Those That Stand

The final landing is a painless one, as Silovar had promised. Osthryn dismounts almost immediately, finding the grass between her fingers the moment she touches ground. Silvery grey smoke envelopes her for a second, and she turns around to see Silovar, now again in human form, sitting cross legged on the grass and studying her intently.

“What?" Osthryn asks, sitting back on her heels, her fists letting go of the clumps of grass she still clings to.

“You look good in Bronze. It suits you."

Osthryn studies his face, trying to detect any of his usual teasing and taunting, and not finding any. Was that him being sincere for once? If that is the case, he is rapidly becoming more sincere than Osthryn is used to. It throws her off balance, along with the bronze flower that glints from his coat lapel. It irks her that she has no barb with which to launch a retort, and yet she appreciates the sincerity, and the compliment, all the same.

Osthryn smiles. “Your scales aren’t that bad either. Not to die for, but I might kill something for them.” She considers her own words for a moment. “Something small, like a rabbit."

Silovar chuckles. “At least they are worth something. But congratulations, you had two firsts today."

Osthryn backtracks a bit as she realises what has happened. Her hand rises to her cheek, and her finger taps three times. Human flesh. Pristine. But minutes ago, she was a Dragon in full force, and in her ecstasy of her first “flight" she did not even realise it. As a young dragon, she had often sprouted wings during the “tests" to break her fall, though never fully transforming, but that was beaten out of her quickly. Today she had done both. She called forth her scales, and she flew.

“You are right," Osthryn agrees, slightly breathless. “I hardly noticed, I was trying so hard to use my wings that I did not realise that I had them."

 Silovar chuckles. “I don’t know if using them was the right word for what was happening back there, but they were there, and you did manage to stay in the air."

“Let’s make it one first. Whatever I tried to do was more like gliding than flying."

“Whatever you say, but in all seriousness, I would count it as flying."

A shimmer of light flashes across the periphery of Osthryn’s vision. She turns and only now notices the pristine blue lake reflecting the light of the mid-morning suns. Osthryn twists her neck around and takes in their landing spot for the first time. They are sitting on a grassy gnoll on the mountain slope, an idyllic valley below them, and the mountains looming behind them. It is open grassland, with sparse trees dotting the slopes, and mighty reed-banks populating the edges of the perfectly still lake. Osthryn squints her eyes to try to focus on eight massive grey shapes rising on the slope on the other side of the lake.

“Come!" Silovar says, grabbing her hand and helping her up. “Come see my fairy hill."

Not leaving her hand, Silovar takes off at a run, Osthryn stumbling once or twice to follow. She matches his pace soon enough. He might be taller, but she had proven to herself today that she is as much a Dragon as he, and running is far simpler than flying. The stillness of the lake is even more profoundly evident as they pass along its shore. It’s as if it is made of glass. The only indication that it is truly a liquid is the occasional waterfowl gliding atop it.

They round the shore. Osthryn marvels at the idyllic stillness and peace of their surroundings. Civilisation has yet to touch this part of the world, save for the eight grey stones looming closer and larger as they approach them. There are no trees surrounding the stones, which is likely why Osthryn struggles to estimate their size. By the time they arrive among them, the stones stand taller than the average home in Mountainkeep, creating a ring that is suspiciously just large enough to comfortably accommodate a Dragon of Silovar’s size.

Silovar stops, then slowly leads Osthryn by the hand to stand in the middle of the circle. The standing stones are placed at precise distances from each other, and each stone is perfectly carved, their faces marred only by weathering and moss. The area within the stones is paved, swirling motifs decorating the flat stones on which they walk. Osthryn notices that there are plenty of gaps for the foliage to have grown through and overtaken the ground beneath them, but the paving stones are swept clean, and not a blade of grass grows within the circle.

“What is this place?" Osthryn asks, letting go of Silovar’s hand and gingerly stepping forward to the stone nearest to her – running her fingers over the symbols carved into it. “The Standing Stones," Silovar replies simply, his voice low and reverent. Osthryn stops tracing the symbol, letting her finger rest on the end of the Dragon’s tail that it depicts. “They are beautiful,” she whispers. “What are they for?”

“They are, aren’t they? Do you feel it?"

Osthryn bites back a retort that he is avoiding his question, and pauses, closing her eyes. Like in the rest of the valley so far, all she feels is the quiet peace. She breathes deeply, searching deeper for what Silovar could mean by ‘it’. Then she feels it. It is not only quiet, but perfectly still. Not a sound comes to her that she or Silovar doesn’t make. She can hear her own breathing resonating loudly in her ears, in sync with Silovar’s breath. If she strains, she would be able to hear her own heartbeat. Not a single bird call, not the wind, not an insect’s buzz makes its way into this circle. It is the ultimate quiet. The epitome of peace.

The reverence that Silovar’s low whisper commands makes sense to her. These stones hold power. Osthryn’s eyes shoot open when Silovar’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder. His other hand points to the symbols carved on the stones. “Do you see it?"

Osthryn follows the direction of his fingers, but can see nothing beyond the symbols carved in the stone face. She looks questioningly at Silovar. “What must I see?"

Each syllable echoes in the strange silence. He gives a sad smile. “In the air, around you. Look between the stones and the symbols on them."

Osthryn turns and tries to see, but nothing shows itself. Besides the very well-kept paving stones and the weathered symbols themselves, nothing stands out to her. She shakes her head.

Silovar walks to the stone across from him, touching the symbol carved on it and bringing his hand like the motion of flowing waves to each of the other stones, touching the symbols as he does.

“Like shimmering waves, the air weaves between each of these stones. It is like a ward – but it does not keep us out, it seals the magic here so that it cannot be tampered with. If you could see it, you would see threads like a spider’s web spanning between the stones, connecting at the symbols on each of the stones, and almost fluttering in the wind. It is beautiful, and it is haunting. It was laid here when the stones were first erected, possibly over two thousand years ago."

“What was it laid here to seal?" Osthryn asks. She knows she is only imagining what Silovar described to her, but the faintest whisper of a shimmer manifests itself between the stones before fading as quickly as it appeared.

“A beacon."

“A beacon? For who?"

“For us," Silovar grins. Osthryn gives half an eye roll.

“No, really," Silovar continues. “This is for us. Dragons. It is a Resurrection Henge."

Osthryn shakes her head, a disbelieving smile creeping over her face. “A Resurrection Henge?"

“You heard me. Your elders neglected to teach you the basics of Dragonkind’s existence, so I will not be surprised to hear that you did not know we can resurrect ourselves."

“Resurrect ourselves? How? Using magic is one thing, but using it when you are truly dead?"

“Dragons are never truly dead, Osthryn. We are immortal."