"Those aligned with life trust in the love days bring,

These people view a budding sprout as the foundations of a beautiful world,

In every stalk of grass. In every mountain, large and small,

To Asen'Gaiaros, life is in the breaths we take,

And the things we love above all else."

~ Passage Four: Dragon Soul of Life

Falora

County of Crackjaw

Nothing left for it, I suppose.

Orilion never awoke to any disturbances, and she found herself running out of places to put her clothes. Aethergines hummed over her house day and night, and they started to haunt her dreams with a tortured vengeance, for a guilty conscience. Guilty of refusing to kill the world's evil where he rested, struggling to breath. Another dose of Azarian honey, and his condition continued to worsen. None of her books gave her any insight to the idea of 'god health', if there had been any information in the hands of mortals since the age of the dragon gods.

Falora listened to the rest of the aethergines fall quiet for the sparkled night. Sketchbook in hand, she stuffed the rest of the other papers into her traveling bag. If I have anything that would help me potentially in a ruined temple to an ancient god. Everything packed and ready for the journey to a forbidden island, Falora edged for Orilion to grab underneath his arms. "You know... this would be easier if you were somewhat conscious..." She pulled him out of the closet, ready for the heaviness of a body, but she frowned at the utter weightlessness.

Odd... Falora straightened out her back and slowly trekked outside with her extra baggage. Part of her expected to spot the ominous shadows of cloudsweepers flitting over the ocean of starlight, but the lack of them did nothing to settle her nerves. She hurried her pace to the best of her ability, though dragging a god around severely complicated matters.

Hopefully, her own cloudsweeper would prove inconspicuous for any of the night patrols. Lights glowed from the distant port city of Crackjaw, and she ducked into the darkness of night to haul Orilion into the back of her cloudsweeper. He laid across the back seat, unresponsive. Falora bit on her tongue, and returned her attention to the distant island, once covered in a maelstrom of mist, to fall away and reveal the clarity.

The promise of wonder on the horizon.

How long would it take? Falora plopped herself in the front seat. If I could get this damned thing's aethergine to work... but without any aetherical know-how, I'd rather not fiddle with any delicate parts of the engine... Falora tugged on the main rope, and the grey, starlit sails stretched out. With a push on the aethergine, it gave her the smallest boost it could manage. In the headwind on the coast, Falora let the aethergine sputter back into uselessness. Every long minute, she checked on Orilion, who continued to breathe in tandem with the wind swirling around her boat.

A boat meant to take to the skies.

Dragon fire pained the void above her head. Falora tugged on the sail ropes by the wheel, where they fluttered to follow the wind. Rope tied, she huffed and sat back in her seat. This is going to take too long, at some point they'll be forced to investigate the divine disturbance... Deliberating on her options, she got up to crawl over Orilion to get to the core. She couldn't begin to make sense of the dials and twirls of glass meant for aetheric processing. In the middle of everything, a cyan skycore. Thin lines of metal protected the delicate stone, but the smallest crack dug into its diamond surface.

Only airworkers knew how to replace skycores, of which she knew none. Falora grasped the core and pulled it out of its socket where it released an airy hiss. If I can get some sort of power into this thing, even a little bit of speed would help...

It sat in her palm, and she sketched every imperfect edge in the back of her mind. Air in her palm. Neither hot nor cold. It reflected the stars in the Elder Crossing. Falora lurched at the obvious solution to her problems, who currently sprawled across the back, struggling to live.

Aen'Orilion, the tyrant titan of the skies. He's got to be at least brimming with some sort of energy. Falora pressed the skycore deeper into her palm. Damned... I'm not an Elementalist... Crystalline core between her thumb and forefinger, she brought it closer to him. Tiny sparks filled the crack with windy energy when she touched his cheek with it. Gentle shocks went up her down and raised her skin into uncomfortable gooseflesh. Trying to keep it in her palm while it practically threatened to explode into pieces, she placed it back into the aethergine. Compartment closed, she shuffled into the main seat.

