The Fall of Aceram

There weren't always dragons in The Valley. There weren't always dragons cresting the hills, climbing the mountains, or turning every living thing to ash. No, that was a new development--one that left once docile animals abused as weapons of destruction. One that set Omar's life up in flames.

He watched in terror as the great creature shot skyward from the hillside, wings stretching out in blankets of charcoal that smeared the sky in darkness. A shock of cobalt contrasted the rest of the dragon, a small spot of some kind that immediately caught Omar's attention. He strained to make it out, squinting and leaning against the banister of his balcony to give himself some leverage.

Suddenly, the dragon swooped low, and the little spot jumped off and hit the ground.

That's a person.

As the dragon opened its mouth and lit the first sparks, Omar's heart dropped, realization dawning on him in waves of dread. He didn't wait to watch the forest catch fire, running from the balcony and through the palace halls quicker than ever before, desperate to reach the village before the unknown person. The palace doors were flanked, two officers guarding them and staring at Omar like he'd grown another head.

There wasn't time to be polite. He opened the doors himself, ignoring the shouts that floated after him as he flew down the steps. He felt the forest tremble, the soil growing anxious under his feet as he ran desperately down the dirt path.

"Gather the hydro-kinetics in the village!" Omar ordered as he reached the guard's quarters, not waiting to hear their reply as he rushed past them. "Quickly!"

Heat blasted from the woods as he got closer, dropping stones into the pit of Omar's stomach as he tried to ignore the way his lungs screamed, begging for air as he refused to quit moving. He reached the village in record time, the shouts of civilians reaching his ears as they watched the sky in panic, the cobalt flames descending from the ether.

Omar cursed under his breath, using as much force as he could muster with his aching chest when he shouted.

"Evacuate to the castle! Leave everything!"

Fearful gazes locked onto him, sending anxiety prickling up his spine as he weaved throughout the scrambling crowds. He tried to gather his thoughts as he ran, soothing the forest's cries in gentle waves.

It was only when he finally found that shock of cobalt, that person, that he realized he hadn't thought to grab a weapon. The boy had encroached on the outer guards, armed with something gleaming in his hand as he slashed and tore at the officers.

Adrenaline raced through his blood when the boy shoved down another guard, poised to drive his weapon into her abdomen.

Omar shot forward, heart hammering. The metal in the boy's hand glimmered. His legs wouldn't move fast enough. Three. Two-

Omar's fist collided with the boy's chest. The boy was sent sprawling backward, a grunted curse leaving his lips when his hands hit the dirt. His eyes shot up immediately to size up his assailant, recognition blowing them wide with surprise as he felt around for his lost weapon--a knife, Omar realized.

The guard beside him groaned, blearily reaching out for Omar as the boy shot to his feet, darting off into the burning woods. The trees jolted, sending another sharp shout directly into Omar's brain, but he forced himself to kneel down next to the guard.

"Are you hurt?" Omar rushed out, anxiously glancing off towards the trees.

She shook her head, gaze unfocused but full of malice. "Find him."

Omar shot up with the permission, racing after the boy with renewed energy. The air turned black all around him, smearing the sky with thick smoke that choked his lungs.

The place Omar called his home, his kingdom, turning to ash and glowing blue embers.

He ran as deep as he could, dodging falling branches and vaulting stumps that tried to end his pursuit. Flashes of cobalt kept him running, sparks that made his chest fill with hate, with grief. Sure, Omar could run fast, but that demon could run faster, could set his life ablaze in a cloud of azure and leave him alone in the ruins.

He reached out with as much focus as he could manage, begging the dying trees to stay strong, the hanging vines to tangle and trip the horrid boy that had caused this destruction.

They fell all at once, a scream of a desperate soldier’s last stand against an unstoppable force ringing in Omar’s ears as the forest became a mess of green and charred browns.

From the glowing skies and to the black ground, they fell as one.

Their twisting tendrils avoided Omar’s heavy steps, but chased the boy’s, snaked after him with a seething hatred that rivaled his own. There was a crack, a cry, and suddenly the boy was at his feet, slashing at his leafy captors with the small knife clutched in his palm. He barely made purchase, the twisting vines evading him easily as if his practiced slashes were that of a novice.

