Somewhere, to the far northeast, in a sleepy, foggy kingdom filled with forests of trees that grew as large as titans.
Candlelight flickered against bedroom walls papered in faded silk. The air hung thick with medicinal herbs. There was lavender to calm, willow bark for pain, and something bitter that never quite masked the smell of sickness in the air. The Vildt princess lay propped against pillows that had been expensive once, before her family's fortunes declined together with the favours of her people. Bruschetta’s nightgown hung loose on a frame that had grown thin over months of wasting illness, though the old thing, bought years ago when she was much smaller, now remained full enough to strain the fabric when she breathed as it pressed against her curled wool. Soft lines that might have attracted suitors in better circumstances, in better health. As for the gown, they simply couldn’t afford to spend money on such a new triviality.
Their family was noble in title, yes. But not in a coffer. Not anymore.
The door stood ajar. Just a crack. Enough. Her ears could hear well, even if they were covered in an abundance of soft fluff. Sound easily travelled along the long corridors and hallways of the castle like wind through a valley. This old castle was made by a human architect, designed for his kind. Simple principles of design varied greatly between their kind, but they had to make do.
That much was hard to miss, even in her state.
The Vildt were an old race. Beastkin, in some tongues. Simply ‘animal-people’ in cruder mouths. They were an offshoot of humanity, imbued, however, with bestial features of many varieties. Her particular family had sheep’s blood. They were once a powerful species and nation, but that power had steadily declined throughout history.
These days, they were seen as a historical novelty and viewed as quaint, quirky things rather than serious contenders for the seats of power any longer.
Hundreds of years ago, great gods with the features of lions, wolves, and owls battled for the world and produced, allegedly, this race as their offspring. But the gods left and their children did not prosper for long in their absence.
Now, humanity and its ilk have outcompeted most other races, dominating the population of most nations as their blood runs dominant in pairings. Generation by generation, they were overtaking every other race. Thankfully, they are, at least, on friendly terms.
Her father's voice drifted through from the corridor, low and urgent. "The dragon is our opportunity. Our only opportunity."
"You're talking about sacrificing your daughter." Her eldest brother's voice carried doubt in his tone but not refusal.
"I'm talking about saving this house. She's dying anyway,” said her father without much remorse. He was always a hard man. “The physicians give her months at most. This way her death serves a purpose."
The fluffy princess closed her eyes. Her fingers curled into the sheets, too weak to grip properly. She'd known for a long time that her family saw her as a burden. They hardly ever bothered to keep it a secret. The medical expenses. The failed marriage negotiations. The embarrassment of a sickly heir when they needed strong alliances to continue to cling to the last of their crumbling, dying nation.
Metaphorically, from the day of her birth, she was just an additional weight slung onto someone who was already strung up on the hangman’s noose. In theory, her presence made no difference in the inevitable outcome. But there wasn’t a moment wasted when the resentment for the additional burden of her presence wasn’t made clear nonetheless.
"The dragon might refuse," her younger brother said. "It’s a monster, Father. It might well just kill her outright. If you want her gone that badly, at least have the honour to slice her throat yourself if -" he said.
A sharp crack cuts through the air, cutting him off. Bruschetta recognises the sound of a slap against her brother’s face.
They’re talking about her. But she’s used to that. Even in such discussions, her features and expression don’t change much. She’s simply much too tired. Her family would say that the illness took her strength from her. But the truth was that it was them who took her strength to begin with; the illness only gave them a masquerade mask to don.
"Then we've lost nothing we weren't already losing. But what if the dragon accepts? If it grants us even a fraction of its power in exchange for the gift of toying with her before she’s eaten by it?" Her father's footsteps paced back and forth. "We could restore our lands. Reclaim our status. Think, boy. One life for the salvation of our entire line."
Princess Bruschetta opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Dark beams crossed overhead, solid oak from when her family had been prosperous. She'd spent so many hours studying those beams, counting knots in the wood while pain made sleep impossible, while her family discussed her funeral arrangements in adjacent rooms, assuming she couldn't hear.
Well, they probably knew she could. But nobody really cared.
Perhaps being devoured by a dragon would hurt less than dying here. At least such a thing would be honest about its intentions of eating her.
Besides… she had been having these dreams lately. They were confusing and… unexpected in many sorts of ways. She had been dreaming about a powerful dragon for a while now, long before her family began muttering about it. It came to her every night. It stole her away; it took her and she was happy about it. But, then, every morning she woke up here again.
Perhaps these visions were a sign from the heavens, preparing her for this moment.
She pushed the ajar door open further and stepped out before the two of them. “I will go, Father,” she said, as the two men looked to face her. “I will go to the dragon for the sake of my family,” she lied.
Her reasons were really all her own.