Great... using an evil god as a battery... what else is going to happen? Falora gripped the wheel. No time how to learn how to fly this thing... Ase'Lesinia witness me from your twilight grotto... and don't make me look like a fool. She pulled at the engine line. Again and again. It sputtered, hummed, but she relied on the headwind, liable to change in an instant.

Every breath of life escaping the god on the back seat.

"Come on you stupid—" Falora kicked the aethergine line, and yelped when the boat lurched forward. It took more speed over the gentle waves. Above her head, the sail expanded and shadowed the entire cloudsweeper. Faint blues whispered along the airy material. The rigging opened to reveal more sails to join the main carrier of the boat. Falora held on tight as the hiss of water left her ears.

Over the edge of her cloudsweeper, side-sails stretched out, reflecting both the starry heavens and the ocean. As she flew forward, unsure of how to steer or land, she checked on Orilion one more time. Wind ruffled his black hair, and his breathing evened out. All the tension in his body, gone in the moment of opened wings.

Until the wings failed.

Falora tugged on the wheel.

Hums of descent.

No—

With a snap, the sails folded back into the rigging. Falora hissed when the keel of the cloudsweeper smashed against the ocean waves. Water splashed onto her clothes, and she waited to sink to the depths. Nothing happened, so she relaxed back into her chair with a groan.

"What... was that?"

At the soft, wind-touched voice, she whipped around. Orilion sat up, holding his head. Much more energy than the previous lethargy from the closet. He leaned back into the sides of the cloudsweeper with a wince.

"You're... actually awake?"

He refused to meet her gaze, almost slinking further into the side. Falora adjusted the sails to head for the temple, then joined him in the back. After a few moments of breathing, he sat up again. He peeked over the side of the cloudsweeper, tipping his head at his own reflection.

"Abrax!" He slapped his hand against his brow with a quick hiss, and Falora jumped when he practically crawled against the back seat, as if terrified of her. In his cyan, a cornered predator.

A cornered dragon, except nothing more than a man.

"Whoa!" Falora snapped her hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you..." I don't think I can. Tension sparked in the air around them, but Falora lowered her hands. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Orilion examined her like a reptilian would a choice morsel, and then sat down, as if copying her. "Where are you taking me?" Uncertainty remained in the storm, but his tone held no sort of maliciousness. If anything, there was confusion, and no small amount of alarm. Avoiding any sudden movements, Falora pointed to the nearing temple.

"I'm taking you to that temple. Your temple," Falora added. "I'm... hoping it might help jog your memory." As to whether that's a good idea... I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Orilion pointed at her. "What did you do just then?"

"Do..." Falora examined herself. "Do what?"

Exhaustion pulled down his angled features. He peered up at the starlit sails, then back at her. Understanding swept over her at the silent communication. "Oh... You're in a cloudsweeper — albeit an old and rickety one."

"Ah..." Orilion blinked as if she had said something in another language. "What?"

Oh. Right... Cloudsweepers are very new compared to him. Falora sighed. "Cloudsweepers are airships meant for short distance air travel. Flying..." she drew out the last word, garnering for his reaction.

"Flying?" Orilion stared at her incredulously. "That wasn't flying."

"It was close enough." Falora snapped back into her front seat with a huff. "It was the best I could do under the circumstances." Wind in her ears, she raised her hand to him. "Before we continue on, I need to give you fair warning. We may or may not run into Celestial Templars who may or may not want to... kill you."

Orilion continued to stare at her. "Slow down? Celestial Templars? What are you talking about?"

Falora tugged out her papers and books. "I think it's better if I show you."

He reached out to grab a paper, where a dragon of dripping pitch and rot stained the yellowing pages. It snarled up at them with sharp, yellowed teeth, sprayed with the blood of hapless mortals. He examined it, overturning it to its side and holding it upside down. His gaze swept over the other papers, but drew back to the visage of his dragon form.

"Does the image ring any bells?" Fear gripped at her stomach when he remained silent.

Orilion blinked a couple times. "No." He took another paper to read its text. Falora sunk into her chair as he trailed over one passage. One which everyone read thousands of times, of the god who had been Asen'Orilion.

One, agonized second. He jerked and dropped the papers to the floor of the cloudsweeper. He shook his head in wild motions. "Miss? Surely you jest?"

