"Fort Gael, formerly of the Kouler Dynasty, has been taken by the rising Mohgwyn Dynasty."
Inside a cavernous cathedral in southern Caelid, a tall man spoke, his voice gravelly and slow.
He wore a deep red cloak embroidered with a silver dragon crest. The flickering, dim torchlight obscured his features, a common look among those gathered in the hall; almost everyone was dressed in similar attire. A few others wore heavy plate armor, their faces hidden behind closed helms.
The architecture of the cathedral was ancient, adorned everywhere with motifs of Ancient Dragons and drakes. The lighting was intentionally sparse, casting long, oppressive shadows across the stone.
At the very center of the hall stood an altar burning with an eerie, crimson flame. Behind it loomed a massive statue of an Ancient Dragon. Whether it was a mere sculpture or a prehistoric corpse was lost to time; even if it had once been flesh and bone, the passing aeons had stripped away its essence, leaving only a monument of cold, hard stone.
"...The decline and eventual fall of the Kouler Dynasty was inevitable," another man standing beside the first remarked after a short pause. "But the Mohgwyn Dynasty's intervention is... unexpected."
"Regardless, does that have anything to do with us?" a man in heavy armor interrupted irritably. A draconic tail, also encased in segments of plate, twitched from his coccyx. "Instead of discussing irrelevancies, tell me if you've found any sign of the drakes!"
This was a clear sign that the man's Ritual of Dragon Communion had reached its final stages.
"Calm yourself, Gagru."
Hearing the outburst, a man who had been standing by the altar walked forward. He towered over the others by nearly half a torso. He was draped in an ornate black-and-crimson robe, his posture slightly hunched. Only his hands, covered in pale, grey-white scales, offered a glimpse of his true nature.
His name was Hedeke, a man blessed by both Ancient Dragons and beasts. He was the High Priest and master of the Church of Dragon Communion.
He was unique—the only one capable of maintaining his sanity indefinitely throughout the rituals. However, this came at a price: his power had long since reached its ceiling. No matter how many dragon hearts he consumed or how much blood he bathed in, he would never transform into a Magma Wyrm, but he would also never grow stronger. This blessing was both a gift and a curse.
Gagru fell silent. He ignored most people, but he didn't dare cross Hedeke. He couldn't beat the High Priest, and the consequences of disobedience would be unpleasant.
"Tell us what you've learned."
"Mhm. The Mohgwyn Dynasty slew a powerful, ancient Magma Wyrm in the Gael Tunnel," the first man continued. "They are currently butchering it within Fort Gael. The bones, blood, scales, and hide have all been claimed for weapon crafting, but..."
"They left the heart, meat, and organs?" Hedeke asked.
"Yes. And they are willing to trade them to other Caelid factions for resources or Runes—though they prefer resources."
"I'll go buy them!" Gagru blurted out, standing up abruptly. He lived for the pursuit of power, and a heart from an ancient Magma Wyrm was a prize beyond compare.
"Your current stage of communion cannot support you reaching the end, Gagru," Hedeke said, his voice flat.
By "the end," he meant the total transformation into a Wyrm-kin. Usually, at that stage, one had to consume specific herbs and begin purging their inner bestiality through meditation to suppress the insatiable hunger for the ritual. Only then could one enjoy the power of a Wyrm-kin while retaining their reason. If one failed to show restraint... the result was obvious.
The growth of the Church relied on these powerful Wyrm-kin. In fact, the inner circle of the Church consisted entirely of those who had mastered their inner cravings. Of course, with the exception of Hedeke, none of them knew when they might finally lose control.
"But—"
"If you wish to become the raw material for someone else's ritual, I won't stop you," Hedeke said, his gaze indifferent.
Gagru stiffened, his breath hitching in his throat. With a look of bitter resentment, he slowly sat back down. He knew Hedeke was right. If he consumed the heart of an ancient Magma Wyrm now, he wouldn't be able to contain the power. He would lose his mind and become just another mindless beast.
Hedeke stopped him because it wasn't in the Church's interest. If Gagru turned, he wouldn't be an asset; he would be a threat they'd have to put down, potentially losing more warriors in the process.
"Zesko, you will lead a team. Bring back the heart. If possible, secure as much of the meat as you can."
"Understood."
A man named Zesko stood up. A man of few words, he turned and left the cathedral immediately. Hedeke trusted him to know exactly what price to pay.
Zesko was also highly draconic, but compared to Gagru, his temperament was far more stable. He valued his life and his status, and he wasn't prone to the reckless impulses that plagued his peers. He wouldn't risk everything to steal the heart for himself; it wasn't in his long-term interest.