The obsidian gate of the dragon's dungeon lair gleamed in the morning light, its jagged fangs rising in an elegant arch. The surviving knights regrouped before it, their formations ragged from the elemental's assault, their confidence shaken but not broken. Behind them, scattered groups of adventurers who had fled the burning camp emerged from the forest, drawn back by pride and greed in equal measure.
Two figures stood at the formation's head, their white robes pristine despite the smoke and ash coating everyone else. The twin saintesses regarded the gate with identical blank expressions. One held her staff. The other clutched her prayer beads tightly. They moved in perfect unity, stepping forward until they stood perhaps ten paces from the sealed entrance. Their lips moved, speaking words that made the air shimmer with divine resonance. The staff blazed brighter. The prayer beads pulsed faster.
Holy magic built between them, growing in intensity until the air crackled with power.
They released it simultaneously.
The combined spell struck the obsidian gate with the force of divine judgement. The massive, glassy barrier cracked under the assault. The elegant structure groaned, its magical reinforcements struggling against the raw, unmatched power of the saintess princesses.
The gates shattered.
Obsidian shards exploded inward, the fragments tumbling into the corridor beyond with ringing crashes. Where the beautiful entrance had stood moments before, only a gaping wound remained, smoke rising from melted edges. The twins lowered their implements and stepped through the breach without hesitation. Behind them, knights surged forward with renewed courage, and adventurers followed with greedy anticipation.
They entered the dungeon.
The corridor beyond the shattered gate descended into shadow punctuated by phosphorescent moss. The invading force advanced in tight formation, shields raised, weapons ready. Veterans of dungeon delving, they knew the potential dangers. Traps. Ambushes. Monsters lurking in the dark.
Sure enough, the first trap triggered when a knight's boot pressed a concealed pressure plate.
Poison darts flew from hidden vents in the walls, their tips gleaming with venom. Shields rose instinctively. Most darts struck steel and clattered harmlessly to the floor. But a few found gaps in armour, embedding in flesh with wet sounds.
The wounded fell, convulsing. Healers rushed forward with antidotes whilst the formation tightened defensively.
"Slow the advance!" the captain ordered. "Check every step!"
They moved forward with painstaking caution, testing each stone before committing weight to them. The corridor opened into a wider chamber where the goblins waited.
The ambush was fierce. Crude spears thrust from alcoves. Rocks fell from ceiling holes. The goblins fought with ferocity, their yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light. But they faced professional soldiers backed by divine magic. The knights cut through goblin ranks with brutal efficiency whilst the twin saintesses stood at the formation's centre, their blank expressions never changing even as they unleashed purifying light that burnt through goblin flesh.
The defenders fell back, retreating deeper into the dungeon whilst leaving their dead behind.
The invaders pressed their advantage, pushing into the depths with growing confidence. They had broken the outer defences. They had scattered the first wave of guardians. Victory seemed inevitable.
Then the dragon-bone undead rose from the shadows.
Skeletal warriors assembled from scattered remains, their empty eye sockets blazing with cold fire. They attacked, surrounding the invaders in a tightening circle. The adventurers fought back with desperate skill. Blades shattered bones. Spells blasted skeletons apart. But for every undead destroyed, more assembled from the fragments, the dungeon's passive monster respawning ability creating an endless tide.
Then, ultimately, like two golems awakened to action after standing perfectly still for minutes, observing, the twin saintesses stepped forward.
Their divine magic proved devastatingly effective against the undead. Holy light purified the animating force, reducing skeletons to inert bones that could not reassemble. They carved a path through the endless dead whilst their blank faces showed no satisfaction or effort. Following after them, the invading force pushed deeper, chasing the twins' destructive wake. They fought through chamber after chamber, losing soldiers to traps and ambushes but maintaining forward momentum through sheer numbers and superior equipment. Nonetheless, the passage through the dungeon's chambers was burdensome and costly.
"I think this is taking too long," said one twin.
"I also think there is a better way," said the other.
The twin saintesses stood in a wide corridor carved from natural stone. Behind them, exhausted soldiers caught their breath, whilst ahead, more goblin defenders rallied for a final stand. But the twins showed no fatigue. Both of them eyed the next passage, wherein the glowing eyes of monsters could already be seen waiting for them. Then they both, instead, turned to face a wall behind them in the darkness.
They began to chant.
Holy power built between them, far greater than any spell they had cast before. The last few nervous goblins took cautious steps back and away from the sight of the bright magical light.
The staff blazed like a captured star. The prayer beads pulsed so fast they became a continuous glow.
A few of the goblins charged in a desperate assault, presumably knowing that they could not let the spell complete. Warriors threw themselves forward with suicidal courage.
But it was too late.
The twins released their combined spell.
Holy light erupted in a cone of purifying radiance that washed across the charging goblins as a side effect of its power. The monsters fell mid-stride, their bodies burnt by divine power. The light continued past them, blasting through the corridor, its momentum unstoppable.
It struck the stone wall at the corridor's end.
And kept going.
