Chapter Twenty-Five: Sylvestrus Caledon

  A young boy with eyes of moonlight and hair of lucent fire stood staring up at a sky of stars, his small frame silhouetted against the vastness of the night. The cool grass tickled his bare feet as he tilted his head back, searching for his mother, the moon. The breeze whispered through the meadow grasses around him, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers and the distant musk of forest pines.

  He found her hanging in the night sky, half her face hidden, weeping light across the heavens. Silver beams cascaded down, bathing the boy's upturned face in gentle radiance. His hair, the color of dawn's first light, seemed to absorb the moonbeams, glowing with an inner fire that matched the determination in his luminous eyes.

  "Why are you sad, mother?" he asked the moon, his voice small yet clear in the stillness of night.

  The stars seemed to hold their twinkling for a moment, the night growing hushed as if listening. Then came the answer, a voice that resonated within his mind rather than his ears.

  "Oh, my darling boy, it is nothing. I miss your father, the sun, that's all." His mother's voice carried to him on faint traces of starlight and the gentle breeze of the wind, each word shimmering like dew on morning grass.

  Sylvestrus wrapped his thin arms around himself, fingers clutching at the fabric of his simple tunic. It had always troubled the young boy that his father never shared the same sky with his mother. He had watched, night after night, as the moon wept her silent tears, her loneliness matching his own as he stood alone in countless meadows, forests, and hillsides.

  "Why are you never together, mother?" His question hung in the air, innocent yet laden with the weight of ancient sorrow.

  The moonlight shifted, seemingly caressing his cheek. "Oh, we once were, dear. But the Light declared that there shall be day and night, with your father ruling over day, and me, over the night. It is hard sometimes, carrying out one's duty. You will learn, my son."

  Sylvestrus felt his throat tighten. His small hands curled into determined fists at his sides, his shadow stretching long and dark across the silvery grass. But Sylvestrus Caledon wanted his parents to be happy. No longer did he want to see his mother hide her face and weep those silent, silver tears that fell as dew upon the world.

  "I will find a way to bring father to you, mother!" Sylvestrus stated boldly, his voice ringing with childish conviction that nonetheless echoed with power across the night-shrouded landscape.

  The moonlight brightened, momentarily turning night to an ethereal half-day. "Oh, my son. How wonderful you are! But no such way exists. Better that you live your life chasing other dreams." Her voice held both pride and gentle discouragement, the voice of a mother who wishes to spare her child from inevitable disappointment.

  Sylvestrus lifted his chin, his celestial eyes reflecting determination and the unbending will that would one day shape the world. He was as stubborn as the tide, and as enduring as his father. He would not be dissuaded from this path, no matter how impossible it seemed.

  "I promise, mother. I will find a way!" His words were not merely the boast of a child, but a vow that settled into his bones, becoming part of him.

  That very night, with nothing but a small pack of provisions and the clothes upon his back, Sylvestrus departed the meadow where he had spoken with his mother. The dew-dampened grass released its sweet scent as he passed, marking the beginning of a journey that would stretch far beyond what any child could imagine.

  He traveled across the breadth of Dominion, his young legs growing longer and stronger with each passing season. He searched far and wide, and in all the secret places of the world that most mortals never glimpsed. Ancient ruins yielded no answers to his persistent questions. Weathered tomes in forgotten libraries revealed nothing of the cosmic separation he sought to mend.

  He delved into dungeons where darkness coiled like serpents and where strange magics pooled like water, seeking wisdom in their depths. The creatures that dwelled within regarded the boy with curiosity rather than malice, sensing something beyond mortality in his moonlit eyes.

  Once, in his desperation, he even attempted to call a demon from the Nevervare, standing within a circle of salt and bone as he spoke words no child should know. The air had grown thick and sulfurous, shadows elongating unnaturally around him – but at the last moment, a shaft of moonlight had broken through the clouds, dissolving his summoning circle. His mother's silent protection, perhaps, or merely coincidence. Sylvestrus never tried such dangerous methods again.

  Despite all his efforts, he found no answers. The separation of sun and moon seemed as immutable as the foundations of Dominion itself.

  In his growing desperation, Sylvestrus journeyed to the hidden glades where the Lyrlalae dwelled – those great singers who created with the power of their voices. The journey took him through forests where trees whispered secrets to one another and across rivers that sang melodies older than time.

  The greatest of the Lyrlalae, Shar, greeted him at the entrance to their sacred grove. Her form seemed to shift between that of a woman and pure music given flesh. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of silver notes, and her eyes held the depth of every song ever sung. When she spoke, her voice was enchanting music all its own, making the very air vibrate with harmonies.

