This story is possibly one of the most deep stories to live on order, and has many parts from many views. Out of them two posts were made other than this:

The initial event (posted by Tsargoth) provides backstory for all to come.
The son of the phoenix (posted by Carenath) provides a different viewpoint.

Original forum post by Kaerisk on October 30th, 2007

There had been many times he had been tempted to break the runes. There was a particularly tumultuous time, when he was truly alone, as alone as he had been when all he had within him were ideals, and dreams. How the dreams had always haunted him, unrealized, unfulfilled, for over five hundred years. Those dreams that led him to the fate of needed the rune-crutches with magicks unknown to Istaria. Those dreams had never changed, but had been ignored, more ground-work to be lain before any down-trodden could so trod. Ah, and the promise. No, Maekrux knew he would indeed return, and prayed his family would remember the promise he made to them. That had to be put aside, for now. There was a pressing matter that had entered into his life that could no longer be ignored. Who was he to even try, when none others dared? He, who was not even native to Istaria anymore?

It took him awhile to compose himself, rather literally, in the Rift. All he had wanted was to say goodbye, to see that some final matters were dealt with in case it took him too long to return, and to make those who had betray him understand why he had to leave. Perhaps it had been too emotional, perhaps he should have ignored their voices to say what was necessary; but such was not his nature. If anything, he was one who sought to bring understanding and healing to the world, but there was no room for that in Istaria, it seemed to him. He was so bitter -

No, it was not that he wished to be bitter. He had lost perspective. That was why he had to leave. He needed to decide if this was truly worth all his heart, all his energy, all his soul to perform. There was only one place in the whole of Realmspace he could think to go. And so, his body restored, he began to wander the Rift, looking for the gentle beacon that had led him home once before. He hoped that beacon would be able to do the same once more. There was always the promise, yes, but he would not return empty handed.



1 - Ceremony, by Silko.


Maekrux woke up at the shrine in New Rachival. He wondered how he had come to this place, trying to recreate the events in his mind, but something was wrong; it was as if something had been torn from him, as if the memories themselves were distorted and broken. He remembered his terrace, inviting his kyn there, a huge flight of dragons perching there and then...

Maekrux shook his head. He could not remember what had happened clearly, only sparse details of hate and pain. He turned to the portal, nearly stepping on a gnome; normally, he would have apologized but today he felt no need. It was as if he felt the spirit of Sire Vythulhar spurring him forward.

Returning to Harton Valley, he saw that the dragons had left; their smells were on the wind and he recognized each one of them in turn. Taking to the air he returned to his terrace and looked around. If they had attempted to enter his lair, they would have been turned back by the runic warding on the -

Blood.

He sniffed at it. His blood. He had bled out here. Unbeknownst to Maekrux, it was not the claws of his kyn that had made the grooves in his terrace, but the magic of the runes that had torn his soul in two. But he came to the only conclusion he could.

"My kyn have turned against me and have broken our sacred laws. This will not be forgiven."

Mighty Maerkux was, but if he had been so torn asunder before, he knew he could not face them directly. No, there was only one thing he could do. Carving the foreign runes all over his entrance with his own blood and claws, he defended his lair. "I will find a way to see Drulkar's wrath upon them for this injustice. This perversion of all I have stood for cannot be healed. I shall take all I am and pit it against them. Drulkar willing, the flame will burn away the fallen dragons. The only redemption left is the purification flame that turns everything away!" He turned his maw to the sky and set fire to it, the flames falling onto the long-abandoned biped plots below him. As the firelight caressed his form, he turned around and retreated into his lair to pray and prepare.


Isolation is not a strong enough word to describe what it feels like in the Rift. Its barren rock bridges lead infinitely to nowhere and everywhere. To topple from them is to risk being torn apart by the underlying forces behind them, twisting and writhing, always a dark, nebulous beyond. How easy it is to topple from them, though, for the bridges can be narrow or profound, unstable and crumble. And the Rift is very strange: it is impossible to summon a Primewind in there for very long, the very nature of the Rift to disperse and end energy. Flight is near impossible, sustainable only a few moments. Maekrux knew all of this going into the Rift. He knew all of this even before he was on his final path to ancient-hood. Somewhere, deep inside him, he knew that he belonged here, now. His body always attempted to return here. Here, in total peace, and isolation, and loneliness, here where he knew he would someday go to die.

Why was he here again? His mind seemed to fog, trying to recall the events that had led him to seek refuge in the only home his body knew. No, this was not home, Istaria was his home - wasn't it? Yet, had he not made it there, only to be unable to reach those he considered close to him? Yes, it was coming back now. Maekrux knew that the Rift could play tricks on your mind. He did not know his memory lapse was not the doing of the Rift alone.

Climbing over yet another gray hill, he spotted a Rift Wraith. He shuddered at the sight. It lumbered about, confused and disoriented, throughout the same paths Maekrux traveled. As he wandered, it phased in and out of sight, its body almost completely erased by the spreading laws of the Rift, unable to live in any realm now and soon to be unable to exist at all. He sighed and walked by it; he tit not even realize Maekrux was there. If it had, it may have attempted to devour him, to survive - to take the parts of Maekrux yet untouched by the energy of the Rift and devour them to sustain itself, a few more days, weeks, years, who can say in that desolate nothingness.

He felt the beacon of energy grow closer. It was darker here; in the twisting darkness below he could sense demons unknown to Istaria, demons that tried so rapidly to claw into the realm below. The realm Maekrux had phased into purely by chance once before. It was a strange realm, much different from Istaria, but it was ruled by warring factions of bipeds. And yet, like so many strange realms across the vast cosmos, here too were dragons. It was here that Maekrux had been inducted into an aspect order, purely upon the whim of its leader. He wondered if he would still be welcomed back after all this time, after returning a failure.

No - he steeled himself. He would come back not as a refugee, but as a compatriot. They had shown him a great deal of guidance and compassion when he last visited. It was for that he had come and no other reason. On Istaria, he felt as if he was the only one to turn to for guidance - save Drulkar, of course, but Drulkar never answered him directly - so it had to be here. He had to learn from these distant and unrelated kyn once more. It was not selfishness this time that spurred him, the need to return home, but instead to make a home for himself, his family, and for all of his kyn. And yet, did all of his kyn deserve it? This question plagued him the most.

He carved an unknown symbol into the ground, a rune: words that speak the world into existence. It glowed, but not of Maekrux's power, or that of the rift.

"I never believed you would return," the rune spoke.

"I seek your guidance and to be among friends. Am I still welcome?" he asked the rune.

"Of course. I am most interested to hear of your journeys." The rune opened into a vortex of blue energy and Maekrux dove into it with a deep breath, hoping and praying he would find what he sought.


Meanwhile on Istaria, Maekrux left his lair. It was not yet apparent to him that he had lost his runes under his wings; indeed, it was not apparent that he did not need them anymore. His mind was focused, a blue-steel trap snapping at ideas of vindication and justice as they teased across his mind.

He was in a position of knowledge. His kyn had asked him to abuse that knowledge. Firstly, Aurakvoar. Maekrux knew immediately when the dragon landed that he had been the one who had vandalized his lair. He had lured him out as a suspect when he announced that his lair had been attacked and sealed it off, but what Maekrux did not say was that he knew the smell of the dragon who had been there. And Aurakvoar's stench was rife in Maekrux's mind, though his odor had long passed from Maekrux's lungs. From this information, he had what he needed to defame Aurakvoar. A defamed dragon is one most likely to make mistakes. Maekrux knew this, and that was why he had left his lair. He had been defamed, murdered in fact. Every step of his plan must be perfect.

He next transported to Spirit Isle. Few dragons alive were welcome there; Maekrux simply had gone there, dragon and biped alike, in his day. His first time as a Gifted was before the induction of Skaalkar. When he was still the leader of a living guild, he had fought against a necromancer of the Aegis, by the name of Adryl. He was no ordinary necromancer: Adryl had been alive within the ranks of the Aegis at the time of the Gift. Inadvertently, he had received it. He struck in the darkness, summoning bone golems behind Chiconis and attacking the city. Maekrux only managed to beat him by capturing him, forcibly binding him to a shrine, and tearing his body apart over and over until his soul was in shreds. Then and only did did the Gifted Aegis depart beyond this realm - Maekrux hoped - never to return. He had left behind several cursed items, necromantic scrolls, evil trinkets Maekrux thought best locked away forever. He had been tempted to use them in the past, even the recent past - he had taken a scroll used to summon the dead from the head, which he had buried elsewhere. Could Aurakvoar have taken it? Possibly... that would require more research. But to the matter at hand: he found what he was looking for, the incantation to encroll a Blighted creature. It was similar to the magic used to enslave the satyrs, but much more direct. Yes, this would do for the next.

What about Tsargoth? He had been there. Quiet, true. He somehow doubted that Tsargoth could have a hand in his murder, least not a willing one. It had to be the influence of that horrible wurm, Miira. Truly, Tsargoth had probably suffered enough just being close to her, Maekrux thought. Besides: he was confident enough he could take Tsargoth head on if necessary. That only left his tarnished-gold partner. Tarnished, he thought; perhaps that wretched creature has something to hide as well? It requires more research.

Hraefn? The Hatchlings? Her return - no, it would be wrong to dig up the past anymore than he already had. He covered the headless body and clicked the dirt from his claws. They were mere voyuers in this. Accessories, perhaps not.

Aika... yes. The lynch pin of the lynch mob. How she had worked so tirelessly to lead everyone to this conclusion, twisting words, intentionally failing to realize, breaking sacred oaths and shaming him. Perhaps in reward, he could send her 'home' through the Gate of Embers and into the Black Void beyond the Rift, beyond the sky - No, that would be too simple. Surely he could put his mind to work to a more devious plan.

Yes, it began to come together in his mind. A devious thread of fate woven with the splitting of his soul. Just a little more time while he had the element of surprise, and one by one they would fall when the thread was tugged.

He prepared to take to the sky and paused. No, there was something he was forgetting. His family came first, even above his pride, even above the sacred laws demanding vengeance. He would not see his true family pulled into this conflict. He would not risk his son, who he knew fiercely protective of him, in this matter. It was not that the Maekrux left behind was the dark side of his soul - no, there is no such thing as that. Rather, Maekrux's change was that he no longer saw all his kyn as family. Dragons had become as foreign to him as bipeds. Dragons had become as weak and conniving as bipeds. None of them deserved his respect, none of them deserved his attention, none of them deserved his wisdom. None of them had earned it.

Oh, but those dragons in attendance at his 'funeral' had earned something else. A dragon lives a long time. He only fights to the death for three reasons: to protect his family, to protect his way of life, and to honor his gods. They had threatened all three. They would know divine wrath, every one of them.


