing currents tried to push him away from it, tried to drown it out. Yet Revaramek found comfort in its familiarity. He latched onto the singular voice, grasped it like a lifeline, and it pulled him forward through the darkness.

A tiny light emerged through the infinite gloom. The sound that carried Revaramek forward emanated from it, gradually dragging him closer and closer. The nearer he drew, the louder the solitary voice became, pushing the others away. The light brightened, and soon, it silhouetted two small figures. Their shapes slowly clarified, revealing one as a small, bipedal creature with tall ears, and a fluffy tail. An urd’thin pup. The pup danced around the second figure, singing to it. The light shifted and moved as the urd’thin danced, as if it was emanating from the pup itself.

The second figure was smaller still, with four limbs, a slender neck and tail, and wings upon its back. It was a dragon hatchling, and it did not seem to notice the urd’thin child dancing all around it. Instead, the hatchling’s attention seemed fixed on something just in front of it. When the pup moved just right, the light was cast across an old book, spread open in front of the hatchling. The little dragon stared at pictures upon the pages, but Revaramek could not make them out.

In the dream state, Revaramek’s mind refused to work properly. Though he knew he should recognize the urd’thin, and the hatchling, he did not. He opened his mouth to call to them, but the only sound that emerged was the same song the urd’thin was singing. The pup’s ears swiveled towards him, but he did not otherwise acknowledge the older dragon. Instead, he came to a stop, standing over the hatchling.

The pup held out his hands, cupping them together. A brilliant light flared to life within them, like a tiny star held in tiny hands. Despite its diminutive size, the little star cast gray fur and green scales alike in unfathomable radiance. In an instant, they were not floating in a void, but settled in the middle of a stone room, ruined by untold eons of weathering. The book, somehow, survived. The hatchling stared at images on the pages, while unseen, a now-adult urd’thin loomed above him. Strange, ephemeral ribbons of gold coiled around the room, probing and grasping at the hatchling, only for the urd’thin’s light to push them away each time.

The light remained as the urd’thin crouched down. With great reverence, the urd’thin stretched his hands towards the hatchling, as if in offering. The little star drifted out of the urd’thin’s hands, and settled up on the hatchling. Slowly, it began to melt away, rivulets of pure light running across fine green scales. The light sunk into the dragon, like water vanishing inside parched earth, till only a hint of it remained, glittering in the hatchling’s eyes. The golden tendrils recoiled, pulling back.

Then they were in the dark again, and once more the urd’thin was but a pup, singing to the hatchling. This time, the hatchling sang back to him. Their song rose and fell all around Revaramek. Each time they lifted their voices anew, the distant chorus grew quieter. Then the far away song surged again, trying to drown out the urd’thin’s voice, as if their songs warred with one another, never able to gain dominance. Somehow, Revaramek recognized the urd’thin’s song, knew he had heard it before. Yet still his mind refused to acknowledge the memories.

Revaramek forced himself to focus on the hatchling. He knew that little dragon too, didn’t he? Of course he did. It… it was… It was-

“Father!”

Revaramek jerked awake at the urgency in Korakos’s voice. He yanked his head up off the ground, claw tips sliding from their sheaths, ready to protect his child. The dragon’s heart hammered. His eyes were fixed on Korakos. “What is it, son? What’s wrong?”

Korakos swatted his leg with a paw. “You’re singing in your sleep! You’re gonna wake momma!”

“I…” Revaramek blinked. “What?”

Korakos hissed at him, his voice soft. “You were singing! But you’re gonna wake up momma! She needs her sleep!”

Revaramek let out a slow breath, his heartrate gradually easing. “Oh, is that all? Sorry.” He softened his voice, and gave Korakos a few gentle licks. “Singing, huh?”

“Uh huh.” Korakos leaned into the affection, purring. “You’re not a very good singer, father.”

Revaramek forced himself to hold in his laughter. “I was sleeping! That’s hardly a fair appraisal of my bardly talents.” He licked Kor again. “I shall have to compose a sonnet for your mother, and then sing it for the two of you at an appropriate time.”

Song. There was song in his dream, wasn’t there? Yes, he thought, there was. A familiarsong. A song of hope of amidst despair, of death and life born anew, of water renewing the parched desert. He’d heard it twice before, and each time it was Vakaal who sang it to him, in his dreams and in his mind. But this time it was different. It was not Revaramek the pup was singing to.

“It was you,” Revaramek said, staring down at Korakos.

