Name: Fathom

Race: Moontouched Dusk Dragon (Manawarped)

…

The rest of the information washed over Vess, too much to absorb. Vast quantities of Health, Stamina, and Mana—indicators of a powerful set of Aspects that Vess couldn’t care less about. Before her was the physical embodiment of why the Dragoons existed, a Race of creatures that her mother had all but worshiped. The unstill shadows had assaulted her senses, but the revelation of its provenance set dire winds loose within her chest.

Vess’ core howled.

I Am Fathom, the immense creature said, but only a faint echo of whatever had inhabited it remained. Vess flinched, all of it too much. There were things within that darkness. And You Will Answer The Question, Chanters.

> Lady Isla stated, her hands still toying with the edge of her woven lattice. It glimmered while slowly compressing beneath the immense pressure the Fathom was giving off.

Chanters. Sorcerers. Meddlers. Dabblers In Mysteries That Are Beyond You. The Fathom—the Dusk Dragon—scoffed, releasing a wobbling bubble from its maw that immediately collapsed. I Know Your Kind. I Know Your Tricks. You Hide Behind The Primordial’s Noise. Clever.

> Isla whispered, eyes roving across the Lindwurms behind them. The craven creatures huddled just beyond the portico, surrounding their allies, but otherwise taking shelter.

> Vess asked. She was still reeling from the sight of the writhing shadows, let alone the revelation of the Fathom’s true Race. <>

The woman wasn’t listening. She regarded the sneering Fathom with eyes that almost burned with a vivid curiosity, and no small amount of fear. > She shook her head. >

Vess clenched her jaw, bracing against the echo that still pressed against her senses. She…heard something. Her Affinity flagged an atonal buzzing that set her teeth on edge and made her skin crawl—Dissonance. The rest was a jumbled mess that made no sense to her, as if chaos had been forged into the mockery of a tune.

> Isla explained, and veins stood stark against her forehead as if she too were resisting something immense. >

> Vess asked. Isla’s words made little sense, save that the thing was powerful. >

You know of us, the Fathom said, it’s voice losing all but the barest hint of its haunting echo. You—of course. That spear. That armor. You are a Dragoon as well. A Betrayer.

>

Not all of us perished in your pogrom, Dragoon. Some survived the Slaying Skies. Some fled. The Fathom’s primary eyes lightened, shifting from abyssal black to something glimmering. Its voice rose in volume with every word, until it was roaring thick bubbles into the heavy water until it seemed its face was boiling. Some took flight! Some survived, Betrayer!

> Vess gnashed her teeth, the howling in her core space growing to a fever pitch. The Fathom was lying. She was sure of it. >

> Isla interrupted, grabbing Vess by the pauldron. The would-be Dragoon hadn’t realized that she had advanced several steps toward the Dragon, and let herself stumble back. >

Hold Your Vile Tongue, Sorcerer, the Fathom demanded, cutting the distance between them to nothing. In an instant. Its dripping snout was a finger-span away from their faces, the smell of it somehow pervading the Sunken Ward as that echo returned in full force. Its primary eyes had returned to abyssal pits in its face. I Am More Than A Paltry Morsel. More Than This Vessel, No Matter How Potent. The Fathom took in a deep, burbling snort. And I Have Found My Beast.

All at once, the Fathom was beyond them, slithering its immense length across the ruined structure and through the wide gaps of the colonnade. Vess felt frozen, its speed barely within her capability to perceive, let alone match. Still, she tried, rotating her Body and partisan in the direction of the Dragon—but it was too late. It reached their friends, Beef and Hallow and Felix lying still among the guarding War Naga, and lifted its gargantuan head like a serpent about to strike. Ooze and scale and fang fell in deadly, meteoric speed.

Your End Is Here!

The Fathom struck.

And was met by a storm of beak, claw, and feathers.

> Pit shrieked.

The Fathom’s head snapped to the side, bashed in the jaw by Pit’s flickering form. It screeched, bubbles boiling from its cavernous maw, before quickly sweeping its serpentine form to the side. Columns snapped like twigs, collapsing on themselves as the Fathom’s Body crashed through them, and Vess made it there, just in time to deflect a falling entablature. She sliced through it, splitting the stone so that it fell to either side of the cowering War Naga.

> Isla said, reaching the team only moments after Vess. She gripped the Minotaur and shook him.

