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Last of The Fae Chapter 155: Lord of The Skies
🕑 Added 2025-04-23 00:22:50 +0000 UTCThane’s heart thundered in his chest as the wind streamed across his silver scales, each one perfectly aligned to reduce drag and channel airflow efficiently across his massive frame. Between his elongated, winged arms stretched a gossamer-thin membrane—translucent yet resilient—that caught the rising thermals with ease, allowing him to glide effortlessly through the open sky.
There was a raw, euphoric current coursing through Thane’s body, a sensation that buzzed through his muscles and bones like lightning dancing beneath his skin. Below him, the world unspooled in a grand, ever-shifting canvas, and with each beat of his wings, a visceral sense of superiority and belonging settled deeper into his bones. Up here, unbound and unhidden, he was not playing a part—he was simply himself. Only now, with his true form laid bare to the world, did Thane realize the toll his self-imposed restraint had taken. The tension, the burden of hiding his nature, had been a slow-acting poison. Now it was burned away in the sunlit winds.
A deep, resonant growl of satisfaction rippled through his chest, vibrating across the sky like distant thunder. Thane lifted his head, reptilian eyes narrowing as he focused on the horizon ahead. In the distance, the terrain surged skyward—an emerald fortress of stone and forest, where jungle-cloaked mountains reached toward the clouds in jagged defiance.
Even from miles away, his enhanced senses picked up a complex tapestry of scents carried on the wind: sulfur, scales, ozone, and the sharp tang of magic. Within seconds, Thane identified over two dozen distinct signatures, dragons. Not just one species, but many. Too many.
Another anomaly.
‘Dragons are notoriously territorial,’ Thane mused, his thoughts sharp and analytical even amid the rush of air. ‘They rarely tolerate others of their kind outside of mating season, let alone different species. Roosts are uncommon, rare enough to mark chapters in magical history, and even then, they consist of a single dominant breed led by an alpha strong enough to subdue all challengers.’
His eyes narrowed further, pupils thinning to slits.
‘But this... this is different. Species from across the globe, many of which are native to the northern hemisphere, thousands of miles from this place, are roosting together without bloodshed or visible conflict. That should be impossible. And yet, not only are they cohabitating, but there is order. No signs of scorched trees or charred battlegrounds. No ritualized duels or territorial stakes.’
His mind pieced together the puzzle with calculated precision.
‘Something is drawing them here. Something powerful enough to override their instincts and enforce unity where there should be chaos. And whatever it is... it's strong enough to keep dragons in line.’
With an escalating sense of urgency burning through his veins, Thane summoned his magic in full, letting it flood through every scale and sinew of his colossal form. Silver flames erupted from his body, wrapping him in a luminous halo that shimmered like molten starlight. With a thunderous crack that split the air, Thane launched forward—his departure carving a streak of light across the sky like a comet tearing through the heavens.
In a blink, he was soaring over the jagged spine of the Serra do Mar mountain range, his shadow racing across the treetops below. He made no effort to hide his approach. Quite the opposite—Thane flung his aura outward like a battle banner, letting it stretch and coil over the land with intent and purpose. Every living creature sensitive to magic felt it: a storm had arrived, and it had a name.
Among dragons, such a display was no mere boast. It was an ancient custom—a clear and unmistakable declaration of war.
The response was immediate.
A cacophony of monstrous roars erupted from the mountains below. Wingbeats shook the canopy. Dozens of powerful auras surged up from the dense jungle and mountainous cliffs, rising to meet him in the air like missiles homing in on their target. Thane could feel them before he saw them—beasts of myth and legend, drawn to the provocation like hounds scenting blood. Each aura burned bright and violent, promising a fight worthy of song and memory.
Thane’s lips curled back, revealing rows of gleaming teeth as a primal grin stretched across his draconic face. His massive muscles tensed, eager for the clash, his blood singing with anticipation. It had been far too long since he'd let loose completely. And now, he welcomed the chaos with open arms.
But just as he halted the expansion of his aura—drawing it in to prepare for combat—something else flickered at the edge of his perception.
It wasn’t the overwhelming surge of a dragon’s wrath, nor the predatory edge of a hidden beast waiting to strike. No, this was something else entirely.
Tiny. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.
A single grain of magic, floating like dust on the wind.
And yet… within that grain was an entire world.
Thane’s senses latched onto it, and immediately, his expression changed. The silver flame surrounding him pulsed once, subtly dimming as if the storm inside him had been momentarily stilled by recognition. The magic was ancient. Ageless. Older than even some of the dragons flying to meet him.
More than that—it was familiar.
‘No... it can’t be,’ Thane’s mind raced, searching through memories and fragments of myth that hadn’t surfaced in years. He tore through possibilities, desperate to disprove the impossible, but every other explanation collapsed beneath the truth his instincts were screaming at him.
Yggdrasil.
As the weight of his discovery struck him like a hammer, so too did the first of Thane's challengers—slamming into him with such force it nearly sent his massive form spiraling out of the sky.
