The last of the rune-etched iron bars fell away with a shower of molten sparks and a protesting screech of tortured metal.
Nythara Aeonwings tasted freedom, and it was like the first breath of a storm after a long, stifling calm. The oppressive weight of the enchantments lessened, though a residue of their foul magic still clung to her like a shroud.
She flexed her limbs, the human guise she wore rippling for a moment, hinting at the colossal, scaled form beneath a form that yearned to stretch, to soar, to unleash the tempest that was her birthright.
The crew of the Aeternus, these strange, de-aged humans from another world, stood back, a mixture of awe, fear, and wary curiosity on their faces.
Their captain, Darius Mallory, watched her with those unsettlingly old eyes in his young face, his expression unreadable but for a certain grim resolve.
Slowly, carefully, Nythara rose to her full height within the confines of the slaver's hold. Even in her human form, she was tall, regal, her bearing that of one accustomed to commanding vast power.
The cruel gag was the last to be removed, its leather straps cut by the steady hand of the one they called Sister Amaris, the Surgeon-Chaplain, whose touch was surprisingly gentle, her eyes holding a deep, empathetic sorrow for Nythara's suffering.
As the gag fell away, Nythara drew her first truly deep breath in what felt like an eternity. The air, though still tainted with the stench of the hold, felt cleaner, charged with the faint, metallic tang of the Aeternus's strange energies.
She did not speak immediately, instead letting her gaze sweep over her rescuers, assessing them, feeling the nascent, almost imperceptible bond that had formed between her spirit and their collective the 'Aeternus Collective,' as the universe had whispered it to her.
"My thanks," she said at last, her voice, unused for so long, a low, resonant voice that seemed to vibrate in the very air, hinting at the thunder it could become.
It was a voice that had commanded storms, negotiated with demigods, and sung laments for fallen stars. Nythara, free of gag, speaking with ancient authority. "You have… interrupted a most tedious journey."
Captain Mallory stepped forward, his posture respectful but not subservient. "We are glad to have been of service. I am Captain Darius Mallory, of the Aeternus. And you are?"
"I am Nythara Aeonwings," she replied, a faint smile touching her lips, a smile that did not quite reach her ancient, storm-grey eyes.
"Though I have been called many things across the ages. 'Storm-Caller.' 'Sky-Terror.' 'She-Who-Whispers-on-the-Gale.' 'Krakenhook' Vayne, my recent, unlamented host, preferred 'fiery jewel.' "A flicker of cold fire danced in her eyes at the mention of the slaver lord.
Idris al-Arif, the charismatic Quartermaster, let out a low whistle. "Nythara Aeonwings. The name has the ring of legend to it. And judging by the… accommodations Vayne provided, a legend he greatly feared."
"Fear is the currency of cowards and tyrants," Nythara said, her gaze sweeping over the other rescued captives, who were now being tended to by Sister Amaris and other members of the Aeternus crew. "He sought to profit from my power, as he did from theirs."
"What is your story, Nythara?" Mallory asked, his tone direct. "Why were you a captive of this Kazimar Vayne?"
Nythara hesitated. To tell her full story would take eons. But these humans, these… anomalies, had earned a measure of truth. "I am… a traveler of currents, both of sea and of fate. I was drawn to these waters by whispers of an artifact, a relic of the Leviathans, from a war fought when your kind were but trembling sparks in the darkness of prehistory."
At the mention of Leviathans, a ripple of unease went through the listening crew. Their encounter with the megalodon, a lesser beast of that lineage, was still fresh in their minds.
"Vayne and his fleet," Nythara continued, her voice laced with contempt, "are scavengers of a particular sort. They hunt not just for gold or goods, but for beings of power, for 'exotics' to sell to decadent empires and sorcerers who dwell in the lightless deeps or upon accursed shores. I underestimated their cunning, their numbers, and the potency of their… specialized enchantments."
She gestured to the remnants of her cage. "They are a blight upon these seas, a cancer that spreads misery."
Her gaze returned to Mallory. "You and your crew have done more than simply free me. You have struck a blow against that darkness. For that, you have my deepest gratitude. Such courage, such… unexpected capability, from mortals is rare."
"We're just trying to survive, like everyone else," Mallory said, a hint of weariness in his voice. "This world… It's not our own."
Nythara nodded slowly. "I sensed as much. Your vessel... it hums with an energy that is… out of place, out of time. And you, all of you, carry the scent of the Rift, the tang of other skies."
This statement caused another stir among the crew. How could she know?
"In gratitude for my freedom," Nythara announced, her voice gaining a new resonance, "and because our paths have clearly been woven together by a thread of fate I do not yet fully comprehend, I offer you what aid I can. My strength is still diminished by Vayne's bonds, but it will return. I offer you my flame, should you have need of its… persuasion."
A faint, almost invisible heat shimmered around her for a moment.
"And I offer you my knowledge. I have sailed these seas, and others far stranger, for longer than your written histories. I know the currents, the hidden paths, the creatures that lurk in the abyssal plains, and the secrets of the Sea of Ten-Fold Shadows. This sea-lore, I will share with you."
***
***
The System prompts scrolled through Mallory's vision, and he knew similar, if less detailed, notifications were appearing for the rest of the crew. An ally. A powerful one. But also, a beacon that could draw even greater dangers down upon them.
The implications were not lost on the crew. Riku Tanaka looked both thrilled and terrified. Valeria Chen was already calculating the strategic advantages and disadvantages.
Hammer Kovács grunted, his expression one of wary acceptance more power on their side was good, but a dragon?
