Hyperion

A beam of light shone upon the ground, casting everything in its path in a soft golden glow. From within the beam appeared a figure. The figure grew in in size and became more and more solid, the light dimming as it did so.

It was a glowing Wildclaw. He was cloaked in soft silvers and whites, wings casting prisms of light upon the ground. Flower petals rained down from his every footstep and a dove hovered around his head, cooing softly.

The God of Light looked upon the little building, tilting his head slightly, “What a quaint little café,” he said softly. “Erebus would love it here.” He approached the building and pushed open the door.

The inside of the café was light and airy. Open windows let a warm breeze in. Small oaken tables were scattered around the little room, some taken by seated dragons sipping tea and coffee and enjoying small deserts.

Across the room, behind the counter hovered a Fae, jeweles wings glimmering multiple shades of purple in the sunlight

“Welcome!” she said in an airy voice as the Wildclaw stepped further inside. “To the Storyteller’s Café! We have food and drink, and,” here she lowered her voice, “if you give me a story I will give you free food.”

The dragon stepped up to the counter. “A story, huh?” he mused. “I’ve got plenty of those.” He thought for a moment, and then gestured to himself with one clawed hand. “I am Hyperion,” he said gently. “And I would like to tell you the story of how I met my husband.”





When I was much younger, I left my home in the Sunbeam Ruins to travel the world and see what I could discover. You see, as a hatchling I was blessed by the Lightweaver herself, and in my adolescence was given the task to spread her light and study the histories of the people of the other realms.

I was travelling through the Tangled Wood. The brambles seemed to stretch on forever, gnarled branches twisting gruesome shapes into the sky. I had gotten lost, somehow stumbling into the darkest place in all the realm, and my own light could not extend more than a mere handful of feet in front of me. I was deeply afraid, for dangerous beings live beneath the brambles – and that is not even to mention the dragons who reside there.

I was feeling my way around, attempting to find my way out, when I heard a voice.

“You do not belong here.”

It was coming from behind me. I whirled around, only to come face-to-face with the most dangerous looking dragon I had ever seen in my life. Cobwebs hung from powerful wings. The body was draped in a shroud that blended in with the gloom around him. Eerie candles floated around him, seemingly under their own power. I must admit, I was terrified.

And then he spoke again.

“You are very far from home, Lightbringer. Why are you here?”

I startled, not expecting the other dragon to speak to me again. It took a few tries, but eventually I found my own voice.

“I-I seem to have gotten lost,” I stammered. “I was just traveling through Wispwillow Grove, only I took a wrong turn and…”

I trailed off at his impassive stare. It was then that I notice that the other dragon was blindfolded. There was no way he could see me.

So how did he know to call me Lightbringer?

He said nothing for a moment, and then turned. “Come,” he said, voice drifting eerily through the gloom. “You will not last long on your own. There are plenty who would wish harm on one such as yourself.”

I must admit, I was very confused. Was he really offering to show me the way out? Or was this all a trick? That had, after all, been how I had gotten myself lost in the first place; a prank from a very cruel Spiral dragon.

“Come,” he repeated, and began to walk off. Not wanting to lose my only guide, a hurried to catch up with him. We walked side-by-side for a while, weaving in and out of the thick knots in a pattern I could not discern. He never bumped into anything, walking with a surefootedness that I envied. How did he not run into his surroundings, with his blindfold? How was he so sure of where we were going, so sure that he would get us out of here?

How was I sure that he was not just leading me farther and farther into the gloom, into the jaws of danger? That he was not leading me to my death?

Silence reigned, impenetrable as the darkness. Unnerved by the lack of noise, I attempted to start a conversation.

“My name is Hyperion,” I offered, glancing over at the dragon. He didn’t make any acknowledgement of my voice, merely continued at the same pace.

“I am from the Sunbeam Ruins, from Radiant Eye. I was born under the Lightweaver’s watchful gaze.” I was rambling, I knew. But what else could I do, in the face of this impassive stranger?

So I kept talking, telling this dragon about receiving the Lightweaver’s blessing to save my life when I was but a hatchling, about growing up different from the others. I told him about my travels and all the others I had met along the way, both dragon and not. I told him, this complete stranger, who may very well have been planning to kill me, my entire life story, only stopping when I got to my arrival in the Tangled Wood.

Silence reigned once more, this time shot through with embarrassment at my rambling. But it didn’t last for long.

“Erebus.”

I startled, not having expected to hear his voice again after he had been silent for so long. “Wh-what?”

“My name.”

Erebus. The God of Darkness.

How very fitting.

How far and how long we walked, I do not know. But eventually the darkness seemed to let up a little, my light travelling farther in front of me. The tangles of the brambles seemed lighter, less dense, as if they too could sense the approaching end of the darkness.

Finally, my guide stopped. “We are here,” he said. “Keep walking straight and you’ll reach the end of the Brambles.”

I blinked at him. He was leaving me? I must admit, I had grown used to his company, taciturn as it was. But I had been raised to be polite, so I said, “Thank you.”

He merely nodded and, turning around, began to walk off.

I hesitated only a moment.

“Wait!” I called out. He slowly stopped but did not turn around.

“Will I see you again?”

A long silence. Then the tiniest of nods, so small I almost wasn’t sure of what I was looking at, before Erebus continued his path into the growing darkness.





“And that is the first time I met my husband,” Hyperion repeated. “I saw him again, of course, but, well.” He gave a small smile. “I do believe that is a story for another time.