Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Weight of a Legacy

Year: 92 BC - 75 BC (Before Conquest) - The Forging of a Flight

The Aerie was no longer silent. The deep, resonant peace of the early years had been shattered, replaced by a constant, chaotic, and wonderfully vibrant symphony of life. The seven hatchlings grew with the ferocious speed of their kind, their demands and personalities expanding to fill every corner of the vast volcanic caldera. The two decades that followed their hatching were not a time of rest for Vermithrax, but the most exhausting, challenging, and profoundly fulfilling years of his impossibly long life. He was no longer just a survivor; he was a teacher, a lawgiver, and the architect of a generation.

His school had only one subject: how not to be a monster.

His students, however, were a diverse and often difficult class. By the time they reached their tenth year, they were larger than the warhorses of his historical memory, and by their twentieth, the largest of them, Aurum and Volantax, were beginning to approach the size of the smaller dragons from Valyria's twilight. Their burgeoning power was a palpable force within the caldera, a storm of adolescent energy that threatened to boil over at the slightest provocation.

Aurum, the magnificent golden-bronze male, was a creature of immense pride. He carried himself like a king, his every movement economical and powerful. He was the strongest flyer, the first to master the art of the diving strike, and he never missed an opportunity to remind his siblings of his prowess. His loyalty to Vermithrax was absolute, but it was the loyalty of a crown prince to a reigning monarch—respectful, yet tinged with the restless ambition to prove his own worth.

His chief rival was Volantax. The black-and-red dragon was not merely aggressive; he was a scholar of violence. He possessed a terrifying, innate understanding of combat. While Aurum practiced feats of strength and speed, Volantax practiced killing blows. He would spend hours stalking the giant cave lizards that lived in the lower chasms, not just hunting, but experimenting, learning how to sever a spine with a single bite, how to use his tail as a devastating bludgeon. He was enthralled by Vermithrax's tales of Old Valyria, but he drew all the wrong lessons.

"They commanded the world, Father," Volantax projected one evening, his thoughts sharp and edged like obsidian shards. The young dragons were gathered around Vermithrax after a meal, the glow of the lava lake painting their scales in shifting light. "They built an empire that spanned the globe. With dragons like us, they were gods among men. Why is that a legacy to shun? It is a legacy to reclaim."

Vermithrax felt a familiar pang of weary frustration. "They were masters of slaves, Volantax. Their power was built on the suffering of millions. They saw dragons not as kin, but as tools, as living weapons to enforce their will. Their empire rotted from the inside until the very land could no longer tolerate its sickness. That is the lesson of Valyria. Power without wisdom is a fire that consumes the wielder. We are not tools. We are not weapons. We are a people."

"A people of nine, hiding in a mountain at the end of the world," Volantax countered, his dissent respectful but unwavering.

It was Ceraella, the sleek storm-grey female, who intervened. Her mind was as sharp as her claws, and she often acted as the intellectual foil to her more brutish brothers. "The power of the Dragonlords was in the sorcery that bound them to their mounts, a magic that is now broken and gone. Without that, they were just men. We, however, are dragons. Our power is our own. Father's point is that we must be our own masters, not seek to become masters of others."

This was the core of his curriculum. He shared Vermithrax's memories, but framed them as cautionary tales. He taught them history, philosophy, and ethics, concepts utterly alien to their species. He was trying to instill a human conscience into a draconic soul, a monumental and perhaps foolish undertaking.

Veridian, the jade hunter, and Aegaeon, the blue explorer, were more interested in the world than in philosophical debates. Veridian became the master of their territory, his senses more attuned to the rhythms of the Sothoryan jungle than any of his siblings. He learned the migration patterns of the great herbivores, the locations of the most dangerous predators, the secrets of the forest floor. Aegaeon, meanwhile, constantly pushed the boundaries of their domain, his insatiable curiosity leading him on long flights down the coast, returning with thoughts full of wonder at the vastness of the sea and the scale of the ancient, vine-choked ruins.

The emotional heart of the clutch was Pyralia. The sunset-hued dragoness was a creature of empathy and connection. She was the peacemaker, soothing Aurum's ruffled pride, calming Volantax's simmering fury, drawing the quiet Anima out of her shell. She reveled in their shared existence, finding joy in flying in formation, in hunting as a pack, in simply lying together in a tangled heap, warmed by the mountain's heart.

And then there was Anima. The small, white dragoness remained a quiet, contemplative presence. Her bond with Vermithrax deepened over the years into something unique. Where the others heard his projected thoughts as commands, lessons, or stories, Anima seemed to perceive the deeper layers: the lingering human sorrow, the weight of his memory, the profound loneliness of his singular existence.