But while his motions were wild, his eyes stayed placid, unbothered, like he didn’t understand the gravity of his situation.

No, he understood—he didn’t care.

He was almost smiling, like this was some big game and Omar was merely playing into his hands, providing him the sanctity of an audience for his masquerade. Omar couldn’t imagine why he was so amused, especially because he was utterly overpowered by every plant in the forest coming for his throat.

Omar stepped forward, pinning the boy's wrist under his foot to force the knife from his grip. To his surprise and disgust, the boy smiled, showing off perfect white teeth that only served to fan the flames in Omar’s chest.

“Why are you smiling?” Omar shouted, glaring at the boy with all the contempt of an angry king, channeling his father’s assertiveness.

The boy chuckled, a dark, low sound that ached in Omar’s head, his eyes shining with glee.

“You are a pathetic excuse of a prince.”

Before Omar could retort, an ear-splitting cry shook the ground, causing the vines to recoil in pain. Omar stumbled—he couldn’t help it— falling back on his palms and watching as the boy slowly rose, a dark shadow obscuring the falling sun.

He glimmered with victory as the great creature descended behind him: A dragon of midnight black with piercing hazel eyes peering at him through slits. The dragon bowed its head as the boy climbed on, then rose before Omar could even think to move.

“ C’est la vie, Aceram!” The boy shouted, aglow with glee as the dragon jumped skyward. "Coatl will reign!"

And in a blink, the boy was gone, leaving nothing but a small knife and glowing blue embers that simmered under Omar’s burned palms.

It took several moments for Omar to pry himself from the forest floor, heat blasting him from all sides and searing his skin when he stood. He didn't have time to regret his choice now, raking his eyes over the woods as he searched for any clear path.

Before he could even think to start clearing one, another shout shook the woods-- human this time.

"Your highness!"

Omar recognized the shout of the lead hydro-kinetic, Rowan, coughing on smoke as he shouted back.

"Alive!" Omar choked out, forcing his spent legs to move towards the voice as the flames licked at his arms. "Quickly!"

Blasts of water shot from before him, dousing a path to the village as several of the kinetics flanked his sides, putting out flame after flame as the forest's cries grew quiet.

"Your highness." Rowan waved the other kinetics from Omar's side, taking one of their places as he briskly led Omar back out of the smoldering forest. "One of these days, this recklessness will get you seriously injured."

"It doesn't matter." Omar tried to step lightly, removing bits of pressure from his aching legs. "He got away."

Rowan sighed, loud and sharp, raising one thin eyebrow in annoyance. "He?"

"The dragon-rider," Omar clarified through gritted teeth. "He started the fires. He attacked the front line of guards and-"

Omar cut himself off sharply, the words on his lips dying as realization hit him. He pushed ahead of Rowan, ignoring the indignant spluttering behind him as he rushed back towards the village's edge. He'd run a lot further in his chase than he'd thought. It felt like years before he finally reached the guard and crouched down next to her.

"Are you alright?" Omar offered out an arm, leaning so she could use his support. She'd managed to prop herself up on one palm, nodding vaguely as she draped her arm across his shoulders.

"It's nothing serious," She assured, though her steps were wobbly. "He barely nicked me."

Omar sighed, trying to let the words settle his mind. He absolutely didn't believe her, but she was on her feet and walking, which proved that she wasn't immediately dying. He helped her back to the square before lightly lowering her onto one of the benches, feeling around for that familiar buzz of life. He caught something after a couple seconds, calling over a few surviving vines that tenderly prodded at her leg.

They moved gently, carefully straightening it out and addressing each muscle before recoiling back to the walls, taking a couple of sparks of worry.

"See?" The guard gestured at the retreating vines, gingerly swaying her leg slightly. "They approve."

"I won't force you to go to the medic, but-" "YOUR HIGHNESS."

Omar cringed, hesitantly turning to meet Rowan's aghast expression.

"Rowan," Omar replied, offering a slight nod in apology.

