It was a cold foggy morning when I found myself fishing in the sea. I fished in the calm sea, as I always had on the many mornings in the past. Though the sky was overcast, veiled by thick white clouds, there was little evidence of ill weather, whether that weather may be rain, snow, or storms. The calm sea churned very few waves, and my boat bobbed little upon the cold dark waters. The world was quiet, the silence only interrupted by the soft crashing of waves in the distance; the whispers of the wind were missing today.

I cast my net onto the sea, to catch some fish to sell and for my family. A number of fishes were snared by my net, and I dragged them aboard my humble boat. The fish flopped about as they were taken out of their marine home and into the styrofoam cooler set on the other side of my boat.

The few boxes that I had brought had now been filled fully with fish. I took this as a signal for me to return to shore. I took my paddle and began rowing my boat back to shore. Though a curtain of white surrounded me, I knew by heart which direction shore was. The wispy fog around me was as isolating as it was calming. I wasn't the only fisher that came to fish in the sea each morning, but the thick veil covered all traces of my fellow fishers.

Only the gentle lapping of waves and the paddle slicing through the water cut through the quietude of the morn. This brought me into a contemplative mood. I turned my head into the sky and watched the wispy fog swirl about on the calm day. Every so often I would see dark shapes slither through the veil, but I was quite sure they were all harmless and perhaps imaginary.

Though the sight of the totally normal phenomenon of figures in the fog reminded me of what my father had once told me. "There are worms in the sky," he said once upon a time. Quite often when we found ourselves outside, resting and dining in the open air, my father often pointed out attention to the sky. He pointed yond the clouds and whispers of the wind that we had been taught how to read and listen; his fingers extended towards the endless blue. There was little we could see, but my father had tried to point out the dark splotches that sometimes appeared on the sky like a light bruise.

Ha. He was a fun man. I miss him. It's been a while since I've come close to him. Perhaps next month, when people flock to Minel to celebrate the coming of the spring harvests. I could have moved to Minel like the rest of my family, but I couldn't imagine myself moving far from the sea.

He painted endlessly fascinating creatures from these dark splotches. My siblings always cowered whenever he's finished, and whenever we've had guests, they always seemed to be dazed afterward. I don't know why they would ever find my father's stories horrific to the core. They were awesome creatures caped in stardust and fire. My father reckoned that they're plated in mirrors or perhaps ice from how difficult they were to see. They supposedly watched from above, like gracious ancestors. Father had said that he had glimpsed them sometimes beneath the waves, like they had a summer palace in the deep blue.

I chuckled at the thought. I wish I could glimpse their true wonder up close. Their true awesome terrific wonder.

As I gently rowed my boat, an electric feeling erupted in my wrist. There was a lightning storm in my wrist, sending bolts of pain down my arms. It was a paralyzing electric pain, that caused my joints to lock up. I unconsciously let go of my paddle and fell backwards to my boat. I clung dearly to the boat for my life, ensuring that I do not fall into the deep blue sea. I clutched upon my wrist, massaging it in hopes of straightening up whatever had been misaligned down there. It's not very clear whether it had any effect, but I continued doing it.

Once the pain subsided, I released a great sigh. Relief, finally. My once erratic breathing returned to its normal rhythm. My lungs were slightly starved of air but nevertheless survived the ordeal. I sat up from my laying position and leaned over the rim. I washed my face with salty seawater before I took stock of my situation.

Looking around, the paddle was out of sight. I only covered my eyes with my hands, whispering "oh no" to my own ears. While the paralytic episode was going on, the paddle drifted away from my vessel, away from sight and into the obscuring fog. I was now dead on the water.

I could only sigh at the sight and thought. I looked at my injured wrist. The pale flesh that was once hidden beneath my iridescent scales was now bare for the whole world to see. It was reddened and inflamed; anything less than a gentle touch sent jolts of electric pain down my arms. I could feel it travel up my shoulders and down to my feet.

It happened a month ago, when there was much celebrating beneath the full moon. There was much drinking and dancing and playing around when I fell down a cliff. It was rather fortunate for me that it was the high tide that night or else my body would be impaled upon the sharp rocks at the bottom. As lucky as I was to fall and live, my wrist wasn't quite as lucky. I was battered unto the salty sea below, and my hand smashed onto a particularly tall rock. I almost drowned too.

In the days following, it got infected and I laid in bed, feverish. It was an unpleasant experience. Despite the high temperature and thick blankets, I shivered, feeling cold and freezing. My condition was getting worse; my wife had to abandon work to stay home and tend to my sickness.

I gazed into the waters of the sea. Reflected upon the surface of the deep blue was the sea of white fog. If I were to look at the sea at the right angle, it would appear that my boat was floating on a sea of smoke. My boat punctuated the curtain of fog, breaking up the off-white veil with its bright orange paint.

I gazed into my reflection on the surface of the sea. I saw a man staring back at me in the reflection. It bore its teal eyes straight at me. My scales once shone like polished silver, but now in my advanced age, they were dull and grey. I grinned at the sea, showing the yellowed teeth in my mouth, only a few shades away from sulfurous yellow. I reached into the sea below, as if to caress the creature that stared back at me in the deep blue, but my hand simply phased through the image, creating ripples that distorted the reflection.

Strange. I looked up and saw that the sea was completely still. The whispers of the wind were nowhere to be heard, and the deep blue sea below had become mirror-smooth. Only the slow bobbing of the boat had disturbed the placid waters. I gazed into the curtain of fog and found a long spindly silhouette weaving through the wispy clouds.

A strange heat arose behind me as the boat was bathed in warm light. Light, warm buttery light; hot like the light of a bonfire. I slowly turned, already awed by the creature I was yet to witness. Looming over my tiny vessel was the visage of a wyrm. It bore its red crocodilian head down upon me. Inset upon its eye sockets was a pair of fiery orbs that glowed - no, shone like the sun. It burned bright in their sockets like bonfires compressed into solid form. Its lower jaw was stainless silver, bearing large serrated teeth. A mane of spikes made of the same silvery material as its jaw surrounded its neck.

Its whole body was clad in thick armor plates painted in the brightest of colors, almost glowing in vividness. Its segmented body trailed behind the head, twisting behind the fog like a ribbon. The colors of each segment alternated through the colors of the rainbow, starting with its head. It went from red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet.

I stared in awe at the creature. I felt no greater honor and dream than seeing one of the worms in the sky down on earth (well, at sea, but you get the point). I resisted the urge to kneel and grovel at the worm. Great awe filtered into my being. I couldn't describe the feeling that's overcoming me as anything other than a religious experience.

"My father once said," I began. "There are worms in the sky." And that is undeniably true for I witnessing one right here right now.

The worm's face flexed slightly, trying to convey some emotion on its face, but I couldn't parse whatever's being displayed on its metal visage. It opened its mouth and began to speak:

"Mil'ante, we have come for you..."