Korakos stared back at him, head tilted. “Nuh uh! It was you singing! I heard you.”

Revaramek chuckled to himself, curling a foreleg around his son. More fragments of the dream drifted through his head. There was more to it than just the song, wasn’t there? There were other voices this time. That was new. And they almost seemed to be trying to drown out Vakaal. At least, Revaramek assumed that it was Vakaal. He’d glimpsed the urd’thin as an adult, too. But…wouldn’t that make him…?

For a moment, Revaramek thought he heard the song again, ever so faint and somewhere far above him. He tilted his head back, staring at the night sky. The moon was in hiding, and there were more stars strewn across the vast obsidian expanse than he could ever count. They twinkled and glittered, and again, he heard the faintest music. The stars sparkled, and each little glimmer was like another note in the ancient melody. Before he realized it, he found himself humming along.

Next to him, Korakos stared up at the sky, too. “The stars are watching us.”

Ice trickled down Revaramek’s spine. At any other time, he would have ascribed the idea to mere hatchling nonsense and imagination. But after that dream, he wasn’t so sure. He swallowed, glancing down at his son. The night sky reflected in Korakos’s eyes, like myriad stars staring back at them. Revaramek shivered, something ominous crept through his bones. He turned his gaze back to the world around them, slowly surveying their surroundings. He pulled Korakos against him, ignoring the hatchling’s protests.

“I’m not still dreaming, am I?” Revaramek lifted his spines, snorting. “I should like to wake up now, if I am.”

Korakos swatted at him. “You’re not sleeping!”

Revaramek kept his foreleg curled around his son. “Starting to wish I was. You don’t hear…” He hesitated to even ask, unsure which potential answer he feared more. “You don’t hear singing, do you Kor?”

“Uh huh.” Korakos nodded, then pointed a single digit at the sky. “It’s the stars.”

Revaramek’s breath caught. “You think so, too?”

The little dragon nodded again. “They sing it better than you.”

“So they do.”

Revaramek looked up again, focusing on the stars. The song remained, but faintly. If not for Korakos’s acknowledgement, he would have assumed himself to be imagining it. An old memory struck him, then, and Vakaal’s true voice voice echoed through his head.

He made himself a monster, and the monster tore down every star I tried to shine for him, until there was nothing left I could do.

He tilted his head. “Maybe they’re him. If the monster’s gone, maybe Vakaal can shine his stars again. Maybe he’s watching us, right now. Singing and dancing somewhere in the cosmos, and-”

“Who’s that?”

“Vakaal?” Revaramek considered it. How would he even begin explaining him to a hatchling? “He’s…someone who sang to me, once. When I needed help. And when he sang, stars-”

“No,” Korakos said, lifting a paw to point across Mirelle’s garden. “Who’s that?”

A figure stood in the distance, near the patch of sand left from Asterbury’s wrath, long ago. Revaramek was on his feet in an instant, hissing. “Stay behind me!”

“Is it the furry thing?” Korakos peered around his father’s leg.

“Behind me!” Revaramek snapped his jaws for emphasis. “Now!”

Korakos hurried around behind Revaramek, and Rev fixed his attention on the figure. Even in the darkness, the silhouette of an urd’thin was unmistakable. Tall ears, a bushy tail, small horns. This one was taller than most, with a strong build. The stars shed just enough light to illuminate fur the color of cold, gray ash. Revaramek’s claws all slipped free. Revaramek knew that build and that fur anywhere. It took everything Revaramek had not to utter the foulest, most insulting curse he could think of front of his son.

“Of all the possible times to show up…” He trailed off, glancing back at Korakos. “Go to your mother.”

“But-”

“Staywith Nyra.” Revaramek sharpened his tone. “Do not leave her side, no matter what. And try not to wake her unless…” He trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say? Don’t wake your mother unless I’m killed by a vengeful lunatic deity? Revaramek grit his teeth, telling himself Asterbury wouldn’t have come here to harm them. At least, not anymore. “Just stay with your mother.”

Revaramek waited until Korakos sat down alongside Nyramyn. Once he was certain the hatchling would obey, he turned his attention to the urd’thin standing in the distance. Asterbury wasn’t paying him any attention, yet. Instead, he seemed fixated on the small stretch of sand that remained as evidence of his world-altering powers. Revaramek took a deep breath, and walked across Mirelle’s garden.

