Throughout the world, soft vibrations rolled from the earth and caused
the ground to tremble. A lone crimson spark spat up from the decaying
mouth of the ancient power of the Flame of Yggdrasil, followed by
spluttering flames that stained the sky the colour of dawn. Seething
tendrils of gold and amber flailed, tearing at the sky and burning the
air as plumes of smoke turned the sky into a darkened scene of shadow.

It was at the final surge that Han-Tolneth let his plea known, before
the fire died.

"The Flame of Yggdrasil rallies for support, Sapience. Would you ignore
its call?"

As Sapience gathered, they stood worried before Han-Tolneth as he paced
back and forth. "So long has the Flame lain comatose, the primal flame
near dormant. What causes this sudden activity, I wonder?"

"But of course! How could I not have guessed this already? Friends! The
Logos prevails, hidden from our sight with His work set before Him." He
raised his hands to the heavens, hope flickering in his eyes as hot
embers pulsed from Yggdrasil, the lambent fire flaring once more.

With a sweeping gesture, Han-Tolneth motioned to the flame. "Even now,
Sarapis works with the Fire behind the Flame. See the fruits of His
labour before you now! We must aid Him in His endeavour. The Flame of
Yggdrasil shall rise once more. Fan the fire, my friends, and replenish
the Flame, for there is hope that it may be restored."

Many tried, but all failed to bring the flame back to life, and the
Han-Tolneth returned to pacing once more. With a frown upon his brow, he
turned to face the gathering. "Do not lose heart that the Flame fails to
rekindle. Have hope, for a solution will be found. Pray with your might,
for a miracle may be necessary."

With his gaze still shadowed, he looked over the congregation before his
eyes widened. "But of course... There is one who holds the power of the
Fire behind the Flame deep within. There can be no more fitting than he
to rekindle Yggdrasil." With a sharp clap of his hands, Han-Tolneth
commanded silence.

"The Patriarch of the Dragons - Sycaerunax! How to summon him... how...
Sycaerunax, Father of Dragons, how do we summon you? I have heard great
stories of old," he mused, as he continued, "I talk, of course, of the
world of Krenindala... When the wyrms of the sky were rallied by an
ancient call... Yes! Yes!"

The gaze of Han-Tolneth searched the crowed once more, "The call of the
dragons..." and with a mutter, his glance rested upon one, Silas
Maynard. "You there, Silas Maynard. I beseech you to use call to the
Patriarch. Go ahead! Call forth to Sycaerunax with your dragoncall!"

Doing as bid, the gigantic form of Silas threw back his scaled, red head
and bellowed up towards the sky. Within moments, a giant fissure ripped
through the fabric of reality and the enormous, magnificent form of the
Patriarch of the Dragons plunged through the rift.

"Hark the ancient call of your brethren, Dragon Father!" Han-Tolneth
shouted to make his voice heard. "Do as you are destined: relight the
sacred flame!"

Billowing, white-hot flames seared the rift in the sky closed before the
great Sycaerunax roared, his colossal wingspan tucked tight against his
body and he dove. Downwards the dragon plunged until he landed within
the World Tree. With a groan, the branches of Yggdrasil leaned
helplessly towards the ancient Patriarch.

Drawing upon a huge breath, the primal power grew within Sycaerunax
before he released it in a blaze of flame, the heat scorching the air
around him as the searing inferno coursed into the heart of the Flame of
Yggdrasil. The ancient fire of the World Tree surged with life under the
torrent of the scorching lustre, fresh leaves unfurled from the gnarled
branches and a pulse of life rippled through Sapience.

With awe, all watched the massive dragon as he turned his ferocious gaze
to those gathered, settling briefly upon his kin. His fathomless orbs
settled upon the wizened Dragonmaster and the Father of Dragons inclined
his head.

"Now the world has inexplicably altered, the land crushed beneath the
influential power of the Worldreaver. Now, with the renewal of the Flame
of Yggdrasil, the world shall grow, ignited anew by the ancient,
primordial power. Come, Dragonmaster. Let us heal the last of the rifts
caused by the terrible Bal'met."

With sure steps, Han-Tolneth approached the Father of Dragons and
gripped upon his jagged scales before joisting himself to rest upon the
massive shoulders. At once, the magnificent wings of the ancient beast
stroked through the air, carrying the pair out of the hollow. Soaring
higher, the great dragon circled the sky over the sprawling sands of the
Mhojave Desert.

Atop the mighty wyrm, the Dragonmaster raised his hands aloft, a
glowing sceptre of power brightening between his fingertips. "Let the
blood of the sacred brood be strengthened once more!" With each passing
moment, the light intensified until streaks of luminescence arched and
wove from the shimmering orb before it shattered, radiant fragments
falling downwards.

Sycaerunax swept through the sky, releasing stream after stream of
seething dragon fire, the white-hot flames caressing the lustrous shards
as they fell. With their light fading, the molten pieces shifted and
altered, their surface crackling until they landed within the sand of
the desert, sending the ground trembling.

"It is done. The relics of the great wyrms now exist within mortal
perception. You are gifted, beings of Achaea, with the beacons of the
Dragonhood!" Hal-Tolneth gestured to the desert floor. "For each aspect
of Dragonhood there exists an ancient treasure. Let the knowledge of the
dragons course through you in their presence, for they are each a
representation of the power a dragon may wield."

With a bellow, Sycaerunax beat his mighty wings and rose within the sky.
"Cast a beacon alight when your journey toward my kin is complete. Only
then shall I grant you the powers of Dragonhood, and only then shall you
be allowed sanctuary within the Parthren Gare."

With the air rippling around the mighty dragon, he flicked his alabaster
wings and broke through the fabric of reality, vanishing into the
unknown beyond and leaving Sapience with its new, treasured gift.

Penned by My hand on the 13th of Scarlatan, in the year 618 AF.