What Is This? The Moontouched Dusk Dragon reoriented itself, more of its impossible length drawing forward into bulging coils of oozing shadow. It touched a long claw to its jaw, where the ooze and scale had split. A miniscule drop of ichor floated out, hovering before the Fathom’s unblinking eyes. A Chimera. How…Novel.

> Pit promised, flapping his wings to reorient himself in the water. A silvery fish-tail had manifested on his hindquarters. >

What A Shame, the Fathom rumbled as its wound stitched itself closed. That The First Chimera This Vessel Has Seen In Ages Should Die So Soon.

There was no more warning, as this time the Dragon moved far beyond Vess’ ability to perceive it. There was only a deep, crackling cacophony as stone shattered, water blasted, and mountainous jaws snapped shut.

On…nothing?

Vess stared in almost as much confusion as the Fathom, who spat out a mouthful of silt and stone as it planted its feet and pulled back. Blue-white lightning crackled off its head and mane, which was scorched free of its ooze in several places, and Vess’ chest tightened as the howling quietened within her. In its place was a strident, joyous shout.

Status Condition: Rallying Cry!

Regeneration Doubled!

Reduced Chance Of Frightened Status Effect!

> Felix said, floating above them all. Ice cracked off his Garment as it shaped away his jacket and loose pants, leaving him in a form-fitting tunic and breeches. >

The Beast, I Presume, the Fathom said, working its jaw as if it had been punched. Judging by the fading lightning, Vess supposed it might have been.

I couldn’t see the attack at all.

> Felix said, but there was no smile on his angular face. A quiet strength rolled off him like a palpable pressure. >

Why Would I, Child?

“Master! He is the one!” one of the Lindwurms cried out from some distance away. Vess had noticed them fleeing once the Fathom started attacking, but hadn’t expected them to linger nearby, sheltering behind the various statues. “He is dangerous!”

Is That So, Child? The Fathom sneered. Do You Have Claws, Little Human?

> Felix said. >

A piece of Vess cheered for Felix even as the rest of her knew his words were fated to fail. All of those lessons in diplomacy, and he uses them on this creature, of all things!

Vess was almost relieved when the Fathom simply laughed.

I Refuse.

The Fathom and Felix vanished. Vess couldn’t bear to blink, but still she missed all but the clash, as blue-white lightning, red-gold flame, and virulent green acid burst outward in a corona of frenzied energy. They appeared above them all, hundreds of paces up, and both Felix and the Fathom were knocked back.

A shriek tore through the waters, rippling the heavy liquid in a tidal wave that smashed Vess and all of her allies flat. Stone splintered, sand was hurled in a concussive wave, and that echo of terrible chaos…vanished.

> Lady Isla cried out. Her lip was bleeding, and her eyes were glazed; as if the Chanter stared at something no one else could see. >

Vess leveraged herself to her knees, the stone crumbling beneath her, and felt at her chest. The howling winds within her core hadn’t settled, and indeed had only intensified. >

Isla blinked, refocusing. > she whispered. >

>

All at once, a thrumming chord rippled through Vess’ chest, sending her back to the ground as Mind, Body, and Spirit buckled.

>

>

The cries of her allies vanished, subsumed by the raging windstorm within. Vess fell, cast down into her internal skies, as that chord vibrated across her very soul.

What is this?

Above, sky darkened to night, and the glimmer of red-gold and blue-white stars shone with a gemstone brilliance. My Link to Felix. The vibration continued, originating not from that Link, but to her core. My…temple.

The center of her core space—that once immaculate temple turned into a dragon of gold and stone—stretched wide its wings. The mountain cracked, splitting beneath claws that freed themselves from the rock, and clouds spun in a hurricane of stormwinds. The Skills around her stood as shrieking sentinels among the cyclone, pieces of them ripped off to feed the churning pandemonium—a grinding morass that did nothing to alleviate the paralyzing song that inundated everything.

The chord deepened as she fell, plummeting faster than any Skill she bore, utterly unable to stop herself. The temple lifted its vile, draconic head, and Vess was assaulted by a volley of uncontrollable emotions.

Sorrow. Rage. And a deep, abiding despair.

Jaws spread, fangs glistening in the fading light, and a voice spoke. A voice she had heard once before, back on that day in Ahkestria. One that she refused to acknowledge.

WITNESS THE TRUTH, VESSILIA DAYNE.

The maw of her own core closed on her.

FIND YOUR PATH FORWARD.

OR PERISH.