As he approached Asterbury, Revaramek called to his spark, just in case. He reached into the deep pool of warmth, resting inside his heart. The dragon imagined it spreading through him in an instant, filling his blood, his bones, his scales. Becoming like armor to keep him safe, just in case things went poorly. While he doubted there was anything he could do to save himself should Asterbury truly wish him harm, it comforted him to at least make the effort.

He told himself a story, in his head. Revaramek the Resplendent was a powerful dragon, filled with a great spark. It flowed through his body, forming an impenetrable shield to protect him. Warmth filled him, and with it came new strength.

As Revaramek drew near the urd’thin, he took another breath, and then called out. “You’ve got some gods-damned nerve, you little shit. Putting riddles in my son’s head? And showing up here, in the middle of…” Revaramek trailed off. Something was wrong. Asterbury still hadn’t even looked at him. He came to a stop. Uncertainty crept into his voice. “Asterbury?”

The urd’thin flicked an ear. There was no other reaction at all. Instead, he crouched alongside the sand to scoop his fingers through it. He lifted his hand, and watched the sand run through his digits like tiny golden waterfalls. For the first time, he actively realized the urd’thin wasn’t wearing any clothing. The last time he’d seen Asterbury, he’d finally stopped dressing like a pirate clown. But he’d sure as hell never expect Asterbury to show up genuinely naked. Not out of embarrassment, but simply because there was no styleto it. No theatricality. Come to think of it, where was this urd’thin’s theatricality? Was the cackling laughter, the pet names, the ‘old pal’, the knowing smirk? Surely, after all this time, there was no way Asterbury could turn up and not turn it all into a grand show. But then, that meant…

It wasn’t Asterbury.

Revaramek took a step back, with a low, warning growl. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”

Again, the urd’thin ignored him. He scooped another little handful of sand. This time, when it began to flow through his fingers, he held his other hand above it. The sand froze, then reversed, flowing upwards instead. It twisted together into little sand whirls, dancing between his hands. The whirls converged, and spun something new into being. The sands coalesced from the bottom up, forging themselves into an intricate figurine. When they were finished, a tiny statue of a happy, dancing pup settled into the urd’thin’s palm. He smiled at it, and recognition finally dawned upon Revaramek.

“You’re his father,” the dragon said, his voice a breathy whisper.

Thatfinally drew the urd’thin’s attention. He slowly turned towards the dragon, starlight casting his eyes in a strange, otherworldly hue. Now, nearly face to face, the differences were clearer. Though he bore a close resemblance to Asterbury, his muzzle was broader, his ears a little shorter. No mad laughter danced in his eyes, ready to spill forth. In its place was something colder, like old, bitter loneliness growing into resentful anger.

“No,” the urd’thin said, his voice a smoldering ember. “No, I’m not.” He clenched his hands into fists, crushing the figurine. Sand dribbled through his fingers. “My son died a long, long time ago.”

“Then…” Revaramek stepped back again. “You’re not from the same...” Revaramek flattened his spines, trying to make sense of this. “But I thought they all…” He paused, holding up a paw. “You were his father once, right?”

“I’m not here to talk about me.” The urd’thin opened his hands, and the sand figurine shaped itself back into being. He held it up to his muzzle, staring at it. “Do you know, that he was never meant to live?” He lowered his arm, again. “That was the problem. The sheer…” The urd’thin gestured with the statue. “Unfairness of it. The absolute, crushing injustice of knowing your loved one is meant to die.”

Something cold and hollow crawled down Revaramek’s spine, settling in his belly. Before he could stop himself, he glanced back at Nyra. She remained asleep. Korakos stood alongside her head, as if watching over her. Revaramek quickly returned his attention to the urd’thin. Suddenly, it didn’t matter who the urd’thin was. It only mattered why he had come.

“Why are you here?”

“To speak to you the truth you refuse to tell yourself.” He pivoted, sweeping his hand towards Nyramyn. “That she is going to die.”

“No.” Revaramek snarled the word. “She isn’t.”

“You see, that’s the problem.” The urd’thin let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders slumping. “We’re never willing to let go. Our love is so deep, that it blinds us to the repercussions of our actions. But some stories are meant to end. Fighting against that will only ever make things worse. It alwaysdoes.”

Revaramek slowly looked from the urd’thin, to the figurine, and back again. “You two couldn’t let each other go. Until he lost control, and you lost each other, anyway.” He turned his head, staring at Nyra. “And the world broke. I know. I’ve been there.” Revaramek slowly returned his gaze to the urd’thin. “That was the last place I saw your son. And that’s where I met Nyra. She was a beautiful, joyful light in a dark, dead world.”

