With the mutants dead, the dragon turned its attention to the foot of the mountain at the far end of the glen. With another triumphant roar of flame, it purged the malignant growths of the Scourge from the stone. However, the dragon did not relent as the corruption was burned away. Its fire turned from orange, to yellow, and finally to brilliant white as it melted away stone and sediment. At last the dragon relented, and as the steam, smoke and melting rock cleared, a great silhouette appeared in the rock face. Three times the size of the dragon that Flint had been tracking, smooth shapes of purest white shined through, utterly untouched by fire. The preserved skeleton of a massive dragon was eventually revealed in all of its glory, and the lesser wyrm roared to greet its ancient ancestor.
Flint wasted no time in notching an additional arrow onto his bow, pulling the string back with an almost audible creak. He had been hiding in the thick brush as the dragon made meals of the mutants, and had silently made his way closer through the bushes. He had a clear line of sight to the dragon's neck, and was now calculating the wind's movements in his mind, making micro-adjustments to the position of his arm. Suddenly, the dragon turned its head to face Flint.
Flint fired.
The dragon roared, engulfing the twin arrows in flame, splintering and burning their wooden shafts midair. The dragon stared at the archranger, as if slighted by his attempt at assassination. It took two steps toward Flint, who stood motionless, going through every bit of survival training in his mind. Before Flint could surmise a plan, the dragon grunted for a moment, before taking off into the sky. Flint reached for an arrow from his quiver, though, he hesitated. The dragon had the opportunity to
kill him, and yet, it had flown away. Flint paused, before letting go of the arrow's delicate fletching. The archranger was not a man known for his mercy, though out of a sense of sportsmanship, or perhaps gratefulness, he decided to leave the creature be for now.
Flint dropped to the ground for a moment, catching himself with one knee. He was exhausted, and with the adrenaline of the encounter wearing off, the state of his mind and body were quickly becoming apparent. Flint stood up with a grunt, twisting in both directions to crack his back, and began to make his way towards the dragon's skeleton to investigate. It was undamaged by the fire, which seemed peculiar, though Flint figured with the arrival of dragons, he should expect peculiarity.
Flint reached the skeleton, pausing to wonder how old it was. The teeth were as tall as he stood, and still retained a sharp, serrated edge. Flint carefully placed a boot on the side of one of the teeth and pulled himself up and over, landing on both feet and a hand. The inside of the dragon's skull was surprisingly warm, with an earthy smell. Flint took a seat with a hard
thud. He desperately needed to rest, and since he was now only investigating the skeleton, seeing as it didn't seem like it would
change any time soon, a short rest was more than warranted. Flint leaned back, pulling his cowl further over his head, and closed his eyes.
Flint stirred, opening his eyes. He was no longer sitting in the mouth of the dragon, but standing at the foot of the mountain. Surrounding him was an impossibly thick mist, scattered with tiny flitting spots of light that twinkled like miniature stars. The mountain before him was as tall as it had been before, though it was now a steely silver rather than stone, and the skeletal dragon embedded inside was missing. In its place was a clearing, as if it had been carved out of the mountain, with a circular stone floor. There was a great shadow coming from the alabaster sky, though the glittering mist made it impossible to make out clearly.
The looming shadow grew bigger and bigger until it broke through the thick layer of clouds and mist shielding it from Flint's sight. It was a dragon, though not the dragon Flint had been tracking. It was
much bigger, with an ink-black coat of scales that made it seem like it was covered in hot pitch. Its eyes were without pupils and were as milky white as its teeth, and its tongue was a dark purple. It landed at the clearing on the mountain, and slowly turned to face Flint. The dragon opened its mouth, hissing at the archranger, who had noticed he was without his bow or dagger.
In the dargon's mouth was a small furled shape, which Flint stared at with a squint before realizing what it was -- Himself. Curled up to sleep and in the same garb he was wearing, at the same spot in the dragon's mouth as he currently slept. The beast growled a low-pitched gurgle before sending a plume of black fire towards him. Flint turned to move, though his legs felt as if they had been stuck to the floor, holding him in the fire's path. The fire enveloped him, concealing his view with an impenetrable blackness, though he remained unburned. Flint's visage had quickly become nothing but darkness, though in front of him, a small bit of light could be made out. The light grew and grew, turning green and focusing into the image of a forest -- Flint's forest.
He could recognize the forests of Borea anywhere. The oak trees and aspen, sycamore and redwood, were all friends to him. He was soaring above the Borean forests, his vision becoming clearer by the second. In the distance, the trees appeared to grow orange. Flint focused his eyes through the haze of his vision. The trees had not turned orange, they were
burning. As far as he could see, a clear and straight line on the horizon slowly crept towards him, incinerating the trees. Flint's body was frozen, though he continued forward through the air and towards the trees. Just beyond the line of fire, Flint noticed black shapes in the distance. An
army. They held banners, hacking through foliage wildly, leaping over trees and boulders like fleas. They had been touched by The Scourge, perhaps, or something far worse. Flint closed his eyes tightly.
Even with his eyes shut, the Archranger was not free from his visions. He was now back in the forest, riding a black and white speckled stallion. The horse's coat constantly shifted colors, from black to white and black again. As Flint rode, wings sprouted from the horse's back, and it took off into the sky. Its skin began to melt, peeling away to reveal a set of green-brown scales. It was the dragon Flint had been tracking, and it cackled at him with delight. Before Flint could respond to the transformation, the dragon rolled through the air, tossing him off his back. Flint turned to brace himself for impact, shutting his eyes tightly.
Flint opened his eyes once more. Though he had been falling towards the forest floor, he was now floating in a river. Snow fell lightly from the sky, covering about an inch of the shore, while the center of the river was filled with floating isles of ice and snow. On either side, tall trees sprouted from the ground, and the same mist that originally filled his dream had returned. Flint began to swim towards the shore, eagerly paddling away from the river's icy center. He blinked for a moment, and once again, was transported away.
Flint stood at the center of a brilliant green forest. In front of him were the rangers, all of them, in their entirety. Men of various heights and sizes wearing hide armor, dark green robes, and other familiar ranger garb stood at attention, all facing him, and all armed. Around them were stags, wolves, moose, badgers, and seemingly every denizen of the forest. Further around the circle, stranger creatures emerged from the thick brush. Centaurs stood watching from the shadows, and enormous walking trees were close behind. Flint looked down -- In one hand was a scepter, and in the other, a crown. Flint squinted his eyes in confusion, and looked up to find himself in a new land.
Again, Flint was surrounded by flames, and again, he was unburned. All around him were great hissing wyrms, spitting twisting plumes of flames at his pyre. The largest of the dragons sat in front of him, as if transported from his earlier dream. It was black with white eyes, and the same purple tongue he had remembered, though it did not bathe him in flames as the others did. Instead, it held a black horn in its mouth, cradling it delicately between its teeth. It limply let go of the horn, nudging it towards Flint with its nose. Flint blinked again.
Flint woke up with a gasp, covered in a cold sweat. The once white sky was now a dark blue -- Gods only knew how long he had been sleeping. Flint rolled to his side, and felt a small object on his chest. He turned to view it, and pulled himself back into the edge of the great dragon's teeth. There, as if laid by some strange miracle, was the horn. It was made out of a black wood, with a barely visible imprint burned into the side. Inspecting it closely, Flint immediately recognized the etching. It was the skeleton of a great, black dragon.
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