Lies are something far beneath the might of a dragon. Which makes this whole situation more infuriating. What sort of mockery has led the Starmakers to utter them?
The moment the Tribunal abandons creation, the moment they suddenly grow impotent in their duties. Intriguing. What about before? What about the eternity in which they have been fulfilling their tasks, without any sort of hindrance or obstacle? Surely impotence isn’t something that appears out of nonexistence. No. This situation has all the signs of a deceit, Rahmanegol is certain. Starmakers, for all the glory they claim to have, believe the Lightstealers to be fools incarnate. Just as they have done so throughout existence.
“This can’t go unpunished!” Targhanion cried near Rahmanegol. His head spun sideways, acknowledging the other present Lightstealers. “Their supposed issue is hindering existence from advancing, from continuing its natural balance, brethren.”
“Shall we even mention,” Puareniol continued, “that we’re speaking about the entirety of Materium here? That all of creation hangs on their abilities to fulfill their missions? Without them to become stars, all is bound to collapse. What ashes shall remain for us to gather afterwards? What sort of game do these wretched dragons play with us?!”
Rahmanegol held his claws clasped above the large tilted table within the Lightless Dome, eyeing his brethren as they descended into wrath. The sensation tingled him also, pushing him to surrender. This matter asks for his head to be clear of such provocations. “Starmakers create false impressions of us,” he said. “The recent events and the silence they brought is a clear example of that. Whatever their plan is, they will utterly destroy everything.. I wonder what the Tribunal thought when granting them life and such grand responsibilities.” Rahmanegol rested his snout on his claws, thoughts racing.
The Company of Lighteaters spread about the round, tall table, each one more riled up than the other. No one can blame them for this; the Starmakers are treading dangerous territory. “Existence rests on our shoulders,” Rahmanegol continued, “and they display disregard for that matter. For life itself.”
Targhanion leaned in, adjusting his voice. He searched for Rahmanegol’s gaze. “Lord, this time they crossed a line. This is a direct threat to us and our missions.”
“Agreed, Targhanion,” Rahmanegol replied. He shifted his gaze to regard him. “They broke the trust the Tribunal asked us to grant them.”
The Company turned to him. Rahmanegol straightened his body, wings extending. “Their arrogance will be extinguished. Word shall be sent to their kingdom concerning this. They better prepare a suitable and honest response.”
“Word?” Targhanion asked, claws almost tearing into the table beneath. “Lord, this requires no more words. Threats are a far suitable choice if we want their despicable limbs to do anything!”
“And how do you propose threats will accomplish that, Targhanion?” Irarmajon asked. “Have these fools suddenly grown to see beyond their false glory and understand that the Materium wasn’t created for them? Will they descend from that Tower their king resides in to apologize and show humility?”
“Since the Tribunal decided it’s better to leave creation behind, another must oversee them,” Targhanion said, growing more rageful. “Our roles are at risk, Irarmajon! Our entire existence bows down before them and pleads with them to cease their foolishness.”
“Arguing amongst each other will do us no good,” Rahmanegol commanded.
Chatter ceased, and the dragons sighted him again. The Company enjoys seats of honor granted to them by Rahmanegol since coming into power in Zhozpzsn, yet this doesn’t mean they can express their frustrations and requests without pause. Silence makes for better plans.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Word will be sent,” Rahmanegol concluded. “Aslakahm must know that Zhozpzsn watches. Closely. Every single movement they make and every decision they take will have consequences.”
Targhanion adjusted his echoing voice. “Lord, simple words are beyond this issue. Force is the alt-”
“The decision of if and when to use force belongs to me alone,” Rahmanegol said, shooting Targhanion a glare. Existence may appear to be dying, but this doesn’t mean that suddenly Lightstealers can disregard the title Rahmanegol holds. What sort of foolishness is this? “I expect everyone present and every dragon within Zhozpzsn to understand their titles and tasks.”
Heads bowed in acceptance. “Of course, lord,” Targhanion rushed to say, despite himself.
“This gathering is dismissed. Prepare the convoy that will reach Alghamior. Ensure you squeeze him out of answers. The rest of you watch over our brethren and see that Zhozpzsn is holding onto its balance. Notice any of our own dealing with issues, report to me. If Aslakahm wants to tear themselves apart, let’s not feed them our own brethren as well.”
The Lightstealers stood, each one fluttering his wings stronger than the one before. Good. At least their vigor is where it needs to be. Each member of the Company turned away from the table, preparing their flights. The Lightless Dome, house of such gatherings and Rahmanegol's vantage point in the middle of Zhozpzsn, facilitated access through its multitude of pillars. Efficiency is key in creation, not ‘magnificence’. Beauty is only good to please the eye. Not so much when, supposedly, that eye is suspiciously claiming to die.
Rahmanegol departed from his brethrens’ flight to gaze upon Zhozpzsn. His own haven. Zhozpzsn remained peaceful; which was precisely how it needs to be. Tendrils of darkness extended as far as his eyes could see, lifting and descending, swirling and twisting, putting the blackness within the Materium to shame. The Tribunal may have given Starmakers colors to blind the poor planets and daze comets, yet the Lightstealers possess something far more powerful: discreteness.
Shadows are born here. Black holes envy this haven. Light dreads this place. Power resides within ambiguity, power that disrupts the Materium and creates actual balance. Power to gather the ashes of the stars and bring forth new life.
“I know you haven’t joined the others, Irarmajon,” Rahmanegol said, head tilting backwards. “Only twelve wings moved. My thoughts are not busy enough that I can’t count properly.”
Irarmajon chuckled. “Forgive me, lord. I merely wanted to speak to you in private.”
“Speak then.”
Irarmajon advanced to stand beside him, each step a new reason for the Dome to fear its own stability. “If this… curse is true and it actually hunts the Starmakers and prohibits them to fulfill their tasks,”
“Which isn’t the case,” Rahmanegol responded flatly.
“I also doubt it is. I’m simply trying to understand what is actually happening within their kin and why they claim such things.”
“They have decided they can do whatever they please, as long as the Tribunal isn’t here to question them,” Rahmanegol turned toward Irarmajon. “I’ve made my point clear earlier. Starmakers have the audacity to believe themselves above everything. I don’t even want to think about what goes through their minds presently and what other plans they may bring forth. What I know is that we must ensure they fulfill their missions and solve this crisis they supposedly face. Explanations will be granted to us. Real ones.”
“Indeed, lord. Yet I fail to understand why they would create such a lie to begin with. What would their ultimate goal be? If they can’t become stars, as they claim, then surely they must understand how terrible this is to us all.”
Rahmanegol considered his Lightstealer’s words. Many aspects of these events seem to bear no logical arguments. An alleged curse that hunts solely Starmakers. A threat to Materium’s entire balance. A danger to existence itself. And no apparent cure in sight, nor do they appear to make any advancements in achieving a resolution. Far too suspicious. This situation can’t be a natural cause, a sudden shift throughout the Materium. The Tribunal has built all that exists; clearly they wouldn’t have created problems for creation to fail against. Materium had no word to say in its inception, nor would the beautiful Tribunal have granted it.
“Answers will be given, I assure you. Alghamior must respond to my requests. Aslakahm is becoming a risk to the Tribunal's creations and I won’t wait for them to ruin creation. I fought for my place within our haven. Materium is the home of everything, a gift from the beautiful parents that houses life. I won’t forsake existence. I will defend it with everything I have, even against the dragons of life.”