The urd’thin’s ears slowly went flat. “You have no idea what a dead world is.”

“I was born in one.” Revaramek snarled, baring a few fangs in growing frustration. “My mother and I-”

“If you were born there,” the urd’thin said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “It wasn’t dead, was it. And that wasn’t my son.”

Revaramek lifted his head, his neck arching. “Fine. Asterbury, then.”

The urd’thin’s ears twitched. His lip curled over his muzzle. “I don’t like that name. And I already told you. My son died, a very long time ago.” He lifted the figurine again. The breeze shifted, and grain by grain, the tiny pup crumbled away into sand, blown upon the wind. “But I couldn’t let him go. So, I tried to change it. His story. Do you know what happened?”

“Let me guess,” Revaramek said, tossing his head. “Everyone…” He fell to silence. Died, he was going to say. What began as nervous, irritable sarcasm ended as bitter, truthful realization. Everyone dies.

The urd’thin tilted his head, his voice deathly soft. “You can say it. We both know what happened. I lost my son, so I tried to change the world. And instead, I ended it. Everyone died.”

Revaramek swallowed, a tremble running through him. “That’s where you’re from. Everyone dies. Then…you really aren’t his father. At least, not the Vakaal I know.”

“I’m not who you think I am.” The urd’thin turned a slow circle, as if taking in his surroundings for the very first time. “And this isn’t the world you think it is, either. You’ve always known it was special, but you’ve no idea why. I don’t want to see you ruin it.”

“Oh, there it is.” Revaramek pinned back his frills. “That infuriating riddle-speak your family line is so famous for.”

The urd’thin did not reply. Instead, he tilted his head back, staring up at the stars.

Revaramek flicked his tail, grunting. “Nothing? Never thought I’d miss all that irritating back and forth I used to have with Asterbury.”

“I told you.” The urd’thin held up a hand, as if asking for silence. “I don’t like that name.”

Revaramek rumbled, glancing towards his family, just to check on them. Korakos remained at his mother’s head, staring intently. Revaramek returned his attention to the strange urd’thin. “How should I refer to him, then?”

“You shouldn’t.” The urd’thin slowly scanned the sky, from one horizon to another. “He isn’t your concern, anymore.”

The dragon eased closer, wanting to keep himself between his family, and the urd’thin, just in case. “But, Aster-” He clamped his jaws shut. The last thing he needed to do was anger another potentially unhinged urd’thin deity. “But he’s given us a clue to-”

“He’s filled your heart with false hope, is what he’s done.” The urd’thin dropped his gaze, pivoting back to the dragon. Wind swirled across the sand, and it spun around him in angry whirls. “Your mate is going to die, and dragging her out into my desert isn’t going to change that.”

Revaramek blinked, his spines raised. “Your desert?”

The urd’thin only tilted his head. “What, you thought the whole world was yours?” He gave an irritable snarl, bushy tail lashing. “You’re not the only people to find your way here. And not everything was meant for you.”

Revaramek’s gaze drifted towards the coils of sand lazily spiraling around the urd’thin. “What are you saying? Are there more urd’thin out there? Shapers, even? How would they even…”

He trailed off, realized none of that mattered, right now. He was going to that desert, whatever was out there. All that was important in the here and now, was why there was another urd’thin god standing before him. At least, Revaramek hoped, this one might give him a straighter answer.

“Just tell me why you’re really here.” Revaramek held a paw up. “I know you didn’t god-magic your way here just to tell me something I already know. Yes, Nyra’s dying, and yes, I will do every gods-damned thing I can to try and save her. So tell me why that brings you here, tonight.”

“To make you an offer, of a sort.” The urd’thin held a hand out, and some of the sands swirling around him piled into it, beginning to shape a new figurine. “As for why tonight, my attention was drawn.” This time, the sands formed into a tiny little hatchling. “By your son.”

Revaramek bared his fangs, a warning growl. “You leave him out of this!”

“I’m merely answering your question.” The urd’thin tossed the sand hatchling into the air. It beat its wings, and began to fly little loops and circles around them. “His light shone so brightly tonight I could not help but notice it.”

Revaramek glanced back at his son. Korakos looked entranced by the tiny flying figurine. “He used his spark to try and heal his mother.”

“Spark, yes! That’s what they called it.” The urd’thin snapped his fingers, as if that term had been eluding him for days. “The ones who wielded our stolen shaping. But his is different, even from yours.”

