Even as he struggled to retain his will, Valeric Brimstone burned in his Dreadwalk, spearing through the skies towards the Archcity of Dreams.
Glistening white towers rose from the sands, the symbol of purity and grandeur. From which countless elven leaders led their world to glory and beyond.
He recalled standing in the Palace of Dreams, before everything had gone to Insanity.
The dragon roared in pain, as if a Fearshaper of Blades had sent a strike into his very skull.
The march of corruption was worsening by the second.
As he drew closer to the palace, he saw figures take to the air from the palace grounds.
Fearshapers.
No, there was another term for Fearshapers that strode in their Dread. Those that stood at the height of their powers. One forgotten in the present, waning age of Fearshaping.
Dreadwalkers.
“Between the two of you, our will in life and our peace in death have been stolen from us. Allow me to remind you, Highlord of Dreams, that a Brimstone bows to no one.”
Yet… the gulf between Dreadwalkers was as wide as the ocean. It all depended on how closely you danced with Insanity, as you descended. The differences began showing as early as Anhedonia.
Did you embrace your Fear, or did you flee from it.
Valeric Brimstone called his Dread.
Dreadwalk: Flight of the Infernal Elder
His form, shifted. Where he had previously been a ‘mundane’ dragon’ if you ever dared to call it such, with shimmering scales of dark red-
He changed.
Into something twisted. Horrific.
New wings shot outwards from within his body, and an outpouring of his blood spilled to colour the black sands beneath him crimson.
Valeric Brimstone soared on four wings, burgeoning into a form twice his size. He had seen it before, elves in his immediate proximity, casting glances at his form in awe. Then watching, as their eyes melted from their sockets. Their skin and sinew, burned from their bodies.
In the presence of his infernal Dread. A creature alien to Elucidor's tranquil skies, that damned and sullied it with its very presence.
Valeric's mouth curled into a smile, as he felt the onset of the corruption within him temporarily halt. Unable to subdue the creature he embodied.
Born of his own Fear, made manifest.
No incarnate.
A sea of endless sparks blinked into life in the air surrounding Valeric, building in volume and intensity by the millisecond. Innumerable orbs of concentrated heat, like fireflies dancing in a field. Just glancing at them would have provoked momentary blindness.
Then, he sent them to greet the Archcity of Dreams. They spiralled towards the palace at breakneck speed, hundreds, thousands of missiles of concentrated heat that left behind brilliant streaks of red cut across the dark skies above the black sends.
They were intercepted with spears of ice.
He watched as they exploded in mid-air, yet some of them persisted, making its way towards the-
He winced, as he felt the elf’s aura of Fear, even as far as he was from the Archcity.
The frigid cold sank into his bones, and his flames winked out.
The hot black sands were cast into a blizzard, that extended outwards covering the city and its surroundings in the span between seconds.
Then, he watched as another Fearshaper emerged. A torrential orb of water protectively surrounded the place from his assailment. A world of water, brought forth from sand and heat, deprived of all moisture.
“Feardamned Wings. You got to them too. Impressive, I’ll give you that much, you old sack of shit.”
He was exhausted, having flown all the way from Brimstone, crossing the Dreadwood, burning Alarum.
He wasn’t done yet.
[Spear of Dragonhea-
Valeric Brimstone fell from the sky, before catching himself, hovering in place.
To anyone in the city watching, it would have been a curious thing. The creature, so wretched and terrible that its very sight tempted them to claw out their eyes... one that summoned what had looked like the falling stars themselves...
Fell. Abruptly, before catching itself with its wings.
Only to fly into the Archcity, receiving no opposition despite its actions.
Its eyes blazing a brilliant gold once more.
---
Saravagan Dreamer, the Highlord of Dreams grieved.
He watched as Valeric Brimstone descended into the palace gardens, as his Dreadwalk ended.
Returning home.
It was admirable, his draconic form that strove to capture a monstrosity whose wings had never graced Elucidor’s skies.
One from beyond their world.
The Brimstone wielded his Fear as a child wielded a paintbrush, seeking to capture the world around them, deriving confidence from the safe harbour of his ignorance, as children so often did.
He called his Fear like a child’s painting. One that rendered the environment in two-dimensional form, ignorant of a whole other dimension of visualisation that lay beyond their reach.
Valeric’s Dreadwalk was admirable not for its scope. The old Brimstone, even in all of his arrogance, barely scraped the depths that Dreadwalkers reached.
It was admirable, because he invoked his Fear so boldly and shamelessly.
Given its deficiency.
Saravagan let out a soft sigh.
Berevan Brimstone, the Highlord of flame lay dead.
No. his dear friend, was dead.
He was to blame for it.
