Page 7 of Thauglor
“The nest...” Klauth whispers. His voice is hoarse with dread that cuts through the morning air like a blade. The words hit him like physical blows. I watch the color drain from his face as understanding dawns. He roars with the anguish of a father who knows he’s failed. The sound summons his strongest warriors with a call that speaks of desperate urgency.
Mid-stride, he shifts again, propelled by fury and terror in equal measure. I follow behind him. My transformation is violent and immediate as I flap my wings as fast as possible to keep up with his desperate flight. He bellows Syrax’s name repeatedly.The sound carries across the mountains like prayers to uncaring gods. He hopes for any reply—a weak cry, any sign that she and their unborn progeny still live.
But there remains only silence. A bleak, endless silence that burns in my ears like acid and tells me everything I need to know about what awaits us. The lack of response crushes something in my chest. I know without seeing that the delicate crystal dragoness didn’t survive what she was never trained to face.
As we near the nest, the carnage becomes undeniable. Wyvern corpses litter the foothills like broken dolls. Their bodies stay pierced by grotesque crystal formations that sprout from their chests and pin them to the rocky ground. The crystals catch the morning light, refracting it into rainbow patterns across the blood-stained stone. Syrax fought back with her crystal breath weapon, impaling at least half a dozen attackers before being overwhelmed. But her defensive abilities were never meant for warfare on this scale.
I watch Klauth land on the rock face with bone-jarring force. His claws scrape against stone as he scrambles upward toward the nest with desperate urgency. The sight that greets us is gruesome beyond description. The bitter taste of iron fills the air so thickly I can barely breathe. I circle several times with methodical precision, making sure no enemies remain alive to threaten us while we’re vulnerable.
The sight of what remains of the female called Syrax turns my stomach with revulsion and pity in equal measure. The odor of burned flesh and decaying scales overwhelms my sensitive nostrils, making my stomach clench with nausea. There, curled protectively around the nest she died defending, Syrax lies shriveled and withered—as if centuries passed in an instant. Her once-beautiful crystalline scales now appear dull and cracked.Her elegant form is reduced to a husk by shadow dragon breath weapons. The crystals that once sparkled like diamonds now look gray and lifeless.
She stood no chance against their life-draining attacks. My heart aches at this waste of potential life, at the hatchlings who died before they could even draw breath. Those innocent young deserved better than this brutal end.
Klauth violently shifts back into human form. His transformation appears more brutal than I’ve ever seen as bones crack and muscles tear with his urgency. The wet sounds of reshaping flesh echo off the rocks. I watch in growing horror as he scrambles toward her remains. His hands shake as he reaches for what’s left of her and their progeny.
I land nearby and shift back to human form, waiting to provide whatever support I can for my best friend and closest ally in his darkest moment. The weight of shared grief settles over us like a shroud, heavy and suffocating in the morning air that still tastes of smoke and death.
His hands find the nest. I see his face crumble as the truth becomes undeniable.They’re gone.Drained completely of life until nothing remains but empty shells. One hatchling broke halfway out of its shell in a final, desperate attempt at life, but even that small victory was stolen. I watch as it crumbles to ash in his trembling hands. Its potential is lost forever. The fine ash slips between his fingers like sand.
A weak cry chokes him. The sound tears from his throat like a wounded animal’s death rattle. Losing his first progeny is a blow neither of us was prepared for, a wound that will never fully heal. I approach slowly, my head lowered in respect for the dead and the dreams that died with them.
Somehow, I hold out hope that at least one egg might have survived the assault. Maybe some small mercies might exist in this cruel world. But when I take in the full scope of the damage, my heart plummets like a stone into dark water.
“Oh no...” The words escape me as a whisper of pure despair.
Syrax’s remains crumble to ash as the wind picks up. It scatters her essence into the sky she once loved to soar through. The gray particles dance on the breeze like snow made of sorrow. Klauth cradles what’s left of his progeny, watching their potential slip through his fingers like silt carried away by an uncaring breeze. No words exist that could adequately address what he’s trying to process. No comfort could ease the magnitude of this loss.
“She fought well,” is all I can think to say to my friend. I place my hand gently on what remains of the nest that should have been a cradle for the future. The broken shells feel rough and brittle under my palm. “She took many of them down before she fell.”