“I know.” Revaramek stepped to the side, barring the way between Korakos and the urd’thin. “Ast…the other god, he already told me Korakos was going to be stronger than me, someday.”

For the first time, a hint of bemusement crossed the urd’thin’s face. A wry grin twisted his muzzle, ever so slightly. “I bet he did.” The look faded just as quickly as it came, and the urd’thin held up a single finger. “A word of warning. Don’t let your child try to save her.”

Revaramek gave a little snarl. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t let him…” The urd’thin gestured around the dragon, towards his son. “Save her.” He pointed to Nyra.

“What?” Revaramek sucked in a breath. “You’re saying Korakos can-”

“I’m saying he can try.” The urd’thin dropped his arm back down. “But don’t let him.” His shoulders sagged, and his tail went limp. “He won’t survive.”

Something dark, angry, and protective awoke inside Revaramek. He stepped swiftly towards the urd’thin, lowering his head. Soon, Revaramek’s muzzle was inches from the urd’thin’s face. “I don’t think I like you talking about my son.”

“There is a balance, to all things.” The urd’thin stared back at him. In his eyes, spun something bleak, lonely, and desolate. “Forced upon us by cold, unfeeling stars. You were meant to die too, in your youth. But your mother saved you, and in return, traded her life for yours. You know that, don’t you?”

When the urd’thin waited for a reply, Revaramek slowly nodded. Some of the fire left him. “I used to remember things, that didn’t happen to me. Glimpses of other existences that I called four lives, painted on glass. Aster…the other one, he told me the others all died. Only I survived the swamp.”

“And now…” The urd’thin swept his hand in a grand gesture towards Korakos. “Hesurvived the swamp.” He softened his voice, gentle and pained. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Revaramek slowly nodded. Long, long ago, Asterbury warned him what would happen to Korakos, if they all stayed in the swamp.

He drowns, Hero. Like you would have. The death you avoided comes for him, instead. The story seeks balance. Terrible, terrible balance.

Revaramek took a shaking breath. He lowered his voice to a whisper, to make sure Korakos could not hear. “He was going to drown.”

“Yes.” The flying dragon figurine settled on the urd’thin’s head, just between his horns. “And now he’s going to live. Just like his father. And in return-”

“His mother is meant to die in his place.” Revaramek lashed his tail, sinking his claws into the grassy ground. His heart sank with them.

“The one you called my son.” The urd’thin gathered more sand into his hands. “He left that part out, didn’t he?”

“Yes…” Revaramek stared at the ground beneath his feet for long, silent moments. Anger roiled in his belly. He should have known that little monster would…would…The dragon lifted his head again, shaking. “No. No, he didn’t specifically tell me that, but he didn’t have to. He made it clear I could save her.”

The urd’thin sighed, turning away. “They never let you save them both…” This time, Revaramek wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking about. “They make it seem like they want you to choose, but they’ve already chosen for you. You thinkyou can save them, but you can never imagine the consequences.”

“He wouldn’t tell me I could save her, if it wasn’t possible.” Revaramek waved a paw, hissing. “That little bastard might have lied about every other possible thing to get out of there, but not this. Not family.”

“If he cared that much about her, wouldn’t he be here?” When the urd’thin whirled back around, something had changed in him. Fire smoldered in his eyes. “Saving her?” He swept a hand through the air in an angry, dismissive gesture. Sand trailed from his fingers. “But he isn’t. So-”

“That isn’t his style.” Revaramek watched the smaller creature carefully. The dragon had been on edge the whole time, but now his nerves were really rattled. Something was suddenly off about this god, or whatever he was. “Everything is some kind of game to him, a puzzle to solve. He put that clue in Korakos’s head because-”

“Because he doesn’t understand the risk he’s putting the world at!” The urd’thin snarled, and sand dribbled from between his teeth. The wind swirled around him, pulling at his fur. Some of it dissolved away into golden grit. “The risk he’s putting them through, and for what, to make things right for you?” He scoffed, a derisive, barking sound. “He’s already given your family more time together. You already saved them from the swamp!”

Growling, he thumped a hand to his chest. The surface of his body cracked like parched earth beneath the scorching sun. “None of us will ever get as much time with our loved ones as we want. That’s the point. You love them while you can, every day you have with them! And then?” He spread his arms wide. “You find a way to let them go! Or else, this?” The urd’thin gestured at the expanse of sand behind him. In an instant that lasted for an age, tiny families of urd’thin sprang into being, living out entire cycles of existence. Love was born, families were made, grief was suffered, and then the world was wiped away, and born anew. “Just…keeps…happening!”