That was a whole new level of complication. Idris, ever the pragmatist, was likely already considering the trade value of dragon scales before quickly dismissing the sacrilegious thought.
"A dragon…" one of the younger sailors whispered, his voice filled with awe. "A real, live dragon on our ship."
Nythara's lips curved into that enigmatic smile again. "In a manner of speaking. Though I confess, the Aeternus is somewhat… smaller than my usual accommodations."
Her playful curiosity, a sudden shift from ancient power to almost whimsical observation, caught them off guard, and a few nervous chuckles rippled through the crew.
It was a glimpse of the 'delightful whiplash' that defined her, a hint that she was more than just a terrifying force of nature.
Mallory, however, was focused on the System's warning. "Your presence… it will make us a target, won't it?"
Nythara's smile faded. "Indeed, Captain. Dragon blood, dragon magic, even the mere association with a dragon… these are prizes coveted by many in this world. Empires will hunt you. Sorcerers will seek to bind you. Those who fear what they do not understand will try to destroy you. To sail with me is to paint a very large, very bright target on your hull."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over them again. "I will not force my presence upon you. If you wish me to depart, to find my own way once my strength returns, I will understand. My gratitude remains, regardless of your choice."
The offer was genuine. But Mallory knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his gut, that letting her go was not an option.
Her knowledge, her power… they were too valuable. And besides, they had freed her. There was a responsibility in that. And perhaps, a deeper connection, as the System's 'Companion Bond' had hinted to Nythara.
Before Mallory could speak, Nythara's expression shifted, a shadow passing over her ancient eyes. She seemed to look inward, or perhaps, far, far back into the mists of time.
The memory was as sharp as obsidian, as cold as the void between stars.
Millennia ago, before this current age of grasping human empires, there had been other powers, other conflicts. Nythara, then younger, though still ancient by mortal reckoning, had been part of a fragile alliance of draconic clans and other elder races.
They had stood against a common enemy.
A rogue Leviathan, a being of immense, world-shattering power, driven mad by a cosmic wound, much like the one that had apparently brought the Aeternus to this reality.
This Leviathan, known only as the 'World-Breaker,' sought not just to rule, but to consume, to unmake.
The alliance had been desperate.
They had pooled their knowledge, their magic, their very life forces, to forge a weapon, an artifact of immense power the 'Heart of the Storm.'
It was a crystal, not unlike the one the Aeternus crew had salvaged from the megalodon, but infinitely more potent, capable of channeling and amplifying the combined elemental fury of an entire flight of storm-dragons.
Nythara had been one of its guardians, one of its wielders.
They had met the World-Breaker in a cataclysmic battle that had reshaped continents, boiled oceans, and scarred the very fabric of reality.
They had been on the verge of victory, the Heart of the Storm blazing with unimaginable power, ready to deliver the final, binding blow.
And then, betrayal. One of their own, a dragon lord named Malakor, driven by a lust for the Leviathan's power, had turned on them.
In the critical moment, he had shattered the alliance, his dark magic disrupting the Heart of the Storm, turning its energies back upon its creators.
Nythara had seen her kin, her allies, consumed by their own power, their spirits extinguished.
She herself had been grievously wounded, barely escaping with her life, the Heart of the Storm lost, fragmented, its power scattered like dust on the cosmic winds.
The World-Breaker, though also wounded, had survived, its madness deepened, its hunger undiminished.
Malakor, for his treachery, had gained but a fraction of the power he craved, and a curse that would haunt his lineage for eternity.
Nythara had spent centuries recovering, hunting the scattered fragments of the Heart, and nursing a cold, bitter caution towards alliances, a deep-seated mistrust of those who craved power above all else.
It was this ancient wound, this memory of betrayal, that had made her so wary, so hesitant to trust, even now.
She blinked, the shadows receding from her eyes, returning her to the hold of the slaver ship, to the expectant faces of the Aeternus crew.
That long-ago betrayal was why she had been so easily lured by Vayne's whispers of a Leviathan artifact. The hope, however faint, of recovering even a shard of the Heart of the Storm, was a lure she could not resist.
"The choice is yours, Captain Mallory," Nythara said, her voice softer now, tinged with a weariness that spoke of ages.
"But know this: the Sea of Ten-Fold Shadows is a dangerous place. And sometimes, the greatest dangers are not the monsters you can see, but the allies you choose."
Mallory looked at his crew, at their tired, youthful, determined faces. He thought of the megalodon, of the slaver armada, of the alien stars and the crushing gravity.
They were alone here, adrift in a hostile universe. Nythara, for all the danger she might attract, was also a beacon of power, of knowledge, of potential salvation.
"We're already a target, Nythara," Mallory said, a grim smile touching his lips. "Seems we've been one since we arrived. Having a storm-dragon on our side… I think I like those odds better." He extended his hand.
"Welcome aboard the Aeternus, Nythara Aeonwings. We'd be honored to have your flame, and your sea-lore."
Nythara looked at his outstretched hand, then into his eyes. She saw not a lust for power, not the arrogance of a would-be master, but the steady resolve of a leader trying to protect his own.
Perhaps… perhaps this alliance would be different.
She reached out, her long, elegant fingers, still bearing the faint marks of the cage, grasping his.
Her touch was surprisingly warm, and for a fleeting moment, Mallory felt an almost electric surge of ancient, elemental power, a whisper of the storm that lay coiled within her.
"Very well, Captain Darius Mallory of the Aeternus," Nythara said, a new light dawning in her storm-grey eyes. "Let us see what currents we may ride together."