The age of dragons had long passed. Their bones lay buried beneath the stone foundations of forgotten kingdoms, their names reduced to whispers among old bards and drunken tales. But deep in the Valley of Sundering Winds, where time seemed to sleep and the sky held an eternal twilight, the last of the wyrms still stirred — and only one woman could hear them.
Her name was Caelis.
She lived as a shepherd in the mountain ranges of Tyrrhal, tending goats and weaving stormgrass into wool by moonlight. No one suspected her bloodline — not even she. But on the eve of her twenty-first solstice, the winds began to sing.
She awoke to the low, mournful cry of something ancient. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't a dream.
It was a call.
Drawn to it, Caelis wandered from her cottage beneath the roots of old Yrrden trees and climbed into the mists. Higher she climbed, until the clouds hugged the peaks and the stars vanished behind silver haze. There, in a cradle of stone, she found it.
A wyrm egg.
Black. Tall as her chest. Covered in glowing blue runes.
The moment her hand touched it, the wind howled.
Visions crashed into her: firestorms, skies ripped open by wings, mountains crumbling beneath scaled titans. And one name repeated in her skull:
Wyrmcaller.
Caelis collapsed.
When she woke, the egg was warm beneath her fingers — and a mark burned onto her palm: a glowing spiral.
That night, her village burned.
A shadow descended from the northern sky — a being cloaked in fire and hatred. The old ones called it Thornak the Ashened, a former wyrm corrupted by void magic, banished centuries ago. Somehow, it had returned. And it sought the egg.
Caelis fled, guided only by instinct and wind. The egg pulsed with life. It was speaking to her, though no words formed. Just feelings. Urgency. Need. Hunger.
She escaped into the wilds.
In the ruins of Eldmaar, an old war-torn city of the dragon kings, Caelis was found by a one-eyed man named Dren. Once a knight of the Wyrmguard, now a drunk and a ghost of his former self, he recognized the spiral mark on her hand.
"You've heard them," he said, kneeling before her in the dust. "You're the last. The Wyrmcaller."
Caelis didn't understand.
But Dren taught her.
He taught her how to listen — not with ears, but with her soul. How to feel the winds, speak through thought, awaken the old blood. He told her of the Pact of Flame — a bond between dragon and rider that once held the world in balance.
"They weren't beasts," he said one night. "They were kin. Gods to some, brothers to others. And the last one... the one inside your egg... is the firstborn of them all."
Weeks passed.
The egg hatched.
It wasn't like the stories.
The wyrmling was small, serpentine, with eyes like dying stars and scales that shimmered between silver and blue. It named itself Aelyr, not in speech, but in bond. A name that filled Caelis with heat and sorrow.
The bond was instant. Complete. Painful.
She felt everything Aelyr felt: hunger, fear, confusion, joy. And Aelyr felt her grief, her loneliness, her anger.
Together, they grew.
But Thornak still hunted them. Each night, the skies trembled with his fire. Cities fell. The kingdoms of men blamed each other, too blind to see the return of the dragon scourge.
Only Caelis knew the truth — and the truth was this:
The world had forgotten its oaths.
Dragons were not the enemy.
They were betrayed.
Dren fell protecting her. Burned to ash by Thornak's flame as he held the line for her escape.
But his final gift was a blade — a shard of a dragon's tooth, forged into a weapon that could pierce even a god's heart.
In the Vale of Echoes, Aelyr grew to full form — vast, majestic, terrifying. With wings that could shroud towns and a voice that shook mountains, he became the last wyrm of the sky.
Caelis, atop his back, flew.
She returned fire for fire.
Skies burned with the clash of wyrm and traitor. Thornak was no longer dragon — he was void incarnate, a thing that should not be. But together, Caelis and Aelyr cut through his storm. The final battle ruptured the heavens.
As Thornak fell, screaming, into the sea of clouds, Caelis plunged Dren's blade into his heart.
Light burst across the sky.
Then silence.
---
The world slowly healed.
Caelis disappeared with Aelyr into the high skies beyond the known world.
Some say she died. Others say she waits — for the next Wyrmcaller.
But in mountain winds, in the breath of storms, her name still echoes:
Caelis Stormborn, the Last Wyrmcaller.
And Aelyr, the First Flame.
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THE END