((We're currently waiting on RL issues, so the RP that goes along with this can't be done just yet. In the meantime though, I think I'm going to speed along Rift-Mae's story, since a lot more time actually passes for him and since it's only getting worse for everyone in his absence.))



In realms beyond realms, Maekrux was blissfully unaware of his own potential and deviousness. The passage into the realm was frigid. He shuttered, a cold that chilled him to his very soul leaving a sort of emptiness there he could not explain. How could he know that an emptiness did exist, and that it burned behind him, threatening to destroy everything? A phoenix’s flame gives and takes away life.

Two dragons came to his side. He stood in a white circle of energy, laced with runic patterns, shaping magic, shaping existence. Around him: blackness. He could see nothing but darkness beyond the runes, but he could see the dragons, blue, regal, cold as they came to him, as if they stood in sunlight, their every feature illuminated. They lifted his wings with frigid claws and placed two runic discs upon his scales, just under his wings at the shoulders, which fused into his scales with an incessant sting of heat. When they had seared their way into him, Maekrux breathed a sigh of both relief and sadness: he was to be here until the lord of Blue Flight released him. Only the Blue Aspect could remove those runes now, both shackle and umbrella to the very forces that constantly tugged on Maekrux’s body, begging to have him, begging to end him.

“Resurgam. Welcome back to my halls,” the voice came. The Lord of the Flight had spoken.

“Keir elder, I appreciate and respect your naming of me. But I would wish to be called Maekrux while I am here,” Maekrux replied into the darkness.

“Would you prefer Daystar? That was your true name, was it not?”
“I have no right to be called that name. No one save my family has ever set their eyes to the heavens when in thought of me,” Maekrux said, bitterly. But was that really true, or did he merely think it to find comfort?

“You would preferred to call Leader then? Or Leedur, as it is sometimes spoken by bipeds here. Your name, after all, is a corruption of the word.”

“It seems fitting. My attempts to lead have always gone astray somewhere.”

“I prefer Resurgam. It tells to me that you wish to find your way back. You had no qualms with it when you last visited this realm, did you?”

“It was the last time I was here.”
“You are a Bronze now, are you, speaking to me of the passage of time. Ah, but there is much that I found to admire in you that I have not told you. And so Resurgam I wish to call you.”

“As you wish, Lord Malygos.”
The ground shook as a creature stepped forth from the darkness, illuminating itself. He was twice as large as Maekrux, in the form of a dragon to be sure, but with small wings for his size. His scales were a crystalline in form, pure azure with a sheen that pulsed back and forth from silver to blue. His talons were as ice, but his eyes betrayed a kind of warmth. “I am pleased to see you return to my realm, brother Maekrux. But why? Did you not find your way home?”

“I have come to question what I consider family. I needed guidance, for there was no one else to which I could turn,” Maekrux admitted with a lowered head.

“Tut, there will be time enough for that later. Come, let us go deeper into the Nexus and I shall tell you some stories. They are, after all, all we have.” Malygos was a dragon that Maekrux could not deny. It was not a commandment of mind or will, but of heart; Maekrux had stumbled upon him at the right time and so Maekrux knew only hospitality and friendship of the mighty creature. He saw The Spell-Weaver as a dragon much stronger, wiser than he. Ah, but if Maekrux could only have understood: there is more than one type of knowledge and what Maekrux needed was not his help.

The pair made their way from the room of darkness and into another area of the crystalline cave. The cave appeared to be made of a pure, un-melting, un-cold ice, like crystal but not true crystal. Much of it made up the magical Nexus in which Malygos and his surviving brood lived. He brought Maekrux to a large room with a massive circular disc in its center. Sensing more that a story was to be imparted to him, Maekrux prepared. “What do you wish to show me, Keir Elder?”

“When you last visited me, it was a much different time in my life. I shall tell you of that as I did not then, in time. For now, I would rather catch up on current events. Behold,” Malygos said, and the disc hummed to life. Radiating out from the perfect circular disc was an image of three dimensions, wavering momentarily as it materialized, Maekrux beheld a world. Red and blue coursed up and down the sides of two massive strips of land; an immense tempest swirled in its center; to the north, the frigid ice-land Maekrux had come to know on his last visit, red and blue creeping onto it; on the other side of the world, undiscovered lands yet to be explored. “Your adventures throughout the realms of the cosmos were of great interest to me, noble Resurgam. I have visited many other realms since that time, my heart greatly restored. And – sadly – it is as you have said. Magic maintains the heart of evil in the hands of unwary souls.

“Look here: this is the spread of the mortal factions. Their wanton war continues to this day and now it threatens to spread here. Perhaps, they seek to do battle with our own Torrin, hmm? Doubtful. They are representative of but one possibility, as your Torrin was with his people. Doubtless, the seeking of power they face will lead them down the same path as the one they seek to conquer. Yes, I am seeing many, many parallels with the stories you told unto me in your last visit. No longer to I simply oversee the reconstruction of my brood: I have chosen to fight for them.

I have found redemption among the blacks, in the form of magic. So infused with the nether, they have become whole again. Daily, my daughter brings more of them back. Deathwing’s progeny once more has hope, as I do. Finally, I can stand on my own four claws again proudly. But let us speak of that later. What I want you to understand is this.” Malygos pointed at the two encroaching colors and at a black point even further to the north. “First, I must allow these barbarians upon my sacred land. They have proven resourceful so far – having conquered the Other-Land of which I told you – and they will continue right to the Lich King’s throne. When both sides have seen unacceptable losses, we will strike and cut the heads of all three snakes at once. Then, it will be a simple matter to assail the remaining stores of magic and be rid of the magic users on this land once and for all. The so-called Kirin Tor will be the last to fall, huddling behind their barriers.”

“Lord Malygos, how can you hope the Lich King will have unacceptable losses? If living die at his feet, he will raise them again, just like Torrin did on my world, right?” Maekrux asked.

Malygos nodded. “You are as astute as ever. But I have an idea on that as well. I shall show you soon-”

“Lord Malygos! Forgive my interruption, Blue Father!” a drake exclaimed, rushing into the chamber. He landed and bowed his head deeply to his lord and father.

“I am entertaining a guest. Is this important?” Malygos demanded, stepping around from the world to face the drake.

“Y-yes, Guardian of Magic. Dalaran is gone!”
Malygos huffed his surprise, peering at the drake. “Gone? How can it just be gone?”

“It has taken to the sky and moves towards Northrend! We believe that Dalaran knows of your plans, Lord Malygos. There was a defector.”

“Betrayal!” Malygos roared, shaking the cavern and sending bipeds scattering in fear for miles. “Betrayal! How can my own blood turn against his kyn?! Let the betrayer burn in the ashes of Dalaran! Let his name never be spoken! Let his body be torn apart by winter wolves!” As Malygos growled menacingly, Maekrux understood the emotions that were rolling from the crystalline aspect’s shoulders. Yes, a parallel: perhaps that was what Maekrux needed to put his betrayal into context?

But Maekrux was not betrayed.

Though he did not realize it, in the viewpoints of many, he had been the betrayer. His actions were too complex, too multi-leveled to be so understood. He had been filled with the morality of intentions, and his intentions had always been good. But if that could have saved him, Maekrux would not be here now. No, Maekrux’s only hope was to learn a new way. In this cold, desolate region, filled with conflict, he did not know if he could find a new way. But he felt he would find answers. And so…

“Lord Malygos. I will pledge myself in his stead to fight in the battles to come.” Maekrux’s words rung like the tolling of bells through the frosty chamber.

“Resurgam, I – I don’t know what to say. I accept. Let it be known that our brother, Resurgam, has taken the burden of combat upon his shoulders. Let him be forever praised for his strength. Let not the betrayer ever return to the Nexus. Go, and let it be known,” Malygos commanded.

The drake rushed to the air and out of the chamber, screaming, “Brother Resurgam has returned! Let not the betrayer’s name be spoken! Brother Resugam has taken the burden upon his wings, let him be praised, so commands the Blue Aspect!”

Yes, here Maekrux felt like all his kyn were family again. Here, Maekrux truly felt pride. Here, Maekrux would stay.

“Come, Resurgam. You asked a question and I wish to show you the answer,” Malygos said.

“At once, Lord Malygos.” And so Maekrux and Malygos left the chamber and Maekrux began to forget about the world he had left behind, piece by piece, his soul being blown away like ash.

1 - Ceremony, by Silko.


Two spider-beings scuttled across the frozen tundra. Their abdomen was hairy with black and blue bristles and six chitinous legs protruded from it, weaving like waves through the snow. Two more appendages protruded from the torso, which was almost upright: arms and claws. The head saw with four eyes, black as death, with two massive, hairy fangs comprising the major focus of the jaw. They twittered in the cold. The two spider-brings callously walked over the bones of a massive dragon and disappeared into a hole, hidden inside the skull.

The two spider-beings were accosted by three more like them, only bronze in color and shelled on the abdomen, hiding beetle-like wings. Two of them held weapons in their claws, and the one in the back, large and grizzled, stepped forward. One of the black spiders did the same and met with the beast, chittering and clicking, waving their hands and creating signs with their claws. At last, the large bronze spider-being wailed with what might be described as laugher and nodded. The two guards stood down. “It is always a pleasure to have you here,” the bronze spoke, “Lord Malygos.”

The leader of the two spiders replied, “It is good to see you again, Majis’Tomon. This is Resurgam, a recent ally of mine and one of my Blue Flight.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Resurgam. I am Majis’Tomon, lawgiver of the Nerub, 77 years of age.”

“I am Resurgam, Maekrux Vythulhar, Blue Phoenix and-” Maekrux pondered how old he was now. He had spent at least three hundred years in the Rift previous to this journey, and had been alive almost two hundred years before that. How many years would it be before he saw Istaria again? The thought was only a whisper. “Five hundred and fifty years of age.”

The spider gave its wailing laugh. “A ripe age! But you will have a long time to catch up to your Lord in age. Spell-Weaver, I take it you are here to speak with the queen of these recent events?”

“I am,” Malygos said.
“I am certain you remember the way. I’m afraid I cannot accompany you today. I must risk the above-ground to assess the efforts against the interlopers,” Tomon said.

“Be careful, friend. It is dangerous out there,” Malgyos said.
“I shall tread with the delicacy of a queen with her eggs. Excuse me.” He weaved around the two disguised dragons and exited through the hole from which they had come. Malygos motioned for Maekrux to follow and so the two made their way down into the tunnels.

“The Nerubians have been my allies for quite some time now. To be honest, I would have rather they did not made their Sundered Monolith here in the Dragonblight, but it is the safest place for them, since they have been driven near extinction. Moreover, they have been relatively effective at keeping the Scourge from raising more bone wyrms. They are my secret weapon against the Aegis of my world.”