  "Hail, son of the Moon and Sun. What brings you before me?" Her words formed visible ripples in the air, shimmering with colors no mortal tongue could name.

  Sylvestrus bowed his head respectfully, his once-small frame now that of a young adolescent, though his eyes remained unchanged – luminous with his mother's light and burning with his father's determination.

  "I seek a way to unite my father and mother in the same sky once more. As great singers who shaped the very world with your voices, I wondered if the Lyrlalae might have an answer to my quest."

  Shar's expression softened, compassion flowing from her like a gentle melody. She knelt before him, her form shimmering with motes of living light that danced around them both.

  "I am sorry, son of Moon and Sun, but your quest has no answer. What the Light has willed in his creation, only the shadow could break. If you still seek answers, mayhap the dragons might possess some knowledge, as improbable that may be." Her voice grew soft, a warning hidden within her words that Sylvestrus was still too young to fully comprehend.

  With a heart grown heavier but resolve undiminished, Sylvestrus departed from the Lyrlalae, their songs following him for many leagues before fading into the distance. He had proceeded no farther in accomplishing his goal than when he had started, yet his steps remained determined. The path before him stretched on, winding into unknown territories where few mortals dared to tread.

  His search led him to the ancient dwelling of the great wild dragon, Virolax, whose stygian scales devoured all light. The mountain where the dragon made his lair was perpetually shrouded in twilight, neither fully day nor night – a fitting place for Sylvestrus to seek his answers.

  Standing before the massive cavern entrance, Sylvestrus called out, his voice having deepened with the passing years. "Hail, great and mighty dragon! I come seeking knowledge. I wish to unite my mother and father, the moon and sun, in the same sky!"

  The ground trembled beneath his feet as something massive stirred within the darkness. The air grew thick with the scent of smoke and ancient magic as Virolax emerged, his scales so dark they seemed to pull the very light from the air around them. Each scale was the size of a warrior's shield, layered across a body larger than many village buildings.

  The dragon's eyes burned like twin furnaces, ancient and terrible knowledge swirling within their depths. He turned his great head to regard the young boy who stood unflinching before him. When Virolax spoke, his voice rumbled deeper than the greatest caverns, and even more ancient, shaking loose small stones from the mountain's face.

  "No way exists, little one. But there might be a compromise." Each word was accompanied by puffs of smoke that formed intricate shapes before dissipating into the air.

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  Sylvestrus's heart quickened. "Please, great dragon, tell me of this compromise!" His voice trembled with barely contained excitement, his hands clenched at his sides to stop their shaking.

  Virolax blinked his great eyes slowly, contemplatively. His answer was slow in coming, each word carefully considered and weighted. Sylvestrus nearly cried out in impatience, shifting from foot to foot as the dragon deliberated.

  "Your mother and father cannot share the same sky, this cannot be done. However, perhaps, yes, they could share their essence." The dragon's voice rumbled thoughtfully, his breath hot against Sylvestrus's face.

  "How!" The boy couldn't contain his excitement, his voice echoing against the mountainside.

  "You would need a way to transfer your father's light, his essence, to your mother's sky, a way to bridge the two. The how of it... I am not sure. It would require much study." Virolax settled back, his massive tail curling around his body. "Such knowledge is not easily gained, even by one such as yourself, child of celestial parents."

  The answer wasn't what Sylvestrus had hoped for, but it was more than anyone else had offered. For days after leaving the dragon's mountain, he walked in thoughtful silence, his mind turning over the dragon's words again and again.

  "Study..." the young boy muttered to himself, kicking a stone along the path as he walked. "Study requires knowledge, and knowledge requires a place to gather it."

  He looked around at the wild landscape of Dominion, at the scattered villages and isolated towers of mages who hoarded what little knowledge they possessed. There was no place for him to study, no repository of learning vast enough to contain the answers he sought.

  For years, Sylvestrus pondered and searched, his body growing taller and stronger as his mind sharpened. He looked for books, scrolls, artifacts – anything that would tell him how to accomplish his goal. Virolax had said it was possible, and so Sylvestrus would hunt down the answer, no matter how long it took.

  He traveled to the farthest corners of Dominion, seeking wisdom from hermits who lived on mountaintops and sages who dwelled in swamps. He learned languages long forgotten by most mortals, deciphering texts that had gathered dust for centuries.

  As the years passed, he grew from a boy to a young man, his face losing its childish roundness but his eyes retaining their celestial light. His hair remained the color of fire, though now it hung to his shoulders, often tied back when he bent over ancient scrolls or delicate artifacts.