Rowan didn't seem amused, taking hold of Omar's sleeve and half-dragging him back down the village streets with more strength than the thin man should be allowed to have. Omar didn't bother struggling, instead opting to give the guard an apologetic smile as he was dragged around the corner.

"You cannot keep running off," Rowan grumbled, his tone similar to that of a teacher scolding their children. "His majesty will be livid with me."

The hairs on the back of Omar's neck prickled at the mention of his father, little flickers of anger licking around the stone that dropped into his stomach.

"His majesty would have let the village burn, Rowan," Omar countered, sarcasm heavy on his father's title. "I will not apologize for taking action."

"You and I both know taking action is not the issue."

Omar bit down hard on his tongue to stop a sharp response, settling to glare at the back of Rowan's head as he dragged Omar back up the gilded steps, briefly considering calling for a few vines to come and trip him.

The silence quickly grew uncomfortable, but Omar refused to be the one to break it, content to give Rowan the most irritating cold shoulder he'd ever seen until he quit dragging him around like a dog. Sadly, Rowan didn't seem to be all that wounded by Omar's silence, his gaze fixed when he approached the palace doors.

"Requesting audience?" One of the officers asked, glancing uncertainly over to Omar.

"His majesty." Rowan nodded, pinching Omar's arm in warning when he rolled his eyes.

The officer nodded, opening the door to escort the two.

He couldn't help the curling anger in his gut, the resentment that flared whenever he pictured his father's face and how it reared when they stepped in and saw the man himself. Rowan dipped into a slight bow, but Omar refused to look away, matching his father's icy glare with one of his own.

I will not yield.

"Rowan," The king regarded passively, gaze unwavering as he narrowed his eyes. "Omar."

Omar kept his shoulders squared, pointedly ignoring the muttered curses that Rowan dropped every couple of seconds. The air grew heavy, oppressive as it weighed down on the room, draping everything in a fog that even the plants curling up the stone walls seemed to cower from.

"Leave us." The king waved one hand at Rowan, unaffected, and kept his eyes steadily on Omar as Rowan straightened and shuffled from the room. Omar was beginning to envy him.

The king waited until the door had firmly shut before he stood, dropping all pretense of nobility as the room finally cleared of witnesses. Omar matched his strides, stepping up to meet him with what he hoped came off as steady defiance.

"Have you lost your mind?" Was the first thing to leave his mouth, words pointed and firm.

Omar worked his jaw, crossing over to the large table in the center of the room. "Have you lost yours?"

"You ran into a fire!" The king followed him, putting both hands on the surface of the table in an attempt to ground himself. "In what world is that the right decision to make?"

"If I didn't, who would?" Omar countered. "You didn't even notice the dragon-rider until I was already gone!"

"There are measures to solve these things without you endangering our family line!"

"Really? Then why haven't they been solved?!" Omar's voice echoed in the hollow room, carried to every corner. "Why is each attack pushing closer and closer to the palace? Why are you okay with letting these- these murderers attack Aceram's people?"

The king narrowed his eyes. "The north wants land. You cannot expect a casualty-free turf war, Omar. The board is doing its best."

Omar almost laughed. His lips quirked up in an incredulous sneer, disgust making his skin crawl as he curled his fingers around that stupid silver knife and slammed it into the wood in front of his father's hand. The king flinched back, stricken, as the blade sunk into the table, point buried and handle gleaming.

"The north wants blood," Omar spat. "At least five guards fell to this blade. I refuse to let the culprit escape justice."

"So what, then?" The king answered slowly, masking his tone in diplomacy that made Omar's blood boil. "You'll search every house in Coatl for this culprit? Demand justice? Overthrow the king?"

"I'll do what it takes."

"Don't lose your head," The king answered, words filled with ice. "Protecting our nation exceeds a few guards. It exceeds that forest, and it exceeds any delusions of heroics that you've let fester."

Omar could barely hear him over the pounding in his ears, the cold of the knife's handle shocking as his fingers wrenched it from the table. The designs dug into his skin, helped him keep his feet planted firmly on the floor.

