Descending Magic
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- Parts 4
Celosia has known since birth that she wasn't like the other people around her. Her parents always told her to keep to herself and to not draw attention.
The only one that could ever keep her company was her dragon, an Antarctic Dayfrill named Eira. It also didn't help matters that Celosia was crippled by the king.
After the incident with the king, the kingdom of Ellessa remained distant from higher power affairs. With Lord Ivan and Lady Elia in charge of Ellessa they would ensure their daughter's safety. Ensure that she wouldn't be found out to be what she truly was. A Draconisi. A believed to be extinct species who's blood ran gold instead of red.
Centuries ago King Jahkar's father had banished any and all forms of magic, claiming that magic would be the end of men. He frightened men, telling them that in the night magical beings would come and slaughter their babies and wives. Thus started the war between men and magic. Creatures were being killed left and right until magical beings seemed to no longer exist.
The few that were left seeked refuge among each other, preparing themselves for more unexpected warfare. All were now thought to be dead. With magic gone and fear set aside the five kingdoms of Nightriom lived peacefully. Ellessa, Harrox, Syn, Woark, and Utwrait. Tundra, Grasslands, Ocean, Forest and Desert. All facing the same fate.
There is a hidden danger. Unseen with the naked eye, unknown by the common people. Celosia can sense it, but no one else seems to notice. Not until a strange family travels to Ellessa and turns Celosia's world upside down.
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The land was divided by an invisible boundary no soul dared to cross. To the north lay the rugged mountains of the Draconis Dominion, where blackened peaks reached toward storm-lit skies. It was a land of fire and stone, ruled by dragons-mighty warriors whose breath scorched the battlefield and whose talons could carve through the thickest armor. Their scales were deep shades of onyx, crimson, and midnight blue, their eyes sharp as blades. They lived by the law of strength, where the weak perished, and the strong thrived. To the south stretched the shimmering plains of Celestara, a land kissed by moonlight and veiled in silver mist. Here, wyverns reigned-beings of magic, whose songs could weave illusions and whose wings carried the whispers of forgotten spells. Unlike their dragon counterparts, wyverns had only two legs, their lithe forms gliding effortlessly between the stars. Their scales gleamed in hues of pearl, gold, and frost, as though they had been sculpted from the heavens themselves. Power among them was not measured in brute strength, but in wisdom, cunning, and the mastery of the arcane. A war had separated them centuries ago, a conflict so brutal that neither side spoke of it anymore-only that to set foot on the other's land was to invite death. No one remembered what had started it, only that the hatred had never faded. The sky itself seemed to split in two, an unseen force keeping dragons and wyverns from ever meeting. But history was written in lies, and time had buried the truth beneath layers of bitterness.
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