Sylathis the Sky Weaver

Fantasy short story, lore of my novel in the works for backstory and world-building lore.

Looking down from the cooling peaks of my mountain, a stark contrast to the rest of the islands' volcanic plumes and scorching heat, I can't help but admire the beauty of our home, Chlo. This is where I and other ancient dragons have lived for eons raising our brood. I watch my children, spitting images of me, fly carefree through the air, their aquamarine scales shimmering in the sky. They tuck their four strong legs inwards, which helps propel them downwards playfully. No other dragon cares to be up here due to the cooler temperatures. I alone need this climate for my young to flourish. Harmony, like that among us and my elder kin, is nigh impossible to find. Conflict is a rare thing. We knew the need for sanctum from conflict between us and the outside world where the elves and now humans run rampant. But as time passed and our broods grew, so did the need for expansion in our suffocatingly small home. As tensions simmered on the island, the tranquility shattered like glass. Vathros's dark form plummeted from the sky, his roar a harbinger of destruction. My children were no match for his ferocity. Their playful flights turned into desperate attempts to escape his wrath. The fire wyrm's blackened scales shimmered as his fire blazed outward, killing my young. Trembling from the deep scar of pain and betrayal, I watched in horror at his crimes. I rushed to defend them, my heart pounding with fear and rage.

"Vathros! Why?" I roared, my voice echoing through the peaks, laced with desperation and fury. He sneered, his eyes blazing.

"Sylathis, your brood is no longer welcome in my home. Leave or die."
I scoff at his statement, "Your home? I have lived here for eons on these peaks with my children. You know as well as I do that you and your own can't survive the cold here! What are you planning?"

Roaring with all his might until flames shoot out of his nostrils, he ignores my questions and charges me; desperation fuels me as I defend myself and my kin, now huddled and cowering together. Almost in response to our clashing Chlo erupts, the volcanos come to life more violently than they have in centuries. As the battle rages on, so does the heat, even reaching my cool peaks, or maybe it is the exertion of this battle and the heat of my wounds? As the battle rages on, my cerulean scales shimmered with effort, refracting the flames and lava flowing from Vathros and the land below us. Blow after blow, I weakened, my blood staining the once-pristine peaks until finally, battered and bleeding, I realize I couldn't protect my home. With a final, anguished roar, I turn and flee, my heart heavy with defeat. Vathros's laughter echoes behind me as I leave Chlo, but even as I flee, the beats of his wings are always close behind. Wounded and weary, I soar over the island and to the sea, searching for a place to hide, to heal. Every beat of my wings send waves of pain through my body, but I pushed on. I couldn't help but worry and be fearful for my children, but if I die, we lose everything, and as long as Vathros follows me and pursues me, they are safer than if I died there.

"Stop this game and face me, Sky Weaver! Face your fate head-on!" he taunts with a devious snarkiness. Ignoring him, I continued forward, using what little wind magic I could muster to fly faster, slowly losing him in his pursuit if not for the scent of my blood he was following. Although I could see for miles, I couldn't see anything past the endless sea, a mesmerizing expanse of azure and turquoise with soft waves and the occasional pod of dolphins. The salty breeze carries the scent of the ocean, masking the scent of blood and sulfur. As the sun reflects off the water, glinting and creating a blazing display. I could hear the faint sound of seagulls in the distance. The sound informing me that land was nearby, although I couldn't see it yet. Finally, after what felt like hours, I see the golden crest of beaches on the horizon. As soon as I could see it, I also began to hear it, the waves in the far distance, a sound that almost could drown out the desperate wing flapping of the wyrm pursuing me. For a moment, there was a moment of hope. I could draw them far enough away and lose them. Maybe I could find a place to heal and fight another day. Not much longer after spotting the beach was I upon it, the white crests foaming and receding, making a peaceful and relaxing noise. I looked down at the seashells and driftwood covering the beach and wondered how warm and relaxing it would be to lay there and soak up the sunlight. I turned back to look for my pursuer, who was miles away. My keen eyes could still make him out in the distance, which meant he could still see me. I continued my course as I slowly gained distance from him, knowing I couldn't rest until I was out of his sight.

Beyond the beach, the landscape shifts as the sand gives way to small trees that slowly become a lush forest. The trees all stand tall and strong, as ancient as us dragons and just as proud. With the cool air, I could see the trees shifting from pines and firs to slowly give way to oaks, willows, and other trees with leaves changing from green to hues of yellow, orange, and red. The canopy below is covered in the beautiful colors of the leaves basking in patches of golden light. The further from the beach I went, the cooler the air became, but so too did the scent of pine and moss grow; it was a scent I had almost forgotten, and it brought back nostalgia from a time before man and elf roamed our homeland. Chirping rose from the birds as they sang playful songs from the treetops, and the rustle of leaves whisper secrets to those who venture within. My wingspan is too big to go into the dense forest. I had to stay above it, making me an easy target if Vathros was still pursuing me. I finally looked back and realized I no longer saw him. Even with my sight, he was out of my view. A sigh of relief takes over me, but as soon as the feeling of relief and calmness swept through me, so did excruciating pain. Each beat of my wings feels heavy and clumsy, and the burning, seething pain from my wounds only got worse with each beat, too. I know now that I wouldn't make it, that the scars and damage were too great to carry on with.

"But... my children, what will become of them?" I whisper to myself as I continue forward. I know that if I were to try and return to my home, It would end with me dying along the way, or I would have to suffer knowing the fate of my kin before ultimately facing death myself. I would rather hope and pray that some escaped and are safe, that my lineage won't end this day, and we will live on.

Finally, I reached a secluded meadow, its lush grass and lilies of the valley offering a bittersweet reminder of the life I once knew. My heart ached with a mix of sorrow and hope. It lay at the edge of a vast forest. A realm whispered about in ancient tales that we dragons knew for its subtle magics and the mysterious creatures it shelters. Yet, the meadow itself is ordinary, untouched by the arcane energies that fluttered through the leaves of its neighboring woodland. I choose it as my final haven, not for the meadow's beauty but for its tranquility and isolation.

In my last days, the meadow bears witness to the quiet majesty of my dwindling moments. As my life ebbs, my blood seeps into the soil�"blood infused with the ancient magic of my lineage. I watch as it changes the meadow around me, the flowers absorbing my magical essence and blooming with an ethereal vibrance unseen anywhere in the known world. Even more wondrous, the ground where I lay sprouts clusters of pure magic crystals, radiating with an arcane light and pulsating with raw magical power.

As my strength faded, I knew that my legacy would live on in this meadow. Yet, doubt gnaws at me. Had I done enough? Could I have fought harder, flown faster? The questions swirl, a maelstrom of regret and hope. A part of me wonders if fleeing was the right choice, if I abandoned my children to a fate I should have shared. But another part whispers that my sacrifice may have given them the chance to escape themselves to a better fate.

With a final, conflicted sigh, I close my eyes, knowing that my essence will endure through the magic that now permeates the land. As the years pass and my body decays, buried beneath dirt and plant life, I do not fully move into the afterlife. My life is now imbued in the crystals that grow in the meadow, passing through them and weaving a network of magic and knowledge. Although I can't be part of the outside world, I can view it and see it pass me by as if looking through a mirror. Separated and severed, yet so present, always watching. My story may never be known, but the story of those to come after me will be forever remembered in my timeless memory. Is this the fate of my kin when we die? Or is this just my burden to bear? The questions linger, even as my consciousness fades, a testament to the dragon I was and the legacy I leave behind.