The Dragon Mark

Lysbelle woke up with an awful backache. A marked improvement considering her arm had stopped hurting. It was an oddity she only noticed a few minutes later, once the room lit up with it's soft blue glow. Surprised, she carefully unwrapped the bandage. Examining her broken arm, she discovered that the injury had completely healed. Although she had rarely broken bones before, Lysbelle was quite sure that it shouldn't have recovered overnight.

Still astonished by this revelation, she looked around for Tyrell but found no sign of him; he wasn’t in the room. Lysbelle stood up and, remembering his words from the previous day, checked herself over again. She felt fine. The night spent on the hard floor had left her with a slight backache that would soon fade. Except that all her bruises and injuries had vanished without a trace. She made another discovery, something about her tatoo was different. The White Dragon that stretched across her right side had faded in color. It was now a tanned beige that almost blended with her skin, a detail that raised more questions than it answered.

After confirming she was fine, Lysbelle hesitated about leaving the room. Tyrell had asked her not to, but he hadn’t given any further explanation.

While she was still deciding, it was the soft blue light filling the room that caught her attention. There was no visible source, no torches, no windows to explain it. It was as though fine, luminous particles floated in the air all around her. It’s just that she couldn’t actually see them. As she was inspecting the ceiling, trying to uncover the light mystery, Tyrell’s deep voice echoed through the room.

"Don’t bother looking for it. The Ruin lights itself with Îme."

The man appeared from the corridor, his dark skin contrasting with his loose, sand-colored clothing. Perhaps for the first time, Lysbelle took a closer look at him. He had dark circles under his brown eyes. His hair and beard, once dark, were now streaked with gray. He leaned against the wall with his left arm while hiding his right beneath his garment.

"You mean the Ruin uses magic by itself?"

"Yes, we're lucky it’s not trying to kill us outright."

"Wait, I don’t get it. Isn’t this just an ancient place? How could it want to light our way or kill us?"

Tyrell fell silent for a moment before continuing.

"I don’t know... No one does. It's simply what we've observed after exploring dozens of Ruins. Some seem intent on getting rid of you at every turn, while others are filled with nothing but opportunities."

Still confused, Lysbelle cast a questioning glance at Tyrell.

"I guess that's why you didn’t want me to leave the room? In case the place was trying to kill us?"

The man nodded quietly before gesturing for her to follow him.

"It was also to see if you’d make the effort to follow my orders. Now come with me; I found a water source a bit farther ahead."

With those words, he turned and headed down the tunnel, moving slowly and supporting himself against the wall.

"Are you hurt?" Lysbelle asked, concerned.

"I’ll be fine. I just need some rest. You, on the other hand, seem to be surprisingly well."

Following behind him, she squinted. His breathing was labored, and his steps were uneven; he clearly needed more than just rest. Even so, she decided to swallow her remark and keep the conversation on herself.

"Surprisingly is the right word. I’m completely healed; even my broken arm is fixed."

Tyrell stopped, the blue light casting an ethereal glow over his robes. "You have no injuries left?"

"None, though I have no idea why."

"Then maybe we’ve got a chance, and that’s what matters. We can worry about why later."

They resumed their slow march, and soon they emerged into a new chamber. In the center stood a fountain, a treasure that made Lysbelle’s eyes widen in awe. Finely sculpted from polished marble, delicate streams of water arced gracefully before falling back into the basin. Above it all, a statue of a woman of striking beauty towered over the scene.

"It's drinkable, you can go ahead."

The fountain mesmerized Lysbelle, it was her first time seeing one. A true source of life in the desert, the water flowing in front of her seemed to emerge from nowhere. Only when she gazed at this liquid miracle did she realize how thirsty she was. Almost in haste, she cupped her hands into the stream, bringing up a mouthful of cool water. It was only after quenching her thirst that Lysbelle turned back to Tyrell.

"But... why is this here? How is it even possible?"

The man merely shrugged before drinking from the fountain too.

The room, not much larger than the previous one, was far more decorated. Unlike the smooth walls of the first chamber, this space was adorned with an immense mural covering every surface. The sacred aura of the place made Lysbelle feel as though she had stepped into another world. Still fascinated, she approached one of the walls and gently placed her hand on it, almost in reverence. The writing was in a language she didn’t understand. An ethereal script that seemed to coil upon itself, spiraling off in ever-changing directions.

In awe, Lysbelle walked around the room before stopping at a peculiar symbol. Composed of two concentric circles connected by seven pillars, it was situated at the center of a wall. Clearly placed there to draw attention, the simple symbol radiated a palpable energy.

"It’s the mural of the Ruins. You’ll find it in every single one of them," Tyrell explained. "And no, before you ask, I don’t know what it says or where it comes from."

Her questions answered before she could even ask them, Lysbelle gave the room one more glance before speaking again. "In the end, I’m almost disappointed." Tyrell raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "I mean, isn’t there anything else in this Ruin? Two rooms seem a little underwhelming for a place supposedly filled with secrets."

Tyrell shrugged and headed back to the first room. Hoping to uncover some hidden secret, Lysbelle lingered in the chamber, spending several more minutes studying the space and the fountain. The woman atop the fountain, like a guardian, stared toward the entrance. Her stone attire, sculpted with such skill, seemed as if it could be real fabric with a silky texture. Her face and hair, smooth as rock could be, evoked the cold beauty of a goddess. Finally, her eyes, though frozen in stone, gave the impression of gazing with the wisdom of a sage.

When Lysbelle returned to the main room, she found her unfortunate companion sitting against the wall. His eyes closed, as though trying to rest, she. Even though she moved quietly to avoid disturbing him, he opened his eyes.

