A lone island of dark, jagged stone lay in the middle of a massive body of water. The light from the Orb appeared mysteriously veiled and dim. A declaration echoed through the island’s deep canyons, rousing reptilian birds to take to the air from their nests.

“Hail! The king!” someone cried in the crowd of humans standing on a plateau that overlooked the water. The creatures’ dark skin had fine scales of varying size, and their eyes had bright yellow irises inlaid with lizard-like pupils. A few of them had pointy ears like an elf, but all shared a common trait of having thick, silvery hair.

The crowd separated, making room for their king to pass through. He, like his subjects, had yellow eyes, scaly skin, and silvery hair.  He wore dark, regal armor, the most prominent piece being his gauntlet, the back of which was inlaid with a purple crystal that hummed with power. A dark aura surrounded the crystal, covering the gauntlet with churning, dark mist.

Once past the crowd, the king climbed a set of rough stone stairs to his throne. He brushed his hand over the throne’s stone texture, for it had been hewn from the same dark stone as the stairs. He sat upon it, puffing out his chest as he looked upon his subjects. Dragon beasts with short necks flew over the area and circled above the throne. A few of the great creatures swooped down and landed behind the crowd. They folded their wings and stood upright on their two feet, from which a set of sharp, pointy claws of purple crystal protruded. Like those in the crowd, their eyes radiated yellow.

“All hail King Thoron!” cried a subject once more. The crowd erupted, “Long live Thoron, Lord of the darkwyrms!” The wyrms at the back of the crowd opened their wide jaws, their eyes turning a brighter shade of yellow as they let out mighty roars. Thoron watched on, pride swelling within him.

One of the wyrm beasts at the back of the crowd began to stomp on bystanders and breathe down a blaze of blue flames intermixed with particles of dark purple light upon them. The crowd broke out into a panic, yelling and screaming as they fled.

The king stood up in rage. “What is the meaning of this?” exclaimed Thoron. The crystal in his gauntlet beamed with light, and his eyes became bright yellow. Wait, he thought, readying to shapeshift into his wyrm form. This isn’t right…darkwyrms never run from a fight…neither do they breathe blue flames of fire. Something is amiss.

The violent wyrm suddenly focused on Thoron, as though hearing his thoughts. It roared and charged. Its dark scales disintegrated into ashes, revealing blue scales underneath. Its neck elongated, and the wyrm took the form of a fierce blue dragon. Mist covered the creature as it drew closer to its target. The mist shrunk, and from it, the dragon emerged in a human form. He was clad in armor and wielded two swords with blades covered in magical ice. The man leapt up the stairs and thrusted one of his swords at Thoron.

Thoron swatted the sword away with his gauntlet, stepping back to make space between himself and his opponent. The crystal in his gauntlet became bright, the dark mist around it churning faster as dark purple vapor materialized within the mist. The mist engulfed Thoron’s body just as the warrior with the icy blades swung at him, slashing only through misty air. The mist expanded, and Thoron roared as he stepped out of it in his wyrm form. The wyrm breathed down flames of bluish-purple heat which his opponent deflected using a protective cone of icy wind surrounding one of his swords. The man charged forward, deflecting the wyrm’s attack, and plunged his other ice blade into the wyrm’s side.

This is my dream, Thoron thought as he roared in pain. This shouldn’t be happening.

The warrior withdrew his sword and smiled at the sight of ice forming over the wyrm’s wound. Thoron stepped back as pain from his wound overcame his concentration. Mist covered him, and he turned back into his human form, falling down to one knee. His enemy chuckled and sheathed his swords.

“You know, they say, once a dragon and a wyrm have fought, their minds have an inseparable connection. One or both always have a general knowledge of where the other is,” the warrior taunted. “I will discover where you’ve been hiding all these years. When I do, we’ll finish what we’ve started. That is, unless you succumb to your injury first.”

“Glaviar, how dare you disturb my dream! You have no business here!” Thoron said, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, but I do have business here,” smirked Glaviar. “I hate you, therefore, you are my business. Surely, you understand.”

“You’re still sour that I got away with some of your precious crystals,” Thoron teased, forcing his pained expression into a brief smile.

“You mean all my crystals,” Glaviar huffed through his nose. “All, that is, except for one.”

“Better in the hands of a wyrm than an untrustworthy dragon,” exclaimed Thoron. “You deserved it for backstabbing me. You know full well we were supposed to split those between us. You got what was coming to you.”

“As did you,” grinned Glaviar, putting a hand on the hilt of one of his swords. “You don’t have enough time to free your wretched people from their captivity.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, will I? Well, then, I suggest you hurry before you die in that ridiculous tavern. I want the pleasure of knowing it was I who killed you.”

Thoron raised his eyebrows and, without hesitation, cried out, “Thoron!” The world around him began to swirl and turned into a hazy tornado. Within seconds, he was submerged into quiet darkness, his senses numb to almost everything but his increasing body temperature.

Inhaling deeply, Thoron opened his eyes. Smoke in the air caused him to cough, and he discovered the tavern was on fire, and parts of the ceiling had collapsed. Patrons laid lifeless on the floor and against tables as if they’d been caught off guard by the disaster and hadn’t had time to escape. He was lucky to be alive, for he himself was under a wood beam that had fallen partially on his table.

Quickly brushing off the smoky shards of wood from his chest, Thoron jumped out of his chair. He scanned the room for an escape route but found none. There’s no way out, he thought. He looked down at his right arm. I can always make a way, but...