“But how?” Maekrux asked. The two passed into a massive underground chamber with solid stone architecture. The stone was black as obsidian, but the brick was inlaid with gold in the shape of insects and foreign symbols. One of the largest structures lay ahead and the Spell-Weaver led Maekrux into it.

“The Nerubians have tunnels all throughout Northrend. Some connect, some do not; most importantly, though, they are in strategic locations. Initially, the nerubians did very well against the Lich King. They cannot be mentally dominated, anymore, and they are immune to the plague of undeath. Unfortunately, when killed, they are still subject to the necromancy. They lost to attrition and their race is almost extinct now,” Malygos explained.

“If they are near-gone, should we really be asking them for help?” Maekrux asked.

The Guardian of Magic laughed. “No, no, you have it backwards. We are helping them. Come and see.” The tunnel of stone gave way into a living, squishy wall, almost as if the underbelly of the ziggurat was alive. This terraforming was well-insulated and Maekrux felt warm here, welcome somehow. After traversing the soft tunnel, they came to a large chamber, filled with massive green eggs, pulsing as if breathing. They were webbed to the ground and guarded by no less than four nerubian warriors. At the far end of the cavern was a nerubian with a massively distended abdomen. It flexed wildly, oozing green fluid from the tip, and at last a white-green shape appeared there, stretching the muscular exit. Pressing her abdomen to the ground gently, the green ooze formed a bed for the egg, into which it soon fell. The queen turned around and weaved the goo into a web-like structure, supporting the new life growing within it. The queen took a deep breath and wheeled back around to face the two newcomers.

“Lord Malygos. You must forgive me, but being the queen of a shattered people is a full time job. We must rebirth our race as soon as possible,” she said, recognizing the dragon in disguise immediately.

“You should not push yourself so hard. You can only do so much,” he said.
“I do what I must, nothing more. You have come to see the egg?” she asked. He nodded, and so she beckoned the two over to the far back of the room. Maekrux had to try very carefully not to step on any of the eggs with his six legs. Finally, in the far back, away from the other eggs, was an egg that glowed a bright, magical green. It was not truly from the individual inside the egg, but something that had been incorporated into the egg, and it was growing into that individual. “The new caste grows well. If this experiment is a success, Spell-Weaver, you have our permission to create as many of them as you need.”

“Caste?” Maekrux asked.
“Forgive me, Azhuul’Mehab, this is Resurgam, one of my colleagues. He will be helping in the war effort. Resurgam, this is Azhuul’Mehab, Queen of the Sundered,” the Blue Aspect introduced them.

“We nerubians are born into castes – roles for which we were born. This experiment of the Spell-Weaver is to be a new caste: a new role.”

Malygos turned his attention to the egg. “The energy is not weakening the individual inside, it appears. How long?”

“One month. As soon as he is hatched and ready, he will be tested under your supervision,” Mehab said.

“Excellent. Dalaran is on the move. I fear the Kirin Tor might be wise to our plans. You may wish to move this one deeper into the Sundered Monolith, lest we be discovered,” The Spell-Weave said.

“Understood, Lord Malygos. I shall prepare him for transport immediately. Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No, but do be careful. With the activity to come, I fear an awakening of our mutual friend.”

“We owe you greatly for freeing us from the Forgotten One. That act shall never been forgotten. Azshan’Aqir, Lord Malygos.”

“Azshan’Aqir. Come Resurgam, it is back to the Nexus with us.” The two made their way from the chamber, returning to the frozen tundra.

“What does that mean, those words?” Maekrux asked as the two skittered rapidly across the frozen wastes.

“It means, Honor of the Aqir upon you. It is one of the highest statements of respect the nerubians have.” The Spell-Weaver lowered his voice as he ran closer to Maekrux. “The creature in the egg is my secret weapon, should it work. It will make it impossible for the corpses to rise again.” He moved away and chattered a chuckle. “You should take note of the magic; you might need it again someday.”

“It certainly seems so in this undead-infested land.” Malygos laughed and nodded, and the two of them retreated in secret back to the Nexus.


(Well, RL issues can be ignored for the time being, since the storyline just got kicked in the tail. Observe: )

Elsewhere, Maekrux on Istaria was close to enacting his plans. As he was about to act, his son suddenly contacted him. “I wish to speak with you further.. away from prying eyes,” he said. Maekrux agreed readily, and Carenath chose the cave on New Trismus as the meeting ground, insinuating that Harton was being watched. Maekrux was immediately wary at this development: had he somehow been discovered?

Weaving into the caverns, he came to the spot he had been adopted by Aika. It was here that Maekrux shared a bit of his past with her and tried to help her to understand that a Stardragon should only be a Stardragon in the company of others, something Aika would ultimately and fatalistically refuse. She claimed, in retrospect, that Maekrux was trying to beat the Stardragon out of her; how was it that Maekrux and Aika had been so unable to communicate that they had to rely on translations of the past to the point of murder?

Maekrux moved to nuzzle his son as he arrived, but his son stood firm and rigid. “What is it you need, son?” he asked.

“This was the most convenient spot we could meet. I found out the truth behind what happened on your terrace. But I don’t believe you will accept it. You were not murdered by your own kin,” he immediately blurted out.

Had Carenath been compromised by the lies that spread around? Could he truly have lost all his love and faith in his father? “How did you come to this conclusion?”

“By speaking to many, trusted friends. Friends I have known, for longer then you have known me. They were at this, gathering. They told me what they witnessed, which is consistent to what you remember. Only.. they did not approach you,” Carenath explained.

Maekrux was right. Carenath had been compromised by the subjective truth. He seemed to pause so Maekrux demanded, “So you do not believe me?”

“Ask yourself, what you remember, how can you know for certain, that you were killed by your own kin. The process, robbed you of some of your own memories, just as I lost some of mine, when I died for the first, of many times in my life. You cannot be certain you were murdered. I am not saying I don’t believe you, per se, I am saying, you do not have all the facts,” Carenath argued. Maekrux pondered this. What if Carenath was right? He did trust his son, after all. “Therefore, to take part, on acts of justice, so blindly, would be.. improper, you would risk making things worse for yourself, and me by extension.”

Maekrux shook his head. “Perhaps. But the act of murder was one I never planned on taking personal justice for.” Had he failed to make Carenath understand that it was not just the murder that had wounded him?

“Draexiira told me the last things you said: The only reason I have these blasted things, is because Istaria itself wishes to expel me. This is really going to hurt. But everything I have done, I have brought on myself. My family is more important to me than anything, I wish you would have realized that. You said this to Aika. She still loved you, right up until the point... you tore the runes from your own body. You killed yourself, did this to yourself. Miira cannot manipulate others so well.”

“It wasn't her I believe manipulating,” he spat. He felt bad after he did though, his eye trailing around the tiny cavern. He looked back to his son. Was he afraid that Maekrux would be hurt in his revenge, and that was why he sought to impede it? “Carenath, you're worried about me, aren't you?”

“Nor can Aika, one I have a lot of respect for. She had to earn my respect, the hard way, like everyone else. And she earned it.” Did he just insinuate that Maekrux never earned his respect? “Likewise, Mercurious, Galdethriel, Zexoin, they are all family to me.”

Maekrux tilted his head. "What are you saying?”

Carenath replied, “I am saying, I wont let you harm them. They did not wrong you that day. You told me once, your biggest downfall, is your pride.” Maekrux wanted to scream out, it was not only the day they carved my scales that they had wronged me! But he was silent for a time.

Finally, he murmured, “So, I see... Even my own family turns against me.”

“I have not turned against you. I am trying to save you,” Carenath said. “If you cannot see that...”

“Do you truly think you can save me by killing me?” Maerkux demanded.
Carenath seemed a bit taken aback and confused by Maekrux’s words. “Why would I kill you? I love you. Others are not out for your blood as you seem to believe.”

“You seek to kill me the same way Aika did...”

“How did she kill you again, refresh my memory.” The way he said it sounded so heart-breakingly incredulous. How could Carenath understand? How could he explain it to him?

“I didn't choose this chamber by accident, Carenath. This was where Aika adopted me. I care about her, even now. I suppose I shouldn't, given that she's killed me twice now, but I suppose I'll always be a bleeding heart. I've had too much practice.”

Carenath interrupted, “She loves you still. I know this for a fact. If you would only swallow a hefty bite of your own pride, you could sort this.”

“Aika chose her other family over me. She broke my bleeding heart and killed me that day.” Maekrux paused a moment, staring at the blue crystals that glistened there. “She could not possibly love me still, Carenath. Even if she did not kill me, she believes I stand for everything that seeks to change her and break her.”

“She STILL LOVES YOU. I can feel it from her. I can feel it in her own heart,” Carenath tried to argue.

“You see me as doing this out of pride, Carenath. It is true - I am prideful. But it is not my greatest weakness. It is grief. Fearing to act. The same thing that plagues Aika.”

Carenath sighed and blurted out, “I told Tsargoth, Zexoin, Merc, Aika and Draexiira of your return. They had to know you were back, I feared for their safety, they are my family too.”

Maekrux could hardly believe what he had just heard. “I see... so you betrayed my trust?” Carenath shook his head but Maekrux continued stronger, “Even if you are doing it for the right reasons, Carenath, you still betrayed my trust...”

“I could not, in good conciance, keep them in the dark, while you planned to act against them. You have to trust me on this one. For once, in your many years, trust me.” How could he dare ask for trust after admitting that trust had been broken? The image of Carenath blurred.

Maekrux shook the water from his eyes, “You must do what you must, Carenath. I would expect no less from you.” He had taught his son too well. He has to do what he believes is right, even if it is what Maekrux knows is wrong. Still – wasn’t that what happened with Aika?

“Nothing good will come, if you act against them. Things will only grow worse, I am certain of that, as certain as I am, that you still love me. I am not now, nor will I, have a hand in your death. Nor will Aika. Nor will those I have told.” Perhaps hundreds of years later, Carenath would wonder if he had killed his father that day, as Maekrux wondered about his own father. How could Carenath know that in preventing Maekrux’s claw from falling, he was dooming his father to an even worse fate?

“What then do you believe I should do? Just turn my tail up and let them mount me?” Maekrux demanded.

“And you have the wrong end of the biped. Your pride got you into this.” Pride? Carenath had learned to think with his heart, and not his head. Pride was no longer the factor involved. “Somehow.. you have been reborn here... changed. How so? I am not certain, I would have to speak again to Valiturus, and ask him about this Runic magic.. unless you will tell me what you know of it. I don’t want to lose you. But I always follow my heart. You raised me well indeed. I don’t know how I could patch things up between you and Aika.. unless you can swallow your pride, and admit your mistakes. The two of you, are as stubborn as ssliks.”