Revaramek took a slow breath, struggling to steady his nerves. “I don’t know what you think I’m capable of, but I promise you, that…” Revaramek glanced between the urd’thin, and the despondent scenes repeating themselves in the sand beyond him. “I can’t do that. So, whatever you’re afraid I’m going to do? I’m not that powerful.”

“Power has nothing to do with it.” The urd’thin waved his hand, and all the images froze in the sand. “Just by entering my desert, you’re already putting their story at risk. So, consider this a warning. I won’t let it happen again.”

The dragon lowered his head, trying to diffuse things a little. With Korakos and Nyra so nearby, keeping them safe was his biggest concern. “I understand. But…you probably already know that…”

“You’re going to go, anyway.” The urd’thin folded his arms, glaring at him. “I know. We’ll always choose to try and save them. I don’t blame you, dragon. If anything, I want you to know I understand your pain. But I also want you to know…” His voice grew again, louder, and with a strange harshness to it, like a sandstorm rolling across the desert. “That I will not hesitate to protect my world from the consequences of your decisions, unintended as they may be.”

“I understand that, too.” Revaramek grimaced. These not so thinly veiled threats were starting to rub him the wrong way. He’d stood up to Asterbury at times like this, and he was damn sure going to stand up to whatever this thing was. A hint of smirk crossed his muzzle. “You know, I’ve fought a god before.”

“You lost.”

“Technically…” Revaramek slowly lifted his head again. “I won.”

The urd’thin snorted. Little rivulets of sand ran down his neck. “You were beaten-”

“You see, technically means…” Revaramek arched his neck. “I won in principal. I knew I was going to die, and I accepted that because it meant I’d saved myworld from him.” He put a paw over his chest. “So let’s just say, we’ll both do whatever we must to protect our worlds, and our loved ones, and leave it at that.”

“So be it. But just remember.” He bared his fangs. “If you force my hand, there’s no pup hiding inside me, waiting to save you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Revaramek snarled a little, flashing his teeth right back. Before the urd’thin could reply again, he shifted topics, trying to catch him off guard. “Earlier, you said you had an offer for me. What is it?”

The urd’thin stretched an arm to point at Nyra. Grains of golden sand fell from his dull claws. “You forget about the desert. You spend your days here, with your family. The three of you cherish your time together more than you’ve ever imagined. You love each other with every fiber of your being, in every breath, for every day you have left. You love her, and dote on her, and you make her last years joyful ones. And when at last her time is up, she breathes her last satisfied, that she had the best life she could. That she knows her mate, and her son will be alright without her.” Urgency crept into his voice. “And you willbe, so long as you accept what’s coming. Your son will grow up, and though he’ll miss his mother, his heart will be filled with happy memories. Memories of the three of you together, here in this wonderful world.”

Revaramek swallowed, glancing away. Tears brimmed in his eyes, yet he refused to shed them. “It’s tempting, but…I’m afraid the other guy already made me a better offer.”

“When you fail, do you know what will hurt you the most?” The urd’thin sighed, shaking his head. “Knowing what you missed out on. Knowing that in your blind desire to save her, you missed out on years of happiness with her. Her life may be short, but it could be beautiful. And you don’t even realize you’re throwing that time away.”

Revaramek gnashed his teeth, fighting back a furious growl even as a few lingering tears slipped free. “Stop acting like you know me. Because you clearly don’t, or you’d know I don’t take well to threats. You’d also know that I’m usually the one saving the damn world, so maybe I’ve earned the tiniest damn benefit of the doubt!”

“I know you well enough, Revaramek the Resplendent. I know that just like I once was, you’re so blinded by your desire to save your family that you would do anythingto save them. To save her.” He lifted his hand, staring at it. One by one, his fingers dissolved away into sand, only to grow anew. “But the balance has already been struck. She is going to die. You need to accept that. Some stories are meant to end this way.”

Revaramek only snarled again. “Not hers. Not Nyra’s!”

“I wonder, then.” He tilted his head. A single ear slowly cascaded off his head in trails of fine, golden sediment. “Whose life will you trade for hers, if I do not stand in your way?”

“Mine!” Revaramek spat the word without thinking. Even as he realized what said, he did not shirk from his answer. “Is that what this is about? Because I’d gladly give my life for hers. I’d-”

“You’d leave your son without a father, instead of a mother.” The urd’thin made a dismissive, disgusted sound. “Instead of several beautiful decades with both his parents, he’d lose you as soon as he found you again. What a wonderful gift for him, that would be.”