"Let’s be clear. We’re not going to catch up to the convoy."

His voice echoed in the room, cold and emotionless, pragmatic. The young woman flinched; they had only spent a few hours here, even counting the rest they had taken. If they left now, they still had a chance to catch up. Before she could protest, Tyrell gestured for her to listen.

"The Swarm is still too close. We’ll wait at least two days to respect the code, then we’ll head east toward the Beryl Oasis."

His words felt hollow in Lysbelle’s mind. What Tyrell said made sense; a choice guided by logic. The danger posed by the Swarm was very real, and following the desert code was paramount. It's what allowed even the most inexperienced Caravans to survive in the vast sands. Heading to the Oasis would let them gather supplies and even get help. But Lysbelle rejected it all, refusing to leave Azel alone any longer. That convoy had already taken too much from her.

"No, I’m sure that if we leave now, we'll have a chance to catch up with them."

Tyrell didn’t flinch, his tired face showing no trace of emotion.

"Then, we’ll just sneak in and free everyone."

"Even if your plan works, and by some miracle you manage to free the prisoners, what then? Do you think you can take control of the convoy? Or maybe you imagine marching everyone across the vast sands to the nearest oasis? Don’t be foolish. There might be a dozen Nomads among the prisoners fit to fight, and they’d be slaughtered. Without provisions or shelter, we wouldn’t last three days under the sun. I don't even have to mention the convoy catching up to us."

Every word he spoke carried a truth that Lysbelle couldn’t refute this time. Her response, more to herself than to Tyrell, came in a whisper of despair, not even realizing she was speaking aloud.

"But I can’t leave Azel there..."

"And I don’t intend to abandon my people. Once we reach the Oasis, I’ll invoke the Call."

Lysbelle shuddered at the word. Just hearing it brought back memories she would have rather left buried. The Call was only ever used when the chiefs of the Nomad tribes came together. Their people, accustomed to living in small communities, invoked it only in moments of absolute crisis. The last time they used it was thirteen summers ago. Back when Lysbelle had been younger than Azel’s age. At that time, the chiefs came together to judge, to judge if she and her mother could earn the right to join a Caravan.

Not even mentioning the bad memories she had. It was a certitude that the announcement of a new Call couldn’t mean anything good.

_____________________________________________________________________

Lysbelle was hungry. Trapped in the dark ruin, she had no sense of time passing. Of course, she had tried using this as an argument to take a look outside, but Tyrell had refused. Used to going without much food, the forced starvation of the past few days, combined with the recent exertion, had still left her famished. Unfortunately, she had no choice but to endure.

As a means to pass time, she returned to the fountain room. The place intrigued her, though she didn’t quite know why; she felt drawn to the mural. This feeling, a mix of curiosity and hesitation, pushed her to try and understand the writings. At least, by trying to decipher the incomprehensible symbols, she stopped dwelling on what might happen to her brother.

Since she started examining the mural, she had managed the remarkable feat of understanding nothing. Each of what she assumed were words looked like nothing she’d ever seen before. Even the symbols were not remotely familiar. Only the central figure of the mural evoked a vague sense of recognition. The two concentric circles, connected by seven lines like pillars, scratched at a fragment of memory she couldn’t quite grasp.

The young woman let out a long sigh as her worry surged again. Not even the mural could keep her from imagining the worst possible scenarios for Azel. Shaking off the dark thoughts, she took a step back. Her foot hit the edge of the fountain, she grabbed onto it just in time, narrowly avoiding falling into the water.

"I really need to be more careful."

Still startled from almost taking an unplanned dip, she turned back to the beautiful structure. Lysbelle never grew tired of admiring it. Like a dream, water, so rare in the desert, flowed here in abundance.

She felt as if she were standing before a tiny oasis. The beauty of the craftsmanship also contributed to its appeal. Every marble edge was finely sculpted and chiseled, showcasing the creator's tireless effort. The statue of the woman had her hands in prayer, from which one of the many water streams flowed. Her peaceful face gazed upon the mural with a maternal tenderness that could have softened even the coldest of men.

Lysbelle froze.

Her face was looking at the mural?

She was certain that the first time she entered the room, the woman had faced the entrance.

She took a step back, and her heart skipped a beat. Instead of landing on the hard floor, her foot fell into empty space, and a crevice swallowed her.

The fall was short, just long enough for Lysbelle to feel it. She jerked her head forward, throwing her arms back to try to cushion the impact. Her maneuver was only partially successful, and she hit the ground hard.

As she got up, she saw the trapdoor above her, just out of reach. She let out a curse, rubbing her lower back, then looked around. The room was dark and menacing, with a musty, oppressive air even more pronounced than in the ruin above. A mix of dampness and mold assaulted her nose, and she lifted her arm to cover her face, trying to block the stench. The place was devoid of any light, except for a faint blue glow a few meters away. There, on a pedestal, was a glowing symbol.

Reasonably, she shouldn’t have approached it; she should have called for Tyrell. He was just a few meters away. He would eventually hear her and pull her out. But her instincts, mixed with curiosity, got the better of her, and she moved closer to the enigmatic stone pillar.

In response, the glow pulsed, sending a wave of energy through the room. At its touch, Lysbelle shuddered. She wasn’t one of those who could manipulate the Îme at will, yet she could feel the raw power contained in that single pulse. Then, as she stood just a step away from the pillar, the blue light turned white, flooding the entire room. It unleashed a continuous flow of Îme so powerful it could have swept away any storm.

Lysbelle’s body arched under the wave of energy, her eyes rolled back, and she felt an intense burning sensation sear across her right side.