Thoron shook off his reservations. The fiery building around him could come down at any moment. A purple glow lit up the inside of his worn cloak as he began to exercise his imagination. He reached into his cloak and took the glowing object, a purple crystal, and held it over his right arm. Purple gusts swirled around his forearm, and the dark form of a large gauntlet appeared over it. Placing the crystal into his gauntlet, he grimaced as a sharp pain in his rib intensified as he continued to exercise his power.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Thoron drew back his war gauntlet, readying to strike the nearby wall and create an exit. As he was about to thrust his gauntlet forward, the sound of coughing nearby halted him. He lowered his gauntlet and carefully followed the sound, stepping over debris and dead bodies, as he traced the coughing to the front counter. There, the cider attendant and his small friend were both passed out on the floor.

“Fools,” Thoron said, shaking his head. He bent down and scooped up Ceecil under his left arm. “Let’s go, pint-size!” With his war gauntlet arm, he picked up Snider, wincing as he did, and laid him over his shoulder. Taking one last look around, he saw the cook laying lifeless on the kitchen floor under heavy burning beams of wood.

How unfortunate. Thoron frowned. That won’t be my fate today…

The heat intensified as fiery debris fell from above, completely covering the kitchen. Thoron stepped back from the counter, refocusing his thoughts on escaping. With the fymph under one arm and the elf over his shoulder, he hurried back to the wall where he had planned to make his escape. When he arrived, the purple crystal in his war gauntlet became more brilliant as currents of purple wind reappeared around it, turning and twisting with great speed. Thoron winced again, the throbbing in his rib becoming difficult to ignore. A feeling of rage came over him that magically strengthened his body and his mental resolve. With a great shout, Thoron crushed through the wall with one powerful thrust of his gauntlet. The flow of wind around the weapon turned into a gust that cleared the debris before him, making a clear way of escape.

Once outside, Thoron placed Snider and Ceecil in a safe place up against a building across the street. As bystanders began to gather, he knew more would be coming to help extinguish the fire. One looked him over suspiciously, then gave an ugly glare after noticing his gauntlet.

Time to leave, Thoron thought, calming his rage and resisting the desire to kill anyone that saw him and his gauntlet. Can’t let my rage take over, not here. He glanced down at his aching side. Besides, my time is running out.

Slipping away from the gathering crowd, he sighed in relief when he realized he hadn’t been followed. He looked up at the plateau, specifically at one of the lions’ heads shaped into its rocky face. He then looked down at his war gauntlet and withdrew the crystal from it. The weapon dematerialized into ashes and smoke. Time to create a portal and go home.

Thoron stepped into the dark between two buildings. His crystal began to shine brightly as he reached out to it with his imagination. His thoughts were disturbed, however, by the trembling of his crystal and a faint cry for help that entered his mind. “What is this?” he whispered. “Wait…could it be…”

The man looked swiftly through his pockets and pouches. “It’s not here.” Thoron frowned, then looked at his crystal, focusing at the same time on the cries coming to his mind. The crystal beamed with light once more. Torrents of purple wind surrounded the gem, lifting it into the air. The wind carried it further into the dark alley behind the buildings. Clenching his jaw and tightening his fists, Thoron followed the crystal. Discomfort set in as he realized he was being led in the direction from where he came. He saw firelight in the distance from the tavern he’d escaped from and almost felt sorry for the owner who lost his life.

His attention was drawn away by what appeared to be a pair of elven silhouettes about a stone’s throw away. The form of a woman lay on the ground near their feet, her clothes torn and dirty. Thoron recognized the young woman as the waitress from the tavern. A surge of fury came over him. He snatched his crystal from the air, and the irises of his yellow eyes began to glow. Tremblingly, he quietly approached the silhouettes.

“What are we going to do now?” asked one of the silhouettes.

“We’ve had our fun,” answered the other, tightening his belt and unsheathing a sword from it. “Now we kill her!”

“You’ve done enough!” Thoron angrily interrupted. “I suggest you leave before I end your pitiful existence!”

The silhouettes evilly chortled. “Stranger, you’ve gotten yourself into a heap of trouble,” replied one.

“It’s your life that will end this night!” cried the other. Two pairs of glowing purple eyes radiated from the shadowed figures as they cried out and rushed Thoron, readying their swords to strike.

“A darkwyrm never runs from a battle,” Thoron grinned. A dark mist churned around his crystal, dispersed with particles of purple light, covering his body. The attackers swung their weapons but slashed only through the misty form of Thoron’s body. The mist expanded, partly covering the two elven aggressors. It then lifted into the air, and a great pair of wings appeared out of it. The wings opened upward as the mist disappeared, revealing a two-legged, dragon-like beast with a short neck. Its fine scales were dark shades of gray, and its vibrant yellow eyes were full of rage.

The wyrm roared as it descended upon its enemies. The elf attackers caught only a glimpse of the fearful creature before it came down upon them, crushing them into the ground with its thick muscular legs. The wyrm winced, however, as it looked down at one of its sides, where a small, icy wound appeared just under its rib cage. It folded back its wings, covering up the wound.

When the battle was over, the wyrm neared the unconscious woman lying on the ground. She had been beaten, her clothing torn and tattered. The beast shook with wrath, picking  the woman up with one of its massive claws before jumping up into the air. A whirlwind of gray clouds formed around the creature, concealing its body from view as it flapped its huge wings and ascended into the sky. The wyrm flew toward one of the lion-head waterfalls on the face of the plateau. A purple glow eclipsed its luminous yellow eyes, and a portal of spiraling purple wind appeared in front of the lion head. Concealed, the wyrm flew into the magical tunnel, and the portal dissolved, leaving behind only particles of purple light, which floated upon the air for a few moments, dimmed, then disappeared.