Page 2 of Klauth
I want to wait for my mate.I’ve put off taking a bride for over two centuries, so what’s another hundred years, if I’m honest? The thought of signing my life away to a woman I’ve never met weighs heavily on my chest. Each gust buffets me as I launch into the air, taking the lead toward the crystal dragon nest to the east, where a future—and perhaps a reluctant love—awaits.
Below me, the half-finished academy stretches across the land, its jagged spires clawing at a dimming sky. From this lofty height, I watch the construction site teeming with workers no larger than ants, their distant shouts dissolving into the chillwind. The very foundations exude the damp musk of wet earth mixed with the sharp tang of fresh-cut stone—a raw reminder of how long this place has been in the making. I recall my father laid its first stones a hundred years ago, and in the breezes whisper, I almost hear his booming laughter echoing in my memory. This neutral ground is a future where young dragons choose their own path, unburdened by the wars of our parents.
I glide closer to Thauglor, the cool air drumming insistently against my leathery wings as twilight promises relief from the day’s heat. My gaze drifts back to the academy, its unfinished spires catching the last glimmers of sunlight and glinting like shards of fractured glass. I imagine that soon, this place will teem with hatchlings testing the limits of their fire-breath and bold souls meeting potential mates. Perhaps even forming those rare, scent-blended true partnerships that defy every written contract. The law is unwavering: a true mate bond overrides every betrothal.
If only I were that lucky. The surge of wind rattles my horns, each vibration sending a chill down my spine as I push forward with a low, rumbling growl deep in my throat. I picture the female Bahamut destined for me—a figure bathed in soft moonlight, her presence waiting patiently in my home and in the quiet of my bed. My chest tightens at the thought, a piercing blend of longing and frustration that prickles my every scale. For now, I remain bound by a vow to a stranger—a cold contract that leaves me yearning for something more.
I force my attention back to the flight, tasting the crisp, chilled air as it ripples over my scales with every powerful beat of my wings. The sun sinks lower behind us, its dying light bleeding across the horizon in bruised shades of violet and gold, a breathtaking yet somber spectacle. I cling to a fragile hope that Iwill live long enough to see the day when I finally meet the mate who will make me forget all about contracts and obligations. A mate who reminds me that destiny, however cruel, can sometimes show unexpected kindness.
Chapter Two
I stretch awake,feeling the chill of the rough, uneven rock beneath my scaled body as I slowly rise from the cavern floor. My muscles tighten in my broad, scaled shoulders while I take in the damp, mineral-tinged air—remnants of our long, restless night. Tiny droplets of condensation trickle down the jagged walls, their soft plinks echoing like whispered secrets in the stillness.
I unfurl my wings and shake them vigorously, a shudder rippling through me as cool air slides beneath the thick, leathery membranes. Beside me, Thauglor mirrors my movements; his black scales catch the scant light that filters through a narrow fissure above, casting shifting shadows over his imposing form.
We spent the night in our dragon forms, hidden in a secluded cavern several miles south of the Crystal Dragon nest—a far better alternative than arriving late and unannounced. My claws scrape against coarse gravel as I pad toward the cave’s mouth, the shifting pebbles crackling underfoot like brittle whispers. Blinking against the sudden brightness of the outside world, I take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the vast panorama:rolling plains stretching out before me and distant, jagged peaks looming to the north. Overhead, the sky is a cool, smoky gray, with heavy clouds churning as if promising a fresh rain.
With a powerful push from my haunches, I launch into the open air, my massive wings thundering against the wind. Crisp, bracing gusts ruffle my vibrant crimson scales, and each downward beat of my wings sends a resonant tremor through my ribs. Thauglor follows close behind, his inky black wings devouring the last vestiges of sunlight. As we head northeast, the wind carries with it whispers of green vegetation, the cool aroma of distant water, and the unmistakable, musky tang of other dragons.
I tilt my head back and unleash a mighty roar, a sound that rolls out like distant thunder and announces our arrival. My chest vibrates powerfully with each reverberation, the echo bouncing off ancient, rugged cliffs. A heartbeat later, a softer, almost hesitant roar answers from below, granting us permission to approach. My pulse quickens with anticipation, each beat a reminder that negotiations with the Crystal Dragons are always fraught with tension.
Circling their courtyard twice, I scan the pale, timeworn stone buildings below. I catch the furtive shuffle of scurrying feet and hushed whispers as the inhabitants react nervously to our presence. Finally, I angle downward, extending my powerful back talons, and land with a muted, resonant thud in the center. My claws scrape across the cool marble tiles, producing a sharp, staccato echo that fills the enclosed space. I flare my wings wide, using the hooked tips for balance, and let out a low, rumbling huff that stirs up fine motes of dust at my feet.
