The wind obeys my very thoughts, smoothly passing by my scales without as much as a whisper of sound. The sensation is pleasant, in the way that only a thing done well is, and I savor it as Vorgrôss looms into sight. The mountain was imbued with a rugged beauty by its creator, the craggy rocks that make it up twisted into dark and complex shapes that appear chaotic only before the underlying order is seen. My siblings create monuments to their power that surpass Vanargand's, entire histories woven into the curve of a coastline or the path of a river, but his creations have a certain aspect that theirs lack. He revels in his strength no less than any dragon, but he is never content with his works, always tweaking forms in some eternal pursuit.
As I approach the graceful arc of the entrance, high above the path that wends its way up the mountain in a microcosm of infinity, I see that he has rotated the entire edifice by half a degree. The difference in how the sunlight scatters through the great crystalline windows flowing smoothly out of the stone is miniscule and yet undeniably gorgeous, arcs of color painting complex patterns against the walls of the corridor leading to my friend's inner sanctum.
Enkidu! his power calls out, my name pulsing with pleasant fondness as I tuck my wings against my body and stride into his home, Nergorath did not join you today.
My mate is tending to her own works, I reply, letting the image of her seeing to her efforts pass between us, It is only us.
I make my way deeper into the caverns as we talk, approaching the vast pit at the center that houses my friend until I stand above it, looking down at his form. Vanargand is like quicksilver, a throbbing mass devoid of all color and with no permanent shape of his own. Even his gender is an artifice, something chosen with the same capricious deliberation as his modifications to his home and likely just as subject to change by his whim. I smile at him, and although he cannot reflect the gesture physically I sense the emotion in him readily enough, his pleasure at my company no less obvious than if he had been another dragon.
Only us, Vanargand echoes, Tell me, Enkidu, have you ever considered what binds a dragon to its mate? Why is it yourself to Nergorath and not Iamata?
I laugh easily, letting him feel that I find delight in the workings of his mind and not condescension at the question. Why indeed? I reply, We are fitted together in pairs, each complementing our matching partner perfectly. Iamata is my sister; Nergorath is my mate.
A fact you accept without further consideration, he says, As I suppose is unnecessary for an immutable bond.
There is nothing to consider, I reply, We are joined for all eternity.
I pause a moment, wondering at what has brought my friend to such a peculiar line of thought, and muster all my sincerity as I add, But you can be assured I think no less of our friendship.
Vanargand is silent for a moment, pulsing and vibrating like a pool of nothingness, and not for the first time I wish he could be the eleventh dragon. His nature is as much a mystery as his form, something utterly unlike anything else that exists in the world, and I wonder at what that makes him.
That is, in fact, why I wished to speak with you, he says at last, shifting slowly as he spreads out, You axiomatically accept each of those relationships as what they are, each one equal in your eyes. Why cannot one be greater than the others?
I feel his eagerness, his delight in a point I know he is about to make, and I let him feel my desire to understand without having to convey a specific thought. His vast and churning form parts, revealing a creation unlike any other I have ever seen. It is not a construct like Vorgrôss or anything else forged by magic; he has not reshaped a piece of reality to match his desire.
He has reshaped himself.
It is undeniably part of his very essence, separated and yet still alive in a marvelous fashion. I try to imagine the pain he must have felt in pulling out a part of himself and cannot; the suffering he must have undergone in his creation is but another sign of his incredible creativity. The object glows with its own light, a sphere of light surrounded by a hardened shell of faceted magic, and my awe passes freely to Vanargand.
What is it? I ask wonderingly, staring at the artifact.
It is a part of me, he answers, A part that can be shared.
He lets me feel the meaning of it, a new emotion filling my being as I grasp what he has created. It is more wonderful and yet more terrible than anything I could have possibly imagined, something that is utterly unknown. And yet, in showing it to me, it becomes known, my own power showing me a sigil never before seen.
Love, I muse slowly, tasting the implications of it, and Vanargand waits patiently for me to go on.
I am flattered, but I cannot accept, I say at last, as gently as I can manage, It would change us both in ways neither one of us could predict.
I understand, he replies, but there is an odd edge to his magic, a feeling nearly as alien as the one he has just offered me, There is another matter for us to discuss, then. Another work I wish to undertake.
And what is that, my friend?
I showed you I can divide my essence, shaping a part of it into something new. Do you suppose it possible for me to incorporate something totally separate?
Before I can answer, before his meaning can even fully register, his form is around me, tendrils of his strength pulling at all of my limbs and swarming over my head and down my throat. I try to scream and cannot, a terrible maw pulling me in and tearing at my power.
I struggle to free myself, honing my magic into a blade of the mind, but it isn't enough, Vanargand's relentless consumption greedily swallowing everything I can bring to bear.
You cannot do this! I plead, Release me!
The strength of my commands should be immutable, but he doesn't even slow, my essence coming apart as utter nothingness washes over me. Think of what you do! I cry, trying desperately to reason with him, You did not create love on its own; you created loss. Unrequited yearning. You cannot imagine the shape of the future!
My mind is next, his very being infiltrating my own as he devours me and all separation between us. I see what my absence portends, see the curse his creation will wrack upon the world, and my final thought is his first as a dragon.
Despair.
This had been a great read. I wonder what's in store for the future of this story...