"You miss the world you tell stories of, don't you?" she projected to him one night, her thought soft as falling snow. They were alone on the high ledge, watching the stars, which shone with an impossible brilliance in the clear mountain air.

He was startled by her directness. "Sometimes," he admitted. "It was a world of smaller things. Of less power, perhaps, but also of a different kind of connection."

"You are not alone here, Father," she assured him, nudging his massive foreleg with her head. "You have us."

"I know, little soul. And it is more than I ever dreamed of."

Teaching them was one challenge; controlling their power was another. As they grew, so did their flames. Anima's was a focused, intensely hot spear of white light. Aurum's was a classic, roaring torrent of gold. Volantax's was a dark, oily fire that seemed to cling to what it burned. One of Vermithrax's most crucial lessons was control, teaching them to produce not just gouts of destructive energy, but the soft, warming flame he used on the eggs. It was a lesson in discipline, in turning a weapon into a tool, and it was the hardest for most of them to master.

The greatest test of his teachings, and their first true trial as a flight, came when they were in their eighteenth year. It began with Veridian. The jade dragon returned from a scouting mission in the lower jungles, his mind a turmoil of alarm and anger.

"Father, our territory has been challenged," he projected, landing on the Aerie with a clatter of claws. "The Great Ape clan of the southern forests has moved north. They have claimed the basin of the Singing Falls. It is where the largest herds of the brindle-beasts water. They are driving the prey away. And they are led by a new king."

Vermithrax knew of the Great Apes. They were not mere animals. They were semi-sentient, organized, and brutally territorial. They were also one of the few Sothoryan creatures that did not instinctively flee from the shadow of a dragon.

"We will simply burn them out," Volantax declared, smoke curling from his nostrils. "A show of force is all they will understand."

"No," Vermithrax stated, his voice a low rumble that silenced all argument. "That is the Valyrian way. We will not be bullies, claiming what we want with fire and death. We will first show ourselves. We will intimidate. We will demonstrate our superiority and persuade them to move. We only fight if we must."

He devised a plan. It would not be a simple attack, but a coordinated display of power. He, Argenta, and the seven young adults would fly as one. They were no longer a family; they were a Flight, a unit of nine dragons, a force not seen in the world since before the Doom.

They set out at dawn, a storm of scales and wings against the rising sun. Vermithrax flew at the apex of the V-formation, a great bronze patriarch. Argenta was his right hand, a gleaming silver spear. Behind them flew the others, a rainbow of terrifying, majestic power. The sight of them, the sound of their wingbeats a series of thunderous claps, sent every lesser creature in the jungle below scattering in terror.

They reached the basin of the Singing Falls, a lush, wide valley with a series of cascading waterfalls that fed a large, clear lake. The Great Ape clan was there, dozens of them, their black fur making them stand out against the green. They were massive creatures, easily the size of aurochs, but their king was something else entirely. It stood on a high rock, observing its domain, and it was a giant among giants, its fur streaked with grey, its ancient eyes filled with a sullen, malevolent intelligence. It was easily thirty feet tall.

"That is their king," Veridian projected, circling high above. "He is old. And very large."

"We follow the plan," Vermithrax commanded. "Aegaeon, Pyralia, you will circle the basin from the east. Veridian, Ceraella, from the west. Your job is to create a wall. No fire. Just your presence. Make them feel caged. Aurum, Volantax, Argenta, you are with me. We will confront the king directly."

The four dragons peeled off, their movements coordinated. They descended, their shadows sweeping over the basin. The apes screeched and postured, but a palpable fear began to spread through their ranks as they realized they were surrounded.

Vermithrax led the central group down, landing with a ground-shaking impact a hundred yards from the ape king's rock. The great beast did not flee. It beat its chest, a booming, hollow sound that was a direct challenge, and let out a roar that shook the very trees.

"He is not impressed," Aurum noted, his own pride pricked by the ape's defiance.

"Patience," Vermithrax cautioned. "Let him see us. Let him understand what he faces."

He took a step forward, lowering his head in a gesture that was not submission, but a clear indication that he was the one initiating this parley. "Leave this place," he projected, his thought not aimed at a single mind, but as a wave of pure, dominant intent. He knew the ape could not understand the words, but it would understand the power behind them. "This valley is not yours. Take your clan and go back to the southern forests."

The ape king responded by picking up a boulder the size of a pony and hurling it at them. It was a feat of impossible strength. The boulder flew through the air and smashed into the ground near Volantax, who sidestepped it with a contemptuous hiss.

