Mevayis 2nd 2038
The vibrant emerald grass waved in the evening breeze, dotted with colourful specks of pink and yellow flowers. Darkened forests highlight the edges of the large clearing. In the distance, silver mountains were washed out by the luminous blue sky. All that could be heard was a soothing rustle, and the echoes of birds in the valley.
Soon the tranquility faded, a deep voice steadily broke in; a large pale-blue and white dragon strolled into view, accompanied by a smaller, of saphire and cyan colour.
"You see, Vesta...", Lanser stated, "...Age is an aspect you seem not to consider."
The larger of the two was trying to explain to his son that he isn't ready to become a fighter just yet "Yeah, but..."
"Your time will come soon son."
"But, I have a question."
"What about the stories? Like the ones I've heard from friends? I mean, you were, like... my age apperently. What did you do?"
No, no, no, his subconscious mind says. Run, run, run, it tells him, but Ivo's feet remain where they are, as if heavy chains and an iron ball are wrapped around them. Please, get away from this! it demands, sounding heavy with panic, but still, Ivo cannot move. He stumbles on his weight. Wrapping trembling arms around his body, Ivo lowers his head and wishes for the sounds and sights to disappear.
Something forces his head up. Wide eyes stare at someone he considers a companion, despite being the king of Beherit. Cresil smiles, almost too sweet, and offers the human his hand. "Come with me," he says, voice deep, holding no room for arguments. Ivo stands, taking the demo
Calm Before the Storm
Mevayis 2nd 2038
A few hours passed, by now it was beginning to get dark. The dim purple sky displayed a smattering of stars between the blanket of deep blue clouds. The interior of the Lensaris residence was bathed in a warm golden glow from the flickering crystals that lined the walls. Lanser stood over a large table that was covered in a mess of paper, maps and sketches. He peered over the top of his makeshift glasses as he wrote into a small leather-back book with a pen attached to his claw. Vesta was slumped on a small bench to his side, with his chin resting on the table. A red cloth was being held against his chest by a belt wrapped around his neck. He also had a little metal armour cap on the elbow of his right wing, keeping it closed.
Vesta stared randomly at the map underneath him, looking at all the circles and arrows his father had drawn on it, most of which originated and pointed away from Seraphia. He sighed depressingly and closed his eyes