Ruins of a forgotten era

Acrid and cold. A pungent smell lurked on the surface of the molding stone, and the moss that carpeted her surroundings had warped and greyed significantly, as if life chose to shrink away from the environment.

“Do these ruins truly hold the name of the dragon?” Aelem marveled as she eyed the spectacle around her. “I wonder, why was it so readily worshipped?”

“The Nephilim once revered the dragons. At least, that is what few ancient texts that remain claim. All others seem to speak towards the hatred between the two. If you choose to believe the former, it would speak of how offering the leviathan your ‘body’ would lead a Nephilim to become a co-existing being. The Nephilim’s body would be strong enough to unconsciously resist the greed of the Dragon, and so they would choose to work together. Of course, something like that never came to fruition. Then, the Nephilim definitely wouldn't have died out."

There was an aura of longing churning in the eyes of the doll knight. Suddenly, Aelem's heart sunk. Never once had she considered that Omen's past had been somewhat like hers- a sense of loneliness. There were only so many of his kind left, in that way.

The architecture of the ruins had degraded significantly, but it still held a reverent fantastical sense about it. Archways were intricately carved with swirling runes, and there were a multitude of layered stone designs peaking through the moss-carpeted floor.

"Then, is that why the dragons started looking towards humans? They're much easier to manipulate- much easier to take over- much easier to 'greed'."

Omen nodded in response.

"It's likely that's the case. But for the Paragons, the 'why' has never mattered. The history of the Leviathans has never changed our target."

"Did you never discount that there may be some other way to stop this? For instance, do you even know the origin of the Leviathans? Can dead dragons truly walk on their own feet until they can find a vessel?"

Aelem suddenly grew a bit haughty, her words cutting deep into Omen as she chided their methods. His gaze grew a bit saddened, and he let out a sigh.

"We've only ever done what the Harbinger, my father has asked of us..."

"Is that what you're doing now?"

Omen was speechless. He failed a response, and just looked quietly at Aelem. Pursing his lips, his guilty smile crept upwards.

"No, you're quite right."

Aelem extended her hand upwards, and hesitantly, Omen inquired.

"What is this?"

"It's an invitation, and penance. If you really don't want to kill anymore, don't just save me." Aelem smiled. "Instead, make sure I'm the last of my kind."

The doll, who often looked as if he contained no semblance of emotion, now looked as if he contained every single emotion all at once. His face contorted with a sense of sadness, guilt, grief, and wonderment. He smiled despite it all, and took her hand in his.

"Then, will you help me?" Omen asked of her.

Aelem shook her head in turn.

"Why would you ask such a thing of me, Mr. Knight?" She laughed. "Aren't you supposed to protect me? Otherwise, what's the point of being a 'ward'?"

Omen's eyebrow twitched slightly, and he let out a deep sigh.

They continued to walk through the vast ruinous halls. Every so often, they would encounter skeletons that had nearly remained nothing but dust, otherwise calcifying into fossils within the stone. At first glance, they looked identical to what Aelem knew of human bones. She would encounter them periodically when wandering the wilderness. However, as she looked closer at them, the surface of the bones seemed almost imprinted with a faint, scalelike pattern that made her skin ache. She averted her eyes, trying not to think of such things, and allowed her quiet breaths to stabilise her anxious heart.

They soon came to a large cavern that looked as if the ruins had sunk into. Droves of sunlight poured through woven-branch canopies high above, and waterfalls spilled rivers onto the floor of moss and stone far below. Birds flew chirped near the cavern ceiling high above, and the whole environment was cloaked in reverie and silence. On a stone platform surrounded by a circle of archways far below them, there was an intricately-carved circular table, with a dozen highback chairs surrounding it. Omen's brows furrowed, and his hand immediately moved to grasp the hilt of his blade. His other hand raised to stop Aelem from moving forward.

Far below them, sitting on the table, a shadow sat cross-legged, holding an ornate ancient stone tablet in its arms. It had the basic form of a human, but the majority of its skin had been overtaken by bright-red sharpened scales, its skin rotting and peeling away where they hadn't. Out of the rotting cadaver, a mixture of oil and black residue had long-leaked out, now dried against its wilting skin. Strangely, however, with bright-yellow eyes that contained pupils like slits, the figure looked straight up at Omen from a distance.

"Is something wrong?" Aelem, who had not yet spotted the figure, looked up at Omen with a sense of worry.

Omen nodded slightly, but his gaze didn't move from the figure who stared back up at him.

"It's time to be a 'protector', my dearest ward."