Where Wings Eclipse Stars

There was a prison, vast and sprawling, occupying nearly the entire breadth of a district. It loomed on the far end of Ghent.

This was no ordinary prison; it was the Last Refuge—an infamous labyrinth where the worst of the realm were cast away, a fortress from which none were expected to escape.

"Welcome! To the greatest prison in all the realms above!" a voice bellowed, echoing through the air. The speaker's words swelled with pride, and then, as if reconsidering his own boast, his tone softened into a sly murmur, "...if there is such a place, anyway."

Bathed in ethereal light, the figure was partially silhouetted. He wore deep indigo and cream robes woven with glimmering gold threads, cinched by a twilight sash. The fabric seemed to ripple with its own life. A stark white collar framed his intense presence. In his grasp was a blood-dark staff, crowned by a silver trident whose twisting prongs flickered with light. Ominous engravings on its base hinted at forbidden power.

Behind him loomed an entity of abyssal silence. Its colossal form, armored in plates of obsidian etched with pulsing violet hues, seemed to swallow the light itself. Strands of black skin shifted between the plates, forming a moving, light-absorbing pelt. A massive, snake-like mandible dominated its low-slung head, above which six compound eyes glowed with shifting nebula-hues—crimson, violet, indigo—like distant galaxies seen through stained glass. Four smooth, volcanic-glass horns swept back sharply from its crown. Enormous, semi-translucent patagia shimmered with iridescent patterns between its limbs. It moved not with roars, but with a deep, resonant hum and the grinding of ancient plates—an implacable force radiating hunger not for flesh, but for essence itself.

The boy stood before her, dwarfed by this pact made with the fundamentally other.

"None can come into this place!" the figure screamed once more, his voice carrying across the district with chilling clarity before he vanished in an instant, leaving the faintest wisp of his essence hanging in the air.

The leviathan-like beast—Draugath—shifted, and as she did, wings unfolded from her plates, unfurling with a subtle, lethal grace. These wings had been hidden so completely that, until now, one might not have guessed they existed. When Draugath flapped them, the air itself trembled, and everything nearby—leaves, dust, the very light—quivered like petals caught in the heart of a storm.

With a low, earth-shaking growl, Draugath's wings unfurled fully, and she ascended into the sky, her massive form casting an imposing shadow over the Last Refuge. Her violet eyes scanned the sprawling prison below, taking in its vastness and intricacies.

The figure from earlier reappeared, this time standing atop Draugath's head with casual ease. He raised his staff, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "The quest of heirs starts in a year," he announced, his voice a whisper against the roaring silence of the night.

Draugath's massive mandible yawned open, revealing not teeth but a grinding mill of geometric obsidian plates, a sight to shatter mortal minds. "I suppose so," the leviathan intoned, her voice a cold hunger burning in its six galaxy-like eyes, speaking of consumed potential, not blood. "A pity I can't dissolve the heirs on sight. Their vibrant sparks would make... fitting dissolution."

The figure atop Draugath sighed, rolling his eyes. "I missed the meeting. Can't even interfere directly... but..." He trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the distant gleam of the Sky District.

The figure's form began to change. His body stretched and expanded. His height increased, his limbs lengthening and gaining muscle. His childish features morphed, his face maturing, and his shoulders broadening. His hair, once boyish and tousled, elongated into a sleek, silken mane that billowed around his face, shimmering with hints of starlight. A newfound intensity hardened his gaze, and his voice, once playful and light, deepened with an authority befitting an ancient sage. "Ah," he muttered, flexing his newly formed hands, "this is better. This child form was a nuisance. Beautiful women would flee at the sight of me. No one wants to deal with a 'little boy' on the doorstep of the Last Refuge..." He smirked, his eyes gleaming with slight mischief. "Now… I can go looking for inmates with a bit more dignity. Sometimes I wish to pull down this barrier. Normal people can't see it, but some... can."

"What use is it? You had your turn. Let him enjoy his," Draugath muttered, yawning.

The man frowned for a bit. "Someone came into Ghent, from the museum a few days ago..."

"A—" Draugath began but was interrupted.

"It isn't the tour guide or the Pentamorphs in general, but they died." The man huffed as he tapped Draugath's head. He waved his staff, and a sort of mirror appeared—the Stem. "Here specifically," the man muttered, a smile rising to his lips as he raised a hand to his face. "I have to go now," he then said.

Draugath watched him with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Goodbye, Syverian," she rumbled.

"And to you, Draugath," Syverian replied, bowing slightly before vanishing once more. This time, a doorway shimmered where he had stood—a portal of swirling energy, leading beyond the realm. Draugath gazed at it with a rare glint of fascination before shifting her eyes.

The Last Refuge was a sprawling prison-district, its sinister architecture divided into tiered levels by crime severity. Towering pillars anchored each corner, forged from unearthly material with an eerie metallic sheen—dense yet hollow like vessels of void. Within its borders, minor towers rose but none rivaled the central fortress. Labyrinthine bridges arched over fathomless chasms, tangling into an inescapable maze—an abyss swallowing the condemned in despair.

High above, Draugath let out a deep, guttural chuckle. Her voice was soft, almost to herself. "No prisoner in over four thousand years, yet the presences here reek of destruction." As if to emphasize her words, she turned her gaze downward.

Draugath's eyes narrowed. Her massive wings flared as she lifted herself higher into the air, ascending toward the stars. With a powerful flap, she surged forward, her wings creating a thunderous beat that echoed across the district like a sage's heartbeat, shaking the ground below and sending a shudder through every building.

High above, Draugath ascended into the upper atmosphere, her shadow cast like an eclipse over the Last Refuge. She looked toward the Stem one final time, it being the only structure with her right now, her many eyes gleaming, before turning her gaze to the far horizon, vanishing into the darkness as ninety-nine stars shone. She took in a breath as she charged a massive, colorful light from her jaws, positioning it toward the Last Refuge.