Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Emmanellain arrived on the steps of his home, grateful that the wobble in his mildly inebriated legs hadn’t sent him sprawling before getting home.The party had been more grand than he’d expected. Though that was foolish of him to think.

The Warrior of Light had made many a friend and ally through their travels, so of course a grand collection would show for a party honoring his achievements. He’d never seen such a collection of unique individuals within the walls of Ishgaurd, it was not unlike their trek through Garlamald’s frozen wastes.

People from all lands and walks of life, enjoying drink and merriment, all for the accomplishments of one man.

He was glad though. He owed a great deal to Meteor for all that he’d done.Saving his country from a millennia long war. Saving his brother from near death. Gods, he remembered that day more clearly than he would prefer. Seeing Hauchefaunt, Meteor, and Aymeric laying on those infirmary beds, barely clinging to life. He had to shake his mind clear of such thoughts. Today was a happy day!

Or rather, it -had- been a happy day. A blast from the grand cathedral rumbled through the city, sending plumes of red smoke and mist into the air. Didn’t this always seem to happen? They would gain a moment of peace, only for it to be cataclysmically shattered by something.

Emmanellain scrambled the last few steps up to his home, swinging open the doors, only to slam them behind himself.

What was all that? The red mist? Was this some kind of new weapon? But from who? And why? Had the Garleans not surrendered and ended their dreams of conquering and domination? All their work in Garlemald, the Leveilleur twins’ efforts to form political bridges.

The dragons would never turn to weapons, even if they had a reason to resume the war. Mayhap heretics that refused to let the war end, who would not accept Nidhogg’s death. Ultimately at this moment, it didn’t matter.

What was that damnedable red mist?

“My Lord, are you alright?”

Emmanellain’s attention was drawn to his young manservant, the ever loyal Honoroit. The boy looked scared, but was clearly making attempts to stifle the fear for the sake of his master.

“Seems we find ourselves in a spot of bother. But nothing to fear! The Warrior of Light and his Scion companions are in the city. If ever there were a capable bunch of heroes, t’would be them!”

He tried his very damndest to sound assuring.

He wanted to believe his own words. The Warrior of Light ended the thousand year war. They liberated countries beyond their borders and seas. He’d saved the star from calamities unimaginable. What was one more fight? One more attack from enemies unknown? Still, he could not ignore the hammering in his chest.

A hand rose, fingers shaking, to rest over his coat. Fury’s wrath, of course these scoundrels would attack them during a celebration, when no one was in armor or ready with steel at their side.

“My lord, we should stay inside, there’s so much screaming outside, and that red mist looks to be spreading…”

Honoroit was not a coward. He was quite the brave little scamp. But he was still a child and hardly ready or able to join in any kind of combat. Hells, Emmanellain still wasn’t entirely sure -he- had any business in armor.

He was no true knight, not like his brother….but he also couldn’t very well sit by while innocents outside cried out in fear and what he could only imagine to be pain. Whether or not he was a true knight was irrelevant.

“If nothing else, we must open our doors to usher in those that cannot fight.”

He could do that at the very least. The foyer of their home could hold a dozen dozen people and shelter them from whatever this fresh chaos was. So, with a deep breath to steal himself, he swung open the doors to the Fortemps Manor.

It was….unbridled chaos in the streets. High and Lowborn alike were running and panicking in the streets. Some trip over one another to get away from the advancing red mist.

None seemed to hear the young Lord Fortemps over the din of fear spreading like a wild fire through the city. He cursed, frustrated that he couldn’t get anyone’s attention, he was trying to help them! Couldn’t they see that?!

“Hold!” He reached out, grabbing the arm of a man attempting to run past. “Into the manor! You’ll find refu-”

The stranger yanked his arm free, taking off down the cobbled stone, shouting something about no hiding, only running.

What did he mean by that? He saw no soldiers, only the ominous mist pouring down from the great cathedral. Was it poisonous? Caustic in some way? The red clouds had rolled in closer and faster than he’d anticipated, so he wasn’t prepared to close his home’s doors.

“Honoroit! Get back inside!”

He shouted, hoping that his page could take refuge before it was too late. Those who witnessed the initial attack must have seen something about this mist that he’d not yet seen. Why else would everyone simply be running with little to no thought about anything else?

“My Lord!”

Honoroit pointed to the wall of foreboding red that crested over the roof of their neighbor’s home. It must have been terribly dense, as it flowed with the same speed and fluidity as water. Emmanellain threw himself against the manor’s doors, slamming them shut and sending his poor page tumbling to the floor within.

But a little bruising was acceptable compared to whatever this mystery mist was or could do.

Almost immediately, he was slammed with the awful smell. Like the rot and rust of a weapon that had been left to decay in a fetid pool of blood. He coughed and gagged, all his senses were being offended at once.

His skin itched when the unknown agent engulfed him. Eyes watered and burned as he tried to blink away agitated tears. It must have been some sort of poison, why else would he react to it in such a way.

Desperate for a clean breath of air, he ran, coughing and gagging to his family’s gazebo. With the aid of its trellis he climbed up and atop the structure. Though the red mist lingered above, its density was much thinner, allowing for more easily breathable air.

“Twelve preserve me.”

He gasped, just trying to fill his lungs with breathable air. Was he poisoned now? Was he…..going to die to whatever this concoction was?

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He’d been through so much, and he still had so much left to do. He shifted on the roof, trying to see out over what he could of the city. Through the dark reds, he could see flickers of movement. He heard the screams and cries of his people begging for help. Towards the city’s grand aetheryte, he could see glimmers of silver, flashes of spell light. The scions and Warrior of Light? They were fighting something, perhaps the cause of this attack!

He had to get to them, somehow, to help. He was no grand hero like them, but this was his city, and he would do his family proud by protecting it. Or……at the very least, that is what he would have liked to do.

When he shifted to try and stand, he felt he’d topple right back over, maybe even off the gazebo entirely. The world was spinning as his stomach was gripped by an overwhelming wave of nausea. He lurched forward, dry heaving until bile and wine spilt from his stomach.

So then he was poisoned. He had to be. Everything was burning now. His nose, his eyes, his stomach, his very blood felt like it was boiling under his skin.

“Gods…”

He whimpered, rolling onto his side. Beyond the burning, his body was aching. Every fiber of his body was in some form of dull, throbbing pain. He had to get out of the mist and start filling his lungs with clean, fresh air.

But how could he now? He was quite literally surrounded by a sea of red, and he was so ill, he could hardly move.

Then the ache began to centralize and move down his arms, creating an intense, tight, muscle clenching pain in his hands. What now? What new symptom was afflicting him? He lifted a hand to get a better look at what might be causing the pain. He still had on gloves, so his skin was hidden from view, but he could see the twitching spasms clenching and opening his digits.

Suddenly the bones in his fingers began to crack, eliciting a pained yelp to sputter past his lips.

Ilm by ilm he watched as his fingers were twitching and stretching, longer, and longer, until eventually the fabrics of his gloves became too strained and split apart at the seams. His eyes, fixated on his hand in abject horror as he watched the elongated fingers beginning to broaden and…..flatten? Was that webbing?!

