The Northern Troubles

"Celeste Regina," one of the Primordials rumbled. "The Sky God tasks us with a glorious mission. What is your command?"

"The first time the Sky God spoke to us, we lost loved ones in the Great Dispersing—to the enraged one!" another bellowed angrily. "And now he asks us to—"

"Be silent, fool. Your life exists because of his will."

After reciting the Sky God's words, Celeste Regina pondered in silence. Her tail flicked with irritation before she exhaled deeply.

"The rewards have been generous, this is true. And we owe the Sky God our very existence. We may lose loved ones in this coming battle, but if we do nothing, we will lose everything."

She rose, her towering figure cracking the stone beneath her as her weight shifted onto her feet. Taller than any male dragon and even her fellow female Primordials, she cast a long shadow over the assembly.

"Gather the Primordials and dragons. In one lunar cycle, we shall depart and bathe the land in fire!"

Silence followed. Then, for the first time since her battle with the Black Primordial Dragon, she let out a battle roar. At first, the others stood in stunned silence, then they joined in, their voices shaking the very foundations of the mountain.

The dwarves, confused and uneasy at the unusual display, instinctively stepped back toward their mountains, their hands gripping tools tightly. Later, they would learn the truth of the events, but for now, subtle fear spread as theories and conspiracies formed.

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Tapping his fingers as he watched the dragons depart to inform their kin, Atlas shifted his gaze to the shrinking forms of the dwarves below.

"Completely inadequate for battles, despite their technological superiority over the other races," he sighed, focusing on one dwarf who stood frozen in paranoia.

This dwarf, convinced the dragons would run rampant just like in the tales of their foundation- when Hornfinger and so many others had been slain- donned his iron gear. As if it would make any difference against Dragon's Breath, he stood with his axe in hand, ready to face the titanic beings of the mountains.

"Conspiracy against reality," Atlas chuckled. "At times, theories are dismissed as that by the ignorant but unfortunately for you, suicidal dwarf, this time it is exactly that."

Glancing over, he noted Wisp's continued silence. 'A fresh existential crisis at work.'

"I'm going to check on the humans and beastkin," Atlas announced deliberately, raising his voice.

Wisp jerked in response.

"Rather than waiting or fast-forwarding time, especially with a potential Weaver War on the horizon, I'll see what they were doing."

"Yes!" Wisp replied overly loud, fluttering back toward him. "Good use of time, Weaver! Time cannot be wasted anymore!"

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-CDIM Replay: Year 490-

A small band of beastkin from the wolf and cat tribes, mixed with halfbreeds and humans, and clad in nothing but basic cloth to cover their loins, moved tensely through the dense forest.

The humans and halfbreeds, whose skin was less resilient than that of full-blooded beastkin, wore leather tunics and heavy cloth. The beastkin didn't have to worry as much about bronze weaponry piercing their hides. Broken bones and concussions were the greater threat. But for the others, that danger loomed atop all else.

Yet, their purpose was not war with the southern tribe. Several of their people had gone missing again. This was a search and rescue party, and an expedition to uncover the cause.

Raising his fist, the wolf beastkin at the front of the group halted them. Towering at two meters tall, his massive frame was twice as broad as the human beside him. Black fur bristled as sharpened fangs and claws flexed, his joints bent in a wolf-like stance, yet his mind and speech held the clarity of humans.

This was Ferox, chieftain of the wolf tribe.

Beside him stood Geri, leader of the northern human tribe, ginger hair poking out from the leather cap atop his head and a ginger beard. A bronze sword, taken from their southern enemies, hung at his hip, accompanied by a wooden shield wrapped in hide and a short spear equal to his height.

"I smell blood," Ferox snarled.

Nodding grimly, Geri made a series of hand signals. Their previously tight formation loosened and the warriors fanned out in staggered lines. Roughly eight meters separated each trio. Groups of three with either two humans and a beastkin or two beastkin and a human.

At the rear, the halfbreed scouts, bearing longer two-handed spears, positioned themselves in pairs to cover the expedition's flanks. Thirty warriors spread out across a forty-meter-wide formation, advancing cautiously.

Nothing moved. And there was no sound either.

It was eerie quiet. Something was wrong.

No birds. No squirrels. Not even the distant cries of wildlife. Only the faint, heightened breaths of men and beastkin with adrenaline surging through their veins.

Was it the southerners? Were they walking into a trap? Or was the menace behind-

Snap.

A loud crack shattered the stillness, followed by a series of smaller, high-pitched snaps. Instantly, weapons were raised, beastkin arms lifted to shield against an unseen ambush.

Dark shapes fell from the trees, and instinct drove the warriors back. Spears leveled, shields raised. But...

"They're the missing people," Geri muttered grimly.

Lifeless corpses strung up with vines that snapped loose, and their innards hanging out of their body painting their skin and faces red. Slowly, and with unpleasant acceptance, their eyes rose to meet trees with numerous bodies tied to them in a similar state.

Organs dangling from their bodies over their faces, painting themselves and the lush canopy around them crimson.

"The southerners have adopted a sickening tradition," Ferox growled, his nostrils flaring. His sharp eyes scanned the branches for movement, his claws flexing in readiness.

"We should gut them as they did our kin and hang their entrails from their doorways for their females to see."

"No," Geri interjected, shaking his head. "They've denied involvement. And with our new flying visitors, we don't yet know the true culprits."

Alaric, a young warrior recently appointed as second-in-command, stood at Ferox's flank. Ginger-haired like Geri but younger, barely past his late teens, he was clad in similar leathers, a bronze sword strapped to his hip.

"The southerners accused us of a new barbaric custom," Alaric noted, his voice cautious. "Could this be related?"

Ferox scoffed and snarled, baring his fangs. "Every word from their mouths is a lie."

"Stay focused," Geri ordered sharply, pointing ahead with his spear. "Some of the blood is still wet."

This tension was a burden. The beastkin's tempers flared too easily, and Alaric was too talkative for a young warrior. A bad combination.

Ferox and Geri locked gazes briefly, tension lingering before both returned their focus to the path ahead. At Geri's silent command, the search continued.

Yet, despite following the scent, despite hearing distant rustling, they found nothing. Even when the beastkin charged through the undergrowth, sprinting toward subtle movements and unfamiliar scents, their adversary evaded them with ease.

"Could it be the cursed ones we banished?" Alaric asked as they turned back, their mission unfinished.

"Perhaps," Geri mused. "It would make sense."

"Maybe they need human sacrifices to feed their red energy! Or the deaths of innocents!" Alaric theorized, his words coming faster.

Geri snorted. "Or maybe those winged beasts take human form and toy with us."

"Why do you mock me?" Alaric snapped. "Elves wield magic. Beasts rule the skies. Bearded short people that delve underground. Is it so ridiculous?"

"Speculation is pointless right now," Geri countered sharply. "Stay alert. Stop filling the air with fantasy. And stop agitating the beastkin. They already despise the southerners."

"But what if it isn't them? Ferox is-"

"Enough." Geri spun Alaric around, gripping his shoulder. "Stop talking. You're young. You've seen nothing. And this is your first expedition. You already face skepticism for your position, don't make it worse."

Alaric glared at him, jaw clenched, but said nothing. After a moment, his gaze lowered.

"…Understood."

Satisfied, Geri stepped past him, signaling the expedition to move out.

Alaric's lips twitched, frustration simmering beneath his expression. Ferox, watching the exchange, remained silent before following.