The hour just heralded the beginning of the dawn. The cold and harsh night began to change with the hues of the morning sun, and shone into small gaps within the cave that was the dragon’s home. Aeren’s eyelids was parting slowly, as they made way for his golden flaring eyes. The eyes of his father that he had inherited. Commonly, all descendants of Asherystrasz was always been born with these unique flaring shimmering golden eyes. And as age went by, the golden lines that escaped their eyes only grew larger and more intense.
Aeren often decided to keep himself within his thoughts—preferring rather to think than to talk. And never to talk before thinking. But it had been in these moments, that he was more locked up in his own thoughts. As the days went by, he only lost more and more of his voice. It hadn’t been easy—but then, again, it had never been in these times. The Black Rebellion had taken more and more from his family than anything else in history ever has. His father blamed himself for the mistakes he had committed—but Aeren, Aeren was worried about his sister Freya.
For Freya would.. never ever be the same again.
• • •
Asherystrasz held up his hand, as his color of the golden around and in his eyes turned to a vermillion blazing flame. The palm of his hand directed at the cave wall, as the cave wall began to scream, cracks opening up in a horizontal line across the cave wall. Before the cave wall collapsed on itself.
“He must.. not escape. His freedom would cost us our lives.”
Already now, Asherystrasz could feel the souls and minds of the imprisoned trying to sway his control over his own mind—what he had done and what burden he had put on himself was nothing but demanding on him. He could feel the toll, some of the imprisoned had awakened from their hibernation. Some of them had learned the rules, and some of them were beginning to exploit them.
The Scarred Past...
A sound disturbed the Father’s solemn nature. He did not turn. But he knew that the sensations of winds swirling around in the room was what followed the sound.. The beating of wings.
Not now… No…
• • •
Aeren forged a spiral aerial path high up into the clouds. As his velocity with the wind marked his path. There were only joy and happiness filled in the grail of his mind. His altitude in the sky only raised as he and Freya spiraled around each other in the loving morning sky. More evidently what made Aeren happy was that his sister was happy.
Freya and Aeren spewed flames around each other in their spiraling movement, creating a major display of a flaming tornado. The flames of the Red Dragonflight would not make them harm each other, nor would they harm any unfortunate mindless birds that would fly into their flame. It would startle them for sure, but the Red Dragonflight’s flame had always been the most distinguished of all flames. It could and could not do harm based on the choice of the red dragon.
A voice boomed inside both Freya and Aeren’s mind—filling their minds with the voice of a majestic but warm and loving voice. “Aeren, Freya. I would like you both to land and meet me at Sif’s Landing.” Telepathy. No voice would ever reach their ears over the racing wind by conventional means.
Freya and Aeren simultaneously stopped mid air, their wings beating to keep them in the sky—they were facing each other and Freya smiled to her elder brother, before the both of them descended in altitude. A great dragon was sitting down, overlooking a clutch of whelps running frantically around each other in a playful manner. Newborns. The Dragon herself rivalled their father in size—and truly so, she was a broodmother. One of the more ancient broodmothers of the Red Dragonflight who still lived to this day.
Freya looked up to their mother in a gentle and cautious way. Her eyes were innocent, and she knew full well that a proper modest tone was the only way to talk to their mother. Her voice tender but loud enough for their mother to hear.
“Any news from our brother?”
• • •
Vyraestrasza - The daughter of Vaelystrasza, one of the direct descendants and part of the family closest to what nobility would be within the Red Dragonflight. She sat in her elven form on the hill overlooking the grand beautiful landscape of Quel’thalas. She wore only a long, loose dress embedded with crystals in all the colors of the red spectrum. She sat and braided her long vermillion hair. Her legs were swinging back and forth over the hill’s ending like a small child in a swing.
“What would you do?” She said warmly, extending her hand into his hair, before approaching with her lips close to his ears.
Hydra looked away to the opposite side of her in a nonchalant manner—trying to avert her piercing gaze.
“My place is not with him. I am beyond the years of following blindly my father’s directives. I will not follow his vision nor ideals, even as noble they may seem. My place is with the Queen herself. Father and grandmother does have their differences, but they both would draw their last breath for the same cause—both acting with different views and methods in the pursuit of the same purpose.” Hydra frowned, realizing what might have been a simple question and the effort of keeping it so had escalated beyond what he had at first realized.
“What about your family? Wouldn’t you want to be at their side and make sure no harm would come to them?” Vyrae turned Hydra’s chin to make her piercing eyes meet his in a forceful manner.
“I will protect them. But my place now is with the direct battlefront against Neltharion.” Hydra took a deep breath, sighing shortly after. “And by doing my duty, I am protecting them, Vyrae.” He said breaking Vyrae’s hold of his chin, cowardly looking away. Hydra wasn’t feeling good about himself—doubts racing through his mind.
Should he have stayed with his family and abandoned the rest of Azeroth?
Would it have changed anything?