Was……oh gods. Red. The mists were RED. The smell of rot and metal….copper! This was blood. It was Dragon’s Blood.

He screamed and began to violently shake his arm, as if he could be rid of the changes that were twisting his hand.

“Nonononono!”

He tried to scramble to his feet again, the nausea and pain overridden in his mind by soul clenching fear. His hand continued to change, each of his fingers were growing, and stretching into their own webbed, fin like shape. What had been his pinky and ring finger began to seamlessly merge into a single digit. Soon after, his other hand began to change as well, in the same way as the fist.

This couldn’t be, he couldn’t be changing into a dragon. No! He’d lose his mind! He’d become some wild beast! He couldn’t let that happen….he couldn’t…….

He felt the world spinning again, as he toppled, landing flat on his back. He wheezed, as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He tried to right himself again, but his webbed hands couldn’t grip or find purchase with enough strength to pull himself up or to his side.

Again, he found himself drawing his arms in, hands up to see what was becoming of them. Once dexterous thumbs were shrinking down to the knuckle, as the nails on each were growing out into large, hooked talons. By the gods, what monstrous body was forming around him?!

“Fury please! Show me mercy, do not let this happen!”

He cried, tears of terror and anguish welled up in his eyes, blurring the world around him.

His fingers had become so long now, appearing more akin to proper wings. The muscles of his arms began to tense, then swell with new strength, as they began to reform to match his hands. They were ripping through the heavy sleeves of his coat, as webbing began to form on the innards of his elbows and under his arms to his torso.

“Stop!! Stop please!!”

He screamed, as if there was anyone that could hear and make this nightmare end.

Shiny, brass colored scales began to sprout from his skin, running up and down the length of his new wings. The membranous flesh of his twisted limbs began to darken from pale peach Elezan skin, to a darker tan, leathery hide. His shoulders began to swell with new muscles that ran over his shoulder blades and down his back. He could hear the ripping of fabric as his body began to grow.

The gods were not listening to his prayers and begging, since when did they ever heed the call of mortals? Those accursed brass scales were rapidly spreading from his new wings, down to his chest, up his neck, down his torso, and his legs. He could feel the scales creeping up and over his face, his eyes clenched shut as if it might stem the tide of the changes.

A new dizzying wave of nausea struck him as he felt that same intensive tightness warp around his throat. It was almost as if mighty hands were wrapping about his neck to choke the air from him. Perhaps this was a mercy.

He did not want to die, but he did not want to live as some mindless beast either. Then, the stretching began. His neck was growing longer, the muscles within flexing, seizing, then thickening to support the new vertebrae and weight that they needed to carry.

He wanted to cry out, to protest, but all that could escape his lips was a horrid, wheezing, choking sound. All the while, his struggle to breath had distracted him of a new, horrid sensation. Something was moving in his lower back, writhing and slithering about like a snake. The faint sound of tearing fabric almost evaded him as a tail tore free from just under his belt. It wriggled and slammed against the roof of the gazebo, new and alien to him in every way.

Even had he the focus to try and control it, he was in entirely too much pain to try. His head was being drawn farther, and farther above his twisting body, to afford him an all too unwanted view of his distorting form. His chest heaved, rising and falling in frantic breaths as it began to barrel forward. Growing lungs expanded his rib cage, pushing it forward, straining against the scaled flesh of his chest.

In a moment where it almost felt as though his ribs might simply split and erupt outwards, heavy plated grey scales began to rise from between the brass.The new chest and belly scales rapidly expanded, to accommodate enlarging organs.

They began to form over his torso, up his neck, and down his belly, likely continuing down the underside of his wretched new tail. He wanted this to stop. To wake from this nightmare or to be embraced by sweet, merciful death. The Lordling was afforded neither as the changes proceeded all the more aggressively.

Talons erupted from his boots, as his heels began to stretch longer, and longer. Calves and shins were shrinking, drawing the muscles tightly in at his joints as his thighs swelled with powerful new mass. What remnants of his clothing torn free from his scaled body and mercifully, whatever indignantly might have been exposed was swallowed by the unwanted changes.

As his legs reached the pique of their new digigraded shape, his body was rocked by a horrendous cracking pop. His hips rolled forward, bones snapping to re-align his new legs and spine. A gut wrenching distorted bellow bubbled up from his chest at the sensation. The sound startled him from his pain, as he could hear some trace remnants of his own voice, but they were being smothered by the deep reverberations of his stretched vocal cords.

There was so little of him left. He couldn’t see his own face, but he could feel it hadn’t yet changed. Of course that would not remain so. This transformation had been cruel, relentless, and unforgiving. He felt a terrible ache forming in his jaw, mouth agape as pitiful whimpers were the only thing now, gagging from his throat. All at once the only thing he could hear was the horrid crackling and popping of the bones in his skull.

His ears were starting to stretch out, the ends splitting apart in a series of webbed fins, much like his wings. They fluttered against the side of his head, as if desperately attempting to close off to the cacophony of sound berating him from within and out. His face felt like it was going to split apart, as bone, cartilage, muscle and skin slowly started to stretch forward.

His handsome face! He’d taken such pride in his boyish charm and dashing good looks. But like the rest of his body, it was being warped into something…monstrous.

His new muzzle hooked slightly at its tip, almost looking somewhat like a beak, while retaining brassy scale rather than hard keratin. Flat Elezan teeth began to fall freely from his open maw, as sharp fangs slid from his gums to replace them.

He could feel small, minor changes continuing over his new body, but he was too lost in his misery to pay them any mind. He was a beast now. Surely any moment his mind would be torn apart just like his body. He would be no better than the monsters the church had once hunted.

But as his body began to settle and the changes finished…….nothing else happened.

He was aware. Aware of himself, and this strange form he’d been forced into. How? Did such a change not drive mortals mad? This wasn’t possible. For a long time he simply lay there, too frightened to move, to look over what had become of him. He could hear the screaming, the crying, and the guttural roaring of others in the city.

How many would suffer this fate? How many citizens of Ishgaurd would never be able to return to their homes? He felt fat tears welling up in his eyes again, spilling down over his scaled cheeks.

He could do nothing to help them, he could not even save himself from this. But…Honoroit, his family! Surely they’d been spared. At the least, he could find some solace in knowing he’d kept them from harm.

Eventually he found strength returning to his limbs, and he gathered enough courage to move, to try and right himself on the perch that was now entirely too small for him. Something snapped when he tried to roll over. It wasn’t him though, he was fairly certain of that.

Another snap, and something in the gazebo gave. It crumpled under his new weight, and sent him tumbling into the streets with an awkward squawking cry.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to move this new body. Nothing was shaped like it had been. Things bent and lifted in ways he couldn’t quite perceive. Something in him knew that his wings needed to tuck in on themselves for him to walk on them, but the webbing was still stiff, and was trying to splay outwards, as though stretching his hands.

And that damn tail!!

He’d nearly forgotten about it, but now, with the pain subsiding, he could feel it swaying and wiggling around behind him. He didn’t know how to control it. At least, deformed as they were, his wings were once his arms. But this was an entirely new limb, left to its own devices to be a nuisance to him.

