Into the Ruined Spine: The Hunt for Umbaxis

The journey into the Ruined Spine was nothing short of perilous. As we ventured deeper into its jagged, desolate landscape, the very air grew thick with an eerie stillness. Shadows stretched unnaturally, and the ground beneath our feet pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible rhythm—as if something slumbered beneath us.

Zarathorak had remained quiet for most of the journey, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a brooding intensity. I knew what was on his mind. Umbaxis was alive.

Dragons—especially siblings—had an unshakable bond, one that transcended mere senses. No matter how much time passed, if a dragon was truly dead, the others would know. And yet, despite Siegfried's claims, none of them had felt the severance of Umbaxis's life force.

We moved cautiously through the uneven terrain, scanning for any sign of the dragon's whereabouts. Cracked stone spires, abandoned caverns, and massive clawed footprints littered the area. Everything pointed to the presence of something enormous.

After hours of tracking, Ingi was the first to stop.

He knelt down, running his hand over a series of ancient markings etched into the blackened stone. They were unmistakably Draconic in origin—a form of territorial marking used by dragons to establish dominance over a region.

"This is recent," Ingi muttered, eyes narrowing.

Fafnir and Zarathorak exchanged looks.

"Umbaxis still roams these lands," Fafnir confirmed.

I exhaled sharply. "That means Siegfried never killed him."

Zarathorak scoffed. "Of course he didn't. Killing one of us isn't as simple as swinging a sword." His eyes darkened. "But if Umbaxis is alive, then why the hell is he hiding?"

It was a valid question. Dragons were not creatures of secrecy. They were apex predators, beings of pride and power. The fact that Umbaxis had been lurking in the shadows all this time was troubling.

Further ahead, we stumbled upon something even more alarming—traces of blood.

Dark crimson streaked the shattered stones, scattered haphazardly as if something massive had been wounded and forced to flee. The scent was unmistakable.

"Dragon's blood," Zarathorak murmured, his expression hardening.

Fafnir frowned. "Not fresh, but not too old either. A month, maybe less."

I stepped closer, examining the way the blood had dried and seeped into the cracks of the stone. "If this is Umbaxis's, then he's injured."

Ingi crossed his arms. "A wounded dragon wouldn't stay in one place for long. He'd find a lair—somewhere to recover, away from danger."

Zarathorak's fists clenched. "Which means he's hiding not by choice—but out of necessity."

A heavy silence fell over us. Siegfried hadn't killed Umbaxis.

But something else had tried to.

Following the faint traces of blood, we eventually stumbled upon a massive chasm that plunged deep into the earth. The opening was wide enough to fit a fully-grown dragon, its edges jagged and freshly broken—as if something massive had forcefully entered or exited through it.

Zarathorak approached the edge, peering into the darkness below.

"This is it," he said, his voice low. "He's down there."

Fafnir inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. "I can smell his presence."

Ingi nodded. "There's no doubt. This is where Umbaxis has been hiding."

I tightened my fists. "Then it's time to see the truth for ourselves."

The air grew heavier as we ventured deeper into the treacherous landscape of the Ruined Spine. The jagged cliffs above loomed like the broken ribs of a long-dead titan, and the deeper we went, the more the shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally.

We had been careful to leave no traces behind, but now, as we approached what we believed to be Umbaxis' lair, we had to be certain. If Siegfried had been here before, and if any other threats were lurking, we couldn't afford to be found.

"We're going completely off the map from here," I muttered, glancing at the others.

Fafnir's crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. "Then it's time, Father."

The Dragon King nodded, stepping forward. He closed his eyes, raising one hand as a deep golden glow surrounded him.

"May the winds silence our names. May the earth erase our steps. Let all things, even the gaze of gods, forget our existence."

Then, his eyes snapped open.

"Veil of the Forgotten."

A surge of golden energy erupted outward, passing through each of us. The spell didn't just make us invisible—it erased our very presence. Our Magicore signatures vanished completely, our scents dissipated into nothingness, and even the sound of our footsteps was swallowed by the unnatural silence that followed.

With this, even a dragon wouldn't be able to track us.

Fafnir let out a low hum of approval. "You've always been good at covering your tracks, Father."

Ingi simply crossed his arms. "Stealth is survival."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's move."

And so, concealed by the Veil of the Forgotten, we pressed forward into the abyss.

Our footsteps were light, careful, but the air was thick with tension. The deeper we went, the more the walls of the cavern seemed to close in, etched with deep gouges—massive slashes that could only have been made by something dragon-sized.

Fafnir ran a hand along the deep claw marks, his face grim. "These aren't old."

Zarathorak knelt beside another set of scars in the rock, examining the sheer force behind them. "No doubt, a dragon made these." He tapped his fingers against the stone. "And it wasn't that long ago."

Ingi exhaled, his golden eyes flickering in the dim light. "Then he's still somewhere ahead."

We continued onward, carefully following the silent trail of destruction. Hours passed, and the darkness thickened, wrapping around us like a living thing. The air itself felt heavier—almost as if something unseen was watching us.

Then, we stopped.

Ahead of us, in the vast, open abyss, a massive horde of monsters sprawled across the cavern floor.

Hundreds, maybe even thousands.

Grotesque creatures, some with twisted limbs, others slithering across the rocky terrain with unnatural speed. Their bodies pulsed with eerie, crimson veins, as if their very essence had been tainted by something far darker than simple corruption.

Zarathorak's eyes narrowed. "Bloodspawn."

Fafnir inhaled sharply. "Damn it… These things aren't natural."

Ingi's voice was low, measured. "If we disturb them, they'll swarm us. Even with our strength, fighting all of them at once would be reckless."

I clenched my fists, staring at the horde in front of us. "Then we move carefully. We're still under the effects of Veil of the Forgotten, but even the best concealment magic won't matter if we make too much noise."

Zarathorak exhaled through his nose, his face unreadable. "We don't have a choice. If we're going to reach Umbaxis, we have to get past them."

No one needed to say anything else.

We moved forward, slowly, each step precise, careful.