Shards of Felwyn

Cycle of Devastation

 It took several moments to prevent Molniya from killing Istorik, and vice versa. Eventually, after much screaming, threatening, and insulting, the two were separated between Cosmo and Lysander, seated on the rubble in Razorinye. The two boys were exhausted and fed up with their bickering and fighting, but were kept alive by the curiosity of what was truly happening.

"Istorik. Explain yourself." Cosmo sighed, resting his elbows on his knees.

"This tablet serves as a calendar system for the ancient people of Razorinye, illustrating time, the seasons, the months, and the years in a unique fashion never seen before. What Molniya suggests being here is preposterous. I would have recognized information of that sort long ago."

"Apparently you see yourself as less of a fool than you actually are." Molniya glared at the orc. Lysander silenced Istorik's rebuttal by gripping his wand.

"What exactly do you believe this tablet is, Molniya?" Cosmo asked. Frankly, she trusted the lizardwoman much greater than Isorik. He had seen a lot of emotions on her face, but hardly was her expression one of fear.

"This tablet seems to explain it all, which would explain its superior size and detail. It describes not a cycle of the seasons and time, but rather a cycle of devastation." The room fell into silence. Even Istorik did not speak. His head hung in shame. "It describes the cycle in which Folcanrog is resurrected, not by a tribe of the Boiling Pot, but through the flow of mana in the world once every one hundred years."

"Impossible..." Istorik muttered. His voice was the only noise present in the room.

"It goes on to say that the strict security on who was allowed within Razorinye's walls is due to the protection of Ralthar himself. He placed a ward on the village to ensure this place remained intact should the elder dragon ever destroy it. Not every citizen of the Boiling Pot was determined worthy enough to be protected, but it seems the ward was barely powerful enough to begin with." She crossed the room to stand in front of Istorik.

"Molniya, don't-" Cosmo began. She interrupted him without a second thought.

"Your translation was careless, your work, shoddy, and your interpretation of the ancient dialect, shameful." She spoke with every bit of malice in her being. "My-" she paused. "Our people could have been saved years ago had you used a fraction of your intelligence here."

"Do you plan to kill me?" His voice trembled.

"No. While I have descended from dragons, you have descended from cowards. Be grateful you still have utility to me, for I should have taken your life already." Her fingertips sparked. "I will grant you another chance at life, if you heed my words."

"What do you need me to do?" His voice was at a murmur, his posture hung over himself, his face hidden from everyone in the room. Cosmo couldn't help but feel bad for the orc. He had made a grave mistake, but had done the most effective job with the resources available. Regardless of this, he did not plan to stand in Molniya's way.

"We will depart for Kran immediately." Molniya barked. "You will tell that fool Silár the truth. Folcanrog is resurrected once every one hundred years. It is our testament of strength from Ralthar. If we do not defeat the beast, then we have failed him altogether."

"And if I do not?" Istorik responded. At this point, Cosmo, too, had lost his patience with the orc.

"Are you so stubborn to admit your failures?" Cosmo exclaimed. He ripped Dragon's Focus from the satchel and aimed it at Istorik's nose. Lysander placed a hand on his forearm, attempting to lower the weapon. Molniya slammed her fist into his face once again, electricity jolting through his body.