"I must do what ensures the safety of Aceram," The king spoke, leaning back with an air of finality. "That includes making some difficult choices."

Omar grit his teeth, tucking the knife back into his sleeve as he turned from his father.

"The safety of Aceram would be ensured if it wasn't ruled by a coward."

He didn't wait for his father's reply, throwing open the war room's doors and slamming them shut behind him before a single word could reach his ears. The guards turned, but he ignored them, trying to calm the hammering of his heart. Without much thought, his feet carried him to his bedroom, vines curling over the locked door when he kicked it shut.

He didn't care how juvenile he was acting; this wasn't a problem that would just go away. They couldn't ignore this anymore, and they couldn't expect Coatl's king to suddenly come to his senses.

You can't negotiate with a tyrant.

Omar had heard the words come out of his father's mouth countless times, one of his favorite ways to deflect all blame. It wasn't his fault Coatl's ruler went mad. It wasn't his fault that Coatl's subjects seemed to be following suit. It wasn't his fault that hundreds of creatures were turned to ash daily, that guards were losing hope, that forests were burning and his son had some rebellious delusions of grandeur.

Well, if Omar's festering delusions were enticing before, now they screamed at him for purchase, shouting loudly over the pounding of his head.

'If I didn't, who would?' Omar had said, thoughts jumping between each tragedy that Aceram had endured under his father's watch. Every death, every home turned to ash that left a family impoverished-- it all fueled Omar's resolve.

If I hadn't, who would have?

Certainly not the king.

Omar took a breath, laying back against his comforter as he raked a hand through his tousled hair. He watched the fading light pour in from the sunroof, the vines climb the walls, and fret over his anger-flushed face as the sun slowly set across the valley.

If I won't, who will?

Omar closed his eyes and called for the vines, content to let them curl against him as a list began to form in his head: Food, water, clothes, dagger...

His stomach churned, giddy with anticipation and nauseous as he ran through the items. He could collect enough in a few hours. Just a few hours, and he could finally put a crack in the metaphorical dam that surrounded Coatl's kingdom, chip and fracture the stone until he watched it flood.

The face of the boy from the village filled Omar's mind--all blue hair and cruel, icy eyes-- sending a fresh wave of determination throughout Omar's bones.

He deserved to watch his city sink. He deserved nothing less than utter powerlessness.

Omar pulled out the dagger from his sleeve, watching the light glint off the shiny surface. The blade was smooth, curving into a sharp point that barely seemed ghosted with wear despite all its victims. Tiny notches were etched into the spine in purposeful, calculated cuts.

The blade was pristine but simple.

The handle was anything but. Dark, leathery scales crisscrossed the wood, reflecting the light in gleaming points. The scales almost seemed to suck in the surrounding color, drain the air of life and store it in the center of the handle, where a tiny green stone rested. It was nothing like the green of the forest, the color in the stone something between a blue and a brown-- a dark, swirling hazel.

The image twisted Omar's mouth into a frown, his thumb following the handle's curve until it fell to rest over the hazel stone. He could barely cover it, but Omar left it there nonetheless, pressing hard against the smooth surface as if he could somehow suffocate it.

He didn't even realize he was falling back until his head hit the mattress, suddenly soft against the cold in his hand. Omar let the plants send their waves of calm this time, allowing the softness of their thoughts to calm his erratic heart, but his resolve didn't sway.

If I won't, who will?

Nobody, but that was fine. Omar didn't need a plan B to fall back on.

He would be back within a week, and with any luck, the war would be over and done with. His eyes slipped shut as he thought, swirling images of snow and ice giving him plenty to ponder as the dusk faded to black.

---

The sun hadn't even crested the hill by the time Omar was gone. He hadn't grabbed much, just a satchel full of essentials and a sheath for the dagger that Omar had quickly sewn together. After all, there would be other materials when he finally got to Coatl, and he had plenty of money to buy with.

His thoughts drifted as he made his way over the burnt ground, threads of guilt mixing with the anticipation in his stomach as his feet crunched branch after branch. He'd be covered in charcoal by the time he made it to Coatl at this rate, but the dark powder coating his clothes couldn't be farther from his mind.

