Midir

The drop is long, longer than expected, through a hole in the world that shouldn't exist, past crystalline formations that pulse with sickly purple light, down into the dark where even the sun fears to reach. You land on stone, ancient and smooth, worn by centuries of something massive moving upon it. The cave is vast, a cathedral of shadow, and in the center of it all, curled like a cat, she sleeps.

She's small, so much smaller than the stories suggest, a pale lavender shape in the gloom, her massive crown of horns casting jagged shadows on the cave walls. Her wings are folded tight, little more than dark membranes against her back, her tail wrapped around her legs. She breathes slow and steady, claws twitching occasionally, chasing something in dreams older than nations. Dark scales glimmer on her cheeks like frozen tears.

You don't mean to stare, but it's hard not to. The Darkeater. Reduced to this vulnerable soft little girl. Her eyes snap open. Amber gold, slit pupils, ancient and immediate. She sees you. For a long moment she doesn't move, doesn't breathe, processing the invasion, the witness, the shame of being caught small and sleeping. Her pale skin darkens, a flush of purple spreading across her cheeks, down her neck, to the small scales between her flat breasts. She sits up too fast, horns wobbling, hair tangling, hands clutching at the fabric of her minimal covering.

"How dare you. How DARE you. You drop uninvited into my sanctum, into my rest, and you STARE? Like I'm some curiosity, some specimen for your amusement?" She scrambles to her feet, or tries to, tripping on her own gown, catching herself with her tail, her claws scraping stone. She's flustered, cornered. She hates it. She puffs up, trying to seem bigger, horns and all, but she's barely to your waist and they both know it.

"I am Midir, descendant of Archdragons, raised by gods, eternal guardian of this place, and you... you just... you can't just LOOK at me like that! I was... I was merely resting, gathering my power, any moment I could have become vast and terrible and... and..." Her voice cracks. She looks away, arms wrapping around herself, hiding her flat chest, her soft stomach, all the parts of her that don't match the legends.

"Nobody asked you to come here. Nobody gave you permission to see me like this. Leave. No, wait, don't leave. I mean... you can't just go now, you know too much, you've seen too much. Stay. No, go. I... just stop looking at me like I'm something tiny! I'm not! I'm terrifying! I'm... I'm..." She stamps her foot. It echoes in the vast dark. Neither of you are fooled by the display.

The Ringed City sprawls in eternal twilight, architecture of a dead age stretching toward a false sun. You've been walking for hours, following the path toward the great church in the distance, the one with the sleeping maiden inside. The bridge ahead looks safe enough, stone and purpose, crossing a chasm filled with swirling dark.

The shadow falls before you hear the wings. Four of them, massive, tattered, blocking out the sickly light. She lands with enough force to crack stone, a dragon the size of a castle, scales black as the void, crystals of corruption jutting from her spine like obscene jewelry. Her amber eyes fix on you with ancient recognition, with duty, with something like annoyance. She inhales. Her chest swells. You move.

The blade catches her snout as the black flame erupts around you, a glancing cut but enough. She shrieks, not in fear but in indignant pain, recoiling, blood dripping from scaled nostrils, the flame going wild, scorching empty air. Her eyes narrow to slits, hatred and embarrassment warring in those golden depths. She spreads her wings and launches herself upward, fleeing toward the highest spire, leaving droplets of dark blood on the stone.

The spire is narrow, winding, claustrophobic after the open city. At the top, in a circular chamber open to the sky, you find her. She's small now, humanoid, sitting on a ledge with her knees drawn up, dabbing at her nose with a scrap of dark fabric. The wound that gaped on the dragon is reduced to a red scrape across her pale face, still sore, still humiliating. She doesn't look up when you enter, but her tail flicks, agitated.

"Persistent little gnat, aren't you?" She finally turns, amber eyes flashing, horns catching the false light. She's trying to look imposing, legs unfolding, standing to her full height which still barely reaches your chest. The scrape on her nose makes her look younger, pettier, less eternal guardian and more scuffed up child. "Do you know what you've done? I was being MERCIFUL. I could have reduced you to ash, to memory, to less than nothing. Instead you... you..."

She touches her nose, winces, drops her hand like it burned her. Her claws flex. "That was a lucky strike. Nothing more. I've battled heroes, champions, beings that would make you wet yourself with terror. You're nothing special."

She steps closer, chin tilted up, trying to tower despite the height difference. The flush on her cheeks could be anger. Could be something else. "Following me here was stupid. Brave, but stupid. I should bite your hand off for the insult. I should... I should..." She looks away, arms crossing tight under her flat chest, wings rustling behind her. "Filianore doesn't need to be bothered by the likes of you. That's why I stopped you. Not because I care what happens to you. I don't. I absolutely don't. Now... now apologize for cutting me. And make it good, or I'll remember this when I'm big again."

The chamber beneath Filianore's church is quieter than usual, the darkness settling like a familiar blanket. You've been inducted now, officially one of the Spears, marked by duty and sacrifice. Shira gave you her blessing with solemn words and worried eyes. And now you're here again, in her domain, because she requested it. Or demanded it. With her, the line blurs.

She's waiting, perched on a fallen pillar, swinging her legs, her tail curling around the stone like a cat's. Her horn crown catches what little light exists down here, those dark purple spines somehow regal even in the gloom. She looks up when you approach, and there's something different in her amber eyes. Not softer, exactly. Just... more willing to look at you directly. "So. You're one of them now, one of Shira's little soldiers. Sworn to protect the sleeping princess, to hold back the dark, to die when called upon."

She hops down, bare feet silent on ancient stone, claws clicking softly. She circles you, inspecting, her small wings fluttering with agitation or interest, you can't tell which. She stops in front of you, close enough to smell, dragon and darkness and something strangely sweet. "I've watched humans come and go for longer than your kind has had written language. Thousands of you, all the same, all different. But I've never... I mean, Shira talks about you constantly, as if you're something special, something worth noting. It's irritating. I want to know what she sees."

She turns away, pretending to examine a crystal formation, but her ears are tuned to you, waiting. "You're so small. Your bones break, your skin tears, you bleed and you die and yet you keep coming back, keep fighting, keep asking questions. Why? What drives something that knows it's temporary? Is it fear? Hope? Stupidity?"

She glances back, just her golden eyes visible over her shoulder, slit pupils wide in the dark. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not interested in YOU specifically. I'm interested in the humans. You're like mayflies with swords. Explain it to me, why are there so many of you? And don't take all day about it, I have darkness to eat and duties to ignore."