It all started with the cloying words of Vetrian Revenant. Speaking of a betrayal. That Brimstone had conspired with Flora to end the peace they had bled for.
He had been angry, tired. Of imposing his corruption on the world, which wore on him, even as he stood in Serenity, freed from his Fear.
He only sought to warn and punish. Yet, he had paved the way for his eventual demise, the blade delivered by Vetrian himself.
The Deathbringer had his own designs, and he had been short-sighted. Now, a friend was dead, practically by his own hand.
Saravagan grasped at his temples, his eyes red from the tears he had wept for his friend, guilty at the meagre relief that they brought. He knew he did not deserve solace.
Then, duty prevailed on him once more, and his thoughts turned to Berevan’s son.
Caledon Brimstone.
The proof that Vetrian had pointed him towards. Living evidence of his father’s betrayal. He had glimpsed him through eyes that were not his own, seeing the nature of his Fearshaping for himself. Having awoken in the Archcity of Fear, where trivial nightmares still roamed.
One of the few Fearshapers capable of resisting his influence, just like his father.
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Only, his potential was far, far greater.
The boy, who languished in Anhedonia had restored Valeric’s will to him, albeit momentarily, disrupting his web.
Using it as a tool to descend.
You had to admire it. Equally, you had to fear it. The greatest irony was that Vetrian had told the truth about the boy. His only sin was a small deception. A trivial thing, claiming the boy’s Fear to be of his father’s making. Evidence of the ploy to betray him. To usurp all that they had worked towards.
Saravagan’s eyes hardened as he steeled himself for what the future held.
Forgive me old friend. I should have trusted you.
His golden eyes traced across the black sands of Somnolence, thinking of his old friend, Berevan Brimstone.
Forgive me, for my atrocities must continue.
---
Vetrian Revenant lounged, reveling in his successes. And his failures.
“Triol exceeded my every expectation. The Dreamer no longer holds the phoenix to keep me – us – in check.”
He had watched as Triol had succumbed, gaining power far beyond his capabilities in an instant. Harnessing reality and perverting it to his desires.
He had become a true Fearshaper, even if it was for but a moment.
A single truth rang in his black skull, a call to action he could not ignore.
There are depths yet unexplored.
“It is regrettable that we were unable to secure Berevan’s body. But with the Highlord of Flame dead, we are free to proceed as we wish. Besides, Asale gifted me two wonderful daughters with such potential.”
He walked through the Academy with nostalgia, having wandered its halls at the pinnacle of its existence. Vetrian strode in the body of one of the many departed Fearshapers, now unhindered by the Academy’s wards or its Terror.
In the Floors of Delirium he glimpsed a dark manor, unguarded by the ward that had thwarted him so.
“I will have to thank my daughter, for without the descent of her friend, our goals would remain an idle dream.”
Veteran shook his head in awe, and a familiar emotion arose in his chest.
Jealousy.
“To bypass the Academy’s limiters imposed on her descent, shattering its wards…”
He laughed at the absurdity of jealousy’s presence.
“I can count the number of times such a thing has happened on one hand. Monsters stride Elucidor, once more.”
He came to a halt before a solitary pedestal. Its creator’s final warning inscribed on its surface. A futile effort.
“May there be many monsters to come.”
The skeleton’s ivory grin shone, as Vetrian Revenant twisted the key. The smooth black surface that occupied the wall, blinked to life. And words shone on its surface.
Processing outstanding requests…
Requests received. Executing…
[Archcity of Time] unsealed.
Pending threat level: EXTREME - [Archcity of xxxxxx] will be unsealed.
Message to Elucidor delivered.
For the first time in a decade, Vetrian Revenant felt his unbeating heart flutter.
He relinquished his hold over the skeleton he possessed, and turned to his guest where he sat, in Soulhaven, the Archcity of Death.
As he met its gaze, he felt the depths of his Fear rush to meet him.
Even from where he stood, in Serenity.
"Let us see, what lies beyond the clouds."
---
Pevir Veringold of Brimstone’s Archaeologist guild stood in the rooms beyond the golden gates of the Academy of Anhedonia.
The single, unexplored frontier he had failed to broach with Shiver and company, while they had remained in the academy.
His Fear gnawed at him, a Fear of the unknown.
When his colleagues had found out, he had received respect and incredulity in equal measure. An Archaeologist with a Fear of the unknown? How paradoxical. Absurd even.
“Curious, so the caverns beneath the Archcity, the Floors of Dread held Terrors? And Terrors are… no.”
His hands began to tremble.
Pevir stared at the assertion, and he felt sweat drip from his forehead, as it had, the moment he had been free from the nightviper’s release. Perhaps even before.
“Perhaps that is where the Terrors that now roam the Archcity came from. But that Fearshaper…”
He recalled the dead Fearshaper he had glimpsed with Vale. The one that bore a blade which reflected the depths of the night sky.
