Intermezzo I
476 Words
INTERMEZZO I
It was a moment between two ages, a gasp in history when the world didn’t know what to do next.
One moment was the reign of the dragon lord; the next, a dawn that had no name. Yet the sun still rose all the same on the coast of the fishing village, the huts charred by dragon fire, the lines of fish laid out like beads of a broken necklace. The waters still ebbed and flowed over the bodies lying facedown in the sand, their hands clutched around rocks and swords and what was left of their children. The wind still blew through the forest and rustled the leaves where Old Dark lay, swollen with sleep.
One moment it was darkness, an age where you couldn’t trust your shadow for fear it would betray your secrets, for there were ears everywhere—and the next, infinite silence.
Uncertainty.
Trepidation.
The news spread with the rising sun. Down the golden coasts of the western continent, where elves gathered in the forests to debate whether it was really true. Across the plains where human farmers leaned against fence posts, wondering if they no longer had to make tributes. To the four corners of the world, the snowy tundras, the searing deserts, the roiling, jewel-dark seas.
Trade routes faltered, then flourished. The hills filled with fat cattle and farmers grew rich from not having to slaughter them without pay.
For dragons, it was a sad day and the end of an era. Keeper dragons wept inside their caves, and Crafter dragons keened louder than the wind.
The dragon lord was dead.
No, not dead. Asleep. But for the world who had never known any different, it was the same as dead.
How the world rejoiced! How elves and humans danced in celebrations while the dragons retreated to their homes, brooding...
The dragon lord was dead.
But the world didn’t know the whole story. No one saw Toad springing out of the shadows at the last minute, slamming into Fenroot, breaking the dragon’s face. Moss escaping into the brush. Norwyn and Toad running to the great dragon, sleeping as lifeless as a stone.
The vigil outside the palace walls was a sham. The thousands of chanters with their offerings of jewels, beef, and gold were also carrying swords and axes at the bottom of the carts. They stormed the castle walls easily, for the dragons were in mourning.
The mob searched for Alsatius and Smirnagond, burning every room in the palace as they did so. They found the old dragons in the gardens, and they burned them alive.
Dark’s parents died with his name on their lips.
The palace fell, spilling its rock and bones across the valley.
It was all over. Centuries of power gone in the time it took for the palace to crumble.
And as the world exhaled, it had to figure out what to do, now that the House of Dark had fallen.
ACT II
- Writer
