Page 1 of Klauth
Chapter One
My seaside kingdomflourishes under my watch. I stand atop the highest tower of my castle, where the salt-laced wind ruffles my scales and carries the tang of brine that clings to my nostrils. Below, the churning waves crash rhythmically against the shore, their relentless pounding a steady heartbeat in the distance. Even here, I catch faint echoes of laughter drifting up from the courtyard, where hatchlings play under the watchful eyes of their elders. Every dragoness and her brood retire with full bellies—my promise kept each night.
Across the narrow channel, the temple of Bahamut rises in austere splendor. Its soaring spires capture the few rays of sun that pierce the ever-present, brooding clouds, casting long, cool shadows over the water. On the mainland, I watch construction crews setting the foundation for an all-species academy. The distant clatter of tools on stone mingles with the low roar of the ocean—a strangely comforting backdrop to my musings.
“Sire?”
Virgel, my ever-loyal assistant, speaks up from behind me. I turn to see his arms overflowing with scrolls, the musty scent of agedparchment blending with the sea breeze. As I pivot, the briny gust rustles the edges of the papers he carries.
“Edicts or plans for the academy?” I ask, narrowing my gaze. The rich aroma of old ink and a faint hint of dust tickle my nose, reminding me of decisions long etched in time.
“Both, Sire…” he replies, bowing his head in deference. I tilt mine toward the open door, and we step inside. We leave behind the cool, damp stone for the polished, echoing floor of the grand hall. My shoes click softly against the surface, each step punctuated by the gentle crackle of torchlight. The warm glow from the flickering flames casts dancing shadows along the walls, lending the corridor a hushed, watchful quality.
I lead Virgel to an expansive oak table where each scroll lies unrolled and spread out with deliberate care. Running my fingers over the crisp lines of text, I am reminded of the weight these decisions carry. The soft rasp of parchment under my touch resonates like a whispered warning. My heart sinks when my gaze falls upon one particular scroll, its seal already broken. Syrax, my betrothed, has come of age, and her parents now demand an answer. A familiar twinge of reluctance tightens my chest.
With a dismissive flick of my wrist, I push the scroll aside. I refuse to let its urgent message overshadow more pressing matters. My eyes return to the academy plans. I tap a clause that designates the dragons’ dorm on the high ground to the north, ensuring they may watch over the lands. I can almost envision them, majestic and vigilant, perched on twilight balconies as they scan the horizon with keen eyes.
For the mixed-species dorm, I set its location to the south, centered on a communal feeding station. An open space wherescales, feathers, and fur converge, forging bonds before any prejudice can take root. My throat tightens momentarily when my gaze settles on the water feature I designed in honor of my late mother. Nestled in a quiet courtyard and surrounded by graceful cherry blossoms—her favorite. I can still recall her gentle purr as she sat beneath those trees. The subtle perfume of the blossoms mingles with the cool air, leaving behind a soft ache that lingers within me.
“I want these cherry trees cared for year-round,” I murmur in a low, measured voice. “Have the gardeners keep them in constant bloom, if possible. My mother would have wanted that.”
Virgel inclines his head so deeply that I fear he might topple under his own reverence. I offer him a small nod before reviewing the last changes. Once I am satisfied, I hand the scrolls to him. The rustling of paper and the soft echo of his departing footsteps fade away, leaving me alone in the muted glow of the torch-lit hall.
Then my gaze falls upon the scroll that seals my fate. Its edges curl slightly from the persistent humidity, and I can almost taste the dark, bitter ink of the betrothal contract. Syrax—the young female crystal dragon I chose when she hatched—now looms large in my thoughts. My chest tightens with the realization that I have postponed this inevitable duty for far too long. It is time to take a bride and sire a clutch, as duty finally overshadows my personal reservations.
Beyond the castle walls, thunder rumbles in the distance, a low, persistent growl that melds with the whisper of the wind. Over the centuries, only one threat has stirred unrest: the endless war between the green and black dragons. They tear each other apart for reasons that have long slipped beyond the reach of bothmemory and reason. May Tiamat forbid that their conflict spills over here.
I exhale slowly, setting the ancient scroll down on the rough-hewn table. My fingertips tap a steady, measured rhythm against the stone before I force my mind to refocus. Perhaps one day these warring clans will find peace. But today isn’t that day, and this century hardly promises a reprieve.
I lift my gaze to the sun, squinting against its fierce glare as I gauge its lofty position in the sky. Its rays catch on the weathered stone of the castle ramparts beneath my feet, warming the surface until the heat seeps into the soles of my boots. A dry, gritty wind scrapes past my skin—its sting muted in my human guise. Yet I still feel its bite along my forearms and on the back of my neck. I know Thauglor will be here soon.