  The problem, he theorized after many fruitless years, was that no one had studied this particular problem before. In fact, the more he traveled, the more he realized that no one was studying magic at all – not in any systematic way. Knowledge was fragmented, jealously guarded, or lost to time.

  As Sylvestrus traveled Dominion in search of his answers, he found that no one was studying anything of import, not truly. No one knew how dungeons worked, for example, or what the strange magic inside them was. Scholars debated without evidence, mages experimented without records, and ordinary people lived in ignorance of the forces that shaped their world.

  The son of the Moon and Sun, now a handsome young man with the bearing of one far older, decided that he would change that. With purpose in his step and fire in his eyes, he made his way back to the mountain where the great dragon Virolax dwelled.

  The dragon seemed unsurprised to see him return, as if he had been expecting this visit for many years. Sylvestrus stood taller now, his voice deeper, but his quest remained unchanged.

  "There is no place to study this problem, or any other problems of the world," Sylvestrus declared, his voice resonating with conviction. "I wish to create a place to do that. Will you help me?" His request was bold, but his eyes held the determination that had never wavered since his childhood vow.

  Virolax regarded him for a long moment, smoke curling from his nostrils. Then, surprisingly, the dragon nodded his great head, scales shifting like shadows moving across the night sky.

  "Very well. I have just the place in mind to build it, yes, I think I do. Come, young man, let us go there." The dragon's voice held something almost like approval, or perhaps pride, though dragons were not known for such emotions toward humans.

  Together, the young man and the ancient dragon journeyed across Dominion, an unlikely pair that caused many a traveler to rub their eyes in disbelief. They came at last to a valley nestled between towering mountains, a place where the veil between worlds seemed thin, where magic flowed more freely through the air.

  In this valley lay the remains of a giant skeletal dragon, its bones bleached white by centuries of sun and weather. The skeleton took up nearly all the space of the valley floor, a testament to the creature's immense size in life.

  "This was once a dragon known as Sirolax," Virolax explained, his voice unusually gentle as he gazed upon the remains of his kin. "She was mighty, indeed, but passed away due to age, here in this very valley, oh yes, she did. We shall make use of her bones, and from her, create a place of study."

  Sylvestrus felt a moment of awe and reverence, placing his hand upon one massive bone, feeling the ancient magic that still lingered within it. "Are you certain this is appropriate? To use her remains in such a way?"

  Virolax made a sound that might have been a draconic chuckle. "Sirolax would be pleased, I think, to serve such a purpose even in death. Dragons value knowledge above all save perhaps gold."

  With that assurance, Sylvestrus stepped back as Virolax drew himself up to his full, imposing height. The great dragon inhaled deeply, his chest expanding like bellows, and then he breathed upon Sirolax's bones – not fire as one might expect, but a strange mixture of smoke, light, and pure magic.

  The bones began to rise into the air, defying gravity as they moved according to some unseen design. They morphed, twisted, oscillated and reverberated with ancient power. The air around them warped as if reality itself was being reshaped, heat pouring like a geyser from the bones as they took new form.

  Sylvestrus shielded his eyes against the brightness, feeling the ground shake beneath his feet. When at last the light faded and he could look again, his breath caught in his throat.

  Where once there had been only a skeleton, now stood a magnificent structure. Sirolax's great skull loomed over a castle that had formed beneath her, her ribcage transformed into four elegant towers, her spine and limbs becoming walls and supports. Mist and power radiated from the structure, which seemed to exist in perfect harmony with the surrounding landscape.

  Virolax settled back, looking satisfied with his work. "Behold, your place of study. What shall you call it?" His burning eyes regarded Sylvestrus with curiosity.

  Sylvestrus considered the question carefully, studying the structure from every angle. Its white walls gleamed in the sunlight, yet something about it seemed to belong equally to the night. It was a bridge between worlds in its own way, just as he had always sought to create a bridge between his parents' realms.

  "Wyrmhaven," he said finally, the name feeling right on his tongue. "It shall be called Wyrmhaven Academy."

  As he spoke the name, a shimmer of magic passed through the structure, as if it recognized and accepted its designation. Sylvestrus felt a sense of rightness, of purpose fulfilled – or at least beginning to be fulfilled. He might not have united his parents yet, but he had created something that would gather knowledge for generations to come. Perhaps, one day, that knowledge would include the answer he had sought for so long.

  The sun began to set behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the valley. Soon, his mother's light would illuminate his creation for the first time. Sylvestrus smiled, wondering if she was watching, if she approved of what he had accomplished thus far. His quest was not over, he knew. In many ways, it was just beginning.