“Have I changed, or has your viewpoint changed? Is the story they told true, or is it as I have felt it? I made many mistakes regarding Aika, Carenath.”

“You have indeed changed.. something has indeed happened to you.. but regarding Aika.. it is time to stop running from those mistakes. You need to... to coin a biped phrase... mend the bridges. Stop running.”

Maekrux stood up. He had heard enough. “I think you are right.”

“Draexiira has told me, you dabbled in necromancy.. that Aurak found a scroll in your lair.. care to tell me?”

“I did not dabble in necromancy, actually. I hadn't gotten around to it... I had sought to speak to my father for advice and to beg his forgiveness. Unfortunately, Aurak stole the scroll and I will never be able to do so.”

“I suppose it did not occur to you, that there are other ways to do this. Without attempting necromancy.” Ah, but that had occurred to him. There was no way to contact a spirit after it had traversed the stars to the realm of Spirit, except through necromancy. But Maekrux was no longer in the mind to share that with his son.

“I suppose there reaches a point in a son's life when he no longer needs a father.”

“Aye, that time, was always on the horizon. But I told you once, and I will tell you again, two things. 1. I promised you, as long as you are here, I will always be. 2. I told you, I will always turn to you when I need advice. You are, many years and seasons above me. I would always consider your wisdom. But, on occasion, there also comes a time, when a father must learn from his son. Unless you believe that I have hurt you too, that I will, somehow.. betray you.. unless you outright, disown me. You will always be my father. And I will, till the day I die, love you now and always.”

Maekrux sighed. Carenath had blinded himself to the truth. “You already have hurt me, Carenath.” Before he could reply, he placed his chin on Carnath’s muzzle. “But I understand why. I will always be your father, Carenath. I will consider what you have told me, and do my own research. Perhaps I need not seek justice for my murder.” In the back of Maekrux’s mind, he knew that murder was only one thing for which he needed justice. But the events of his ‘demise’ and of Carenath and Aika’s betrayal had severed the link between love and trust irreparably and he said nothing.

“A wise person once told me, sometimes, you have to be cruel, to be kind.” Ironic, to hear Carenath say that. Such had been Maekrux’s reasons for disowning Aika in the first place. “Please do. I wish I had been there, I would have seen it with my own eyes. Also consider this, the actions you take, bear on your family as well. Just as the actions I take, reflect on you.”

“I will. Please leave my, son. I have much to deal with now.”

“Just remember what I said. And take care of yourself.” And Carenath left.

What now? Maekrux no longer had the heart to act. Even if justice needed to be done, who did it serve? There were no strong dragons left in the world; he realized that now. He had hoped that somehow his trials and divine retribution would inspire and make the next and current generation understand what it meant to be dragon. But it was becoming obvious to Maekrux that, day by day, what it meant to be dragon was completely and permanently lost to his kyn. To act now would be for no reason other than pride, for no one else would see the benefit or even understand why he had acted as such. They already seem to think I have multiple personalities or something! Maekrux thought. The Destructive Flame within him was dying. The phoenix within him was dying. Maekrux did not leave Istaria to give up, but to find direction. The Maekrux left behind, however, was now considering it. When Resurgam returned, there would be hell to pay. Maekrux was dying.

But no one yet knew it.



It had been three months for Resurgam just getting to the realm, and now he had spent two months there. The experiment had been successful and the Lich King was unaware, just as Malygos had planned. All was going according to plan for the Blue Flight, but not for Maekrux, for Maekrux had almost forgotten the reason for which he had come. He worked on his runic; forever had he found power in symbols and enjoyed the thought of writing existence into being through the runes. Malygos had commented that his calligraphy was poor, to which both laughed jovially, and so that was where Maekrux found himself, practicing his calligraphy with all five digits. Carving the magic into the air, claw tips dancing and glowing as they moved side to side, round and around as the hands that held them turned and waved, long runic stories came into existence only to fade away upon reading, never to be perfectly repeated again. It was a serious meditation upon the power that stories had and upon the patience and reverence to let things come and pass that would drive the industrious mad. But Maekrux understood the value to such patience, for Maekrux was dragon.

Once more the symbols faded into nothingness, leaving behind only their memory. As they did, Malygos stepped into the chamber and lumbered around Maekrux, curling in front of him. “Brother Resurgam, I would like to thank you.”

“Thank me? Why, Lord Malygos?” he asked.

“For me to answer that question, I must tell you a story. When you last visited here, many years ago, it was a different time indeed. I was a tired and unfeeling wreck. And that too requires a story which I shall impart to you now.

“Long, long ago, over ten thousand years, we dragons were whole. We had been empowered by the Travelers to defend this realm from all forms of evil – those who sought the destruction or subjection of this land. We discovered in time that such evil did exist and it made itself known as the Burning Legion: the infinite evil that has threatened this land since the Old Gods were subdued. When they came into this land, we dragons came together to decide how best to withstand their threat. Our youngest aspect and my greatest friend, the Black Aspect suggested that we turn all the power of the dragon race against the interlopers through an artifact called the Dragon Soul: his own creation to be imbued with the essence of every living dragon. It would permit us to share our power, every dragon’s power in every dragon, and form a nigh undefeatable force. Some were skeptical of this sharing, but I stood by my brother’s side. I urged the others to contribute to the Dragon Soul. And so the dragons were convinced. But the Black Aspect, unbeknownst to us all, did not contribute his essence. He had been tainted by something ancient and evil. With it, he took control of every dragon at the apex of a great battle. We blue dragons, masters of Magic, were the only ones who were able to resist the control and so we tried to stop him. But though we could not be controlled, we could be killed and through the magic of that infernal device, my entire Blue Flight was destroyed in a cloud of blood. I survived only for my strength, but I was unable to resist again. He – he who became Deathwing had destroyed my heart. The blood of my children rained down upon me, and I wept.

“Though he was eventually deprived of the Dragon Soul and forced into hiding, my heart had broken beyond repair. I cared for nothing but my own grief and sealed myself away in the Nexus. In retrospect, I might have been considered insane, for my viewpoint was so skewed that I saw all as unnecessary, un-alive, unforgivable. I raged internally amidst my sorrow. And for ten thousand years, I saw none, inconsolable.

“I was approached by Krasus, a red dragon in disguise. He wished to free my sister, Alexstrasza, from the binds of the orcs. Though Deathwing could no longer use the Dragon Soul, he had duped others into using it for him. I did not care, though. For inside I was bitter and broken still. But then he offered me hope: my sister, Alexstrasza is the Life-Binder. She would be able to restore some of my flight to me, not those who had died, no, but to give to me new children, another chance. Begrudgingly, I agreed. We fought with Deathwing while the mage Rhonin destroyed the Dragon Soul with a scale from Deathwing himself. With Alexstrasza freed and our powers fully restored, we attacked at full force, and Deathwing was defeated.

“Even this did not restore my sanity. Killing my brother was only the first step at healing for me, for the wounds had festered for ten thousand years. That was when you arrived, Maekrux. Resurgam. I had been overseeing the few children Alexstrasza had given to me, when you arrived. I was interested in you, for you were different, a distraction. At first, I thought you one of my own children! Perhaps that is why it was so easy to call you Brother. But you were a distraction from the pain. In your stories, I began to see that I was not the only one who had suffered. Perhaps you have not suffered on the scale that I have, but you have known what it is like to be completely without family. You have known was it was like to be without friends. You have known what it is like to be without power. And still, you tried. I was so amazed at how you had suffered and yet still continued to try. That was why I took you under my wing; that was why I helped you: I wanted to be like you, Resurgam. I wanted to be able to rise again.

“And so that is how we came to this place. I have found redemption for the blacks, I have found hope, and I have found conviction – sweet conviction – the purpose for which I now must live. I cannot express how good it is to see you again.”

“Lord Malygos, I don’t know what to say… I am honored,” Maekrux said after a pause. He was struck by the Spell-Weaver’s candidness. How could so ancient and great a dragon as Malygos have fallen so far? How could Maekrux have been the one to raise him up again?

“You are more than honored, Resurgam: you are blessed.” If only Makerux knew it.

“I am glad to be here, Malygos. But-” he paused. But what? He had come here for a reason, but he could not remember what it was. He had family here and – ah, that’s right, he had questions about family. “Malygos, you found redemptions in the blacks. They all turned against the other dragons, didn’t they?”

“Yes, though the evil of their Aspect. But through magic, they have been restored. Come and see.” And so Malygos led Maekrux from the chamber and to another place within the Nexus.

1 - Ceremony, by Silko.


Maekrux erased away the last rune on his lair. No traps, no wards, no living thing remained within its bounds. He stared at the entrance for a long time. It had been over a year since he abandoned Selen for a lair of his own. This place was supposed to have been his fortress of solitude, with only one secret path up to it. How strange, he thought, to have longed it was not so, only to now, with his lair being so often visited, wonder why he had so longed for it. He had considering collapsing the entrance, but he had put too much work into it. This lair, which he had built for his family, his mate, would lay as dormant as his family and mates were now. Perhaps it was to stand as testament to what might have been, just as one of his dead hatchling’s lair in Snowfall was. “And so, I retire,” he said to no one in particular and took to the air.

It was a long and heavy flight. Maekrux did not have many worldy possessions, compared to others of his age; still, he needed some construction materials and items of importance, relics of the past, knick-knacks, and mementos mostly, memories of things now gone. It was hard to explain how Maekrux felt during that flight. Anguish, bitterness, grief – these words are merely words. Maekrux’s heart dug at him and tore at the walls of his chest like a trapped animal.

At last, the old and half-blighted isle came into view. It made sense to him. It was an isle of duality, of many levels, of history, and of loss. Where else could he go? If he was not to fight, if he was the last of his race, there could be no other place for him. Here, where knowledge and history and learning had been cast aside, torn asunder by hate, death, and evil; here, where scholars of old had once retired, where they became old teachers; here, where shadows of two generations and their teachers still wandered. He would retire to Draak and let his knowledge die with him.

He took up the high ground, a bit removed from the other three dragons who continued their watch. There would be time enough to carve a hut in the side of the cliff. For now, he merely took to the shadow of some rocks and curled up in them. It brought back memories. Maekrux’s first ‘lair’ was a series of rocks not far from Kirascant. It was there he had first found love and entertained guests. Of course, he fit in those rocks a lot better back then. Now that he was an ancient, he felt rather childish, curled up in those rocks like a hatchling. Still, he found more comfort within those tiny confines than he did at his relatively massive Harton lair.