Gagru, on the other hand, was a different story—a violent bruiser and occasional madman who embodied the worst traits of draconic blood.
As the Church of Dragon Communion moved, so did other factions in Caelid. However, most weren't interested in the Magma Wyrm itself. Not everyone wanted a resource that, while strengthening the body, intensified the madness of the ritual. Developing a powerhouse only to have them turn into a mindless beast was a poor investment.
Most factions were simply interested in the Mohgwyn Dynasty and Mohg himself.
Among them, none were more focused on the newcomers than the Kouler Dynasty. After all, their land had been snatched away, and the invaders were now publicly selling a dragon killed on "their" territory. It was a massive insult.
The Kouler Dynasty immediately issued a formal statement strongly condemning the Mohgwyn Dynasty's actions.
When Mohg heard the news, he actually paused, wondering if the Kouler Dynasty actually had the spine to challenge him. If they did, he wouldn't mind cleaning up the rest of their territory; they held a few choice locations, after all.
To his disappointment, it was just a verbal condemnation. The Kouler King was furious and wanted to march, but his nobility had "advised" him against it.
By "advised," they meant they told the King plainly that they had no one capable of standing against the Mohgwyn Dynasty in a fight. Faced with the reality that they were outclassed, the King had to swallow his pride.
Seeing that the situation in Caelid had stabilized for the moment, Mohg took the opportunity to return to his base. He intended to visit the Eternal City.
He had touched base with Nokron before, but showing up unannounced felt a bit uncouth. As he approached the city, he let out a faint, controlled ripple of his aura to announce his arrival.
This time, he didn't reveal his true form. His primary goal was to let the ruler of the city—the one Lansseax called Noxi—understand his relationship with the other "side."
The Eternal City responded quickly. Noxi soon appeared with a small escort at the outskirts, looking toward Mohg.
"I presume you are the Sovereign of the Mohgwyn Dynasty?"
"Indeed. I am Mohg, Sovereign of the Blood."
Mohg flared his wings and landed a short distance from her. The Nox Monks and Swordstresses in her escort tensed, watching him warily. Noxi remained calm, though her expression shifted to one of surprise when she looked closer at his form.
"That is... a Larval Tear?"
"You have a keen eye, Priestess. The one I carry was obtained from Nokstella, through a partnership with the Night Maiden Priestess, Namya."
"It isn't a matter of a keen eye; we are simply more familiar with such things than anyone else," Noxi replied with a slight shake of her head. "I take it your arrival means you wish to formally discuss our cooperation?"
"Yes. In my eyes, the Eternal City has always been a natural ally—far more valuable than the Storm Dynasty."
Noxi was visibly taken aback. She hadn't expected Mohg to hold them in such high regard.
Mohg wasn't just being polite; he meant it. The fall of the Storm Dynasty was an inevitability in his eyes; they were too large a target, and the Golden Order would eventually come for them. The Eternal City, however, was a different matter. As long as they stayed below ground, they were beneath the Golden Order's notice. They could develop in peace while providing him with food, technology, and tools.
"In that case, Sovereign, please follow me. This is no place for such a conversation."
Noxi's expression softened. Mohg accepted the invitation, following her and her escort alone. He hadn't brought any of his own men.
Before long, they arrived at a council chamber. Mohg didn't waste time.
"Priestess, I have a request. Can you repair the Larval Tear within me?"
"Oh?"
Noxi blinked, then leaned in to observe him more closely. A look of realization dawned on her face.
"So that's it... I thought I felt a slight discordance in your aura. This is easily fixed, though I must ask which method you prefer."
"There are multiple ways?" Mohg asked, intrigued.
"Yes. We can replace the Larval Tear entirely, we can repair the Silver Tear within you directly, or..." she paused. "No, the final method is likely inappropriate."
"Wait," Mohg caught the change in terminology. "You said 'Silver Tear,' not 'Larval Tear.'"
"Correct. The Larval Tear you carry has lived within you for so long that, under your nourishment, it has matured into a Silver Tear. It has even been influenced by your power, gaining the traits of Cursed Blood. If you continue to nurture it, it may even be able to fight alongside you in the future."
"Then please, Priestess, repair it for me."
"It doesn't actually require much from us..."
Noxi gestured to a Night Maiden behind her and whispered a few instructions. The Maiden nodded and slipped away.
"The materials for the repair will take a moment to prepare. In the meantime, let us discuss our partnership."
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