Bab 100: When A Dragon Just Wants To Sleep 4
(Tiamat's POV)
As I watch Calduin struggle to stay airborne, I can't help but feel a mix of exasperation and amusement. The little hatchling flaps his wings with the kind of frantic energy only a young dragon possesses, wobbling mid-air like a leaf caught in the wind.
But there's something more to him, something beyond his awkward, jerky movements. For a dragon so young, his instincts are surprisingly sharp. He corrects his flight path after every mistake, each error becoming a stepping stone to the next, more graceful attempt.
There's potential in him, and not just in his fire or his flight. He's got the heart of a dragon, stubborn and unyielding, determined to master his power no matter how many times he stumbles. It's almost… admirable. A rare quality, even among our kind.
As I circle above, I keep my gaze locked on him, my mind half on the task at hand, half drifting to other thoughts, memories, really. It's been so long since I've taken a young one under my wing.
Dragons don't usually meddle in the affairs of others, especially not someone like me. But there's something about Calduin, something that reminds me of the days when dragons soared freely, unbound by the squabbles of gods and devils.
He dives to avoid a low branch, then rises sharply, wings beating furiously to gain altitude. I smirk to myself. He learns fast, this one. Too fast, perhaps.
Dragons his age usually crash more than they fly, but here he is, already managing to keep pace with me. His determination shines through every flap of his still-growing wings, every twist and turn as he tries to mimic my movements.
I dip lower, gliding just above the treetops, testing his reflexes. Calduin hesitates for a split second, then follows, his wingtips brushing the leaves.
Good. He's not afraid to take risks. I pull up sharply, spiraling into the sky, and he follows, a little slower, but he's catching on. Each movement is more fluid than the last, less chaotic. He's adjusting, learning with every beat of his wings.
A part of me feels a strange flicker of pride: a foreign sensation I'm not entirely comfortable with. Dragons don't do "proud" or "maternal." At least, not in the way humans or even lesser creatures do.
We are solitary beings, born from the heart of the world, meant to fly alone and carve our own paths. And yet, as I watch Calduin, I feel something akin to kinship. It's not maternal, not exactly. More like a recognition, a connection to another of my kind.
We share the same blood, the same fire, and in that, there is an unspoken bond. I see his determination, his raw potential, and I can't help but see a reflection of myself in those early days, when I too was learning what it meant to be a dragon.
Calduin lets out a triumphant roar as he manages to fly steadily beside me, the multicolored flames that are his signature flickering briefly at the corners of his mouth. He grins up at me, eyes gleaming with the pure joy of flight.
"Not bad," I say, keeping my tone measured, though inside I'm more impressed than I let on. "But don't get too full of yourself. You've still got a long way to go."
He laughs, a carefree sound that's almost contagious. "I know, but I'm getting the hang of it!"
I can't help but smirk at his enthusiasm. As we glide together, side by side, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I've found something worth protecting again. Not because he's helpless, no, Calduin is anything but that, but because in his eyes, I see a future king but I am going to need to keep him alive.
And he's crashing into the ground again.
(Third Person POV)
Far from the clearing and the sound of Calduin's joyful roars, the atmosphere shifts to one of tension and simmering malice. In the grand hall of a dark castle, shadows flicker and twist like serpents, cast by the infernal glow of hellfire.
The air is thick with the stench of brimstone, oppressive and cloying, as if the very walls are alive with the screams of the damned. In the center of this grand chamber, surrounded by twisted thrones and ancient sigils, stands Lucifer Morningstar, the Morningstar, exiled prince of heaven, now ruler of hell.
Lucifer leans against a throne carved from obsidian and bone, his expression one of deep, calculating thought. His eyes, cold and distant, sweep over the room, taking in the figures gathered before him, his generals, his advisors, and, standing just off to the side, Lilith. Her dark hair cascades down her back, framing a face that is both beautiful and unnervingly still, like a statue carved from the finest marble.
Lilith glances up at Lucifer, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and fear. She knows her place, always just a step behind, never quite an equal.
In the underworld, where power is everything, Lilith's devotion to Lucifer is absolute, and she clings to it with the desperation of one who has nowhere else to turn. She is his shadow, his confidante, and, at times, his enabler, feeding off his power like a moth drawn to a deadly flame.
Lucifer finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant growl that commands attention. "Heaven's forces are gathering. They think they can take what's mine. They think they can challenge the dominion of Hell." His words drip with disdain, each syllable laced with a promise of retribution. "They forget their place."
Lilith steps closer, her gaze unwavering. "They're fools, my lord. Heaven has always underestimated you."
He turns to her, his expression softening slightly, but the undercurrent of menace never leaves his eyes. "And you, Lilith? Do you underestimate me?"
Her breath catches, but she manages a steady reply. "Never. I exist because of you. I am nothing without your will."
Lucifer's lips curl into a smirk, and he reaches out, tilting her chin up so that she's forced to meet his gaze. "Good. Then you know what must be done. Heaven's armies won't wait, and neither will I."
She nods, her heart pounding in her chest. Lilith knows that Lucifer's affection, if it can be called that, is as much a weapon as his sword.
He dangles it before her like a prize, something to be earned, but never truly given. She is addicted to his power, trapped in a cycle of devotion and dependency that she both despises and craves.
Lucifer turns back to his generals, his commanding presence filling the room. "Prepare the legions. We strike in a few months time. Heaven will learn that Hell does not kneel, it does not falter, and it certainly does not forgive."
As the hall erupts into motion, demons scrambling to obey his commands, Lucifer's gaze flickers back to Lilith, who lingers near the throne, watching him with a mixture of awe and dread.
He knows she's devoted, perhaps too much so. But devotion has its uses, and Lilith, in all her twisted loyalty, is the perfect pawn in his grand game against Heaven.
He strides towards her, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Lilith, you will lead the vanguard. Show them the true power of Hell's fury. Prove to them why you stand at my side."
Lilith's heart soars at his words, the hollow approval enough to set her soul alight with purpose. "I won't fail you," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
Lucifer smiles, a cruel, calculating grin that sends a chill down her spine. "See that you don't. Or else, you'll find out just how merciless Hell can truly be."
As Lucifer turns away, rallying his forces with a charisma that borders on divine, Lilith watches him, torn between her desire to be worthy of his gaze and the gnawing fear of his wrath.
She is a queen in her own right, yet forever bound to a king who sees her as nothing more than a tool, a weapon to be wielded. But for now, that is enough. It has to be.
The war drums of Hell begin to beat, a sound that reverberates through the infernal planes, echoing the impending storm. Heaven will burn, and Lilith will lead the charge, because in the twisted reality of Hell, power is everything, and loyalty is just another form of currency.
And as Lucifer watches his armies prepare for the bloodshed to come, he can't help but think that this time, the heavens will finally understand the price of defiance.
But in the back of his mind, he wonders why heaven seems so riled up. The war should not even begin for another year, but if his father wants to start it earlier, then who is he to refuse?
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone