Levant

Hatched deep in the Tangled Wood, Levant had entered the world with a unique ability. As he grew, he heard the whispers of the undead, of the souls of the dragons who stayed behind on Sorineth.
Throughout his childhood, ghosts spoke to him, whispering to him, some friendly, most not.
Ghosts aren’t kind.
They are souls of dead dragons with unfinished business.
Why would they be kind?

Levant curled up, eyes shut, barely seen in the dark of the night. He was about to fall asleep before it began. He tensed, wings moving to cover his body more, the end of his tail touching his nose.
Whispers, loud shouts. All kinds of noise, rustling leaves, twigs snapping.
He flinched when a particular voice sounded as if it were right next to him.
And it may be. Ghosts didn’t appear unless they wanted to appear.
They usually didn’t want to appear.
Their voices, haunting echoes that resonated through the trees, kept him up most of the night.
Every night.
It wasn’t so bad when he was a hatchling. It got worse the older he got.
They tried to get reactions out of him, they knew he could see, could hear, could speak to them.
He rarely spoke back.
Why would he, when they would only get louder?
Levant had decided long ago that it was just better to ignore them.

- A treasure of unrealised value is your to find in the collonades of antiquity

By:Veylaron