The wind roared in Delores's ears, a wild, exhilarating song that drowned out all thought for the first few minutes of flight. Beneath them, the world was a patchwork quilt of greens and browns, the Whispering Woods stretching out like a vast, mossy carpet. The sensation of speed was incredible; trees that would have taken hours to walk past blurred into streaks of color in mere seconds. Bastian's wings beat with a powerful, rhythmic thump-thump that resonated through the saddle, a constant reminder of the immense creature carrying them.
Delores gripped the leather pommel, her eyes stinging from the rushing air but wide with wonder. Rael, seated in back, was clutching his chest with one hand and the saddle strap with the other, his face a mixture of terror and scientific fascination as he undoubtedly calculated their velocity and altitude. Barin, who was in front of her, seemed the most at ease. He was slowly scanning the horizon with a soldier's watchful eye, though even he let out the occasional appreciative grunt as Bastian banked through a cloud.
As they soared over the heart of the Whispering Woods, Delores leaned forward, peering down. From this height, the dense canopy looked impenetrable, a secret world hidden from the sun. But her gaze was drawn further south, towards the rugged terrain that marked the borderlands near the distant, hazy outline of the Meteor Valley. There, far off in the distance, something caught her eye. It was a subtle disturbance in the landscape, like a line of ants marching across a picnic blanket. Squinting against the wind, she made out a long, dark column moving along an old, disused trade road.
People, she realized with a start. A lot of them.
It looked like a massive group, perhaps a caravan, or… an army? They were moving north, away from the direction of Metevarn.
Metevarn, she thought, the name tasting sour even in her mind. Valerie's recent lessons on the geopolitical landscape flooded back to her. Metevarn was the domain of King Armin Hammerfist, a ruler whose reputation for brutality was matched only by the rumors of his physical monstrosity. Four arms, they said. A tyrant who ruled a city of vice and chaos. If those people were coming from there, were they refugees fleeing his iron grip? Or were they something worse—soldiers sent to expand his influence into the lawless lands?
Her thoughts naturally drifted to the other powers that surrounded her tiny, accidental barony. To the east lay Elarvain, ruled by King Theron III, the bureaucrat who had granted her title mostly to avoid the paperwork of governing the valley himself. To the west, Rael's homeland of Valcrath, under the watchful, arcane gaze of Queen Maerwynn the Unveiled, a solo Queen whose magical prowess was said to rival the gods. And to the north, encompassing Cerindor and the mountains where Barin was from, was the Stonebeard Kingdom, ruled by the ancient and stubborn High King Boralind.
And then there was Arcintor to the southeast, the militant port city where her parents served under Grand Admiral Queen Rhoswen Stormborn, an elf woman who reportedly ate iron for breakfast and ruled the seas with a fist as hard as Armin's, but with significantly more honor.
Surrounded by giants, Delores mused, watching the distant column of people slowly disappear behind a ridge. And here I am, a gnome with barely a camp and a provisional piece of paper.
A shadow of worry crossed her mind. The column was heading roughly towards the area where The Ram's village was supposed to be. Was there a connection? She hadn't seen any signs of The Ram since their escape. Was he regrouping? Or was this new movement something entirely different? The timing felt worryingly ominous. She made a mental note to ask Bastian about it when they landed. For now, there was nothing to be done but watch, and wonder which of the giants on the map would be the first to try and step on her.
Another few hours passed, the sun climbing higher as they crossed the vast expanse of the plains and approached the rugged foothills of the Stonebeard Mountains. The peaks loomed ahead, jagged teeth of grey stone capped with eternal white, piercing the sky.
Bastian, his massive wings beating a steady rhythm, turned his great head back towards his passengers. One giant, ice-blue eye fixed on them, and he raised a clawed foreleg, pointing towards a seemingly innocuous section of the mountain range ahead—a cluster of sheer cliffs and shadowed ravines that looked no different from any other part of the formidable barrier.
Delores tightened her grip on the saddle. Okay, she thought, bracing herself. Landing soon. Just gotta hold on.
She expected him to bank, to circle, to begin a slow, graceful descent towards a hidden cave entrance.
Instead, Bastian tilted his wings and shot straight up.
"Whoa!" Delores yelped, instinctively snatching the back of Barin's heavy plate armor as gravity seemed to double, pressing her down into the leather seat.
Bastian climbed, flying nearly vertical, powering through the air with terrifying strength. The air grew thinner, colder, biting at their exposed skin. They punched through a thick layer of clouds, emerging into a blindingly bright world of pure sunlight and endless blue sky, the cloud layer stretching out below them like a vast, white ocean.
Then, Bastian stopped. He flared his wings, hovering motionless in the thin air, the only sound the wind whistling past his scales.
Delores gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked around, disoriented. Below them was nothing but clouds. Above, only the sun. There were no landmarks, no mountains, nothing to anchor them to the world they knew. It was beautiful, serene, and utterly terrifying.
Bastian turned his head back again. He took in their expressions—Delores's wide-eyed wonder mixed with panic, Rael's pale-faced awe, Barin's grim, white-knuckled grip on the saddle. A distinctly mischievous glint sparkled in the dragon's eye, and he gave them a slow, deliberate wink.