I can already picture him gliding alongside me. His massive wings slicing through the air as we prepare to meet my bride and inspect the shallow nest she’s dug. I’m not expecting grand architecture—crystal dragons rarely create structures that inspire awe in size—but her breath weapon intrigues me. I clench my hands at the vivid memory of her fathers demonstration: shards of crystal hurtling through the air, catching even the faintest glimmer of light. A single exhalation from one of them can blind or dazzle an opponent for hours, leaving them utterly helpless. The thought sends a tight coil of anticipation curling through my chest.
A thunderous roar ripples across the sky, and I feel every hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. The sound vibrates through the stone beneath my feet, setting it trembling as if in fear. Thauglor. A predatory grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I bound off the rampart, letting the rush of wind carry me into the open air. Mid-fall, my form shifts—muscle and sinew ripplingunder scales that momentarily shimmer. I unleash a roar in answer, its echo a challenge that vibrates down my spine.
Once airborne, I circle high above the castle’s spiked turrets. The wind whips at my face, carrying with it a faint, metallic taste of iron from the distant mountains. Far below, the courtyard spreads out like a patchwork of worn cobblestones and meager patches of greenery. I remain vigilant, scanning the horizon for Thauglor’s dark silhouette against the vast sky.
When I finally spot him gliding toward my territory, I drop in altitude, feeling the ache in my wings as they catch a sudden, biting gust. I maneuver toward our designated landing field, each powerful beat of my wings stirring up a flurry of dust and loose pebbles. My spine tingles with anticipation as I near the ground. Mere seconds before impact, I shift back into my human form. My boots grind against the earth, and a fine cloud of dirt swirls around my ankles.
Thauglor’s black dragon lands nearby, his massive wings fanning out and sending a swirl of gritty debris into the air. I can almost taste the mineral tang on the back of my tongue as I watch him shift. Even in human form, I notice the slow fading of the scales on his face—a sure sign he’s edging closer to his wyrm stage. We stride toward each other and clasp hands in a firm grip, the lingering warmth of our recent transformations pulsing between our palms.
“It’s been a while, Klauth. Have you been well?” Thauglor asks, his deep voice resonating like distant thunder. His eyes wander over my domain—the sprawling stone walls and the distant, jagged peaks—and a slight curl tugs at his lips. “You’ve chosen a beautiful place for your home. Will your bride come here with you?”
His words evoke a bittersweet mix of pride and unease. I turn away, studying the rough lines of my castle’s architecture and the somber gargoyles perched along its rooftops. The air grows thick with the promise of an impending storm. Perhaps it is merely a reflection of my own dark mood. “We will see after she bears my clutch. Apparently, her parents insisted she dig a nest in their territory.”
A low growl thrums in my chest at the thought of leaving the place where I was hatched. The scent of fresh mortar mixed with aged rock clings to these walls, calling me back to memories of youth and the raw beginnings of life.
Thauglor shakes his head, and the faint glow of the sun catches the remaining scales on his human face. “Crystal dragons don’t enjoy straying far from their kind. It’s nearly a half day’s flight from here to her region.” He arches an eyebrow, his look questioning, but I shake my head in dismissal.
“If she fights to return to that nest she dug, that’s on her.” My voice rumbles low, a sound born of both defiance and resignation. My gaze drifts to the sprawling mountains beyond the northern side of the castle, their peaks jutting sharply against the overcast, grey sky. “I have plenty of mountains here where she can dig a nest in my territory.” The wind stirs my hair as I inhale the crisp tang of the peaks—sharp, foreboding, yet undeniably home.
I sweep my hand toward the mountain range that overlooks the spot I plan to develop for the war branch of the academy. My mind teems with possibilities—rows of training grounds, watchtowers lining the ridge line, each idea as vast and untamed as the landscape itself.
I stretch my neck and catch the faint metallic tang of the wind on my tongue. The late-afternoon sky is bruised with purple clouds drifting low, their moisture clinging to my scales like a whispered promise. Thauglor licks his finger to test the breeze, nodding in quiet satisfaction as he lifts it above his head.
“We should get going if we plan on arriving before nightfall,” he rumbles, his voice deep and resonant. He shifts his weight, and I hear his boots scrape against the rocky outcrop beneath us. “The wind is in our favor heading there. We may have to fight it on the way back, though.” With that, he steps away, his skin rippling and stretching until he towers before me in his colossal, black dragon form. The rapid transformation releases an earthy, reptilian musk. The dark gleam of his scales reflects the sun with a foreboding brilliance.
Rolling my eyes, I huff out a breath that carries a faint, sulfurous odor. I follow suit and shift; my body expands and contorts as my dragon form takes shape—talons lengthening, wings unfurling in a display of raw power. The shift is never painless—my muscles burn and my bones ache momentarily. I bite back the snarl and focus instead on the potent rush of blood surging through every limb.
