The helicopter rattled through the dusty, unsettled air, its blades chopping a steady, monotonous thrum that did little to soothe the frantic buzzing in Roy's own chest. He peered out the open side door, his heart still thumping a wild rhythm against his ribs from the colossal, mountain-shattering blast they'd caused. Eryndra, her expression a mask of stoic focus, leaned beside him, her keen eyes scanning the broken, smoking mountain ridge where thick plumes of rock dust still lingered like malevolent spirits. JFK piloted up front with a grim precision, while Zehrina and a pair of Elite Presidroids rounded out the cramped, tense interior.
The closer they drew, the more the rugged, obliterated terrain came into grim, sharp focus. Half the mountainside looked as though it had been sheared clean off by the hand of an angry god, massive boulders scattered across the landscape like a giant's discarded toy blocks. At the base of the fractured cliff, something pale, absurdly large, and faintly pulsating lay half-buried beneath the debris.
Zehrina's gaze sharpened, her voice tight with a mixture of awe and caution as she pointed towards the jagged updrafts buffeting the chopper. "Captain, I can see significant movement down there. We should land soon; pushing any higher into this unstable air risks a catastrophic downdraft."
Roy gave a curt, decisive nod, his own eyes fixed on the scene below. "Alright, JFK. Take us down in that clearing." He pointed to a relatively stable-looking swath of rubble a safe distance from the stirring mass.
JFK, with a calm efficiency that belied the absurdity of the situation, began to ease the helicopter lower, the rotor wash kicking up a blinding, swirling cloud of dust. Halfway down their descent, a sudden, violent whoosh of displaced air whipped through the cabin. The side door, which had been secured, slid open wider, much wider than was safe or normal. Everyone snapped instantly to a state of high alert. One of the Presidroids reached instinctively for a safety handle. Eryndra tensed, half-rising from her seat, a low growl rumbling in her chest. Zehrina lurched, blinking in alarm at the new figure now standing casually by the open door.
A small boy.
He wore a crimson Victorian-style outfit, all intricate lace and impeccable, precise tailoring, and he was grinning as if this were the most delightful surprise party he'd ever crashed. "Hello, Roy! My name is Orden!" he announced brightly, his voice a clear, musical chime above the roar of the rotors. The wind whipped ferociously at his immaculately styled hair, yet he stood unbothered, his delicate, polished shoes planted firmly, almost unnaturally, on the vibrating floor of the chopper.
Before Eryndra or JFK could so much as shout a warning, they both felt an overwhelming, irresistible urge to simply… sit down. Their muscles, usually coiled springs of readiness, went completely slack, and they dropped back into their seats as though forced by some invisible, puppeteering hand. One of the Presidroids attempted to stand, its servos whining in protest, before it collapsed, its limbs locking up completely. Zehrina fought to raise a hand, a flicker of her dark dust stirring at her fingertips, but her body felt as if it were suddenly encased in hardening cement. It wasn't a physical restraint; it was a conceptual one. The very idea of moving, of resisting, seemed impossible, an instruction her brain could no longer send to her limbs.
"Don't be upset," Orden cooed, raising a slender, delicate hand. "It's just so much safer for everyone if no one rushes me."
Roy, however, remained standing, his body rigid with a mixture of shock and defiance. He felt the conceptual weight wash over him, goosebumps prickling his skin as his every instinct screamed at him to drop. But then a spark, like a flicker of distant lightning, flared deep in his eyes, and the compulsion failed to take root.
Orden noticed immediately, his cheerful smirk deepening into a look of genuine, delighted surprise. "Oh? You can stand? It must be the Dreamer's Grace! It seems my dear uncle Cang is now looking after you!"
Roy clenched his fists, the strange, protective energy swirling behind his eyes defying Orden's invisible, absolute pressure. "Who… how… why are you…?"
Before he could articulate a coherent question, Orden, with a casual, almost bored tug, snapped the helicopter door open even further, letting in a fierce, screaming gust of wind. The helicopter lurched violently, and a cacophony of warning lights and shrill alarms erupted from the console. JFK, his face a mask of panicked concentration, wrestled with the controls. Eryndra, Zehrina, and the Presidroids remained pinned, helpless, by Orden's silent, absolute command.
Roy gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the chopper's bucking interior wall. "Stop it! You'll crash us!"
Orden offered him a gentle, unconcerned shrug. "Nope. You are perfectly safe with me," he replied, his voice as flippant and casual as if they were discussing the weather. "You, though…" His gaze locked onto Roy's, a flicker of something ancient and immensely powerful in his childlike eyes. "…you're interesting. I suppose my dear father was right about you after all."
Then, just as swiftly as it had begun, Orden relaxed. The invisible, conceptual weight on Eryndra, Zehrina, and the others lifted instantly. They gasped, tension draining from their suddenly freed limbs. JFK regained full control of the lurching chopper, expertly evening out the flight.
Eryndra coughed, her voice a raw, angry rasp. "Hey, kid! What's your deal?!"