In an instant, I shift to my human form. The cool stone beneath my boots feels strangely fragile compared to the unyieldingearth that once supported my claws. Thauglor touches down with a resonant impact, displacing the still air in a ripple of sound. He shifts as well, yet the darkness of his wings remains draped over his shoulders like a protective cloak. Their smooth, leathery texture is so profoundly black it seems to absorb every stray ray of light in the courtyard.
“Klauth, always a pleasure to see you arrive,” comes a resonant greeting. I turn to see Leviathan striding toward me, his crystalline scales glinting even in human form. He extends his hand with a practiced, disarming smile.
“Thank you, Leviathan,” I reply, clasping his hand firmly. His skin is cool and almost slick to the touch, and I withdraw my grip swiftly. “This is Thauglor, my ally,” I say, nodding toward him. “Thau, this is Leviathan—the drake that sired my betrothed.”
Thauglor inclines his head slightly, his wings draped casually over his arms as he deliberately avoids extending a handshake. “Pleasure,” he responds in a flat tone, his voice carrying a quiet, cautionary note. The shifting leather of his wings produces a soft, rasping sound, reminiscent of dry leaves rustling in a light breeze.
“This way, gentlemen,” Leviathan directs, gesturing toward an archway carved with intricate, swirling patterns that evoke the layered beauty of crystal. As we follow his lead, the gentle scrape of my boots against the polished floor resounds—a stark contrast to the powerful clamor of my claws on rough stone only moments before.
We step into a spacious room. Its walls and floors softened by plush pillows in hues of pale blue and shimmering white. In one corner, several females huddle together, their wide eyes betraying a thin veil of terror. I catch the faint, unsettling odorof their fear—a blend of stale sweat intermingled with a metallic tang that twists my stomach as I watch them cling to each other.
“You have to forgive my daughters,” Leviathan explains softly as he stops near a long, imposing table at the room’s center. “They don’t see outsiders very often.”
I swallow a low, guttural growl as their palpable fear both irritates and disgusts me. These quivering females seem hardly fit to bear the weight of our bloodline. I notice Thauglor’s slight smirk and the subtle flare of his nostrils, a silent testament to his scorn.
“How well do they fight?” Thauglor inquires, his tone heavy with impatience. “Maybe I might even take one home with me.” At his words, the girls recoil, sniffling in alarm as the mere suggestion of a black dragon claiming one of them sends shivers through the room.
“Our females don’t fight. Do yours?” Leviathan retorts, his question hanging in the air. Despite the tension, there is a certain pride in his voice as he defends the ways of his brood.
“Red and black dragon females learn to fight from a young age,” I reply evenly, my gaze sweeping over the nervous cluster of daughters. “They know how to defend their nests. We don’t send them to war, if that’s what you’re asking.” In truth, none of these trembling figures before me would stand a chance if another species dared raid their eggs; their quivering only deepens my contempt.
“You can try to teach my daughter to fight, but we are not built that way, I’m afraid,” Leviathan concedes, a subtle unease creeping into his otherwise polished demeanor.
My anger ignites like wildfire. “That is not what you said to get me to accept your hatchling,” I snap, slamming my heavy palms down onto the gleaming surface of the table. The impact reverberates through the room, rattling the dishes nearby with a sharp clatter. “You promised me a powerful female with a breath weapon to rival the sun!”
Leviathan leans forward, his eyes locking with mine as he meets my fury head-on. The tension between us crackles like a storm waiting to break. “The daughter I’m giving you is the strongest of the clutch,” he insists in a low, measured tone. “Her breath weapon will rival the sun when she reaches wyrm status in ten years.”
“You’re giving me a twenty-year-old hatchling?” I exclaim, spreading my fingers wide as indignation surges through me, my heart pounding like a war drum in my ears at the sheer gall of this arrangement.
“No,” he replies evenly, raising his hands in a gesture meant to calm the storm of my anger. “I am giving you a twenty-five-year-old hatchling. Our females reach wyrm status at thirty-five. We simply grow a little slower.”
My eyes narrow as the distant hum of my dragon instincts intensifies in my ears. The soft, almost imperceptible shuffling of his daughters, the clinical sterility of this room, and Leviathan’s saccharine politeness all rub me raw. I draw in a deep, steadying breath—the cold, stinging air filling my lungs—as I struggle desperately to keep my patience from snapping altogether.
After several hours,three heated arguments, and the irritating sound of weak females sniveling at our raised voices, my stomach twists in revulsion. A stiff breeze carries their bitter tears to my nostrils. The salty tang churns my gut. This is not what I was promised. Syrax—the female pledged to me—is barely half my size and even weaker in her dragon form. When her shallow panting becomes unbearable, she shifts and flops across my dragon’s back. We are not even halfway back to my territory.Disgraceful. Her trembling fingers clutch at my scales. I sense the pitiful hammering of her heart, yet I feel no pity.