Movement caught his attention, to his side. Something….another dragon?! Was it mimicking his movements? No…that was him! Sheet ice had formed over the side of one of the manors, now servicing as a sort of mirror. The image was a little distorted from the imperfections in the ice. However, it was clear enough for him to see what had become of his form. He wasn’t some chunky, gods awful Avis.

He’d become a true dragon, long limbed, with shimmering scales and sloping graceful features.

How was that possible? He’d been given to understand mortals didn’t become dragons, only deformed mockeries of them. Wild disgusting beasts with no minds left of their own……but here he stood, tall and graceful. His hair had never fallen out, it had instead run down his long neck, wrapping about his chest in an almost sort of mane, before continuing down his spine.

Long, smooth horns had grown from the back of his skull, a smaller hooked horn protruding from the end of his long snout. There was a sort of majestic grace to his body that he may have appreciated more admiring from afar, rather than his own bloody reflection.

Still….was better than being some stumpy, mindless creature.

His head snapped to the side when he heard thumping and pounding at his home’s front door. Though he’d broken the hinge when he slammed it close prior, they were on the verge of breaking it open now. He couldn’t let them! The streets were still thick with the damnedable dragon's blood fog. Were they to step outside, they too would succumb to the unwanted changes.

He opened his muzzle to call out to them, to beg they stay within the safety of their home. But all that he could manage was a terrible, chest rumbling roar. It startled him. That was not at all what he’d wanted….though he supposed he wouldn’t be able to speak anymore.

His mouth wasn’t shaped for mortal speech, dragons spoke with the mind, not the body. He did not know how to do that….could he even if he did? He squealed and chirped, trying to form any sound that might resemble some sort of warning. It wasn’t good enough, his frantic cries were only spurring his brother and father to try and break down the door to help him.

He had to move, he had to barricade the door to keep them inside!

With an uneven, scrambling gait, he lumbered forward, and slammed against the front steps of his home. His body was plenty large enough now to bar the entrance of his home, surely. He would remain there as long as it took for the winds to blow away the cursed fog. He would protect those that he could from a fate they need not share with him.

Overwhelming exhaustion finally caught up with him. Finally, blissful, merciful sleep would carry him from this place. Tears continued to fall freely from his eyes as they closed. It was all so much to take in at once.

So he began to curl up against the doors to the manor, lulled to sleep by the pounding fists and desperate cries of his family. They were so worried for him, and the thought of that love was a muchly needed mercy, to help him find the peace needed for sleep.

Chapter Text

So many faces, so many voices. Meteor recognized most of them, but many still he'd only met once, or in passing. To some degree he felt bad that he couldn't greet everyone with the same enthusiasm and familiarity they did him. That was also not to say he didn't appreciate the trouble his friends had gone through to throw this party.

It must have taken weeks, if not an entire month to assemble so many people and resources. He was a friendly man, polite when needed, but he wouldn't necessarily call himself a social butterfly. He'd have been just as happy visiting all his allies one at a time. But he was here now, and he couldn't just leave, not when so many had traveled so far just to see him.

Honestly, what perplexed him was the insistence on celebrating in Ishgaurd of all places. Likely Hauchefaunt's idea and prodding that landed them on the decision. He'd have preferred the tropical climates of Thavnair, and full glad he was sure, Vrtra would have been to host.

It was nice though, to see his draconic friend spending time with his recently revived sister, and curmudgeon older brother. He wouldn't begin to try to understand a dragon's heart, regardless of how many times he'd been lectured on its complexities.

Time meaning little to them, Hraesvelger was still within draconic standards to be in mourning over his lost beloved. He had hoped seeing his siblings would have cheered him up, if even just a little. He wasn't sure what had become of Tiamat, but assumed if her siblings wanted to find her, they could. Even if the sour old dragon was reserved and refusing to socialize, he was genuinely surprised to see him arrive with his own mortal guise, much like "Varshahn".

Unlike his brother, while he humored puppetering some mortal shaped doll, that did not mean he held any desire to talk or mingle with them. Mayhap it was because of his beloved, or simply because Elezan were the mortals he was the most familiar with, he had chosen such a form. White hair, piercing yellow eyes, and sharp features.

Had he any input on the form, or had Vrtra simply made an approximation?

He could ponder all he liked, but he'd never ask. He wasn't nosey enough to bother the already agitated old man. Meteor was shaken out of his thoughts, and nearly spilt his drink, when an arm hooked along the back of his neck, joined by a taller body jostling him side to side.

"Getting lost in your head my friend? Such a waste when there is still so much merriment to be had!"

Hauchefaunt was grinning ear to ear, the slightest touch of pink on his cheeks and ears. Ah, he'd hit the wine rather hard it seemed. Meteor was in no place to fault him, not when Emmanellain had been there earlier to egg him on. Who was he to interfere with the shenanigans of brothers?

"Come! Who have you not spoken to yet? I shall gladly accompany you!"

Another wiggling jostle. Meteor found a smile creeping back to his face, Hauchefaunt's enthusiasm was rather contagious.

"Aye aye, forgive me for drifting. This is all very uh, overwhelming? One would think by now I was used to so much attention."

He playfully pressed his shoulder against Hauchefaunt, earning a rather pleased barking laugh from the taller man.

Underfoot ran a handful of Loporrits. Though most looked the same, mannerisms and voices gave them the distinction needed to tell them apart. Mappingway, Talkingway, and Puddingway, all chittering to one another about all the different types of food, cultures, and how Hydalen’s beloved children had grown and changed so much. Though they often came off condescending, there was a sort of naive charm to it. How they thought themselves so much smarter and worldly, while hardly knowing anything at all. Like a child that had pulled a fact from an old book and then thought themself the fount of information on the topic.

Haurchefaunt’s eyes all but glittered as the fuzzy busy bodies ran past them, a hand reaching out as if he planned to pluck one up. Meteor chuckled, batting the hand away.

“My friend, they are people, not pets.”

He chided. The Elezan pouted, a ridiculous look on a knight who was so often friendly, but composed.

“I would never treat them as pets! But they look so soft. Meteor, is it so wrong to wish but a mote of their attention? Urianger commands so much of it. He is never with any less than a flock of them.”

Meteor rolled his eyes, sure that given the opportunity, Urianger would hand the Loporrits off to another. Not for dislike of the inquisitive moon dwellers, but for a mental reprieve from their endless probing.

“I am sure there are plenty among my brothers and sisters that would gladly offer hugs and coveted ear scratches.”

A small voice sounded from behind them. Both men turned to see a distinctive brown Loporrit, standing with an entirely too large steaming mug in her hands.

“Livingway, my apologies. Haurchefaunt has indulged entirely too much this evening.”

The knight managed only a single indignant gasp, before Meteor continued.

“Are you and yours enjoying life on Etheirys?”

Livingway simply smiled, head canting just ever so slightly.

“It has been an interesting experience. Heartening to see how well you are all flourishing, but also saddening to know we are, effectively, unnecessary now. The Final Days are averted, and with it, our purpose for being created.”

