Whispers Beneath the Earth

"This is… quite concerning…"

An old mage stroked his beard as he contemplated a gigantic stone colossus shaped like a sleeping dragon.

The colossus seemed to slumber peacefully within the cavern. But the elder, Meldior, one of the four archmages of the Isle of Mages, knew the truth.

That massive statue was, in fact, an ancient dragon. And his posture wasn’t one of peaceful sleep at all. He had been resting after annihilating half the army of one of the demon kings who had roamed the world since the ancestral era (vestiges of the original evil’s power).

That legendary battle became one of the defining events that later gave the "Legendary Era" its name, and it made possible the victory of human forces over that demon king.

Fortunately, the dragon had also been gravely wounded, which allowed the demons’ curse to overpower it during its slumber and turn it into the stone colossus it is today.

And why fortunately? Because Meldior knew that if the dragon had defeated the Demon King, it would have left the Abyss to ravage all the surrounding kingdoms before eventually returning to the cavern network.

The ancient dragon, according to legend, was a natural catastrophe, and the very reason no powerful nations had ever taken root in that part of the continent.

Every few centuries, when humans forgot it existed and settled too close, the dragon would awaken and remind them.

But the last time it stirred was during the Demon King’s invasion…

The only ones spared from the dragon’s wrath were the original settlements, which even predated the creature itself, and the ancestral spirits dwelling in the deepest reaches of the Abyss, where they guarded one of the continent’s sacred Fountains of Life: accumulations of primordial magic and its secrets, unreachable even for the Isle of Mages.

That immeasurable amount of energy was what had triggered the Demon King’s invasion in the first place… Perhaps the dragon had also been guarding that Fountain of Life? Or was there some other secret the spirits were keeping?

Meldior had spent years in that network of caverns, both studying primordial magic and trying to earn the trust of the ancestral spirits, the name given on the Isle of Mages to the spirits of the Abyss. But unfortunately, not even one of the four archmages like him had achieved much on either front.

As if that weren’t enough, the fluctuation in the flow of magic he had sensed a few days earlier had not only erased every trace of the spirits for some reason, but had also caused fractures to appear in the stone that had once been the ancient dragon.

Yet these cracks didn’t mean the statue was about to collapse. No, magical energy had begun to seep from within the rock, the dragon was awakening once more…

In the present day, the territory beneath which the Abyss lay belonged to a small kingdom called Rindel. The kingdom barely reached twelve million inhabitants, a small number by Ameritia’s standards. In fact, most people in the continent’s great powers wouldn’t have heard its name, let alone know where to find Rindel on a map.

But that wasn’t a reason to let the kingdom be destroyed. According to the records of the Isle of Mages, the neighboring nations weren’t safe either.

At least a hundred million people would lose their lives if the dragon awoke.

"What can we do…"

Grrhhkk

Rrrughh…

Meldior’s deliberations were interrupted by guttural sounds behind him. They were the same abominable creatures as always.

In that network of caverns, where even a simple goblin could gain enough strength to defeat a band of seasoned adventurers, those twisted monsters were the true pinnacle.

"I am grateful to you, monsters, or whatever you may have been in life," Meldior said without turning, still watching the dragon. "Thanks to you, the caverns have not been disturbed or exploited indiscriminately, which kept the dragon from awakening sooner. But now it is time you received the rest you deserve."

The mage raised the staff he held in one hand and let it fall, the impact echoing through the rocky walls as a magic circle formed at its base.

The two Abyssal Spawn approaching him managed only one more step before they were evaporated by the pillars of light that burst beneath their feet.

After that, the old mage began walking back to his temporary residence, accompanied by the echo of his staff striking the rocky ground in steady rhythm.

***

Investigating why the ancient dragon had spared the original inhabitants of the region might be crucial for the survival of the kingdoms that had absorbed them since the dragon had been petrified.

Meldior sat meditating in his cherished chair inside the small cavern he had made his home in the Abyss.

"In any case, the first step is to alert the Isle of Mages…"

The mage sighed. It pained him deeply to interrupt his studies in the cavern, but he had no other option. He would have to return to the isle.

If the dragon awoke, Meldior alone would not be able to contain it. Perhaps if it were still wounded, or not fully recovered… but the old man had not reached this age by taking such gambles.

What was worse, if the Isle of Mages delayed in acting, he would have to summon his pupils scattered across Ameritia.

Although many of them already had students of their own, he loathed the thought of putting his beloved disciples in danger. Yet this was a situation that demanded the utmost haste.

After letting out a sigh of resignation, the old man rose from his chair with difficulty. Not because of his age, not at all. In the Abyss he had felt like a youth again, as if learning magic for the first time. It was because of the weight of the responsibility he had acquired, which would keep him from his studies. And that was what vexed him above all.

Once on his feet, the mage pulled a small pouch from one of the pockets of his robe and began placing all his belongings inside: his personal items, his treasured collection of books, his chair, his desk… his bed…