"We'll talk after we land," Roy growled, his heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He motioned sharply to JFK. "Take us down. Carefully."
Orden, unruffled, folded his hands primly behind his back and perched neatly beside Roy. The helicopter descended onto a wide, flat expanse of shattered rock. A thick plume of gray dust billowed around them as the skids finally touched down. Before Roy could even issue the command to disembark, Orden hopped out onto the rubble in a single graceful step.
They tromped across the ruined, desolate mountainside, their boots crunching on the loose scree, approaching the massive white shape that continued to shift and stir beneath a collapsed section of the mountain. Steam and dust mingled in the air, a hot, acrid combination that stung Roy's eyes and throat. JFK and one of the Elite Presidroids stayed back with the helicopter, scanning the surrounding area for any further threats. Eryndra, Zehrina, Roy, and Orden advanced in a tense, cautious silence.
A deep, resonant rumble echoed through the broken cliffs before things turned eerily quiet. Rocks and pebbles tumbled from the pale white surface, revealing a broad, scaleless mass that seemed to drink the very sound from the air. Roy realized with a dawning, sickening sense of disbelief that this was just a small, insignificant portion of something far, far larger, something of truly impossible scale, still buried beneath the earth.
Orden, utterly unfazed, casually waved a hand. "Father," he called out, his cheerful, lilting voice carrying easily in the still air. "We have visitors. Do try to be nice."
That's when the colossal form shifted in earnest. A giant, draconic head, as pale as bleached bone, poked free from the crumbling, shattered mountain. Just the head alone was larger than the mountain it had been resting under. Milky, eyeless slits marked where its eyes should have been. The being exhaled slowly, a gust of wind so powerful it rippled the air with raw, untamed energy. Roy's throat clenched. Eryndra stiffened beside him, her hand instinctively moving to Roy's own. Zehrina took a half-step back, her face a mask of stunned, silent awe.
An awkward, heavy hush followed, broken only by the sound of distant, falling rocks. Then, a thunderous, yet oddly apologetic voice boomed, seeming to emanate from the very earth beneath their feet. "Oh. Hello hello hello, tiny friends. My name is Ciego. Please, do forgive the mess. I cannot see you, of course, but I can hear your hearts pounding quite furiously. Did I… did I perhaps frighten you?"
Roy's adrenaline spiked, his own heart now threatening to beat its way out of his chest.
Ciego's massive head tilted, a gesture that nearly caused another rockslide. "Wait! The… the social protocol guide I overheard a thousand years ago from some very loud dwarves suggested that a parting should be accompanied by a genuine, heartfelt compliment to foster goodwill!" His voice boomed with the uncertainty of someone desperately trying to follow a complex recipe. "So. Roy Gunn. Your… your joints sound incredibly smooth when you walk. The sheer joy of youthful cartilage, am I right? It is… a most pleasing acoustic feature!"
Roy froze, he had absolutely no response to that.
Zehrina took an involuntary, stumbling step closer to Roy. "That's… that's a dragon unlike any we have seen." she whispered, her voice tight with a mixture of terror and disbelief.
Orden smiled, a wide, proud, almost blindingly bright expression. "Isn't my Father impressive!? He's absolutely unstoppable, only one could ever challenge him, you know. Utterly magnificent." He turned his beaming face toward the others. As he did, a smaller figure, looking exactly like Orden but clad in a tattered, shadowy cloak of pure black, peeked cautiously from behind one of Ciego's immense, chin-horn ridges. The figure wore an almost fearful, hunted expression, and the moment it realized they'd spotted it, it slunk away, vanishing into the deep, impenetrable shadows of the cracked, broken mountain.
"Pay him no mind, he is shy," Ciego rumbled, his voice a low, gentle thunder. "Most of my children have already left home. Orden is… despite being the oldest, isn't so...adventurous."
Roy exchanged a baffled, uncertain glance with Eryndra and Zehrina. Before he could even begin to formulate a response, Lutrian's voice, tinny and frantic, exploded from his earpiece. "C-Captain! That's the Amaurotic Dragon who disappeared five thousand years ago! He's is Pre-Primordial! Even the gods themselves would not dare to even approach him! Best behavior, Captain! For the love of all that is sacred, best behavior!"
The urgent warning rang in Roy's mind. He took a shaky, steadying breath. "So, you're Ciego, the Amaurotic Dragon? So that means… you are blind?"
A guttural, almost shy chuckle rumbled from beneath the layers of collapsed stone, shaking more pebbles loose from the cliff face. "Yes, that is correct, in a sense. I have no eyes, but I hear everything. I have, in fact, heard everything… ever." A faint, almost bashful grin seemed to stretch across what little they could see of his immense muzzle. "I know of you, Roy."
Roy coughed, a dry, nervous sound, completely unsure of how to respond to such a statement. "That's… nice," he offered lamely, his mind still reeling. This enormous, ancient, probably all-powerful being had been sleeping under a random mountain this whole time.