“She did what any good dragoness would do—defends her clutch with her life,” Klauth’s voice trembles with barely contained emotion. The words carry the weight of respect for duty fulfilled, acknowledging the courage of someone who faced impossible odds to protect his progeny.
Out of respect for his lost progeny, I move fallen stones with careful reverence to bury the shattered eggshells. I create a small cairn that will mark this place of tragedy. Each stone feels heavier than the last, weighted with the knowledge of lives that will never be lived. The rough granite scrapes against my palms. “What now?” I ask, though I already know the answer burning in his eyes.
Fury surges through him again, hot and all-consuming like molten metal in his veins. “Hunt down every last shadow dragon and wyvern. Drive them to extinction,” Klauth snarls. His voice carries the promise of retribution that will shake the foundations of the world.
The idea of vengeance for the fallen hatchlings makes my black war faring heart flutter with anticipation and bloodthirsty glee. These enemies took something irreplaceable. They violated the most sacred bonds of family and future. “Then let’s make a plan,” I say. My voice is steady despite the rage building in my chest. “I’ll help you burn it all down.”
A significant chance exists that we won’t make it back alive from what we’re contemplating. The scope of destruction we’re planning will require us to face entire armies. We’ll challenge species that have survived through cunning and cruelty for millennia. But considering all that happens, considering the senseless death of four innocent hatchlings who never had a chance to see the world, I want to watch that world burn in tribute to their memory.
My heart mourns for the innocent lives lost before they could begin. I grieve for the hatchlings who never had a chance to prove their worth. But the warrior in me demands blood payment for these losses. It demands that the skies rain fire until every enemy is ash on the wind.
We will have our vengeance. And when we’re done, the very name of shadow dragon will be nothing but a whispered memory of a species that dared to murder defenseless young.
Chapter Seven
We spendseveral hours hunched over battle maps and intelligence reports. We review our most likely suspects with the methodical precision of predators planning a kill. The war room reeks of ink and parchment, sweat and barely contained fury. My fingers leave damp prints on the aged paper as I trace potential routes. Between everything that has happened in the last few months—the coordinated attacks, the strategic timing, the knowledge of our weaknesses—we figure it has to be the blue dragons orchestrating this campaign of terror.
I watch Klauth’s hands shake as he marks another suspected location on the map. The tremor isn’t from age or weakness—it’s from pure, unadulterated rage that threatens to consume him from the inside out. I’ve known this man for over two centuries, fought beside him through countless battles, shared victories and defeats that forged bonds stronger than blood. But I’ve never seen him like this. The hollow look in his eyes cuts deeper than any blade ever could.
My thoughts drift to my progeny scattered across the continent. Over the last hundred years, I’ve sired seventeen young withvarious dragonesses. Each one carved a piece of my heart away when they left to establish their own territories. Korrath, my eldest, with scales like polished obsidian and a roar that could shake mountains. Velara, fierce and beautiful, inherited my acid breath and her mother’s cunning. The twins, Drakmor, and Nexus, barely fifty years old and still learning to hunt properly.
The mere thought of finding any of them reduced to ash and empty shells makes my stomach clench with nausea. I can almost smell the acrid stench of burned scales, almost hear the silence where their voices should be. If someone destroyed my nest, murdered my young before they could even take their first breath... The rage that builds in my chest threatens to eclipse even Klauth’s fury. I would tear the world apart with my bare claws until nothing remained but rubble and the screams of my enemies.
The idea of hunting a species of dragon that can wield one of three different breath weapons is daunting, to say the least. Lightning that can fry you from the inside out. Freezing cold that turns blood to ice. Sonic blasts that shatter bones like glass. But hell, if we’re going to die in this crusade, we may as well do it in a blaze of glory that legends will remember for a thousand years.
This hunt will take us over most of the continent and then some. We’ll travel through hostile territory where every shadow could hide an enemy and every peak could conceal an ambush. We’re either going to make history as the dragons who brought justice to the innocent dead, or end up being lost to history as two more casualties in an endless war. One way or another, we will make the ones responsible pay in blood and screaming agony.
We fly westthrough skies that taste of salt and danger. We search for the blue dragons’ nests with the patience of apex predators who understand that haste leads to death. The wind carries our scent toward enemy territory, but there’s no helping that now. The cold air cuts through my scales like thousands of tiny blades. Once we find their stronghold, we’ll wait and watch until we get the break we so desperately need—the evidence that will justify the extinction we’re planning to deliver.