A deafening roar exploded in his ear, rattling his skull and echoing through the clouds. Razor-sharp talons raked across his silver scales, shrieking with friction as they fought for purchase, each swipe aiming for a weak point that didn't exist. Blinded momentarily by the searing glow of a firestorm building in the opponent’s throat, Thane instinctively narrowed his eyes and twisted to the side. Even amid the chaos, his gaze locked onto the blackened scales and curved bronze horns—distinctive features of the Horganian Horntail.
Infamous across continents as the most aggressive and ferociously territorial of dragonkind, the Horntail’s boldness was not unexpected. But this one was more than just bold—it was reckless, throwing itself at Thane like a comet begging to burn.
Still, Thane wasn’t daunted. Logic abandoned him in favor of something far deeper, far older. Instinct surged forward like a tidal wave, and he surrendered to it.
Rather than resist, Thane let himself plummet through the air. Gravity became his weapon. Both sets of arms snapped outward like twin traps. His primary claws clamped around the Horntail’s maw, locking its jaws shut and suffocating the impending inferno before it could ignite. The second set—his winged arms—latched onto the dragon’s joints, horns, and spine, using every point of leverage he could find. Bone ground against bone, and the Horntail thrashed, but Thane was stronger.
Then, with terrifying precision, Thane swung his long, armored tail. The impact struck the Horntail’s center of mass, spinning them both mid-fall in a dizzying aerial spiral. Now inverted, the Horntail’s body was aimed like a spear toward the jungle canopy below, the earth rushing up to meet them with brutal finality.
But just before impact, a piercing, high-pitched keening cry rang out from the struggling dragon’s throat.
It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t pain.
It was submission.
Every ancient instinct in Thane's body recognized it immediately. The sound triggered something primal and sovereign in his soul—a message of surrender from one beast to another.
At once, Thane’s claws released their hold. His winged arms snapped open wide, catching a powerful updraft that pulled him out of the dive just seconds before impact. The Horntail, now free, tumbled end over end before catching itself midair, spiraling away into the treetops.
Thane remained aloft, wings outstretched and body gleaming in the sunlight. He could feel the tremor of his magic still humming through his scales like the aftershock of a drumbeat. But before he could fully bathe in the afterglow of his victory a massive fireball the size of a car slammed into his side. Not hot enough to burn but the concussive force of the explosion wasn't negligible.
Thane roared, a furious bellow that echoed like a thunderclap across the canopy below, his long serpentine neck coiling as he turned to face his next challenger. Already in mid-flight, a sleek, scarlet-scaled dragon approached—its body sinuous and elegant, crowned with a radiant fringe of golden spikes. A Chinese Fireball, known to some as the Lion Dragon, named not just for its regal appearance but for the ferocity of its flames.
The Lion’s wings snapped once in a precise, calculated motion, sending a sharp gust of wind spiraling toward Thane. The fireball nestled in its gaping maw surged forward with that current, hissing through the air like a falling star—a molten sphere of concentrated heat and magic.
Thane could have dodged it.
He knew the angle. He could already feel the pressure shift around his wings, knew how to roll and let the flame pass beneath him. But something in his chest resisted. His pride—that distinctly draconic arrogance—refused retreat. More than that, he didn’t want to evade the challenge.
He wanted to burn it away.
Even before he opened his jaw, silver flames sparked around his lips—leaking from the corners of his mouth like steam from a boiling cauldron. They poured between his bared teeth, rippling with barely restrained fury, as Thane tapped into the endless ocean of rage that he usually kept chained deep within himself.
But not now. Now, with the sky as his battlefield and blood pounding in his ears, that fury surged unchecked.
The very air around him boiled, rippling with distortion. Then, with a snarl that sounded like cracking stone, Thane’s jaw dropped wide.
From his gullet surged a column of liquid fire—silver-white plasma laced with incandescent blue veins of arcane energy. The roar of it drowned out the Lion’s cry. The fireball vanished in an instant, consumed midair like a spark swallowed by a sun.
The pillar of silver flame struck the Chinese Fireball full in the chest.
There was a shriek of pain—but it barely pierced the howling detonation. The blast cracked the sky, sending a shockwave rippling through the clouds and rattling the trees below. When the smoke cleared, the Lion Dragon was retreating, its scarlet scales charred and smoking, wings faltering as it limped through the air.
It was alive—but defeated.
Thane snapped his jaw shut with a clang of finality, the lingering silver wisps curling from his mouth like drifting threads of moonlight. Then, deep in his chest, something rumbled—a sound like rolling thunder.
A draconic laugh.
But celebration was fleeting. Before the air could even settle, another challenger closed in from the south—larger this time, wings wide and shadowed with age and dominance. And beyond that, Thane could sense dozens more. Their auras lit the sky like stars preparing to descend. Each one waiting, circling, testing. Each one ready to take their shot.
But Thane only smiled, a jagged thing full of wild joy.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a student, a noble, or even a mage. He didn’t feel like a man burdened with obligations and masked with diplomacy.
He felt alive. Unshackled. True.
And if they all wanted to test him?
Then let them come.
He would defeat them all.