Her left ear seemed to wilt, only for it to snap back to attention.

“But our resplendent mother wished for everyone’s happiness, so I will strive to find new meaning.”

Livingway was so different from the whimsy of the other Loporrits. She was more pragmatic and observant. He was sure that were she a Hyur or Elezan, she would seamlessly blend into society without any being the wiser.

“I’m glad you can keep a positive perspective. Given time you and yours will find plenty and more to do. Even if the world isn’t ending, there are still many MANY people in the world that need help. With your technology and resources, I’m sure you’d be an all too gladly accepted boon to those that are still suffering.”

Even as they spoke, again, Haurchefaunt attempted to reach out to Livingway’s ear. Though she made no attempt to move away, her eyes were hyper focusing on that outlandishly large hand heading towards her.

“Didn’t I just say they were no-”

“She spoke not a moment ago of coveted ear scratches!”

He protested. The Loporrit giggled, stepping back.

“Maybe try catching up to Puddingway! Give him a sweet treat and he will be all too glad to let you touch his ears!”

Off she went to catch up to the others. Last thing she needed this night was being cuddle crushed to death by a drunken hero. The knight groused at the warrior of light, huffing his displeasure through his nose.

“Oh come now. Don’t pout. What say later we go by the stables, that you may shower your chocobo with affection?”

Hauchefaunt let forth the tiniest gasp. “My boy.”

Too many people. But many had already retired for the evening. With the sun having sunken nearly completely in the sky, the already chilly air had become entirely too much for any unaccustomed.

"Fairing well my friend?"

The soft voice of Varshahn caught Meteor's attention. He nearly tripped Haurchefaunt from his immediate stop, leaving the Elezan teetering forward and back, his free arm pinwheeling to keep his balance.

"I should like to think so, tired, but glad to have such good company. I trust you are also enjoying yourself?"

The faux Au'ra simply chuckled, more mirth twinkling in his eyes than his voice.

"Quite so. Despite my dear brother's persistent dour mood. Perhaps Azdaja and myself can drag him to Thavnair and infuse some light and life into his otherwise morose disposition."

Hresvelger must have overheard his younger brother, sending a rather harsh glare their way. Its effectiveness was lessened as Azdaja began to make biscuits in his hair.

"True, I struggle to think of a place that could challenge Thavnair proper in hospitality and delight."

The colors, the people, the food. Gods he missed the food.

"I wish to return to those sparkling beaches for a true holiday."

Haucherfaunt mused, all but pouting as he leaned against Meteor.

"A trip to enjoy the country when we are not needed to save the world."

He said, dramatically raising the back of his hand to his forehead.

"Hmm, indeed. Though it is striking me that perhaps you should have been sent home with your brother. Me thinks the wine is drowning your mind."

Hauchefaunt gasps, resting a hand to his chest, leaning away with such a look of indignance.

"You think I incapable of holding my drink?"

A hand reaches from the still entirely too busy crowd.

"I think you've held too many drinks this night, old friend."

Francel manifests from the throng of people, a cheerful smile on his face.

"Ah, master Varshahn, I do hope you are enjoying your stay in our city?"

Varshahn offered a polite bow of his head.

"Indeed. Your city lacks the....ah.....vibrancy of home, but I must admit, the grandness of your structures leaves me convinced I would be as comfortable roaming your streets in my true form as I am in my avatar."

Meteor watched the barest twitch in Francel's eye. Not exactly the compliment the young man had been expecting it seemed, but he had to keep face. He was the poster boy for Ishgaurdian restoration and hospitality after all.

"Not that you would be unwelcomed, but perhaps refrain from such jaunts and enjoy our city from the perspective of us mortals."

There was a hint of an uncomfortable tone in his laugh. Awkwardly finding himself unsure how to properly interact with not only one of the elder dragons, but the ruler of an entire nation.

"Francel! My oldest friend, you would see me home, yes? I fear that Meteor has once again rebuffed my offer to warm him from the Ishgardian cold."

Hauchefaunt whined, detaching himself from Meteor, to practically fall on the much thinner Elezan.

“I also wish to visit my darling boy!”

Francel only had time to let out a panicked squeak, barely managing to catch and keep the inebriated knight from falling to the ground.

"Heavens! Very well, seems I have been tasked with a delivery. If you would excuse me."

Francel offered a small dip of his head, knees wobbling as he tried to help guide Hauchefaunt through the crowd.

"You can be quite the lumbering oaf when you want to be!"

Hauchefaunt barked another laugh. "You mean fun!"

Meteor huffed an amused breath through his nose as he watched them leave, raising his tankard to his lips for a drink. For as tipsy as it seemed all his friends were getting, he himself was still woefully sober. Perhaps the crowds wouldn't be so overwhelming if he was less aware of their presence.

"I shall give you a moment of peace then. I hope we will have another chance to speak before you disappear for your next adventure."

Varshahn offered a polite bow, before returning to his siblings, taking a moment to untangle his sister from his brother's hair. Though in the body of a dragonnet, she still held the mind of a dragon grown. Her antics must have been attempts to lighten her brother's mounting agitation. Or perhaps she was adding to it? Meteor didn't know if dragons partook in annoying the piss out of one's siblings as mortals did.

Hraesvelger had been all scowls and sneers through the night, but for a moment the expressions seemed somewhat distant. He was not scowling out of disgust for the company he kept, but for something else, something Meteor could not see. Of all his accumulated skills, reading body language had been a necessity for him.

Blessing of Light or not, there were still abilities and life tools he needed to earn on his own. Though his lip reading was lack luster, he was sure Hraesvelger was warning his brother about something.

A pinch of anxiety ran down his spine, as though he were anticipating being slapped by something just out of his peripheral vision. No, he was being paranoid. Everything was fine, everything was safe. The calamities were averted, Meteon was quieted, and Zenos was dead. He needed to relax.

Again, Meteor attempted to take a drink, just to wet his tongue, as surely someone else was going to want to speak to him at any moment. He wished it had been someone wanting to talk to him. Something mundane and normal. But no, of bloody course it wouldn't be. . .

Chapter Text

Artoirel was no stranger to parties and social gatherings. It would be impossible to be in the noble class, the head of one’s house no less. That did not mean he reveled in the noise and chaos of such a rambunctious collection of individuals. This was his brother’s forte, both Emmanellain and Haurchefant. Emmanellain was always all too happy to be the center of attention, and Hauchefant practically radiated sunshine wherever he went.

He used to find such traits in his siblings to be so asinine that he would actively avoid them at any given opportunity. Given the events of the last couple years though had softened his shell, if only a little. Artoirel didn’t consider himself unnecessarily cruel or withdrawn, as he’d been accused of in the past. However, he did find connecting with people more difficult than his brothers.

Even with his willingness to put up with the tomfoolery of the Warrior of Light’s allies, Artoirel had his limits. So after a few hours of forced smiles and a tongue so bitten he wondered if he would ever taste again, he decided to return home. Perhaps his father had sensed his mounting social exhaustion and gave him an excuse to leave. Whether by choice or happenstance, Artoirel was grateful to his father.