Beside her, she heard Barin let out a low, heartfelt groan. "Oh no," the warrior mumbled, his voice tight. "What's this lizard thinkin'?"
The answer came an instant later.
Bastian tipped forward. He didn't glide. He didn't circle. He simply folded his wings tight against his body and dropped like a stone.
They plummeted. The sensation of falling was absolute, a visceral drop that left Delores's stomach somewhere back in the clouds. The wind roared, tearing at their clothes, screaming in their ears as they dove straight down, piercing the cloud layer in a burst of cold mist and emerging on the other side, hurtling towards the unforgiving granite peaks below at breakneck speed.
The ground rushed up to meet them, a dizzying mosaic of grey stone and white snow. Just as Delores was certain they were about to become a permanent, flattened addition to the landscape, Bastian's massive wings snapped open.The air caught them, the sudden deceleration pressing Delores hard into the saddle again. The terrified scream died in her throat as the plummet turned into a smooth, banking glide. They circled down through the jagged peaks, passing through veils of freezing mountain mist that stung her cheeks and beaded on Barin's armor.
Finally, with a grace that belied his bulk, Bastian flared his wings one last time and touched down on a wide, flat precipice jutting out from the side of a massive, snow-capped mountain. The landing was surprisingly soft, the stone trembling only slightly beneath his claws.
Bastian stretched his neck, shaking off the ice from his dive, then leaned low, tilting his body to allow his passengers to disembark. Delores scrambled down, her legs feeling like jelly as they hit solid rock. Barin hopped off with a heavy thud, immediately checking his gear, while Rael slid down more cautiously, clutching his tome.
They gathered their meager belongings. None of them had packed much beyond essentials. Barin, true to form, carried only the armor on his back and his trusty falchion. Rael had his tome, of course, but Delores noticed something new at his belt. It was a simple, slightly battered dagger in a worn leather sheath. It looked utilitarian, almost crude compared to the elegant magic items he usually coveted.
As Bastian shimmered and shrank back into his tall, blue-haired human form, smoothing his tunic as if he'd just stepped out of a carriage, Delores pointed at the weapon.
"New toy, Rael?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you carry steel?"
Rael touched the hilt of the dagger, a faint flush darkening his burgundy cheeks. "Ah. Yes. It was a gift," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. "From Amiri. Before we left. She insisted. Said that… 'a knife works even if magic doesn't'."
Delores's smile softened into something genuinely warm. "She's right, you know. And very thoughtful."
Barin let out a booming laugh, clapping a hand on Rael's shoulder hard enough to make the slender tiefling stumble. "Hah! The warrior woman's got the right of it! Good advice, lad. Magic's fancy, but steel is honest."
Rael winced, rubbing his shoulder, but didn't argue.
Delores turned her attention back to their host. Bastian was watching the exchange with a serene, knowing smile on his face. Behind him, looming like a giant, dark maw in the side of the mountain, was an enormous cavern entrance. It was framed by ancient, weathered stone, and a faint, dry scent of old paper and ozone drifted from within.
"Welcome," Bastian said, gesturing grandly towards the darkness, "to my humble warehouse."
Bastian then led the way into the cavern, his steps echoing softly as they crossed the threshold from the biting mountain wind into the strangely warm and still air of the cavern. Delores, walking just behind him, opened her mouth to speak. The image of the massive column of people she'd seen marching north near the start of their journey had been nagging at her, and now seemed like the time to bring it up.
"Bastian, about the journey here, I saw—"
Her words were cut short by a sudden, strained gasp from behind her.
She spun around. Rael had stopped dead just inside the entrance. He was clutching his chest, his face pale, his golden eyes wide and unfocused. He swayed dangerously, as if struck by an invisible blow.
"Rael!" Delores cried, rushing to his side. Barin was there in an instant, grabbing the tiefling's arm to steady him.
Bastian turned back, concern flickering across his features. "Are you alright, Master D'Gar?" He paused, realization dawning in his eyes. "Ah. Of course. I forgot. You are exceptionally sensitive to raw magical currents, are you not?"
Rael nodded slowly, taking shallow, ragged breaths as he leaned on Barin's sturdy shoulder. "The… pressure," he managed to rasp, his voice sounding thin and scratchy. "It is beyond oppressive."
He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Even the girl, Rose, her innate power was startling, a beacon. But this…" He gestured weakly towards the depths of the cavern. "This is a volcano compared to a smoldering ember. The sheer quantity… the density of power here… it is staggering."
Delores looked up at Bastian, worried. "Is there anything you can do? Can you dampen it for him?"
Bastian shook his head regretfully. "I am afraid not, Baroness. This is not a spell I am casting; it is the nature of this place itself. The veil here is thin, and the accumulated energies of certain items within my hoard radiate power. To suppress it would be to suppress the lair itself."
He looked at Rael with a clinical, almost encouraging expression. "He will have to acclimate. It will be unpleasant at first, but consider it training. Some of his lineage, tieflings with an affinity for the arcane, have the capacity to adapt, to grow stronger from exposure to such density. If he endures, his own capacity may expand."
Rael straightened slightly, a flicker of determination returning to his eyes despite the pain. "Adapt," he whispered. "Yes. I must… adapt."