ORILION

A screeching torrent. A ferocious stormfront. Lightning cracked the darkness of the Elder Crossing deep within his soul, a deep, unsettled, monstrous roar as he tried and failed to grasp on his reality. Asen'Orilion, the Tyrant Titan of the Skies. It spoke out his terrible, accursed name. Memories gone, lost in amnesia, he bounced his brow against the familiar stone. Air whispered as he sat in the darkness, away from the airship which failed to truly fly. It burned against his skin. His immolated wings. What happened to me?

It sizzled the darkness, a sentient mass of chaos. Light in the dark.

What happened to me?

Thick clouds pulsated. Gales tore through the world and sent hail flying downwards to strike at the ground with ferocity.

I am so close.

Monstrous teeth sliced through the fury of the storms, but he hesitated when in an instant, the pressure subsided. On his knees, he frowned, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. On his little overlook, the broken temple shattered pieces across the floating peninsula — not where it belonged, not where it was supposed to be. Yes... I know that much. Orilion lifted his head to the unseen land of the gods. This... was not here. It was up there... which means Arth'lun is still up there. It has to be. But without my wings... how am I to make my way back up there? He looked over his shoulder to the airship, where night lamps swung with the constant breeze flowing through the temple. Mortals slept, but he found himself as restless as a storm. A sigh left his lips, but he stiffened at a breathy giggle in the wind.

His hand wrapped around the glaive Falora left beside him. Familiar. Comfortable. Until it burned his palm and it clattered to the stone once more. A crack of thunder. A roar of malice. In the dark, the pressure came back in full force, but he held himself strong, his senses trained on the noise. Reforged weapon abandoned, he checked once more on the airship before following the noises. The soft giggles and curious whispers. Led on the hunt, he snaked his way through crevices before landing outside on rough, broken stone. He went to take a step, but gasped when a root pushed itself forward, and he went face-first into the dirt.

Orilion rubbed his nose at a flicker of a wisp bouncing ahead, skipping across flowers to make them glow cyan. Pixies... He brushed himself off and followed the trail the wisp left until he found himself in a thick field of the cyan flowers. "I know you're here," he stated, tasting Celestial Draconic and its deep, rumbled song.

"Ooh," a sing-song voice said from the breeze. "Here we thought you were a mortal! You look like a mortal." Some of the wisps gathered together, and he held himself on the edge. "Ooh... you aren't a mortal though." One broke through the rest, forming into a small, winged creature, glittering with the air's power. "Curious, to look like a mortal on the surface... but something much bigger, the body not fitting." The other wisps joined in and danced around him.

"Oh! Oh!" Another pixie fluttered forward. "We can play a guessing game with this mortal that isn't a mortal! Unless the mortal wants to prove that he isn't what he is!"

"I am not going to play games. I'm not in the mood."

"The mortal is no fun, but who said this was a game?" the main, and largest pixie asked with a flutter of their misty wings. "Is he scared of what he is?"

"It's probably scary to be mortal," the other pixie said with a sage nod, but then with a wicked giggle.

Orilion narrowed his eyes. "I did not realise pixies remained here."

"He says as if he knew us before!" the main pixie cackled.

"We are always here!"

Orilion folded his lips and prepared to leave the playful, devious pixies, but found his mind muddled on where he meant to go, where he was supposed to be. "But this wasn't here." It towered in the heavens. Mighty spirals, cast in a gelded colours. Wind filled his lungs, and he exhaled it in turn to return it to the world.

"Ooh..." the smallest pixie tutted and hummed. "He knows that which does not belong! Much like him! A thing that does not belong where it is!"

"Tell us, mortal who does not fit the body," the largest pixie fluttered forward. "Do you feel separated too? You look down and not even your footsteps leave a mark anymore."

Orilion took a step back when they circled him. Ugh... Lesinia was so much better with their kind... He stiffened when they floated closer, to look into his eyes — the windows to his soul. He pushed his teeth against his lip at their curious, mischievous appraisal. "I'm not in the mood to play."

"Not in the mood to play, he says," another pixie echoed him. "It's been so long though since we last had someone to play with."

Orilion raised his hand, but stopped when the largest pixie came forward with intent. Another sing-song noise of curiosity left their throat when they drifted away from his eyes. "I see your shadow! Twisted and cracked."

Orilion slammed to a stop. "Wait, what?"

The pixies gathered in a bouncing line, weaving with the breeze before sitting up on the glowing flowers. "Your shadow," the main pixie remained aloft, hovering with the wind. "Twisted and cracked. Guess those mortal ears don't work on one of such size as you. Is that not so?"

Orilion looked behind him to check on his shadow against the moonlight.

"Heehee!" One of the pixies pointed. "You made him look!"

"I don't have time for this." Orilion went to move away from them.

"Look at this mortal, worrying about his time," the main pixie tutted and followed him, and he grunted when he ran face-first into a wall of a gale. His own power failed to save him, but it dug into the surface of his skin. "If the mortal won't play with us, the immortal soul will."