The magical blast tore through rock and soil, punching through the mountain's interior with destructive force that carved a superheated, glassy channel towards the dungeon's deepest chambers.
In her hidden terrarium, surrounded by carefully maintained soil and the few treasures Barjuchne had thought to give her, the ant princess went about her royal business. She crawled over a diamond surrounded by foliage and twigs, standing on it proudly as regent of the lands below her.
“...This is really absurd,” muttered F.P., standing there with crossed arms as she looked down at the ant. “Of all things… an ant, really?” she fumed.
The mountain shook.
F.P. turned her head around, looking for a moment in confusion toward the shaking rock that began to glow red from the other side. "The hell?"
Eating a tiny sugar cube, the little insect looked up past the fairy and toward the sensation of heat coming her way.
Everything went white.
High in the sky, immediately, the flying dragon’s slit pupils undilated far enough to turn her irises fully red.
She felt it. Some psychic bond that she shared with her princesses pained her terribly inside.
In an instant, the dragon banked a razor-sharp turn and pulled in her wings, her head aimed for the heart of the mountain.
You have activated: [Meteoric Speed]The gathering cavern's ceiling exploded.
Moments later, Barjuchne's massive form tore through solid stone with the force of a cataclysmic strike. Rock shattered. Support structures collapsed. She crashed through the mountain's interior, her claws extended, her eyes blazing with protective animal fury that transcended reason. Like a knife striking into a heart, the beast crashed through three levels of carved corridors, through natural caverns, and through the carefully constructed dungeon levels that had taken weeks to build. Destruction followed her descent, the mountain itself groaning under the violence of her passage as she shot straight into the core of the mountain as a life-ending comet. The villages of the region shook, huts and kilns collapsing as a quake rumbled for kilometres.
The smouldering dragon landed in the glassy tunnel corridor where the twin saintesses stood surrounded by their exhausted soldiers.
The impact crater of her arrival spread outward in a wave of pulverised stone. Knights flew backward from the shockwave. The twins themselves stumbled, their blank expressions flickering for the first time with something that might have been surprise.
A massive, black-scaled head rose from the crater with smoke rising from its scales and murder radiating from its crimson eyes. The roar that then came shook the world, with wafts of smoke perpetuating from her like souls hoping to escape the underworld.
Her jaws closed on the nearest knight with bone-crushing force. She threw the body aside without swallowing and lunged for the next target. Her tail swept through formations with devastating effect, sending armoured soldiers tumbling like broken toys. Men screamed feverishly of a dragon, as if they were somehow surprised at having ultimately found exactly what they all came here to look for.
The entire mountain dungeon rumbled and felt as if it were about to collapse as the beast shoved and pressed itself through the newly melted tunnel. The rumbling was not just a loud sound so much as it was a physically destructive force all by itself, casting out as a wave of fury that cracked the stone further and ruptured hundreds of eardrums in the tunnel. Dust rained from the ceiling that seemed ready to collapse at any second. The walls themselves trembled with every smash of her massive body. Her claws tore through shields. Her wings, breaking the passageways with their unfurling, buffeted soldiers from their feet. Her very presence radiated such primal terror that men who had faced demons and darkness turned and fled without shame.
Roused from their shock, the twin saintesses tried to respond. The staff blazed. The prayer beads pulsed. Holy magic lashed out, striking the dragon's scales with purifying light.
But in her frenzied, blinding rage, Barjuchne barely noticed. If anything, that just got her attention.
Princesses or not, she crashed through their hastily projected magical barriers with raw strength, her protective wrath overwhelming divine magic through sheer violent momentum. She smashed one of the twins, who only just barely protected herself with a ward, with her massive tail and hurled her down the corridor. Broken prayer beads roll and scatter all around, striking into the walls like shrapnel.
The other twin caught her flung sister with a hastily conjured barrier, both of them tumbling backwards whilst the dragon advanced with blazing flames and death in her eyes.
"Retreat!" someone screamed. "FALL BACK!"
The invading force broke.
Professional soldiers became panicked individuals fleeing for their lives. Adventurers abandoned their weapons and ran. Even the knights, trained to hold their ground against impossible odds, scrambled over each other in their desperation to escape the rampaging wyvern.
The twin saintesses retreated in fighting withdrawal, their combined magic barely keeping the dragon at bay whilst they backed towards the shattered entrance as it chased them down the smouldering passageway. Their blank expressions had cracked, genuine fear showing through the serene masks.
Barjuchne pursued them to the dungeon's entrance, the echoes of her rampage continuing down the mountainside as she lashed fire after them, whilst the surviving invaders scattered into the burning forest. Her fury only stopped when the last of them disappeared over the horizon.
She stood alone on the scorched soil, her chest heaving, smoke rising from her scales. Blood dripped from her jaws.
Sensing that they were gone, Barjuchne immediately turned around and hurried back toward the core.