He should have written a note.

For Rowan, that is. Omar could fall off the face of the Earth, and it would still take his father four to five business days to even pretend to care about his safety. But Rowan...

Omar paused, the twisting in his stomach growing uncomfortable. Before he could change his mind, Omar reached out to a peeling tree and pressed his palm to the trunk, concentrating on the little vibrations he got in return. After some gentle waves of persuasion, a significant bit of bark loosened, allowing Omar to step away with a sheet of white.

“Thank you,” Omar whispered, sending one last wave to the tree in extra thanks. He crouched down, resting the sheet of bark on his knee as he pondered what he was going to say. He couldn’t give too many details if he didn’t want the cavalry sent after him.

Wasn’t kidnapped. Be home soon

-Omar

It wasn’t the most heartfelt note he’d ever written, but it would suffice. All he needed was to make sure Rowan didn’t die from stress.

“Can you take this to the palace?” Omar asked, holding the now-scratched bark out to the curling vines in the trees. The vines accepted the note with a wave that Omar could only describe as a sigh before slinking back across the ground.

With a little of the guilt alleviated, Omar stood back up, continuing on through the black woods. The once lively forest felt unmistakably wrong in its silence, the absence of life leaving the woods in an eerie quiet.

Each echoed step only left him more determined to accomplish his goal--To make sure the woods never went quiet again. He let his hand fall to the dagger resting on his thigh, tracing the hazel stone with his thumb as he walked. It couldn't be that hard to find a boy that seemed to stand out so much, and when he did, Omar wasn't sure exactly how many murderous thoughts he could shove back.

Lives were lost, homes were burned, and Omar was more than prepared to help him atone for those crimes.

The air grew colder the further Omar walked, cooling winds turned biting against his exposed skin as the trees dwindled down to sticks. Leaves turned to snow and ice under his feet, leaving prints of black as he stepped across the frozen terrain.

He tried to push back the unease in his gut, taking careful steps as the packed snow grew slicker and slicker. He could feel the terrain sloping, steps slipping as his treads were filled with ice. The top of the hill came fast, a sharp plateau that almost slid him off the edge.

"Stars..." Omar gasped, lowering into a crouch as he looked over the cliff's edge. Waves rushed below the cliff's base, crashing against the ice with roaring cracks as the wind whipped at Omar's face. Beyond, the wasteland continued--a mass of white and the occasional dead tree.

Omar let out a huff, squinting against the glare of the snow as he searched for a way over. There was a connection a little way up the cliff's edge, a thin bridge of ice cemented to the cliff's side. It was risky, but the only other option was to turn back.

So, in other words, there was no other option.

Omar bit down on the inside of his cheek, staying low as he scooted to the bridge. As a simple test, he slammed his hand down on the middle of the bridge, cringing with cold and anticipation...but it held.

Good enough.

He carefully stood up, drawing in slow breaths, each movement a risk on the thin ice. His hands shook with cold and anxiety, his legs not doing much better as he took step after unsteady step.

One

The ice was slick under his treads.

Two

The wind almost seemed to pick up.

Three

He was swaying.

Four

He didn't quite make it to five.

Omar didn't realize he'd fallen until frigid water sent shocks through his body, the air forcing its way from his lungs in choked gasps. He fought against the river's current, but the cold made his limbs numb and unresponsive.

The water enveloped his head quickly. He could barely see the light of the surface. He flailed his lead-filled arms to try and grasp anything.

His arm smacked something solid and he grappled to keep hold, but any sense of relief evaporated when the something moved.

He opened his eyes against his better judgment, straining to see as the cold water rushed at him. Black spots danced in the corners of his vision, but then he saw it: Two glowing grey eyes, staring right back.

Omar's chest swelled with panic, adrenaline shooting across his arms.

Before everything went dark.

---

Omar awoke in a daze, the black spots slowly clearing from his vision as he squinted up at the ceiling. The swell of relief at finding he was still alive sent pleasant tingles through his somehow-warming body.