Edmont wasn’t some helpless cripple in need of doting, but his body did tire faster than it used to. Artoirel didn’t like the thought of his father walking the streets alone, so even where he to find the social fortitude to remain at the party, he’d never leave his father to meander unattended.

It afforded them the opportunity to share pleasant, quiet conversation on their way home. Considerations for what they could do for the city as it continued to grow. The thought brought the barest of smiles to his lips.

Upon arriving home, he bade the house staff to help his father to bed, and see the house no longer receive visitors for the evening. He was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

He hadn’t over indulged like so many at the party, but he’d drunk enough to leave his mind want to wander. He didn’t feel like dealing with his own thoughts and simply wanted sleep.

Though, no sooner had his head touched the pillow of his bed, did he hear, nay, -felt- an explosion rock the entirety of his home. He jolted from the mattress, sure that he heard Honoroit and Emmanellain shouting about something.

Good, thank the fury his idiot brother had gotten home before such a disaster struck.

Yet as he yanked the door to his room open, he heard the Foyer’s heavy door slam. If his brother was already home, why would the doors be opening or closing? Surely that fool wasn’t trying to see what was going on outside…

He could hear his father struggling to get from his own bed to the door of his room. Torn, he called for one of the maids to help his father, while he ran to the front to find out what had happened.

There he saw Honoroit and other staff, pounding on the front door. His brows knit in mounting concern and confusion at the sight.

“What in the hells is going on?”

He took a handful of rapid steps forward, to join them in trying to open the door. Alas, it was soundly stuck. Something had broken the hinges with the force of the earlier slamming. He paused, looking about the foyer, noticing something rather important.

“Where is Emmanellain?”

The staff spun to face their lord, faces awash with worry and fear. Young Honoroit vigorously motioned at the door, his expression painted with confused panic.

“My lord, Master Emmanellain is outside! Something is in the air, he pushed me back inside and commanded us not to leave! We cannot get the door open! There is so much screaming outside, we have to help him!”

The boy’s words were sputtering out in a breathless panic. Emmanellain was outside? Something in the air? Had it anything to do with the explosion from moments ago?

Too many questions and no time to find the answers. He rushed to the doors, attempting to slam a shoulder into their center. All that met him was a fresh, dull ache in his arm. Elezan flesh to solid oak was perhaps not his brightest decision.

“What is happening, where are your brothers?”

Edmont came hobbling to the front, an attendant by his side, cane in hand. The former count looked….so much older when he wasn’t fully dressed and kept for the day. His hair was hanging loosely on his head, tussled from having been laying in the comfort of his bed only moments prior.

“I do not know. Honoroit says Emmanellain went back outside, and we cannot get the doors to open.”

Again, he thumped his body against the wooden barrier, but found it had no give. What was his idiot brother thinking? He likely wasn’t.

Artoirel rose a hand to his head, as he tried to gather his thoughts to think of what to do. There were other means to get out of the home besides the front doors. But what had Honoroit meant by something in the air?

“My lord, please let me go outside to find him!”

He was drawn back to reality by the voice of the young page. He turned sharp blue eyes down on the boy. Emmanellain’s ever faithful servant and companion. To some degree the boy almost reminded him of a puppy, in his unwavering loyalty to his brother.

However, unlike a blindly loyal animal, the young man had a decent mind, and means to use it to question his brother’s stupidity when necessary.

“No, if there is something dangerous outside, I cannot in good conscience allow you to put yourself into danger as well.”

Brave as he was, Honoroit was still a child and had no business being in what could potentially be a combat situation. Not that Artoirel was in any position to be running head long into battle either.

He was in his evening attire, having been ready to collapse into a bed. As it would seem, he had no time or choice in protective wear, as he heard the sudden pained cries of his brother just outside of the house.

He could not tell exactly what Emmanellain was screaming about through the muffling stone walls, but he could hear the pain and panic in his voice.

He renewed his efforts with the staff to ram the doors to break them open. Whatever horrors were outside their home, he could not leave his brother to face them alone. Edmont had even joined the attempts to knock down the door. Not that he was adding much force to the attempts, but the terrified cries of his youngest child gave him a vigor he’d not had in many years.

“The red mist must be some kind of poison.”

Honoroit had dropped to a squat in the center of the foyer, hands on either side of his head. He was so scared, and were Artoirel not in the midst of attempting to break down a door, he may have tried to comfort and assure the child that things would be alright. Not that he knew it would be, but he wouldn’t just leave the boy to panic.

“Fury forgive me, he pushed me inside to protect me.”

The boy whimpered, rocking a little back and forth on his heels. Artoirel hadn’t seen such behavior from the page before. Honoroit had always served as Emmanellain’s voice of reason and common sense.

Though one could suppose the idea that of one’s best friend sacrificing themself to a horribly painful death would send even the most stout of souls spiraling.

His attention snapped to the far wall again. His brother’s cries were being distorted by something. Did he hear roaring? Were there aggressive dragons in the city? Is that what this was?

No, surely not. The great wyrm Vrtra seemed a perfectly respectable and sane individual. His love for mortals so grandly shown through the use of a mortal guise. If there were aggressive dragons, surely he’d have stopped them.

Then could it be that there had been draconic guests besides the elder wyrms that were in some form of distress alongside the Ishgardians?

That was not important at the moment, getting outside and saving his brother was. He disengaged from the front doors, moving about the room to the painted windows, trying to see outside, to what may be happening. He couldn’t break the glass to get outside. If there was some toxic agent in the air, he would only be putting everyone inside in danger.

He couldn’t hear his brother screaming anymore. Only panicked and pained roaring from what he had to assume was an injured dragon. He couldn’t tip toe around what to do anymore, he had to act.

“Everyone stay here. Whatever is happening, the Warrior of Light and Scions are within the city walls. They will deal with this event as they have all others. I will find and drag Emmanellain back inside until such a time comes.”

He hadn’t spoken with such a level of stern, authoritative volume in quite some time. So much so it even seemed to jar his father from his descent into paternal panic. Edmont took the few hobbling steps from where he’d stood, to reach out a hand for his son’s shoulder, gripping it tightly.

“Bring your brother home, but my son, I beg you take care and protect yourself as well.”

Artoirel met his father’s gaze with a stern determination. He knew his father would not be able to bear losing the two of them. He couldn’t, and did not want to fathom what he’d do were he to lose even one of his children...

There were no words he could offer his father that would soothe his worry, so he simply nodded before stepping away.

He knew the servants had several ins and outs to the home for their day to day tasks. Obviously they knew to keep said doors closed when not in use, but surely none of them would be bared or damaged as the front door had been.

As he hurried down to the servants quarters, another thought struck him. Hauchefant was also out at the party, would he be alright? Surely he would be, he was practically attached to Meteor. He didn’t have enough focus to worry for both brothers. He had to dedicate himself to rescuing the inept of the two.

Just past the kitchen, he found what he was looking for. A heavy old door with iron hinges and an almost ridiculously sized lock. One of the staff had leaned a chair against, perhaps in an attempt to aid in baring whatever had been happening outside.

