Chapter Text
“Firstborn!” The sylvari Mender runs out towards her as she approaches, panic clear in every motion. “Thank the Pale Mother you’ve come, we’ve done everything we could--”
Caithe waves a hand dismissively, already gazing past the flustered Mender. “The Pale Tree sent me here to defend the Dream. Do what you must to send me inside, we have little time.”
“What?” Genuine confusion grows across the Mender’s face. “Firstborn, I…”
“Surely you know of the threat to the Dream.” Caithe cannot keep the slivers of annoyance from prickling her speech.
“I… Well, yes of course, but…”
“Spit it out. We are running out of time.”
“Firstborn, it's one of the Dreamers. A pod is burning.”
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She walks a winding path in a twisted wood and does not know why. The moon glows pale above her and the creaking branches of bare trees obscure her vision of the night sky. Twice, the tops of the trees have curved to frame the moon, a crescent formed by the arching branches, mirroring the celestial body above. She knows such a symbol should mean something, but she does not know what it means or why she knows such things.
Beings whose forms she cannot discern scurry in the shadows, using the night to mask their routines. She continues, steadfast on the worn path below her feet, perhaps a deer trail or the path of those who have walked this trail before her.
In the corner of her eye, there is a rustling in the trees and a pale figure darts between the gnarled trunks of the forest. The figure moves quickly and their dark clothing obscures their full form but she knows it must be someone like her.
“Wait!” The word slips from her mouth unbidden and she is nearly shocked at the sound. Has she spoken before? She does not know. The forest itself seems to tense as the word shatters the silence of the night and the figure stops, turning a pale face towards her. Its features form an expression of muted curiosity and it takes a step in her direction.
A roar shatters the moment between them and the forest grows darker than before. She feels an unimaginable weight pressing down upon her, and she resists the urge to cover her ears against the pressure. She looks up, and sees a being larger than she can comprehend. It grows from the forest, trees twisting upwards, perverted into the creation of a being who she knows, without a doubt, does not belong here. Its eyes burn like fire and veins run through its skin with the same sickly glow. One great eye turns to her and a snarl echoes across the forest.
It knows I am here. It has come for me. She is not afraid. She should be afraid. She turns, pale figure forgotten, and a smile, sharp as a sickle, grows across her face. I am meant for this.
There is a tugging in her gut and she raises her arms from her sides, palms facing forward. The ground erupts beneath her feet, growing into a mountain that stretches upwards, carrying her towards the sky, towards the dragon. It crushes the forest beneath it as she rises and she distantly hears someone shouting.
She is level with the beast’s eyes now, and she thrusts a hand upwards, air crackling with her every motion. Pressure builds around her hand and she snaps it shut into a fist, jumping off the mountain and shouting as she leaps forward, lightning sizzling through the sky with her motion, striking the dragon repeatedly around its wings. It shrieks, falling to the ground and her momentum carries her forward towards it. Falling, she engulfs her body in flames, like a comet streaking towards the flailing beast. She sees the tops of the trees closest to her burst into flames as she passes by. She plummets into the beast’s side, burning through layers of its skin. As the vines that form the monster struggle to reconnect, some cauterized by her descent, she grabs the earth once more, bringing it up into a cruelly curved knife as big as the beast itself. As she jumps from its side, she brings the knife down, into the wound and hears the beast shriek once more. She lands and rolls away from it, nearly laughing at how easy it all was. Why did it come for me? I was always going to win.
“Dreamer!” The shout comes from behind her and she whirls, already on the defensive. It is the figure from before -- a woman, skin as white as a lily petal and clothes formed of dark green leaves -- with her eyes wide and a hand outstretched towards her. She realizes, with a start, that the forest around her is burning. She reaches a hand outwards, momentarily distracted from the woman, reaching towards the flames, searching for something to make them stop.
Nothing is there. The flames leap higher and for the first time she is afraid. A strangled cry leaps from her throat as she reaches both hands out towards the raging fire that she started and now cannot contain.
A hand grabs her shoulder, pulling her around to face its owner, who lets out a sharp cry and recoils, palm singed. Suddenly, she realizes the fire is around her, burning up the surrounding air, and she cries out again.
“Help me!” She cries to the figure. “Please, I don’t know how to stop it!”
A roar deafens her, and a giant claw formed from vine and earth slashes through the air. She is thrown to the side, slamming into a smoldering tree trunk, and through the sharp pain of cracking bones she feels the flames around her subside.
With agony comes relief.
Another roar, a death-cry from the beast, already near its end. Her vision swims, but she sees the woman approaching her, daggers in hand. She wonders if the woman will kill her. Can she die? She is not sure if she has even lived yet.
The woman sheathes her daggers, and kneels beside her. There is a distant roaring in her ears.
“Dreamer.” The woman’s voice is clear and strong. She clings to it even as she slips from the world. “I am Caithe. Find me when you wake.”
She feels herself fade, and yet, she knows -- somehow -- that her story has just begun.