  ---

  Amalia allowed her voice to fade away like the dying of night, the last words of her tale hanging in the air between them. The fire before them had burned low during her storytelling, its embers casting a warm, reddish glow over their small camp. Night creatures chirped and called from the surrounding forest, providing a gentle background to the silence that followed her tale.

  "Well?" Ash asked eagerly, his blue eyes wide with fascination. He was leaning forward, hands grasping his knees tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Lilith was awake as well, her green eyes unusually attentive as she stared at the storyteller. She had barely moved throughout the entire tale, her usual restlessness replaced by rapt attention.

  Amalia regarded them both with her usual inscrutable expression, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Well what, Master Lorcan? That is the end."

  Ash gasped, slapping his knees with genuine outrage. His face underwent a comical transformation from expectation to disbelief.

  "No way! You didn't finish it! Does he unite his mom and dad? Come on!" His voice rose in pitch, indignation making him momentarily forget the quiet of the night around them. "What about the academy? Does he find students? Does he ever figure out how to unite the sun and moon?"

  A nearby owl hooted, as if expressing its own curiosity about the tale's conclusion. Ash bristled visibly at the idea of not knowing the end. In his experience, a story shouldn't end with no warning like that, leaving so many questions unanswered! It felt like a betrayal of the unspoken agreement between storyteller and listener.

  "Yet it has," Amalia replied calmly, unfazed by his reaction. "I cannot tell the rest of the story where there is none, Master Lorcan." She smoothed a wrinkle from her black robes, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts.

  Ash just couldn't believe it. He ran a hand through his ashen hair, his face a picture of frustration. The fire popped, sending sparks into the night sky as if trying to join the stars.

  "There has to be more to it!" he insisted, gesturing expansively with his hands. "You can't just tell us about a guy who creates a magic school and then... nothing. What happened next?"

  "Mm. There isn't more. Personally, I prefer it this way." Amalia's voice remained calm, almost indifferent to his obvious frustration.

  He balked at her, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "How could you say that? It has no end?!"

  Amalia's violet eyes reflected the dying firelight as she regarded him with that same unnerving calm she always possessed. "Oh, but it does, Master Lorcan. Some stories end just like that. Cut off before any answers are given, their secrets buried, and often, forgotten to time." Her fingers traced an idle pattern on her staff, a rare show of movement from the normally still woman.

  Lilith blinked her green eyes slowly, processing this concept in her own way. She put her head down over her paws, wings rustling softly as she burrowed deeper into Ash's lap, her warm weight a comfort against the cool night air.

  Ash sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "That's not much of a story. But fine." He paused, looking at Amalia with renewed curiosity. "How do you think it ended?"

  The question seemed to catch Amalia slightly off guard, a rare occurrence that Ash noted with interest. She considered her response for a moment, looking into the fire as if she might find the answer written in its dying embers.

  "I believe that a person can spend their entire lives dedicated to one goal, only to never achieve it," she said finally, her voice holding a trace of something Ash couldn't quite identify – perhaps sadness, or nostalgia. "Sylvestrus Caledon likely never found what he was looking for. Who's to say?" She straightened, her moment of reflection passing. "Now go to sleep, Master Lorcan. We have many days of travel ahead."

  The abrupt dismissal was typical of Amalia, but Ash found himself wondering if there was more to her interpretation than she was willing to share. Did she see herself in Sylvestrus, pursuing a goal that might never be realized? Or was there some other reason the story resonated with her?

  Much to Lilith's chagrin, Ash put her down to fetch his bedroll. The young dragon made a soft sound of protest as she was displaced from her comfortable position, but quickly adapted, watching with interest as Ash prepared for sleep.

  He rolled out his bedroll on the softest patch of ground he could find, removed his boots with a sigh of relief, and crawled in, the familiar texture of the wool both scratchy and comforting against his skin. Lilith followed once he was settled, digging herself deep into the folds of fabric and poking her head out once she had gotten comfortable, her small horns just visible in the fading firelight.

  With her small but warm presence beside him, Ash found his mind still turning over Amalia's story despite his physical fatigue. There was something about Sylvestrus's determination, his refusal to accept the limitations placed upon the world, that resonated with Ash. Wasn't he also pursuing something that others might call impossible? Understanding his own powers, finding the answers to his past, becoming strong enough to face his enemies?

  These thoughts gradually faded as sleep claimed him, his breathing deepening and his muscles relaxing. Unlike many previous nights, his slumber was peaceful and untroubled.

  This time, he did not dream.