Just as he was reaching to pull it away, he had a thought. If what awaited outside was toxic, then he could not leave himself vulnerable to breathing it in. What had the knights at Falcon’s Nest taught him of protecting against agents in the air?

Ah, yes, damp cloth over the nose and mouth. He could not go out into the freezing air of the Ishgardian night in a soaked cloth, but perhaps something freshly and soundly wrung would offer -just- enough protection.

So he reached for a cleaning rag…..disgusting. With no hesitation to sanitary repercussions, he ran the cloth in the standing water of the kitchen’s sink. With a few solid twists, he lifted the possibly too wet cloth to his face to cover his nose and mouth. This had to be good enough, he had no other way to protect himself.

Pulling away the chair, he pushed open the old door and stepped into the unbridled chaos that had become of his city. Dense red mist covered the streets, rising nearly to the roof tops above. What was all this?

It burned his eyes with the same intensity as a freshly squeezed citrus fruit. A few solid blinks and he was off into the streets, where high and low born screamed and fled. There was no rhyme nor reason to the blind panic afflicting his people.

This had to be some sort of poison then, for so many people to be losing their minds. He even caught sight of a dragon, no….two! Three? There were dragons in the city, writhing and bellowing in the streets and on roof tops. Surely this concoction in the air must be truly wretched if it could lay man and dragon both low.

He hurried past bodies in the street, unable to stop and check them. As cruel as it may have been, he had a priority. He had to find his little brother before whatever this was, stole him beyond the point of saving.

The kitchen was based a couple stories under the entrance of the manor, so he had climbing to do, to reach where he assumed Emmanellain still lay. Thankfully he wasn’t some dull, limp bodied man child as many of his class seemed to be.

He’d been put through the rigorous trials of knight training, so he was well equipped to tackle this obstacle. Finding a roughly built wall half a street down, he began to climb.

It was not a swift process, and it gave him a moment to truly listen to what was happening around him. The more time passed, the less he heard of mortal cries, and the more he heard of dragon roars.

But he’d seen the beasts suffering just as much as man and woman. They were flailing about in the streets like fish pulled from a river. It couldn’t have been them causing this attack. Perhaps their stronger constitution afforded them some modicum of resistance, making it take longer for this poisonous vapor to do its duty.

No. Wait.

He climbed over the top of the wall, taking a moment to catch his breath and truly listen. It was not that mortal voices were fading away, they were changing. He looked up and around to the red mist, brows knitting together as it began to dawn on him what this was, and exactly what it was doing.

Dragons Blood. How it had been manifested into this state he was unsure, more so the why. But that did not matter right now.

He had to find his brother. He didn’t want to think about how he had stopped screaming, or the roaring. He had to believe that his brother had climbed to safety. That his fear was silencing him that he may remain hidden.

Artoirel had not pushed himself so hard and so fast in such a long time. He was soundly winded by the time he reached the broad and well kept street that faced the front of his home. He was heaving breaths through the strain of the mask. Which for the moment seemed to be doing what he’d hoped it would.

“Emmanellain!”

He shouted, running up the road, dodging flailing tails and swiping claws, as others succumbed to transformation. He didn’t see his brother, not that he could see very far in the crimson haze. It was like walking through layers of thin fabric. Easy to see through within an arms length, but harder and harder, the denser and farther out one tried to see.

He climbed atop a planter, trying to find some higher ground, that he may be granted a better vantage point.

He caught a glimpse of something shining in the torch light of the road. Brassy and large. He squinted, trying to focus his vision and discern what it was. The longer he looked, the clearer things became, his eyes must have been adjusting to the dark of the evening, finally. Jumping from the planter to higher steps, he hurried to whatever the shining object he’d seen had been.

But as he drew closer, he saw the crest of his family, hanging over the doorway to his home. Below it lay an unconscious dragon, neither terribly large nor small. Large enough to cover the large doors of his home, but not so large that it would have trouble maneuvering the city streets were it to be up and moving about.

The brassy shiny of its scales must have been what he’d seen. So this is what had been blocking the door.

“Emmanellain!”

He turned from the beast to call for his brother again, surely the young man could not have gotten far. Up onto a roof or the gazebo? Emmanellain was not a terribly athletic young man, but he wasn’t helpless. He could have made the climb.

As he rounded the side of his home, he felt his heart drop. The gazebo was in a pile of stoney rubble, something had absolutely destroyed it. More so ....something caught his eye in the rubble. Shreds of brown leather and grey pelt. Torn pieces of white silk and black cottons.

“Fury…..please.”

He murmured, lifting the tattered remains of clothing he was plenty familiar with. Emmanellain had been on the gazebo. He HAD tried to climb to safety, but had he been attacked by someone driven mad by transformation? No, there was no blood. He felt his stomach twist into a painful knot as he looked back to the way he came.

The dragon was still asleep. Brass scales not unlike the color of their house’s armor. Black messy mane like hair brushed but too stubborn to style. And tear soaked cheeks of someone wholly unable to deal with stress and trauma.

He thought his legs were going to give out from under him as he staggered back the way he’d come. This couldn’t be. He was assuming too much, surely. It couldn’t be. Mortals did not transform into dragons proper, they became wretched mockeries of the real thing.

But laying before him was a dragon. A dragon whose eyes had opened and were fixated on him. It made no motion to move, as it seemed as shocked to see Artoirel as he was to see it. Until finally.

{Not…..shoul…n……be…….ou}

He thought he heard something, tickling in his mind. Unclear, but present enough to know he hadn’t imagined it. Was the dragon trying to speak to him? Why was it struggling so? It lifted it’s long neck, nearly reaching to the second floor of the manor, scaled brows raised in what could only be described as fear.

{You….must….inside!}

The voice was much more clear in his mind now. He knew it was speaking to him. He still could not fully understand what they were trying to say, but he knew they were talking to him, or at the very least trying.

Why did it feel familiar? It was like trying to recall a dream after having already woken up. He recognized the voice, but his mind did not want to accept it.

{Artoirel!}

Emmanellain’s voice. Clear as crystal in his mind. Frantic, terrified.

{You cannot be out here! Please, brother, you must get back inside!}

The large wyvern moved, as if to stand, but stopped himself lest he unblock the door. Artoirel sank to his knees, unable to look away at what had become of his little brother. He’d failed to save him…..and yet…..Emmanellain was speaking to him. With the clarity of a sound mind, albeit frightened.

How was that possible? Men did not become dragons true, they only became twisted reflections. Yet here his brother lay, a true dragon.

“By the Fury’s wrath, Emmanellain, tis truly you?”

He stood, to take a few steps closer, only for the dragon’s head to rush down and forward to meet him. Though his eyes were like large sapphires floating in pools of obsidian, they still reflected his brother’s soul. He stopped, to avoid bumping into Emmanellain’s pointed snout.

{I do not know what is happening. Brother, I am so scared. I wish to wake from this nightmare…….You MUST return to our home’s safety. Barring these doors is all I can do now. Do not share with me this fate. PLEASE.}

It tore at his heart strings to hear his brother’s plea. He should have moved faster. He should have found a way outside sooner to protect his younger brother. But towering above him was his failure.

