Abyss, a deep umbral haze hung upon the world, heavy and oppressive. Upon this night the moons deemed their brilliance forfeit to all, their glorious form hidden from sight.

Such darkness, such utter void could never be orchestrated by anything natural. And so it was not, for something more pressed upon the skies, something arcane and twisted, with a tinge of blood and death.

“Venerated Brother, the time draws near. Blessed be his most eminence, the final Thrall has drawn breath”. The veil fires licked but did not betray the hooded figure’s visage.

“And so it is, be proud brother, today a Lord is to be born” said the more ornate hooded man, his graveled voice belaying his advance age. “Let us go to the prime array, our brothers and sisters awaits”.

And so the older figure stood from his seat, and the pair walked out of the richly decorated alcove. The pair strode through the caverns, passing by many another hooded colleague attending to their duty. Making good time as if the pockets of eerie silence filled with death and decay alongside the shattering cries of infants were but an illusion, a figment of one’s imagination, the duo pressed forth.

Arriving, the plain hooded man bowed shallowly to the older man, and took his place amongst the throng of similarly dressed individuals. The ornately hooded man stepped forward unto the arrays, carved into the very cavern floors. The brothers and sisters formed a circle, shoulder to shoulder they enclosed the older man. With every step the arrays pulsed, like the beating of a heart. Foot by foot, the pulse grew stronger, faster. And as the old man neared its center the flashes of purple, with but a wisp of green, became blinding. However his strides were true, never faltering, with a singular purpose. And so he stopped for he had reached the core. The arrays hummed, his brothers and sisters a chorus of unity as the arcane pressed heavy upon one’s very breath.

There, unto the very core of the arrays. Within the very epicenter of the arcane energies laid two, bound and unconscious. Two that would be one. Two infants, one but a spawn of man, a human boy. The other, that of a creature of legends and myths. A being of power, the very depiction of carnage and destruction. A force of nature given form and purpose. There, but a fingers length from the infant boy, laid a dragon.

“UPON THE TWO THAT MINE EYES AND MIND LOOK UPON, WITH THE AID OF ALL THAT HAS COME BEFORE AND AFTER—”. The cavern shook most violently disturbing all that took to its depths.

“Do not lose focus brothers and sisters!” bellowed the adorned man “We must persevere, steadfast and resolute. For the glory of his most eminence!”. And so the circle chanted in greater earnest as the reverberations persisted, and the far flung sound of violence creeped closer.

The old man reached within his cloak, drawing a small decanter to soothe his throat and wet his lips “—SEVER THEIR SOULS AND BODIES, MOLD THEM UNTO ONE, SO THAT WHERE THERE WAS ONCE TWO, NOW THERE IS BUT ONE”. The infant bodies twitched, then contorted at unnatural angles before turning to dust. And so laid their ashes, reduced to nothing, and all was silent and still. Time itself stayed its hand. The ashes pulsed, then shook, and fury ensued as the ashes spun into a wild vortex compressing upon itself. With an explosive crack, time flew again as the vortex imploded before exploding with such concussive force that it blew all whom ringed the arrays off their feet, all but the adorned man in the center.

The old man gazed upon the form of the boy before him, his grin bare to the eyes as the explosive fury had deprived him of his hood, torn as it was off to sights unseen. And so the old Ljosalfar, for that was what he was, looked upon the boy, nay, his Magnum Opus.

Disturbing his revelry, an equally adorned hooded figure approached him in haste. “Brother, we must go for they have found us. Our kin are dying as you plot and scheme like a buffoon!” said the woman.

“Calm sister, his most eminence guides us. Now how many Thralls have we lost” he replied.

“Argh, by the ten brother by the bloody ten! That’s hardly pertinent at the moment!” heaved the woman in reply.

The two stared at each other, and as the instant stretched, sounds of fighting grew closer. With another shuddering quake of the caverns the woman relented with a sigh. She closed her eyes and stilled, moments later she uttered “Six have escaped, one died in the conflict and the other fifteen died during the ritual.”

The old Ljosalfar held a contemplating posture “So we have not lost any to the intruders. Good. Now my dear sister, if you would be so kind as to escort our future Lord, your skills are more apt for the task than I”.

The woman tensed, but the hood belayed no emotions “Fine brother, fucking fine”, she picked up the infant gingerly and made for a raised alter in the far corner.

“Godspeed sister, his most eminence guide your steps” said the Alfar.

As the hooded woman approached the altar there was a brilliant flash of light followed by the smell of ozone and a searing pain in her sides. Looking down she saw a chunk of her left abdomen burned cleanly through by what she presumed to be a bolt of lightning that shredded all her defenses as if they were but a novice’s cantrip. Gathering her wits about she looked back to see utter chaos, the melee was in full force. The wounded woman took a deep breath to calm herself, and then willed her very existence void. She would not weight upon the consciousness, essentially becoming invisible to all. And so she hobbled the last few steps to the altar.

Reaching out to the crystal upon the dais, the cloaked woman pushed it down, activating the altar in a show of light drawing all to look upon it. To the invaders however, it was for naught for they saw but a shining altar. Relief calmed the wounded woman as the altar was moments before finalizing its purpose.

With a thunderous clap, the top of the cavern collapsed.

Shadows stirred within the dust clouds heralding a whirlwind of such brutally that friend and foe alike were toppled to the ground. Wings unfurled as the scaled colossus took stock, landing upon the altar its golden slits narrowed into focus. Muscles rippled beneath thick scales as a war cry escaped the monstrosity, threatening to bring down the underground structure.

The dais pulsed and then all was silent.

Darkness prevailed and in its release the wounded woman felt her legs give way, a plush rug softening the fall. Coughing up blood she steadied herself and stood up. Clutching the infant closer she bent the world with her mind coercing forces arcane, sparks flew through the dark. Candles and lamps lit up revealing a comfortable room, the quaint scene meant but one thing. She had made it to safety, hidden thousands of miles away in the heart of the city of Naran. The cloaked woman placed the infant boy onto the bed before lying next to him, there would be time to plan after some rest. And her eyes closed per their own volition, heavy with the brutal night. It would be the deepest she would ever slumber, for their depths she would eternally remain.