Page 20 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
I do not wish to be that man. Irefuseto be that man.
I will destroy myself before I become that man.
Threads of Air whip around me, rooting me in place.
« Is this truly what you desire, Benevolence, son of Valor? »
The Air drags me closer, forcing me to stare into crimson eyes that are not my own. The Corona Ignis burns on my brow, its flames flickering with a white heat. A heat reflected in my predatory gaze.
In my sharp smile.
“Please, stop,” I whisper, but the reflection remains, torturing me with the reality of my situation. Why is the Great Weaver showing me this?
I already know the risks. I already know the ultimate fate awaiting me.
« Is this truly why you have come? For my blessing? »
Those words pound in my ears like the thrum of war drums in the distance as the Air wrenches me forward, pitching me face-first into the Waters. I do not have time to hold my breath before it pulls me under. But there is no need.
I strike the surface of the lake and pass straight through. Falling.
Not through water, but through darkness, until I crash against something hard and cold.
Stone. I am in a cave. The scent of damp earth hangs heavy in the air. But even surrounded by naught but shadow, I know where I am.
I am back at the Aerie, deep beneath the crust of the earth, within the Vault of Kings.
How many times have I come here over the years? How many times have I stood before the magic dome guarding the Corona Ignis, hoping the artifact within would give me the answers I so desperately seek?
How can I break the curse? How can I be the king I was always meant to be?
But just like the Great Weaver, it never answers me. It never so much as speaks.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as the torches surrounding the pedestal at the very center of the vault spark to life one by one of their own accord. The light of their flames dances off the threads of magic sweeping overhead, making them glitter all the more beautifully.
But more importantly, it illuminates the only object of significance that exists in this space—the Corona Ignis itself. There it sits atop the pedestal, pretending to be a simple circlet of gold. A pretty, unassuming trinket. Hardly worthy of calling itself a crown.
But I know better.
It is the most powerful artifact known to dragonkind, forged in the Living Waters by the Great Weaver Himself. And here it has rested since my father’s death, waiting for its next bearer. Waiting for me.
Waiting for this moment.
My aunties are nowhere near. I am alone.
Naei, not alone. The Aether swirls about me, pressing in close. It is still with me, just as it always is. Just as He is always with me, even when He is silent.
But He is far from silent now.
« Why have you come? »
I take a single step forward and address the air just above the Corona Ignis.
“I have come to beg your blessing to take up the crown of my forefathers—”
« I see your heart, Benevolence. »
Those words crack through me like a bolt of lightning, driving me to my knees. My shins crack against stone, rattling my teeth. Shaking, I bow my head. I brace my hands against the floor.