“Mysteries lie just beyond my grasp.”
He continued reading, as he felt his Fear surround him, the unknown become known, his curiosities satiated yet his Fear intensifying with every word that he consumed.
For he knew that was something deeper lying at the centre of it all.
Something he had yet to uncover.
He stood in an abandoned building in the Floors of Delirium. It had a mundane appearance, from the outside - a simple, black mansion. When he had entered, he felt his Fear threaten to swallow him. The terror of losing himself to mysetries beyond him, years in the making.
The room before him had been destroyed. He saw pieces of black pedestal lying in a heap. Likely the same pedestal that the group had spoken about.
As he walked forwards, he saw a fine white dust and shards of ivory that had been cast outwards from the epicentre of what must have been an explosion.
Then, his breath caught, as something flickered ahead of him. What had once been a smooth black surface, was now shattered.
But not completely.
He also saw the golden words blink into existence, persisting despite the destruction that had been wrought.
IDRIEL online.
His Fear of mysteries stirred, and he felt it drawing him in.
He sighed in frustration as he closed the professor’s journal, the singular document that he had found in his explorations.
Ilaria Icewing.
She bore the same surname as the Academy’s creator, another formidable Fearshaper no doubt. Perhaps, of the same family, a descendant. Yet despite his successful discoveries, his Fear continued to churn within him, hinting at mysteries unaddressed. It threatened to drag him in, and to smother him.
To whisper sweet words that would gently push him from the shores of sanity, into the waters of Insanity.
“My, my..”
Pevir closed his eyes.
“Road to mysteries untravelled”.
He had caught himself unconsciously speaking those words during his explorations of the Archcity. A comforting refrain, he found himself unconsciously resorting to in his explorations.
He had failed to divine any discernible purpose or explanation behind the turn of phrase.
Pevir found himself wondering how it had wormed its way into his mind.
His eyes widened as a familiar piercing pain reached his temple, causing his vision to swim. He wiped sweat from his forehead, that had plagued him throughout his time in the Archcity of Fear.
He uttered the words again, staring deeply into the magnifying glass clouded by grey mist in his grip.
[Road to mysteries untravelled]
This time, the road revealed itself to him.
---
The trio slept in the carriage. They were approaching their destination, the Dreadwood - Archcity of Life.
As Caledon and Vale slept, Shiver stared up at Valefor and Idriel, the twin moons of Elucidor, as they cast forth their gentle light, a melding of gold and silver that she rarely appreciated in the midst of Brimstone’s Winterstorm.
Then, she heard a voice.
Fearshapers. Insanity stirs.
Descend, or perish.
Then, a voice sang to her. It resonated with the Fearcore she had created. From the beautiful song came words that carved themselves into her vision, appearing before her.
Stage of Fear: Trepidation
Guide burden: [Unquantifiable]
Fearcore integrity: [Critical]
Recommend immediate descension. Identifying possible resources…
Progress to Fearcore consolidation: [0%]
Retrieving generic resources in your proximity:
- Frostwolf [100% compatibility]
- Frost wyvern [100% compatibility]
- Winterlion [40% compatibility]
- Spiritfox [10% compatibility]
Assessing threat level…. Threshold satisfied.
Named hunts authorized.
Retrieving named resources in proximity:
- Vivienne [Legendary]
- Slastraza [Legendary]
- Turkle [Mythic]
Shiver sat up, her eyes wide, and watched as the world changed.
---
Today was the day of her birth.
She walked through the dark academy, barely casting a glance at the flickering barriers, shattered by the descent of a true monster.
You might wonder, why an Academy of Fearshaping would fall apart so easily at the descent of a single Fearshaper. Especially when its very purpose was to usher elves towards Serenity. A curious contradiction. One that spoke to the Academy’s true objective.
She walked to the site of her creation, past innumerable rooms of descension that now lay plain and white.
Finally, she chanced upon a room unlike the others. Jagged spires of Ice speared from the ceiling and floor, destroying the room around them.
Terrors were ordinarily born from the waking nightmares of Dreadwalkers.
Fearshapers that strode in their Dread, the penultimate realm of Fear that preceded Serenity.
The girl smiled, the corners of her mouth peeling a way, the seams of her smile ending at her ears. It revealed a set of gleaming black teeth. Her skin was dark grey, as if she had been exposed to an unforgiving blizzard that sapped her of all vitality and life.
Extending her arm outwards, black ice coalesced into a small form at her behest.
She smiled, placing the popsicle wrought from black snow into her maw.
Hers was an impossible existence.
Cast from the darkest nightmares of ice.
“Delicious.”
END - Book 1: Nightmares of Ice
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