Revaramek withered inside. Gods, that would crush Korakos. That was the last thing he wanted. Some of his angry bravado faded. “Maybe…maybe if I could trade my health, for her sickness? Then he’d still get us both for a few decades, and I’d die happy, knowing I’d saved her.”

The urd’thin only grunted. His ear built itself anew from the sand whirling around him. “Is that what you think is going to happen? Is that the fantasy you’ve build in your head? That the great hero will heroically sacrifice himself, once again, for the love of his life.”

Revaramek’s wings sagged at his sides. “I don’t know, alright? I just know I have to try! I can’t just…” He clamped his jaw shut to hold back a roar, stomping his paw several times. “I can’t just let her die! I can’t! I won’t! But no, damn it, I don’t know how I’m going to save her. I don’t even know what the hell Star’s Blessing is, yet.”

The urd’thin stilled. Silence fell across them.

Revaramek slowly lifted his head, a tiny beacon of hope igniting in his heart. “Wait, do youknow what Star’s Blessing is? Maybe if you help us, we can-”

“That’swhat he wants you to find?” An angry ripple rolled through the urd’thin’s body, an impossible wave across sand-turned flesh. “Has he gone mad?”

Despite it all, Revaramek laughed. “I think we both know the answer to that. So…you know what it is, then? Please, just tell me.”

“Absolutely not.”

Revaramek heaved a sigh. “Of course not. You gods-damned mysteries entities never actually help us heroes, do you?”

“I’ve already tried to help you,” the urd’thin said. “You just don’t want to listen to my offer.”

“Wasn’t really an offer, though, was it?” Revaramek cocked his head. “More of a suggestion, with a side of thinly veiled threat.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The urd’thin turned away, facing the expanse of sand again. “I’ve said what I came to say.” He held his hand out over, and more sand poured up to his fingers. Once more, he shaped a figurine of a tiny urd’thin pup. Then he held out his other hand, and the sand hatchling alighted upon his palm. “A long, long time ago, Vakaal gave figurines like this to those he spared, to remind them of the horrible things they’d done to his father, and him.” He turned back around, presenting them to the dragon. “And now I’m giving these to you, to remind you of-”

“I don’t want your figurines,” Revaramek said, his voice flat.

“I wasn’t asking.” The urd’thin flicked his hand, and the figures vanished, only to reappear in front of Nyra and Korakos. Nyra remained asleep, but Korakos hurried over to investigate the new arrivals. “They’re to remind you of everything you’re risking. You can still choose to let her live out her last years here, in peace, and happiness.”

Revaramek only hissed at him. “Maybe I want more for my family than that.”

The urd’thin sighed, turning away again. “We always do. At least you got to havea family. I’d tell you again to spend her remaining cherishing that, instead of chasing the impossible into my desert, but you won’t listen.”

“No.” Revaramek growled. “I won’t. But I’m going to hold out hope that maybe, you’ll decide to help me. If only because you already know my pain.”

To his surprise, the urd’thin paused. “As much as I would love to see the stars and their goddamn balance shattered? I can’t risk it.” A sudden, stiff breeze kicked out. It struck the urd’thin, and bit by bit, grain by grain, he began to disintegrate. “Think about what I said. It may be shorter than you want, but I promise you.” A hand fell away, shattering into millions of tiny grains. “It’s your family’s best chance for a happy life.”

Revaramek recoiled, unable to hold back the question that had been on his tongue for some time, now. “What’s happened to you? What the hell have you become?”

“I tried to tell you.” The urd’thin walked away again, as more and more of him fell apart, until only a skeletal form remained. Somehow, his voice persisted. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Then who are you?”

What was left of the urd’thin’s mouth opened to reply, only for hesitation to settle across his broken form. Revaramek imagined the entity might have swallowed, if he had a throat left. “Sometimes, even I’m not sure who I was, before. But now? I’m no one at all.” The last of him collapsed, only for a great, swirling gust to capture the golden sands, and scatter them to the skies. Even in his absence, the entity’s voice persisted. “Stay out of my desert.”

Revaramek kept his gaze focused on the strange clouds of sand until they vanished into the darkness of the distant marsh. Then he spun around, and hurried back to Korakos and Nyra. As soon as he drew near them, Korakos bound towards him and flung himself at Revaramek’s foreleg. He wrapped around his father’s limb, hugging him tightly.

“That was scary! That furry thing melted into sand!”