Orilion rubbed his nose and turned to them with a scowl. It tore through clouds, and bile raised to his nose. He rubbed his lips, then glared at them. "You can't keep me here." He stomped forward into their territory once more, causing them to bounce off their flowers. "Your magicks can't keep me trapped forever." It burned down his back. It pressurised against his temples. Another thundercrack, and he stumbled to his knees when he went to take another step forward. Bile slipped past his lips, black and wispy as he choked in the flowerbed. Trembles wracked his body as he coughed up the bloodless, viscous darkness, and the pixies floated closer to him as the substance drained the life out of the world around him.

"Oh..." The main pixie hovered inches over the ground. "Much more interesting than a mortal too big..." It turned to face its fellows. "We have a dead dragon in our midst," it declared.

Orilion went still as the black liquid continued to seep past his lips, at the mercy of the ferocious pixies. "I'm not dead." He coughed.

"And what is death?" one pixie asked.

"Is it where you cease breathing?" another piped up.

"Or when your soul ceases to be?" the smallest offered.

The main pixie hovered in front of his face. "Silly little dragon." A puff of air squeezed out of its palm. "How could you have forgotten? You are dead!" It pointed with a misty finger. "Your soul touched its world and brought back a sliver of it." It waved down at the black sludge which had stopped leaking out of his lips. "Now who are you? What did you leave on the other side?"

Orilion processed their words, tasted bile, and sat up. "What do you refer to?"

"He finally offers us play with a goal in mind!"

"We don't know!" the main pixie told him with a shrug. "We can only see what we see! Can you see what you see?"

Orilion drew himself away from the black sludge with a weary groan. "I guess not."

"Poor little dragon can't see what is in front of him," one of the pixies tutted.

Worms slithered at the edge of his vision when the main pixie drew itself back into a wisp form with a giggle. "I think the little dragon is worn out."

Another wave scorched up his nose and he coughed up the black liquid which wilted life around him. It cracked. Wings tore out of the darkness, mangled and bloody. "Such a cold throne," the smallest pixie gave a sad tut. "Such a sad... but maybe well-deserved fate for one who saw himself as the sky's ultimate ruler." Orilion tried not to choke on helplessness again when he turned to look at the small pixie. They brought two small hands up to hide their lips. "Maybe we shouldn't be surprised, maybe dragons don't like to share."

The main pixie floated in front of him, and he slumped in the flowerbed. "A dragon trapped in a mortal body — a punishment from divinity, from The Elders... or from himself?" A sharp cackle left their lips. "Look, you even puked your guilt all over our flowers." They pointed downwards at the black sludge which wilted everywhere he moved. "Or maybe there was no other way?" Their vicious amusement died into curiosity. "Maybe the alternative was worse." Wings fluttered in his view when they lowered themself to him. "Which one is it, Asen'Orilion?"

"You know who I am."

"We've known all along! We see you for what you are."

Orilion forced himself to his feet, though his knees quivered when the pixies followed him. "I don't remember, is that much not obvious?"

"You do remember, why else would you throw up all over our flowers. You just don't want to remember, silly," the head pixie teased. "Though the mind will so quickly cast aside memory, the body never does. Not even to a mighty dragon." They faced him head on without fear. "It has been a long time indeed, Asen'Orilion. Time has not been kind to you, that much is clear." Their head tilted back and forth, their petal crown bouncing with the movement. "To be stuck in a mortal form," they said with a mocking pout to their lower lip. "I bet you want to break free and show them all who you are. Make them remember."

Orilion drew away from the tricky pixies. "I don't want to do that."

"Oh?" another smaller pixie floated by him. "Is it not your nature? Are you not the storm which brings both woe and weal? Is that not what's inside your heart?" They pointed at his chest. "Just a storm, waiting to be cracked open and unleash its unstoppable fury in gales, tornadoes, hurricanes? To leave destruction in your wake... is that not in your nature?"

Orilion opened his mouth to argue, but the pain in his temples returned with clawed vengeance. He slammed his hands upwards as he failed to stop his pained gasp. Knees crushed the flowers below, and he tried to catch his breath though the screaming and smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. Air whipped around him, though the pixies remained unaffected when they bounced over him. Skyhunter. Skyhunter. Skyhunter. A repeated title as the sludge dripped past his lips again, pain tearing down his spine, curling claws against his skin.

"Poor little dragon," the main pixie said and sat on the largest flower which remained untouched by his ruination. "To forget the reason as to why he was born. As to why he was created only to be brought down to this." Another tut-tut.

Orilion gripped the sides of his head.

"He's no fun like this," one of the pixies complained.

Orilion pushed himself to his feet again, stumbling to the edge of the pixies bubble of confusion. Or it was his own mind playing tricks on him right to the end. Their laughs echoed in his mind, but when he looked back at the flowerbed, it was devoid of life. Wilted right down to the grass with the black sludge dripping down the stalks. Hand lowered when the pain in his temple subsided, the building which rose above him rumbled with the movement of the island.

To forget the reason as to why he was born.

Orilion hobbled his way back to the airship, where the three mortals awaited him — once a divine, no longer.

Skyhunter.