Ash and Oath”

They had passed beyond the reaches of the eastern wood, where wind moved like ghosts through burnt pines and the earth still bore black scars from fire unquenched. The boy, wide-eyed and silent, held close his dwarvish bow, though he had not loosed a single shaft.

Night was nearing.

“We’ll camp by the Runebreak,” the knight said, gazing at the ancient stones that jutted from the vale like a broken crown. “There’s water still. Cold, but clean.”

Uurnik nodded but did not speak. He had grown quieter as they neared the heart of the realm. The dwarf's mind, always turning, seemed wound in thought—gears behind his eyes.

That night, fire danced low. Ellowyn sang a song of her people, soft and sorrowful, in a tongue long and lilting. It was not meant for men, but the knight listened nonetheless, the song folding over him like a cloak.

Uurnik stirred. “That tongue… it has not been sung in these lands since before the war of the Shattered Trees. Do you know what you carry, my lady?”

Her voice trailed off. “My father’s house is gone. Who else is left to carry it?”

The dwarf nodded gravely. “Then carry it you must.”

The knight watched the stars through a veil of old sorrow. “Do you think the queen will hear us?”

“She will,” Uurnik said, tossing another rune-etched log into the fire. “But hearing is not the same as believing. And belief is not the same as acting.”

As the fire crackled low, a sound came on the wind. A shuddering, distant cry. Not beast. Not man.

The boy’s eyes widened. Ellowyn turned toward the east.

“Is it another drake?” she asked.

“No,” said the knight. He stood, hand at the hilt of his blade. “Not yet. But something foul stirs. I feel it.”

They slept in turns. But the knight did not close his eyes.


---

The queen’s halls stood wreathed in sapphire banners and towers shaped like lifted spears. Ithilion was not yet burned, but it was a city tensed for doom. Archers paced walls; the commoners moved as though under weight. And within the throne hall, fear had a name.

Queen Ysareth.

She sat cloaked in white and silver, a woman whose crown seemed to burden more than bless.

“You slew Mêmraahq?” she asked, disbelief bitter in her tone.

“I did,” said the knight, his voice even.

“Many have claimed such things,” the queen replied. “And yet, the skies still darken with wings.”

Ellowyn stepped forward. “He does not lie. And we bring proof.”

She drew forth the dragon’s tooth.

The court murmured. The queen stared.

Uurnik took a step. “Lady Queen, this is no tale spun by firelight. We come with warning, not praise. The drakes grow cunning. They strike not only for hunger. They strike for wrath. There is judgment in them.”

Queen Ysareth stood. “Judgment? For what crime?”

The knight met her gaze. “Perhaps for forgetting who they were… and what we have become.”

Silence fell.

Then: “And what would you ask of Ithilion?”

“Not banners. Not swords,” said the knight. “Only counsel. And a path through the southern waste. There is one yet might help us. An ancient one.”

The queen’s brow furrowed. “You speak of the Oracle.”

He nodded.

“I will grant this,” she said. “But beware—she sees not with love, nor kindness.”

Ellowyn’s hand touched his.

“I need neither,” the knight said. “Only truth.”


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End of Part II


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Want to keep building this world? Here are a few follow-up prompts you could try:

Write the scene in the Oracle’s temple.

Flash back to the knight’s battle with Mêmraahq.

Explore a moment from Ellowyn’s past as a noble of Eletheme.

Show Uurnik alone, crafting the bow he gives the boy.

Introduce a new party member who joins them for the journey south.
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