Maekrux stood up again, unpacking some of his equipment. The first was a series of large travertine bricks, carved with runes. They would keep the Aegis at bay, should they wander up the mountain, though the other dragons should be watching that daily. Maekrux could not trust them, though. Not because they fled at the fall of Draak, but because he now distrusted all his kyn. He saw them now as wurms – wingless dragons who had lost language, culture, and vision along with their wings. It was a sad and bitter fate for one who had given his life to the pursuit of a dream of building a community. He dropped the last block into place. But for the first time in his life, Maekrux had given up.

He rested between them and thought of his son- no, wait. He no longer had a son. Carenath had decided that Maekrux’s crimes were so heinous, such a betrayal of trust, his faith had been irreparably shaken. This, at the same time he discovered within him another self that made him feel as old as Maekrux. Maekrux supported his son – protégé, as he was now – in his choice. Not because Maekrux wished to be rid of Carenath, but because he loved him dearly. Indeed, as Carenath had mentioned, the similarities between Aika and Carenath had become eerie. Carenath disowned himself to find his own path. Maekrux has disowned Aika so she could find hers. And Maekrux himself? Oh yes, he also disowned himself to find his own path in life. Seems that sort of thing ran in his family. No wonder they wished to be rid of him, rid of the past.

While this was only a half-truth, Maekrux no longer desired to see. The great and proud hypocrite, paragon of the dragon race, was no more. Pride had become dirty; hypocrisy had become dirty. Duality, building, seeing beyond the ground level of things; clearly they held no further value. The dragon was dead. The dragon was dead and the Empire had killed it. We have killed it, Maekrux thought.

He couldn’t go to the Rift, which was what he really wanted to do. For some reason, his ancient-rite Rune of Teleportation no longer worked for him and he had no need for the runes on his shoulders. He loathed himself for wanting to run, bitter and raged amidst his own internal struggles, his family gone – again – with only a daughter who had flown the nest and was well into her own life.

And yet even here, voices bugged him. Tsargoth, welcoming him back to Istaria after his ‘absence’ which had merely consisted of hiding himself with magic. Hiding was entirely unnecessary since Carenath’s good-conscience betrayal. What’s the worst they could do, kill him? Death had no meaning any more than life did to him now. A human who had precipitated meeting with Aurakvoar the day before and ultimately leading to Carenath’s self-disownment; he was rambling madly about some possession or other in Galdethriel. It was the first Maekrux had heard of it. That made him even more bitter and angry: perhaps Miira and Tsargoth would not have so readily turned against him if they had just bothered to face him and ask for help? Maekrux would have willingly given it then. He could not now. No, there was no reason to help. His race was dead. The only merciful thing he could do now was to take his memories and knowledge with him to the grave. Never should the wurm race know what it once was, lest it felt the utter shame of what it had become. They had killed the stories and left Maekrux to deliver the deathblow. They would be happy to see the stories confused and forgotten. Perhaps ignorance could be bliss.

He stared out at the blight surrounding him on all sides, at the walking corpses of his tiny kyn below. He sighed as the stench of blight filled his nostrils as the wind shifted. Even though three dragons lived nearby, he felt as isolated as when he was in the Rift. There were only two who might pull him back now, but he would not expect them. He surveyed this new, empty, desolate domain. “And so, I am home,” he said and curled back into the shadow of the rocks.


Several netherdrakes clustered in a large open chamber, with a great flame in the center of the hall. Their scales were lucid and almost see-through, like a translucent skin of gel, usually black or blue. The larger dragons had been so irradiated by magic that their skin was white-blue, not see-through, but clouded and ghostly. They sought the warmth of the flame as they shivered in the cold. “Malygos, what is this?” Resurgam asked.

“These are the netherdrakes. They were eggs left behind by Deathwing on the Otherworld I told you of before. When the Otherworld was destroyed, they were irradiated in the egg by the cataclysmic magical energy and were wrenched free of their father’s tyranny and corruption.”

“Have you done any of this to them?” Resurgam asked, bewildered.

“I have experimented some, yes. To see if those more black than others might be rectified of their heritage of evil more completely,” Malygos admitted.

“I can’t believe this,” Maekrux murmured, looking about. Though some of the dragons held themselves proudly, most were huddled, broken, by the fire. Could these rift-spanned creatures truly be dragons? No, how could they be? Their very name, netherdrake, denied them even the pride of being called dragon.

“It was pure luck. We have saved them, Resurgam. In time, they will be able to stand on their own four claws. For now, we are in desperate need of shelter more suited to them,” Malygos said.

“How can you claim to have saved them? They no longer even look dragon! Are they free to follow their own wishes, Malygos, or yours alone?” Maekrux demanded.

“What are you saying, Resurgam?” Malygos asked. The commotion was rousing the netherdrakes, so Malygos ushered Maekrux back out of the chamber. “Some of the netherdrakes are not here by choice, yes. They do not realize that what is left of the Otherworld will be destroyed soon enough by – you guessed it – meddling magic using blood elves. The worst of all the addicts here. So I must bend a few to my will! It is good for them ultimately. They will have time enough for their own choice once they are settled here and have a good dose of their history. It is my only hope of ever reconciling the past and the mistakes of my once-kyn Deathwing.”

“Do you really wish to make up for his mistakes or is it a matter of pride?” Maekrux asked.

“Pride? Of course there is some pride. True dragons will experience pride, you know that well.”

Maekrux could not deny that fact, so he changed direction. “They must be free to make their own choices though, must they not? You have interned them here. Do you consider them family as you do me?”

“They will have time enough for their own choices.” Malygos was silent on Maekrux’s second question.

“When I left, I-” Maekrux paused, trying to remember why he had left. “I was no longer certain if I could believe in my kyn. I had lost faith in them. They had taken one of their own, me, and vilified me to serve their own purposes, be it consoling of grief, release of anger, or to have some moral ground to hold themselves somehow better than I. I had begun to believe that my kyn were no longer dragon. This broke my heart, because I love my kyn. I have spent the days since I returned home finding love, teaching hatchlings, adopting hatchlings, telling the stories of our race and history, building my lair for my family and all to visit, and building a greater community for all. Again and again I have tried, for that is my name, my heart. I never give up. But this-” Maekrux turned his pained gaze onto the curious netherdrakes looking at them standing in the hall. “This is not treating them as family, is it, Malygos? Surely there is another way that does not destroy their heritage.”

“Their heritage is one of corruption and death!” Malygos roared, causing the curious netherdrakes and some others huddled in the room to cower. “They are better off to be rid of it.”

“But if the cataclysm freed them and not your magic, did they not have a culture of their own, free of the black history you so hate?” Makerux asked. Malygos was stunned into silence. “I know better than to destroy history and culture. I disowned my niece not long ago, not because I hated her, but because I loved her! She needed to find her own path in life, to find her own balance between that which made her a Stardragon and that which made her Istarian. She did not believe she could find it with me – this I knew. It made me hurt; it made me anguish. And others took my grief for maliciousness. If they did not, I would not be here!” Maekrux spoke with fury until his last sentence hit the frigid air. Now he remembered well. His kyn had been unable to take the sky and free themselves of their wurmsight. The tradition of waiting to fifty seasons, to make one weary of wurmsight, to dawn in a dragon’s perception such depth that goes beyond mortal comprehension. Had his accusers waited? Were they not stuck in wurmsight?

But was that not what Maekrux was trying to do? With his teaching of history, of hatchlings? Of telling stories, of keeping culture? With the Community Rites, one might expand their perceptions and roles in life to be more encompassing. If they could not see beyond their own wurmsight, someone had to help them. Someone had to lift them up. That dragon should have been Maekrux. The only one who had failed was he.

“I believe I am beginning to understand. I should not have come here,” Maekrux said after a period of uncomfortable silence.

“Resurgam, don’t say that. Your insights are very valuable to me. Perhaps between the two of us we might-”

A blue drake rushed down the hallway to the two dragons. “Lord Malygos! The city of Dalaran has suddenly appeared in our skies! They are beginning an attack on the Nexus!”

“What?!” Malygos exclaimed. “We must prepare for war immediately. Prepare the countermeasure and set our brothers to flight. We shall meet them and retake the skies from these impudent mortals!”

“My lord, that is not all. The mage city is followed by – by red dragons,” the messenger said.

“Betrayal… BETRAYAL!” The voice of Malygos echoed throughout the Nexus. War was upon him and his kyn.


In the sky loomed purple death. The floating city was covered in a shield of energy that allowed it to be defended from the blue dragons who had lined up in rows in the frigid wastes. Only one red dragon hovered in the air near the barrier, looking down at his kyn below. He was waiting. At last Malygos strode onto the frigid battlefield, walking to the front. Maekrux had taken his place among his blue family in the ranks; for this, Maekrux was not special, merely another solider in a war to come. As Malygos looked up at the hovering threat, the red dragon called down to him.

“Malygos! You must stop this mad ploy at once! Magic is the gift of the Creators and a necessity in this time! The magicians have as much of a right to life as you do!” the dragon shouted.

“They will only bring greater misfortune upon us all! Magic only serves to pervert the unwary mortal, who seeks only power and prestige! Without magic, the Legion would never have come to this world! If we do not take the magic back from them, they will turn against us! Look now at the city that floats beside you, Korialstrasz! How long will it be before they turn on you as well?” Malygos demanded back.

“We should work together with them to lead them, Malygos! If Magic can corrupt, should you not be the one to teach them? Should you not then guide their hand and help them to not fall into darkness?” Korialstrasz argued.

“I shall save them by ending their magic-use forever! You will not dissuade me! Magic is my domain and its use and license is my affair. You and the Reds have no place in it!” Malygos shouted.

“You seek to assert your rights by denying us Reds of ours! If you will not back down or find another way, we Reds must stand against you!” the crimson dragon bellowed.

“Then let our dispute be settled in blood!” Malyos trumpeted back, raised up onto his hind paws and summoning a great flame to his talons. This he did not launch at the red but instead turned against the ground, burning away the snow with a rapid sizzle of heat. Revealed was a circular crest of runic. Malygos fell back down to his forepaws, shaking the ground as he summoned arcane energies into his claws, activating the seal. The runes lit up with a callous purple-blue light, which suddenly erupted into a massive beam six yards wide. The beam shot into the sky and crashed against the barrier of Dalaran, the light at first parting around it, spreading more like jelly than light. The true nature of the spell came into view, however, when the blue-purple energy began to eat and tear at the purple shield like acid, until the shield itself was completely destroyed, despite the efforts of the several exposed mages who had been maintaining it.

“You leave us no choice, Malygos. Reds, to the aid of Dalaran!” Korialstrasz exclaimed. At his command, a hundred red dragons suddenly leapt into the sky from behind the mountains, flying up into a square formation to intimidate the blues with their size.

