The Dragon of Charred Scales

Digging Up Lost Bits

Jacob

Neither of them heard the whispers or felt the importance of whatever that wall told. It disturbs me that whatever caused that feeling targeted me only. The force that brought me to this wall tried to keep me there, but I had to resist. The fear it gave me might otherwise drive me to insanity.

What could it mean, though? Beyond that feeling, what did the pictures actually mean? What are all those dragons doing? Could a shadow dragon be the shadow of the prophecy? Assuming that such a dragon would be evil. Many creatures of this planet have black or dark grey colors yet are not out to kill everything. But so often shadows are linked to evil, to those who hide in the night, stalking their prey in their sleep.

I feel like this could be some sort of warning, a figurative interpretation of what may happen. They always say history has a habit of repeating itself. Still, figuring it out seems impossible, and the voice did not really help. And it seems odd that dragons could be the source of the bad times both humans and dragons may face.

Though difficult, I force myself away from that wall and force these thoughts out of my mind for now.

We followed Dalquiri past more paintings and pictures. Scenes that I only skimmed over, but still caught pieces of meanings. Dragons hunting, flying, fighting. Other Laku appear here and there, sometimes at odds with dragons. Nothing profound like that wall I looked at.

Eventually the walls again constricted to the size of a small dragon. Many footsteps carried us through a small tunnel, barren compared to all the other walls. At the end, the walls opened up into a large round room.

Unlike the previous chamber, which still had some natural features, this one looked entirely carved out. Shaped by hard work and magic, many dragons must have had a hand in making this chamber. No whispers or feelings draw me to any of the sections, so I merely stand in wonder.

Line upon line of glyphs, written Draconian from so long ago. Written neatly though somewhat faded. Black marks of charcoal or some other black substance. The thickness of the lines makes me think skewers or brushes were used instead of claws to write on these walls. The sheer amount of information here must have taken days to record. If only I could read it. The Draconian alphabet has changed so completely in ten thousand years.

"You feel anything?" Oculeera asked me.

I shake my head. "Just wonder at what we are seeing."

"This is far from the most accurate or the most extensive record of the Joining," Dalquiri said, also looking at the lines of text. "But you will find many facts in caves like this that are missing from history texts. Especially concerning what specifically happened to the conjurers. Such history is too sad for many dragons for it to survive."

"They all just died, right?" I asked.

"They did. But no one teaches how. The knowledge has mostly been lost, stored only in a few rare places like here." She waved her hand at the walls. "Since you are a conjurer, Novayar, you ought to know what happened to the last of your type. It wasn't... pretty."

"Like, gory, or what?"

"Not exactly gory, but not a nice image either. It is one thing to imagine the adults dying, and entirely different to imagine the younglings, especially the unmorphed ones."

"Um, I'm not sure I want to hear that yet. Not after, well, that night."

Dalquiri nodded her head. "Perhaps. Your decision. One day, though, you ought to learn exactly what happened to them, so that their mistakes are not repeated."