"So much for persuasion, Father," Volantax snarled, coiling his muscles. "Let me end this."

"No!" Vermithrax commanded. "We hold."

He had underestimated the ape king's resolve. It was not just a beast; it was a monarch defending its new conquest. It roared again, a command to its clan, and the apes, bolstered by their king's defiance, began to advance, brandishing huge branches as clubs and throwing rocks.

"This is foolishness!" Aurum roared, his frustration boiling over. "They are attacking!"

"The plan has failed, Father," Argenta agreed, her silver form tense and ready for battle. "We must act."

Vermithrax knew they were right. His attempt at a peaceful resolution, his lesson in restraint, had failed. Now, a different lesson was required: the lesson of overwhelming, coordinated power.

"The plan is changed," he announced to the entire Flight. "Ceraella, Veridian, drive the clan's flanks inward. Use low passes. Force them to bunch up. Aegaeon, Pyralia, your task is the same from the other side. Do not engage. Your purpose is fear. Herd them. Aurum, your target is the king. Do not kill him. Subdue him. Show him his strength is meaningless. Argenta, Volantax, you will support Aurum and keep the king's personal guard off of him. I will ensure none of them escape the basin. Now!"

The Flight moved as one. It was a terrifying display of aerial supremacy. The four dragons on the flanks dove, their screeches and the thunder of their wings sowing panic. The apes, who had been advancing, now scrambled back toward their king, huddling together in a terrified mob.

Aurum roared his challenge and launched himself at the king. The great ape met him head-on, swinging a massive, tree-trunk club. Aurum dodged it, the wind from the blow buffeting him, and blasted a concentrated jet of golden fire not at the ape, but at the rock face behind it. The stone exploded into molten slag, showering the king with searingly hot fragments. The ape roared in pain and surprise, swatting at the burning rock clinging to its fur.

While the king was distracted, Argenta and Volantax struck. Argenta was a silver blur, her attack precise, her claws raking across the king's legs, hobbling it. Volantax was a black fury, his attack a brutal, overwhelming assault on the king's personal guard of four massive apes, his dark fire and snapping jaws scattering them in a whirlwind of terror.

Aurum pressed his advantage. He landed, forgoing his fire, and charged, slamming his full weight into the ape king. The beast, for all its power, was knocked from its feet. Aurum pinned it, his claws digging into its shoulders, his jaws, capable of snapping stone, open and ready just inches from the king's face. He did not bite. He simply held the king there, helpless, roaring his dominance.

Vermithrax watched from above, a great bronze god directing his storm. He unleashed a single, massive plume of fire, not at the apes, but straight up into the air, a roaring pillar of flame that seemed to set the very sky ablaze. The sound was deafening, the light blinding. It was the ultimate statement of power. This is what we are. This is what we can do. Now, yield.

The message was received. The ape king, pinned and humiliated, let out a low, guttural whimper of submission. The rest of the clan, huddled together and seeing their invincible monarch utterly defeated, broke. They dropped their weapons and fled, a terrified, scattering mob.

The Flight let them go. They watched as the apes scrambled out of the basin, disappearing back into the jungle, leaving their deposed king to limp away after them in shame.

They had won. And they had done it without a single fatality on either side.

They gathered on the shore of the lake, the adrenaline of the battle slowly receding. There was a new feeling among the younger dragons: the shared, exhilarating pride of a victorious flight.

"That was… magnificent," Pyralia projected, her scales seeming to glow even brighter.

"He was strong," Aurum admitted, looking at the gouges the ape's claws had left on his own bronze scales. "But we were stronger."

Volantax was silent, but Vermithrax could feel his mind churning. He had seen the power of a coordinated attack, the effectiveness of strategy over brute force. The lesson had been learned, though perhaps not in the way Vermithrax had entirely intended.

As they flew home, with the setting sun casting their nine long shadows over the Sothoryan jungle, Vermithrax felt a new weight settle upon him. He had forged them into a Flight. He had taught them to think, to strategize, to fight as one. He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. And it terrified him.

He had created a force capable of bringing any conventional army in the known world to its knees. He had eight young, immortal, incredibly powerful dragons who had now tasted true victory, who understood their own overwhelming might. He looked at them, flying in proud formation around him, and he saw not just his children, but a living, breathing weapon of mass destruction.

He had taught them restraint, but he had also taught them how to win. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that the day would come when the lure of the world of men, with its kingdoms to conquer and its histories to be written, would become too strong to ignore. His Unforgiving Eden was a perfect cradle, but he feared it could not be a permanent cage.