Fat tears had begun to well in the wyvern’s eyes once again. The pain and fear his brother must have felt.

{I can feel them striking the door from within. I cannot move to rise you higher, above the fog, or they will spill into the streets. Please, Artoirel, I am begging you to save yourself.}

It was like a knife being driven into his chest with every strained word. He had failed his brother, and now despite that failure, his brother was begging and worrying for him.

A selflessness he didn’t think his brother was capable of. He reached out for Emmanellain’s large reptilian head, drawing him into as best a hug as he could manage.

“Forgive me.”

He had no words to soothe his brother or rectify what had happened. All he had was an embrace, some small contact to assure his brother that he was not afraid of him. To offer some sort of comfort, any that he had to give.

A Fury granted mercy that his brother was still sound of mind. If his soul had not been lost to the beast, then perhaps there was still hope to return him to his true form.

“We will find a way to fix this. I promise you.”

Could he though? He most assuredly hoped so. The Warrior of Light and his Scion companions had already performed the impossible again and again. What was one more miracle?

He had to hold on to that shred of hope. He felt his brother nuzzle into the embrace, a deep, but quiet whine rumbling up from his chest.

They could not stay like this. He knew that much. He had to get back inside before the effectiveness of his mask failed. Or he too would be trapped in an alien form, shivering on the streets and unable to return to the comforts of hearth and home.

He drew away from his brother, ready to tell him to remain until they thought of some sort of plan. But the wyvern's eyes, wide and fixed on his own, in but a moment, told him he was too late.

{Oh gods.}

It was the last thing he heard before he felt a terrible pain building in his head, like a vice squeezing his temples. Until finally, there was a snap.

Chapter Text

The energy of the party was interrupted by a powerful blast from higher up in the city....the cathedral? What in the seven hells would be happening there to cause something like an explosion?

Let it be something such as an accident. For mercy's sake let it only be some sort of accident, a renovation gone awry.

People began to panic and shout, confused and afraid at the sudden disruption. Before he could even say or do anything, his eyes caught sight of a body rocketing up from the crowd to the nearest roof top. Estinien!

Though the dragoon lacked his armor, he still had his spear in hand, launching from roof top to roof top to seek out the source of the attack. Meteor grunted, mildly annoyed that his companion was rushing ahead. That was how his allies got beaten, captured, kidnaped, and killed. But it wasn't like he could stop him.

"Gods damn it Estinien!"

He made to detach from the crowd and chase after, but a hand snapped out to grip at his shoulder.

"Hold, we shall join you."

Aymeric had pushed through now flailing bodies to reach Meteor.

"No, I need you to calm and control the crowds. Not that I don't trust your blade in a fight, but your commanding and calming presence will aid the people far greater. They are more a threat to themselves in a crush, than whatever the hells is happening in the pillars!"

The Lord Commander seemed to hesitate, his brows knitting in an expression of unsure frustration.

"Very well. Do try to keep Estinien from doing anything outstandingly foolish."

Meteor could only smirk.

"You ask me to teach a fish to walk?"

Before he could receive any audible lashing, he'd already melded into the crowd. Thankfully, his strong shoulders were well equipped to muscle through bodies until he reached freedom. Not that he liked what he saw rolling down the grand stairs leading to the pillars. Was that mist? Some kind of fog? He didn't have time to ponder. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

"Meteor!"

As he ran headlong into potential danger, he caught sight of Alisaie, bounding to catch up to him.

"What did you do now?"

She already had her weapon drawn, plenty ready to attack what was assaulting the city this time.

"Me?! How could this be my fault?"

He reached for his blade, the one and only thing he had combative on him. No shield, no armor, just a sword.

"You're always the center of whatever is happening. Clearly you drew down another calamity."

A teasing jab to sprinkle a moment of levity in the otherwise hectic attack.

"Oh yes. I forgot to apply my disaster averting charms this morning."

Meteor chuffed as they ran. He was glad to have someone with high spirits and fighting enthusiasm if he was running into another battle.

"Your brother trip?"

He knew well enough that Alphinaud was likely trying to aid Aymeric in calming the crowd. Not that he couldn't fight, but the boy was a talker first, fighter second, or maybe third. Alisaie laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Like a baby stag."

The pair entered the rolling fog, met with a pungent odor and stinging eyes.

"What IS this? It reeks."

Alisaie scrunched her nose, face screwing into a scowl at her displeasure.

"Smells like a battlefield."

Meteor sniffed, squinting his eyes. Perhaps this was some sort of toxin? His eyes were burning, irritated from whatever this compound was. He felt otherwise fine though, a smoke bomb then? But if so, why so grand? If it were, the only soul he could think of doing such a thing was the champion of jackassery, Gilgamesh.

This felt entirely too serious to be him though.

"Damn it, I can't see anything."

He'd stopped his stride, casting his gaze up to try and catch sight of roof tops, that he might gauge where they were. Alisaie, in true Ali fashion, simply pointed her blade forward, and began to cast. Wind aether spiraled down her blade, condensing at its tip, before firing forward in a blast of force. The wind spell cut through the noxious fumes, clearing the street before them. She spared only a moment to cast a smug grin at Meteor, taking off ahead of him.

"Tch, show off." He couldn't help but grin though, clever girl.

Neither still had any idea what was going on, or what the mystery mist was. It had to be devastatingly terrible though, as they could hear the cacophony of cries all around them. Voices choking, begging and crying.

"Damn it! How are we supposed to help if we can't see anything?!"

Alisaie growled, spinning in place to try and pin point which pleading voice she was going to focus on.

"Don't suppose you can just keep casting that spell over and over?"

Meteor was also frantically looking this way and that. There were too many crying out for rescue.

"Not unless you've an endless supply of aether to offer u-watch out!"

Alisaie throws herself against Meteor, sending the two of them tumbling back as a large form lumbered from the fog, right over where they had only just been standing.

"What was that?!"

Meteor couldn't get a good enough view of the thing as it rushed past.

"Was that a blasphemy?"

Surely not, they'd taken care of them all...hadn't they? The final days had been stopped, so there shouldn't be more appearing.

"Maybe a dragon?"

Alisaie offered, as she pushed herself away from Meteor.

"Not that they are unwelcomed here, but what would a dragon be doing within the city. I was given to understand they did not like it here."

Alisaie pondered, eyes sharply scanning their surroundings for another would-be attacker. Meteor didn’t recall Vrtra saying there would be others besides himself and his siblings. They had offered an invitation to Vidofnir and the dragons of Anxy Trine but none had accepted.

That of course, didn't mean that there weren't dragons in the city. He was sure there wouldn't be any -attacking- in the city though. Not after all he'd done.

"H-help."

A man staggered from the fog, eyes red and voice barely more than a rasp. He collapsed on the ground before Meteor, arms wrapped about his torso.

"Hang on, I have you!"

Alisaie wasted no time, dropping to a knee, a hand out to offer healing aether.

"It must be some form of poison."

She deduced, focused on the victim she was trying to treat.