He shifted, propping himself up on his aching forearms as he tried to better understand his surroundings. The ceiling and curved walls were pure ice, smooth and dimpled with a shine of aqua. The floor was small black stones, yet Omar would have never guessed with how little they bit into his skin. And beside him sat a small fire, orange flames licking up the charcoal in the center of the circle and radiating pleasant warmth across his skin.

"You're finally awake."

Omar jumped as a low voice echoed throughout the cave, startling him to his core as he swiveled to try and find the source. It seemed to come from everywhere, bouncing off the icy walls and burrowing into Omar's head.

"Don't give yourself whiplash," The voice continued, bored, smooth, and deprecating. "I'm right here."

Something shifted in the corner of Omar's vision, a little flash of white, and he turned towards it with as much dignity as he could muster.

It was a human. Well, mostly human. He had striking pale skin, almost ghostly in the fire's gentle glow, with light blue hair falling in tresses across his shoulders. He wasn't wearing anything from the waist up, but his crossed arms covered most of his torso anyways. Fabric wrapped around his waist, flowing down to his lower thighs.

But nothing compared to the dramatics that were his eyes: Grey, piercing, and somehow already judgemental. They were familiar, too, remembrance of the cold water and figure below sending shivers across Omar's back.

Omar sucked in a breath, trying to see the terrifying darkness from before in his angular face. He wasn't all that scary now, just....disapproving.

"Were you the thing in the water?" Omar asked suddenly, any sort of eloquence he had vanishing as the words left his mouth.

"The thing in the-" The man scoffed, his grey eyes narrowing. "Stars, I knew your group was insolent, but that's entirely disrespectful."

Shame made Omar's stomach flip as he tore his eyes from the other person, already feeling judged under his scrutinizing gaze.

"I didn't mean it like...that," Omar replied carefully, trying to wrangle his last remaining brain cells. "And what do you mean by group?"

"The valley dwellers," The man retorted. "You should be happy I saved you with everything your kingdom has been doing."

Omar's eyebrows pinched, confusion sending his already-aching head for another spin. "What...?"

The man advanced until he stood right in front of Omar, then crouched down to his level.

"The warring. The destruction that follows your people everywhere they set foot." The man narrowed his eyes, that piercing grey stabbing at Omar's soul. "Do you know how many of my people have died in your raids? Do you know how much land we've lost from the fires that your tortured dragons bring?"

The man clicked his tongue. "You know, maybe it was a mistake saving you. Maybe I should throw you back."

"No-!" Omar dislodged the word from his throat with embarrassing effort, shaking his head. "No, you've got it wrong."

The man didn't reply, just tilted his head in expectation, exposing three slits that climbed the expanse of his neck.

"I'm here to end the war." Omar pushed himself fully upright, giving himself a little more leverage. "The north sent a dragon-rider yesterday. He burned our forests and murdered our guards- and he dropped this-"

Omar felt around on his thigh, gripping the dagger's hilt and pulling it out to show to the man.

"All I want to do is stop the bloodshed," Omar finished, omitting the minor detail of his exacting revenge. "I have no interest in destruction."

The man's eyes were full of suspicion as he slowly reached out to the dagger, tracing one light claw along the leather, then along the blade's curve. His hands were webbed, Omar noticed, though he was trying not to stare.

"You want to stop it," The man echoed quietly, claw finding its way from the hilt to the stone. "How?"

"Speak to the king. Do whatever it takes to find a middle ground."

"And you plan to do this on your own?"

Omar ruffled at the accusatory question. "You think I can't?"

"Not even a little." The man drew his hand back, turning his attention to Omar as he studied him. "But that's alright."

The man shifted, tucking his legs under him and sitting a little ways away from Omar, adjusting the fabric around his waist so it wouldn't bunch. He glanced back over, his eyes glimmering in a way that Omar hadn't seen before.

"Now, you don't have to," He said simply. "I'll act as your guide, but you must promise to follow my order. I can assure you that things are different out of your little valley."

"Fine. If we're going to be partners, though, we should know what to call each other," Omar commented, leaning back on his forearms. "I'm Omar."

The man hesitated, his eyebrows pinching. But, after a second or two, came his quiet reply.

"Kari."