“Blues, to the sky! It is time to reclaim our birthright!” Malygos shouted. The blues had only about two hundred dragons on their side and a few of the stronger, more willing netherdrakes. Maekrux, too, took the air, noticeably concerned at the battle to come. Maekrux was not overly afraid; even here, the Gift would work. Rather, he was apprehensive about fighting in the air. He had never done so before, though as he flew along side his blue family, he started to wonder why dragons on Istaria hadn’t tried it since the Battle of Tazoon.

As the dragons vied for airspace, the mages of the Kirin Tor were not idle. Several mages had taken up two detachments of about thirty wizards with a single grizzled mage in the front, looking down from the edge of the land of the floating city. “Korialstrasz! Be ready!” he shouted.

“I know that voice… Rhonin! The mage who destroyed the Dragon Soul!” Malygos exclaimed, mostly to himself.

“Fire!” Rhonin exclaimed. The mages weaved together lines of arcane energy, forming into several patterns of squares overtop the heads of the two mage detachments. The purple-white energy launched from them and the mages began the spell again. The spell they had launched flew through the air swiftly and the blue dragons attempted to scatter out of the way, but with so many in the sky at once, two dragons were caught by the spell, which wrapped around their wings and caused them to fall ingloriously to the ground. To compound matters, once a dragon had been brought down by these energy nets, they launched themselves back into the air, trying to grab another victim, causing confusion amongst the blues.

“Charge!” Malygos shouted, leading the way towards the floating city, his Blue Dragonflight eviscerating the air as they sliced through it at breakneck speed. One of the purple nets launched at Malygos himself who tore through the magical fibers like paper. Several dragons managed to land on the floating city of Dalaran, but the red dragons rushed into the gap as well, crashing into the blues and grappling with them in furious combat, weaving, falling, flying along side one another, clawing at each other, breathing flame, breathing ice. Malygos himself was prevented from landing by the Consort of the Wurmqueen, Korialstrasz. The Blue Aspect and the grizzled veteran of combat hissed wildly at one another: these once-comrades had become blood enemies.

Maekrux made it safely onto the ground of Dalaran, relieving some nervousness since he would not have to fight in the air. Maekrux and his blue comrades engaged the wizards on their own ground, cleaving through scores of them with powerful claws and bites and magical spells. Runes of frost were placed upon the dead corpses of the mages, in case their priests managed to bring them back to life; some tried and found that those who had been marked were incased in a solid block of ice the moment their breath returned to them. The blue dragons also had a seriously detrimental ability to the mages: the ability to force their own magical aura out around them and reflect all magic that was thrown against them. Maekrux, not having this ability, turned to errant mages and eviscerated them cleanly with his Gold Rage attacks, letting his brothers take the fore.

The tide turned upon the ground when several heavily clad warriors followed by men and women in priestly garments rushed out to aid the falling mages. One after the other, these warrior shouted taunts at the dragons and struck at their hides with their glowing blades. The dragons turned their claws and breath upon these newcomers, but with the powers of the priestly men and women behind them, the warriors continued to stand and continued to fight, and continued to draw the ire of the Blue Flight. Maekrux watched this confrontation almost stunned. Why were they not killing the ones healing the metal-encrusted meatshields?

The air battle was fairing no better. The red dragons did not have the numbers, but they did have the strength. Physically stronger, older, and more used to fighting in combat, these dragons were slaying some of the younger blue dragons outright. Their blood rained upon the snow below, staining it pink as it melted from the heat of the passionate blood. Malygos and Korialstrasz seemed to be evenly matched. “Call off this foolish attack, Malygos! Your Blue Dragonflight is still crippled; you would risk killing off all your kindred again!” Korialstrasz exclaimed.

“If I must sacrifice my entire brood so that none will ever die to magic again, then so be it! Netherdrakes, to me!” Malygos shouted. Several of the translucent blacks rushed to Malygos’s side, and then crashed into Korialstrasz, taking his attention away from the Spell-Weaver. As the red dragon tore drake after drake from his body, breaking their necks, spilling their purple blue, Malygos dived down to the ground and took one of the nets tangling a blue dragon. Rushing back into the sky, he channeled his own chaotic magic into the net which began to flare wildly. “Blue Flight, to the ground!” Those dragons still in the air immediately disengaged their targets. Some of the reds immediately gave chase while others paused to see what was being planned. Those that paused were soon sorry for it, as Malygos launched the writhing net into the air. It spread out like a cage over the sky and arced down against those still in flight and struck all save Malygos with a powerful arcane-electrical force. The motor functions of the reds were completely shot. Some died of heart attack before they hit the ground. Others were helpless to prevent themselves from landing on their necks. Most landed in poor health on the ground, Korialstrasz and the netherdrakes who had attacked him included. “See now the folly of daring to oppose an Aspect in the right! This battle was ours from the start, for our moral obligation to protect this world far exceeds your right to allow mortals their freedom to destroy it!” Malygos bellowed.

“Now! Use the Double-Ocular Device!” Rhonin shouted. From the blemished white towers that had seen great previous battle, five mages stood in concert, chanting in ancient tongues as a green-purple eye-shaped gem floated between them all. Powerful and dark energy erupted from the gem, an amalgam of the Eye of Dalaran and the Eye of Sargeras fused together by forbidden magicks. From it erupted a massive beam of energy that struck Malygos head on, sending even the mighty Spell-Weaver reeling and falling to the ground. He managed to regain control and land hard on his feet, spraining his left hind ankle.

“Lord Malygos!” the blue dragons exclaimed from Dalaran’s proper. They had done significantly better since Maekrux rushed into the gap and eliminated the troublesome healing priests. Now freed, almost all of the Blue Flight upon the floating city abandoned their post and tried to strike at the tower. But once more the eye fired, not a single beam this time but several in all directions, turning and weaving like dragons through the air, cutting and slicing and tearing the poor dragons to pieces.

“No!” Maekrux shouted as his comrades were torn apart in a bloody cloud of scale and bone before his eyes. Maekrux had little time to mourn their loss, however; one of the ribbons of death tore through his shoulder and the ground on which he had been standing. Maekrux tumbled down from the floating isle, painfully struggling to right himself, his wings well enough for flight, but each beat pulling and tearing on the hole through his shoulder. He landed a little more gracefully near Korialstrasz and Malygos, who was being counseled by some of his kyn.

“Malygos, we cannot fight against a city with a weapon of that magnitude!” one of the blues exclaimed. Malygos’ eyes were wide in horror, in his mind reliving the death of his kyn at the hands of Deathwing.

“Give up Malygos! If you do not, your entire flight will be wiped out once again!” Korialstrasz exclaimed.

“Silence you!” shouted one of the blues at Malygos’ side, “They would not dare use that attack on you while you were down here!”

“We reds knew the risk. Rhonin is instructed to end this, even if it means the death of the reds helping them. This is but a faction of our children, blue. You are all there is to be had,” Korialstrasz said.

Maekrux looked out at the frigid battle field. Purple death still loomed in the sky. Those he had called family lay dead and dying in the unwelcoming snow. Blood had rained thick upon this land, but it was not blue dragon blood alone. Here, too, were those he might call kyn. By some arbitrary distinction had they been born red, but were they not dragons too? Were they not dead and dying around him, staining the battlefield in their blood, fighting for their values and beliefs in this heartless civil war? It made Maekrux sick. There was a time when he was violently ill for putting down the corpses of hatchlings on Draak for his rite and now he was fighting kyn to the death? These were not dragon either. These were fools. “No more,” Maekrux murmured, turning his eyes skyward. “No more can I be kyn to these creatures!” Maekrux shouted. He waved his wings back and forth, grimacing at the pain it caused his shoulders, but he continued, drawing in all the power of the Prime he had. Its entrance onto the land of Azeroth had a strange effect of multiplying and what would not have even reached the floating city had suddenly become a gale-force wind that crashed against the city and the tower. The tower was sheered and fell to the floating city, but the floating city itself also began to fall and strain under the intense pressure of the storm.

“Lord Rhonin! We must retreat from the battle!” a mage advised him.

“But we have almost won! If we can strike now the crusade of the blues is finished!” Rhonin exclaimed.

“There is no time!” the mage shouted, pointing to the side of the city. The winds were threatening to crash the floating isle into the mountains from which the red dragons had sprung; such an impact would shake the isle apart and surely kill all its inhabitants.

“Blast! Order the mages to advance to the sky and retreat,” Rhonin conceded. “Korialstrasz! Dalaran must fall back! Get your dragons out of there!”

“What strange power is this?” Korialstrasz asked. Hearing Rhonin’s voice, however, he hobbled to his feet, tossing the corpse of a netherdrake from him. “Reds, to the sky! We must retreat to lick our wounds. Leave not a living comrade behind!” The dragons that were strong enough carried those who were not strong enough to fly away as they retreated. “You have not seen the end of this battle, Malygos. Your crusade will become known to the Horde and Alliance before long and this internal matter will spiral out of control. I beg you, give up this fight. Farewell.” And with that Korialstrasz took to the sky and flew after his comrades, his wing beats slow and injured.

“Resurgam, you – you have saved us!” Malygos exclaimed, surprised. Maerkux looked down at the corpse of one of the blue dragons, remembering the traitor who had warned the Kirin Tor, the one whose place he had taken.

“It was a mistake.”

“What?”

“It was a mistake to have come here. Malygos, you are old and you are wise, but about some things you are an even greater fool than hatchlings fresh from the egg, innocently ignorant of the world at large. But even they know the beauty and love that a dragon feels for another. The racial bond that they share that they will never let broken. You have tossed those values away and become nothing more than a wise husk.”

Malygos was stunned and silent. Maekrux walked away.

1 - Ceremony, by Silko.


Maekrux now had a problem. He tugged at the runes, feeling significant pain. Something was wrong. It was not the runes so much as it was a hole in his shoulder, which was very slowly healing. It felt different than other wounds Maekrux had received in the past. It reminded him of the way he had felt when he had injured himself as a hatchling, growing up, fleeing from the lair. The pain was somehow more real and there was a fear that teased at the back of his mind, a mortal fear of death. The wound was not healing as quickly as it should have and Maekrux, in trying to get away form Malygos and his Blue Dragonflight, attempted recall and failed. It was not that the runes bound him there as they did. It was as if the power had never existed at all. If he somehow managed to break the runes, he might be expelled from Azeroth and he could find his way back, but it would likely kill him. Without the Gift, he would merely be easy pickings for the powers of the Rift.

Malygos entered into the chamber Maekrux had been living in since his return. He was slow, as his sprain had not yet been healed. “Resurgam-”

“I will not suffer you to call me that name anymore, Malygos. I am Maekrux Vythulhar, the Blue Phoenix.”

“Maekrux. I am sorry. Things have not turned out the way we want them to, but this is always a possibility in war.”

“There should be no war between kyn, Malygos. I realize now that my place is among my people. Even if they do not want my leadership, help, or even presence, that is where I must be. If I am not there to guide them, they could suffer an even worse fate than civil war: losing their souls to nothingness.”