“I know, I know.” Revaramek hoisted him up, cradling the hatchling against his chest. “It’s alright now, he’s gone. You were very, very, brave.”

All at once, a coldness settled into Revaramek’s paws, and coiled in his gut. During the entire encounter, adrenaline kept him going. But now that it was over, the questions and the fear were settling in. What the hell just happened? His limbs shook, so he set Korakos down, then eased onto his belly alongside Nyra. Through it all, she remained fast asleep. Revaramek pulled Korakos into his forelegs, then glanced at the bowls that once contained Nyra’s medication. He was starting to wish he could mix up a batch for himself. Korakos whimpered, butting his head against his father.

Revaramek took a slow breath, then curled his neck, gently lapping at his son, trying to soothe the little hatchling’s nerves. “It’s alright, Kor. It’s alright.” He gave him a few licks, then flattened his ears, wondering just how much of that conversation Korakos picked up on. “Did you hear us talking, Kor? Could you hear what we were saying?”

Korakos shook his head. “Yes, but no.”

Revaramek tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You were quiet, even when it looked like you were being loud. And, even when I heard you, you weren’t speaking dragon words.”

“Oh…” Revaramek swallowed, thankful. “I hadn’t even realized that. And he must have been using his shaping, to quiet us. Maybe he didn’t want you to hear what we were talking about.” He stretched his neck to gently nuzzle Nyramyn. “I don’t know if your mother is going to be happy she missed it, or angry. But, either way…” He took a breath, steeling himself. “Your mother and I have something very important we need to talk to you about, Korakos. When she gets her strength back.”

“About the sand thing?”

“I’m afraid that’s going to become a part of it, yes.” He cuddled Korakos up against his chest, curling his tail over Nyra’s. Slowly, he stretched a wing across his beloved mate. “For now, I suppose you should try to go back to sleep.”

Korakos gently batted him. “You too! You need your sleep father.”

Revaramek chuckled. “I know, but…I don’t think I can sleep, after that.”

The hatchling rested his head against his father. “Me either. What if the sand thing comes back?”

“I don’t think he will.” Revaramek grit his teeth. He couldn’t be sure, but something told him the urd’thin would not be returning. And it did not seem as if the urd’thin wished to harm him, or his family. At least, not until Revaramek pushed him too far, he supposed. But Korakos didn’t need to know that. “Besides, he wasn’t here to hurt anyone. He just came here to give your father a message.”

“And new toys?” Korakos craned his neck to look at the tiny sand dragon and urd’thin pup. “Can I play with them?”

“No, Korakos, those aren’t toys.” Revaramek rumbled low in his chest. He had half a mind to smash them both immediately. For all he knew, the damn sand god, or whatever he was, might be using them to watch the dragons. Then again, he hadn’t needed figurines to sense Korakos’s power. Or to find his way here. “We’ll see what your mother thinks about them, tomorrow.” He gave Kor’s head a gentle lick. “Try to sleep, love.”

Korakos laid his head over Revaramek’s foreleg. “Will you tell me a story?” He lifted his head again just as quickly. “No, wait! Sing me a song!”

Revaramek laughed to himself. “I’m far better at stories, than songs.”

“I know.” Korakos giggled. “I heard you sing in your sleep. You’re bad at singing.”

“I am not!” Revaramek playfully slapped a paw against the blankets. “Alright, I’ll sing you a song, but only to prove I can do it.” Truthfully, Revaramek was happy either way. Anything to take Korakos’s mind off what just happened. Hell, he thought, he needed the distraction just as badly. “Alright, this is a song my friend Enora wrote for me, after…” He trailed off. After his mother had passed. He swallowed, and quickly amended himself. “When I was sad, and scared, and I need someone to comfort me.”

Revaramek took a slow breath, clearing his throat. Even decades later, he still remembered the sweetly, sorrowful song that Enora composed just for him, in the days following his mother’s passing. He kept his voice soft, singing each bar quietly, as if just for Korakos. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he moved through each verse. It struck him then, that one day, Nyra would be gone, and he would sing this song anew, to comfort his grieving son. By the time he reached the refrain, tears ran down his emerald scales, unbidden and unfought. He hoped the darkness would hide them from his son. Somehow, through his tightening throat, through his falling tears, he found the strength to carry on.

Don’t be afraid,

The moon will rise,

The dark will fade,

A light will shine,

The day will dawn.

Revaramek sang for his son, softly, and sweetly, until at least Korakos was asleep.