"If that were the case, how is it we remained unscathed?"

Given, they had not been as exposed, what with Alisaie's magics having cleared them a path. But the only symptoms when breathing in the red fog had been itchy eyes and an unpleasant smell. They were stronger than the average civilian by leaps and bounds. But he was pretty damn sure they weren't immune to poison.

"I'm not a bloody chirurgeon."

Alisaie snapped, trying to focus on the writhing man. Rude, but fair. Why would she know any more than him? Urianger or Y'shtola would probably know. They always seemed to have the answers he needed right when he needed them.

His attention snapped down as the man began to scream and flail.

"What?!"

Alisaie cut the stream of healing aether, scrambling back up to her feet. The man's body began to twist and....grow? Meteor held out an arm, protectively separating his younger friend from whatever the hells was happening in front of them.

To which Alisaie smacked his arm down and out of the way. She was a strong, independent red mage who didn't need no pali - blood spattered from the man's back, right in their faces. Annoyance turned to genuine horror as they both watched a set of leathery wings sprouting from the man like flowers from a garden bed.

"What the hells?! What's happening to him?!"

Alisaie looked about ready to crawl out of her own skin to get away from the situation. It wasn't a blasphemy, they turned in swirling dark gales of dynamis. This was something else...though he could not recall any transformation so visceral since seeing Sineaters. He knew for a fact this was not that, it couldn't be.

So then what could it....... He took a step back, yanking Alisaie with him as the writhing man began to gain a coat of dark scales, his gurgling voice turning more to a growl. Meteor swung Alisaie behind himself, blade raised. He'd witnessed heretics transforming before, but it sure as hells looked nothing like this.

"It's dragon's blood."

He grunted, eyes focused on the transforming civilian.

"This mist is dragons blood."

Alisaie was staring at the ground, trembling like a leaf at the sounds of the man's suffering. Meteor knew her to not be the squeamish type, but recalled how she'd witnessed her friend's transformation into a sineater. This must have been triggering that past trauma.

He scooped up his friend, and took off, trying to find some sort of higher ground. Not that he was worried that the bloody concoction would affect them, but he wasn't about to be squished by a blindly terrified or crazed dragon.

"You need to snap out of it Ali. We can't help them if they become exposed, but we can help those that have not yet been afflicted."

He gave her a couple jolting shakes to draw her back to reality. Up a shaky set of scaffolding and onto a roof they went before he set her back on her feet.

"But why? And where would whoever has done this get so much blood?"

Alisaie murmured, looking out over the sea of red, trying her very hardest to ignore all the screaming slowly turning to roaring.

"I don't know. And I'm not keen on finding out."

Meteor sighed, a hand raising to rub at his temples. Gods, he already felt a headache thrumming in his skull in tempo with his racing heart.

"We need to contact the others and make sure the Ishgaurdians are kept from whatever the hells this is."

He looked down to Alisaie, reaching to grip, and shake her shoulder.

"Contact your brother, surely he's still with the others."

She blinked back to reality, nodding. Right. Her brother, yes. Annoying as he may be with his chattiness, he was rather brilliant at assembling. Meteor cast another glance over the mountingly chaotic city, brows knitting into a scowl. He just wanted one gods damned drink.

A roar caught their attention from higher up in the city. The Cathedral.

"Shit, Estinien."

Meteor spun on his heel, making to run and jump onto the next roof top. He knew Ali would be hot on his heels. Shaken as she was, she was never one to be left behind.

"You don't think that he..."

She huffed as they ran, jumping with more abandon than they should.

"I hope not. He would have sensed what this was before anyone else and stayed away from it. He had to be a dragon once before when he was possessed, I doubt he'd allow such a thing to happen to himself again."

He hoped. Gods did he hope. Estinien had grown and changed a great deal on their adventures, all for the better. But Meteor was fairly certain that if the Dragoon was cursed to be a dragon again, the mad bastard would throw himself off the city walls into the churning mists.

Buildings were collapsing and blasting apart as afflicted civilians were transforming in their own homes. It was all Meteor and Alisaie could do to keep their footing and not be crushed by launching rubble.

"Watch yourselves!"

A familiar voice shouted from just overhead. A large piece of roofing was arching through the air, moments from landing on the pair. A crack of aether sliced through the debris, as the roofing was split in two, Thancred's smirking face landing in front of his friends.

"Sorry to steal a potentially heroic moment from you. Seemed you were a little distracted."

He mused, resting his gunblade over his shoulder.

"Far be it from me to hog the limelight. Do you have any idea what's happening?"

Meteor returned the smirk, all too glad to have another one of his comrades with him in the thick of the chaos.

"I'd like to fancy myself rather good with intel, but not that good."

Thancred jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, back the way they'd come from.

"The others are securing the plaza and trying to offer protection to those unexposed. Have you caught up to our sulking friend?"

Meteor looked up to the looming Cathedral. The main hall's roof had caved in from the blast that had started all this. Smoke and mist were still chugging forth from it like a chimney.

"No, we were trying to catch up to him before he got himself into trouble."

Meteor waved a hand, trying to shoo some of the foul smelling mist from his face. Of all the days for there to not be wind. Thancred rose a brow at Meteor.

"You say that as though trouble isn't tied to your coat tails."

Meteor, ready to sneer a sarcastic laugh, was cut off by Alisaie.

"We've no time for childish banter. We need to find out what's causing all of this so we can -stop- it before more people are transformed!"

Both men looked to her, nodding, then turned to charge up to the grand doors of the cathedral. Even were they to stop this now, there was already so much mist in the city. They would need powerful winds to clear the city..... Meteor and Thancred lifted their legs to slam boots to wood, kicking in the doors baring their path.

The sight before them left all three speechless. A large object had been placed on the grand overlook to the atrium. Some kind of vessel, like a cart sized vase. Its top half had been shattered, leaving the bottom to chug out the blood fog.

Meteor felt as though a lead ball had been dropped into his stomach.

Stretched out in the grand hall, its pews scattered and spread about, was an absolutely massive dragon. For a moment, Meteor almost thought it may be Hraesvelger. Massive wings twitched on the stone floor, draping over the exhausted beast's body.

It was covered in shining silver scales and lustrous white feathers. A grand set of horns rest atop and along the side of its head. No, it was a large dragon, but that was not the great white wyrm. This had to have been a person....but…..

The dragon wheezed and groaned, clearly disoriented and in great amounts of pain.

"Damn it."

Meteor, against his better judgment, trotted forward to the fallen beast, stopping only a few feet away.

"Have you any sense left in you.......friend?"

He wasn't entirely sure this WAS a friendly dragon. He knew there were still hangers on to the Dragons Song war. This might have been one whose plan for revenge exploded spectacularly in their face.

His hand gripped tighter to his blade as the massive being's head shifted. A single large eye cracked open, rolling down to face who was standing before it. Glowing and glittering with aether, the silted eye focused on the Hyur's face. There was recognition in the pools of black and grey.

Meteor felt the lead ball drop again, his blood running cold in his veins, eyes wide in returned recognition.

"Estinien?"