“I cannot allow that Maekrux.”

“What?” the Blue Phoenix asked.

“You are our secret weapon, Maekrux! That attack you did was phenomenal. It is only that gale that saved the Nexus and our race. To let you leave would be to open ourselves for genocide,” the Spell-Weaver said.

“It is magic that should not even exist here. You warned me about spreading magic to realms not native to my own, do not ask me to change that now,” Maekrux said.

“Then at least teach it to me, so that I might better save my people! Do this and I will let you leave.”

“I cannot. It is not just that creed you taught me; the power of the Prime is my birthright, the birthright of all dragons of Istaria. It cannot be utilized by any but we native to it,” Maekrux explained.

“Then I will not allow you to leave,” Malygos said firmly.

“Then you leave me no choice.” Maekrux took hold of the runes firmly.

Malygos laughed. “You are Gifted, Maekrux, if you die, I will merely reclaim you.”

“Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something has happened. I do not know what yet, but something happened, possibly before I ever arrived here. I’m not Gifted anymore. If I fall, I will die permanently. I’m not even sure this wound on my shoulder will heal, even with the healing forces you have present here. If I break these runes, you still lose your former brother as well as opening yourself to genocide. Therefore, I offer you a choice: lose gracefully, or lose sloppily.”

Malygos pondered his options. “I will not lose at all. Is there any way you can create a rune that could emulate that attack you did?”

“I suppose it is possible. I could channel my Prime energy into it, but it would eventually run out,” Maekrux said. His claw still danced on the glowing rune.

“Then I will free you on two conditions: one, that you create that rune with a renewable power source. I will help you as best I can in this regard. Second, you must keep your oath. This will not be the final battle; Korialstrasz has spoken it. It is possible that when the two mortal factions invade these lands with their mindless, bloodthirsty adventurers that the mages of the Kirin Tor will use them to strike at us. When that time comes, I will send for you to fulfill your vow and we will fight to defend the Nexus once more.”

“Will there be dragons among those adventurers as well?” Maekrux asked.

“I do not know,” Malygos said plainly.

“I cannot go back on my promise. My word is my bond. To forfeit that is to be unworthy of the pride of being dragon. I accept your terms on one condition of my own. If a rechargeable source cannot be found, I will still be free to leave,” Maekrux said.

“So be it. There may be a long enough term solution. It will not be long now. The ships already begin to be staffed and the wind already fills their pillaging sails,” the Spell-Weaver said.

And so the two dragons worked side by side one more time, their wounds being looked at by the most adept of healers amongst the blues, attempting to create a rune that would allow Malygos and his kyn to remain safe until the time of the crusade’s revenge.


Atop the mountain on the isle of Draak, Maekrux yawned. His wurmkyn and Nidhogg had given him at least some semblance of peace and the only three living natives to the isle had taken kindly, if detachedly to Maekrux since his coming. For the most part, Maekrux had been left alone, except for one individual who continued to return. “I have to admit, it's pretty peaceful here now that people have given up on me.” Maekrux paused, reconsidering. “Except for the Shadow Dragon. And enslavers. And walking undead dragons. But up here, it's pretty nice. Except for the occasional smell.” Maekrux sneezed as the wind changed. It may have been his weakened state, but he was beginning to believe he was allergic to blight.

Once more his little black visitor returned. The cynical bitterness in the back of his mind made him wonder how long it would be before his mother showed up and scolded Maekrux of ‘teaching’ this hatchling as well. But Maekrux’s habits were hard to break and that bitterness was pressed to the back of his mind when the hatchlings were around. Not that it remained there, for his heart now bled bitterness. The hatchling beamed, saying, “You're awake!” Panting, the hatchling settled to his stomach at the base of the pile of rocks and attempted to catch his breath.

Maekrux chuckled. “You must be a very bored hatchling indeed.” Maekrux’s eyes were pained, for two reasons, but he hid the pain well.

“No, Sire. Not so much,” the little black said.

“Ah, a lunus, then?” Maekrux snickered to himself. The bitterness was always creeping out.

Hrajiel smiled. “Maybe. Maybe in the future, I might be.”
Not wishing to be accused of poisoning the youth, Maekrux explained his question. “Mm. Lunus are no better than helians are no better than lunus. Lunus are simply more known for their tormenting of their victims.”

“Does my company torment you so?” Hrajiel asked.

“I do not mean to offend little one, but it wounds my soul. I took an oath to take my knowledge to the grave, but that does not mean I do not still desire to teach. It is torment, though I have brought it upon myself.”

“Mmm… I no longer seek to know what you might tell. I will not ask you for such things if it pains you,” Hrajiel said.

“Just... ask me not for any stories, and you are free to keep my company. That I shall miss the most and it broke my heart to hear you ask it last time,” Maekrux conceded. “Why do you seek my company, though?” he asked.

“I don't know. When I ran here today, I thought it was to hear what ever it was that you might tell me, but when I reached the blight, I longed for something else. There is something about you, your words maybe, that speak to me in a way different from anyone else.” Hrajiel sighed, looking frustrated, as if his explanation did little to explain his feelings.

“You are a glutton for punishment, I think. I am hardly enjoyable to be around these days. Not even I wish to be around me.” Maekrux finally slipped out from his rocky crag, shaking the dirt out of his scales. Hrajiel shrugged lightly before stepping aside. Maekrux had become noticeably weaker. He had not eaten for several days now, having spent no energy in moving or even thinking about his own well being. It no longer mattered to him. So little did. Hrajiel frowned at the sight Maekrux’s thin frame; it was clear to Maekrux that the hatchling had noted the change, but he had yet to mention it. Maekrux took a deep breath before settling himself back down, closer to the hatchling who had spent much of his time removed from Maekrux by the steep rocks. “Still, I appreciate it. Even if it is in ignorance or in truth, it is nice to feel wanted for awhile.”

“I appreciate you letting me be here, Sir,” Hrajiel said.


“Mm. I do not own this mountain.” Maekrux peered over at the dragon rump-shaped hole in the rocks. “That's all I own around here.”

Hrajiel looked to the spot, smiling faintly at the shape of it. “Even so…”

Though Maekrux had spent time with the hatchling since they happen to cross paths on the hatchling’s wanderings, the only thing that Maekrux knew about Hrajiel was that he was Hraefn’s hatchling. “Tell me of yourself, little one. It is unfair for me to ask you for a story, so if you like, tell me only the barest facts.”

Hrajiel became notably uncomfortable with the question; he seemed to swallow the feeling though and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Well, the first thing I remember is a blue-violet flame. After that, there was Mother's wing and then the lair falls.” Maekrux nodded slowly, listening intently to the black hatchling before him. “I'm not much of a crafter, or a social dragon, but every now and then I craft. I’m in crowds almost every other week, but that’s because Mother and Father gather in groups to tell stories with others.” Maekrux expressed a look of sadness and pride at the last piece of information, but said nothing. He did not hide these mixed emotions well, for Hrajiel cringed. “I'm sorry.” After a short pause, he continued. “There's really nothing all that special about me but I do… Sire, do you know anything about dreams?”

Maekrux pondered a moment. “My father once told me that dreams were answers to questions we did not know how to ask. Why do you ask?”

“I… I have the most vivid dreams of times and places not of here. And I'm hardly ever myself in them,” Hrajiel admitted.

“Given your parentage, I'm hardly surprised... Still, if you wish to tell me of them, I will listen.” Though Maekrux did not know about Hraefn and her history, her mate was another matter, a well-known Stardragon.

“I just don't know how to take them.” He took a deep breath, clearly replaying the dream in his mind so he could retell it to the ancient before him. “There is one that I’ve had a few times now. When I can first remember it, there is a war. Mostly there are bipeds and though I'm not one of them, I command a small group. Through the battling masses, I urge myself and the others through to reach a tower in the center of the field. I don't know what's in the tower, but whatever it is, there is dire urgency to get to it, but…” He paused, as if feeling it in his mind. “But before I ever reach, I am cut down. By searing blade, I lose my life. After that instant, I wake.”

Maekrux reflected on the story. It seemed familiar, very similar to one his father had told before. “Mm. One might translate that dream in many ways...” He rubbed his frail chin gently. “If one is to take it purely as an answer, then one might say that to risk the lives of others and yourself for a goal too fervently is to lose sight of everything that truly matters: in the dream, your life and the lives of your soldiers...” Though Maekrux had not intended to mention it, he could not help himself from continuing, “Still, that does remind me of something your father once told me. Have you ever shared your dreams with him?”

Hrajiel looked to his claws as he scritched a line in the dirt. “I've only met with him once, honestly. And then we had no time or place to speak privately. Especially of things like that.”

That fact was more telling than anything Hrajiel had told of himself when Maekrux had asked. It seemed possible that Hrajiel had come to look to Maekrux as a father figure. It made his heart ache, but he tried not to show it. “That is... most unfortunate.” He knew he would not be able to hide it without emotion, so he turned the sadness he had for Hrajiel’s state inward, as he often did. “Though, perhaps your father is right. I was very close to my son and he disowned me.” He shrugged his wings weakly.

Hrajiel frowned. “I'm so sorry to hear that.” The hatchling had not managed to extract much from Maekrux, to be sure. Maekrux was doing his best to keep his oath, despite all desire to teach this hatchling as he had so many before.

“Still, your father seems to have a bit of a history. By that, I mean he has a unique and displaced history. I can't recall if he is a Stardragon or not, but he might as well be. He, too, once commanded bipeds in battle. Perhaps this is, somehow, his dream, something that he recalls, reincarnated within you... or perhaps, it is that you and your father are very much the same in this strange displacement.” The strange connection was baffling to Maekrux, but he could not think as well as he could a few days ago. His eyelids had grown heavier and his thoughts were slowed.

“Mother says he is to wake in a few days,” Hrajiel said, breaking Maekrux from his trance, “maybe I'll have a chance to talk to him then.”

“Perhaps. Do not hesitate to press time with your father; I cannot speak for him, but a true father loves his son. No matter what.” How Maekrux still loved his son. Hrajiel nodded softly while Maekrux cracked his huge neck, trying to get the blood flowing. “Mm. I should move around more, perhaps...”

Hrajiel chuckled. “Making it out to you ensures me my exercise.”

“Ha, I would imagine so! You should get your wings as soon as possible. The tradition dies with me.” Even Maekrux himself couldn’t tell if he was happy or bitter of that fact.

“No, I like the run to here. Besides, I would follow in my mother's footsteps to adulthood.”

“Good thing you don't want to follow in mine. I was over a hundred years old when I first took to wing.” He chuckled softly, but then choked. His throat had become sore of late, an illness setting in him.

