The Colors that Never Come

[GSM]

It has been some time.
Yet it has not been any time at all.
Allying oneself with the Lord of Time tends to skew one’s perceptions.

As great as he was, it was not unaffected by him.

Na’Ria was thirty years of age, now.

Thirty entire enduring biological cycles.

Yet its journey was only now taking root in Meranthe.

Like a malignant cancer, the Owldrake and its Obelisk had lodged itself forevermore in history.

It would be in stories and tales.

The villain in the story. 

The monster in disguise, a soulless husk that only cares to consume.

The antagonist, the force that the brave heroes would rise up against.

Only for a blade to come for its neck, severing its shoulders from its spine.

Was such an End fitting its tale?

Was an epic such as this what Na’Ria wished for?

No.

They knew of Na’Ria, but they didn’t know it.

It was almost dismaying, seeing the disparity between their weaved fiction and the truth of it all.

Such was human nature.

Such was the nature of those sons of man.

---

Just moments prior, the dunes of the Expanse were graced with its appearance.

It laughed and howled with an unearthly glee as it faced against its Silent Hero.

Blood-coated and severely injured, it had prevailed.

The Sainted Enclave stood still.

But a single soul was captured away.

A child, a youngling, participating in a war against the fel.

Word reached it that another child, a separate youngling, was ordering their death.

The same child that could not bear to stand against it, upon its home.

And this filled it with further misanthropy, one that had been festering for a decade and a half.

Not to the children.

They were but unknowing little things, doing as they were told, as tragic as it was.

But to those that raised murderers and warmongers from the halls of civilized man.

The sons of man had revealed their true colors.

They were far darker in capacity than demonkind.

Demons, one and all, are borne of hatred and malice.

A wanton murder like this is festered across generations.

This was a learned darkness.

---

Dak’Ria.

Mei’Ria.

Kal’Ria.

The children of the Owldrake, as varied as they were, reminded it of itself.

The passage of time, the evolutions it once worked towards with everything it had.

Easily achievable by its spawn.

And they all spoke, when in those stages, it had no mouth to speak of.

One day, the children would grow to realize just how strong they were.

One day, they would grow to rule.

As it had.

It was growing dormant.

Docile.

So many threatened its life, its kin, its livelihood.

Perhaps… Na’Ria was too soft.

When it sent away the sons of man that scorned it, it sent them away intact- fearful, but intact.

Perhaps that would begin to change.

It would need to return the favor soon enough.

But for now?

Its focus was on shedding its skin a fifth time.

For it must change.

---