"Gods..." Falora almost choked on her disbelief. "You really don't remember anything?"

Orilion folded his hands. "No... you said it's been a millennia?"

"Yes." Falora adjusted their course when they floated along waves.

He curled his fingers, and then grabbed her books again to rifle through them. Face pale, he stopped at one page with a frown. One of the passages which detailed all his crimes, the sort of things he did to unwitting mortals. His sinful acts and the horrific spawns of his lust the other Dragon Gods fought off to erase, all the way to his ultimate fall. Every passage ingrained into her head from the amount of times she read the books. Father always remarked pieces of history were lost with the fall of Arth'lun. Recognition failed to ignite behind Orilion's stormy gaze, only sickened disgust.

One tiny minute of flying, and she swore the person in front of her was a different god.

"Well..." Falora kept one hand on the wheel to look at him. "You're not a dragon..." Physically.

Orilion leaned over the side of the cloudsweeper, and she braced herself for his sudden bout of seasickness. Except he simply stared at the sparkled waters. "I... I don't remember doing any of those things those... books say."

His windy voice hushed over her spine, but she ignored the chill.

"I wasn't alive, so I couldn't tell you," she admitted, but when he continued to stare at himself with a forlorn expression, she joked, "you know... you weren't what I was expecting. I know I said you aren't a dragon, but I did at least expect the dragon gods of Arth'lun to be dragons, or at the very least very massive beings of untold proportions..."

Falora startled when he jumped to his legs, but his knees buckled. "I need to get to Arth'lun."

"That will be hard, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Among the other things you did... you also took down the city of the heavens," Falora whispered. "That's... ultimately what drove the other gods to imprison you." She shrugged. "Apart from the whole 'I'll bring doom upon all the world' you were apparently spouting out to anyone who was in vicinity before smiting them down for looking at you wrong."

The smile on his face twisted his features. It wasn't a happy smile. He leaned forward. "Arth'lun? Destroyed? Do you not know of the place which you speak?" His grimace tightened. "There is no being in existence who has the power to bring down the golden city from the sky. It'd take more than me." He shuffled through the papers, rubbing his temple.

"How about—" Falora reached out to him, but hesitated when he gave her a side-eye. "I'll take you to the temple, and you can see for yourself."

Orilion looked past her shoulder, and then slid into the backseat. "Why are you helping me?"

Falora huffed. "I'm a kind heart, truly."

"And...?" Orilion raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. I love history. There's something so... gripping about the forbidden parts of it." Her heart soared at the thought of delving into the time of ancient art, knowledge and dragons. The same feeling which rushed through her blood when her cloudsweeper took flight for the first time since she had it. "I want to explore it. I want to learn, so... would be more efficient for the both of us to learn something from this." Falora bowed her head to him. "In short, don't think too hard on it, Asen'Orilion."

Orilion curled up. "I could breathe again..." He brought a hand to his chest, and breathed deep. "This cloudsweeper of yours... how far did it fly?"

"Not far at all." Falora snorted. "It's broken, rickety and far too out of style for even managing to fly short distances." She pointed at the temple isle. "Either way, we'll get there." She gathered the papers he left strewn about to shove them back into her bag before standing up to let the wind caress her body. "If it means anything to hear from a mere mortal like me... I'm sorry, this must be a lot to take in, and I apologise for shoving you in my closet."

"That's what that horrible place is called?" Orilion grimaced. "I thought it was a prison."

"Prison for fabrics, maybe," Falora grumbled. "Not so much a prison for gods who could destroy my house if they so willed it."

Orilion laid across the seat. "How did you know who I was?"

Falora stared at the last page she left, the visage of a dragon of dripping evil snarled up at her. "Deduction. You're clearly not Azari, nor a Celestial Templar... and..." The memory of a dragon mirage spread across the waves of her mind. "I saw you crawl out of the ocean, and saw your wings." She leaned over him. "At least you remember your name."

He sighed, and the wind breathed with him. Unlike the god in the closet, who had been nothing short of drowning.

"It's the only thing I can remember."