Hrajiel laughed quietly. “That is quite an age.”

“Mmm... it was a ripe young age. Age no longer maters to dragons. Well. Unless it is a political matter. Of course.” Maekrux still took offense to some of the things he had heard about him.

Hrajiel stretched languidly only to sit upright almost just as soon. “It does to me. I have a high respect for yours, Sire.”

“I thank you for that, little one. But the truth is, there are hatchlings not but three months old who take to flight. It used to be we dragons-” Maekrux caught himself. How desperately he wished to break his oath. “Age no longer matters to dragons. Perhaps it still matters to individuals, though.”

Hrajiel smiled, as if understanding the block. “Maybe so. I do see hatchlings though that would belittle their elders. It angers me to see it.”

Maekrux lowered his head to his forepaws; he was tired of holding up his neck. Simply the effort of raising his head proudly had become a great and laborious effort and was yet another chain around Maekrux’s heart. “Elders rarely hold a sacred position in this society. Rather, to be an elder is to be blemished and scorned for it.”

“It seems wrong that it should be that way…”

“You are perceptive. That is all I shall say on the subject.” Maekrux shivered a little, feeling cold. He slowly shook to his feet and began walking for his rock, but stumbled from fatigue, crashing to the ground and kicking up a small cloud of dust.

Hrajiel lifted quickly and rushed to the Elder's side. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Maekrux sighed and summoned the strength to stand again. “I am fine, little one, just - just fine. I have not been eating much of late.” Maekrux continued to struggle up the rocks, claw after claw until he finally pulled himself into the little hole his body had made and pressed himself comfortably within it.

“I had noticed some… I brought a few things with me, not very nutritious, but still... Would you like some?” Hrajiel asked. He was perceptive indeed, though had not worked up the courage to admit to this knowledge until this point.

Maekrux smiled slightly. “I'm sorry, little one, but I am already full...”

Hrajiel didn't seem convinced, but he didn't argue the matter. Instead, he followed after Maekrux, taking a smaller ledge noticeably closer than he had sat before. “Do you know anything by the phrase, ‘Darkness wings?’” he asked.

Maekrux shook his head. “No, I'm afraid not. The phrase is too general to ring any bells.” He huffed and rested his head on his paws, smiling brightly, but weakly. “You don't look convinced that I am full, little one. But I am full, you see. I am full on history, on stories, on culture and language and past and present. I keep my stories in my stomach, so I shall never go hungry. I keep them in my stomach where they still grow...”

“Stories might fill your stomach, but they won't keep you healthy, Sire…” Hrajiel appeared to mull over a thought for a moment before looking resolved, nodding ever so slightly.

“On the contrary. Stories are all we have. All the presses back sickness and death. I was once a great story weaver; I know what tale I still spin.” Maekrux was spinning an end to his tale. Hrajiel reclined his neck slightly more, as if taking this point into miserly consideration, before letting it pass. Maekrux breathed slowly and evenly, his eyes half closed, almost as if he was dreaming.

Sorting through his pack, Hrajiel pulled forth a thick piece of Kwellen Hide and placed it at the inner corner of the ledge. Atop the hide, he placed a small mound of dead mice and, next to those, his freshest variety of Chocolate Covered Beetle Legs. “To keep the stories company, should they want it,” he said.

Maekrux peered at the mice on the hide and laughed softly. “Ha! Mice as an audience for them. They shall sit in a circle in my stomach and tell stories, mm?” He sighed softly. This was how he had wanted to end his tale; here, with a hatchling looking over him, begging him to his last breath for one more story. Of course, Maekrux had thought it would be with his family, his grand children, great grandchildren, his community. But things never went according to plan with Maekrux. All his grand designs and marvelous dreams burned and burned and burned but always turned to ash at some point. “I thank you, little one. Please leave me.” Hrajiel smiled and nodded. Lifting, he ran to Maekrux's shoulder and nuzzled it quickly before recalling.

With the hatchling gone, he looked over at the pile of dead rats. They danced with his thoughts to the music of the spheres. Maekrux did not wish to prolong his suffering. And yet, what about his family? What about Aerioch and her mate, his grandchildren? What about Carenath; what about Aika? What about this young hatchling who kept pestering him to live? He had become a miserable, parasitic existence. But, at least someone still wanted him around.

Bit by bit, he ate the offering brought to him, trying desperately to keep each piece down.


Try as the two wise old dragons might, there was no way of getting around the problem. The Istarian Dragon’s existence was intimately tied to the power of the Prime itself, the realm of which Istaria was crafted. Whereas the gods of old had imported their own energies and mingled them with the Prime to create the other races, dragons had come to Istaria already created and crafted forms out of the very Prime itself. Deep within them, their souls of flame still burned, but their bodies were completely Prime, the only implements capable of drawing and manipulating Prime energy. After a few test spells, seeing how much the Prime was magnified upon this existence, Maekrux summoned three massive balls of Primal energy into his hands and sealed them within three separate runes inside the Nexus. The last was placed outside the Nexus proper, linked to these three power sources. Into the last, Maekrux channeled a fourth ball of Prime energy and crafted the runes in such a way that they operated more like a spring-trap than the conscious effort of their user. Still, this trap would last for only four shots, but Malygos believed it would be enough.

Maekrux’s shoulder had been healed, but it still ached considerably. With Malygos’ permission to leave and the runes complete, Maekrux turned his attention to himself as he followed Malygos to the black chamber. Physically, nothing was wrong with him, besides the irradiation of the Rift and the dull ache. He did not wish to stay and study this change, however, lest Malygos changed his mind. The two walked into the black room with marble columns. Maekrux stood once more in the center of the room, the white runes lighting up beneath him. Malygos returned to the front while the two dragons who had first bound Maekrux in this room came back to the Istarian’s sides. Malygos looked at Maekrux with sad eyes. “You do not need to leave. Perhaps there is some other way?”

“This is what I must do, Malygos. You have taught me a great deal and shown me much about myself and my own people. But now, I must return to my realm and become a leader to them. I am not a perfect leader, to be sure, but it is most important that I go back and do all that I can. Without me, who else will they turn to? Who else will remember the stories? Who else will try to heal the wounds of the Schism and of battle? Who else will warn them of the biped they are becoming? Istaria is where I must be.”

“Then Istaria is where you shall go,” Malygos said. He nodded to the two dragons and they stepped forward, releasing the runes gently from Maekrux’s body. Maekrux’s form immediately began to fade and flicker, the powers of the Rift itself calling him back. Though the runes kept Maekrux in a realm, they were not perfect solutions; over time, that energy could build up pressure on Maekrux’s soul until it crushed him. He had discovered that if he did not return to the Rift once in awhile to release that tension, he would suffer a death even the Gift could not save. Maekrux’s thoughts were interrupted by Malygos, who was standing on his hind legs, his relatively small wings flared out behind him, his forepaws weaving energy. “You are a noble dragon, Makerux. Go back to your people and begin your own crusade against ignorance.” With that, Malygos lowered himself and his energy onto the runes upon which Maekrux stood. The runes temporarily glowed purple-red, and then Maekrux’s body and soul were forcibly shunted from Azeroth, flying through the Twisting Nether – the Rift – towards Istaria.

Maekrux landed in familiar Rift territory. The Guardian of the Heart stood nearby, ever fading as its power was devoured slowly by the Rift. Maekrux shook himself off from the harsh landing, still feeling the pain in his shoulder, before stalking over the twisting, barren wastes of the Rift to the pad he had long set up before. Maekrux was about to use it as a focus for reentering Istaria when he paused. He still did not know anything about what had caused that strange sensation at the battle. This was the first thing he remembered after leaving Istaria, when he knew things were fine. Whatever markers had been left behind were, of course, gone – torn apart by the energies of the Rift. He instead used the gem of the pad to look inward: to scry upon Istaria.

He first looked to his lair, which was exceedingly bare. Strange – there were marks that appeared to have been runes carved all over his balcony. How could that be? Save one other, Maekrux was the only one who knew runic extensively. He scried into the dragon den; not much had changed here. He scried upon those who had tormented him: Miira had hatchlings in the meantime! How they had grown. Her hatchlings might yet have the benefit of a wise and old dragon. For Hraefn, life had continued as normal, though Maekrux noticed a hatchling with her he had never remembered seeing before. It seemed nothing much had changed; he was probably a distant memory to them by now anyway. Maekrux looked to Aerioch and Nidhogg; ah, Nidhogg was up and about, but Aerioch still slumbered. He looked to his son.

His son was with another.

Surely there must be some mistake, Maekrux thought. But no, it was clear; Carenath loved this dragon as his father. Maekrux had been displaced. Had he somehow felt that his promise was broken? Had he not had the patience the traditional wait should have taught him? Either way, Carenath had broken his promise to him, Maekrux thought. Carnath had promised to always be there for him, waiting. Carenath clearly no longer waited for him. Indeed, Istaria needed a guide more than ever, Maekrux thought. Maekrux’s heart lurched. Still, there had to be a reason. Maekrux scried around, looking. He noticed that the hatchling with Hraefn was gone. Peering around for him, he saw that the hatchling was going towards Draak. At his strength? Maekrux thought. He was strong enough to begin the Rites, but anything on that isle would have been more than a match for him. He followed the path of this hatchling with wonder. He ran and ran as fast as he could, sneaking past the blighted area and running up the hill. Perhaps he was doing one of the easier parts, just talking with the dragons? Maekrux wondered. But no: this hatchling stopped halfway up the path at a series of rocks. Maekrux manipulated the view around to see at what he looked.

Sitting in the rocks was Maekrux Vythulhar.

“How could this be?” Maekrux shouted into the empty Rift. He scried down closer at this imposer, looking at him carefully; no, this dragon could not be him! His form was frail; his scales were thin; his eyes were defeated. Who or what had created such a misshaped figure of clay, that it should mock the greatness and pride that Maekrux Vythulhar had and stood for?

It occurred to him. He had died when he left Istaria, though he shouldn’t have. The transition should have been as gentle as when he left Malygos. He turned his attention onto himself, looking beyond his body, looking deeper than his spirit, even as far down as his soul and he saw. He saw the emptiness in his soul. He had been only half a dragon. No wonder it had taken him so long to see Malygos for what he had become, why it had taken him so long to remember why he had left. This half-dragon must have caused as much problem on Istaria as he had remembering on Azeroth! Maekrux continued to scry this frail half-self to reconstruct what had happened. He must have done terrible things to have ended up in this state.

The Maekrux called Resurgam would be bitterly disappointed. Maekrux had never acted. He had merely suffered further at the hands of those he loved and finally his heart had broken without repair. He had been turned into a shell of what he had once been, for the grief for his kyn and from his kyn. This had to be rectified.

Resurgam began to prepare for his rebirth.